Wow, he's really trying hard to construct some sort of timeline surrounding Najaran, but... she doesn't make it very easy does she? There's a smile that lifts the corners of his lips as he works, still not interrupting her through her tale, but the moment she mentions Old Willow, there is a familiar feeling of nostalgia that lingers under his skin.
It seems that they have similar tales in some fashion.
But her tale soon grows darker, edged with shadows that Esteban isn't quite sure how to fight, always getting back to that Dark Lord, the Mistrals, the quest thrust onto Najaran's shoulders. She's had companions too, but it's starting to make sense-- how much she pours of herself into this, into being a savior worthy of Kigi's trust, because of circumstances, because of the desperation, because of the hope that was laid on her shoulders.
He... gets it. He doesn't like it, far from, but he... gets it. Najaran is too young-- she shouldn't have to fight with these monsters. But there are times where the choice is no longer there, where the only options are to stand and fight, or do nothing and let the world crumble, and... Esteban gets it.
"... In my world, we've got what we call Naming Trees." He pauses, realizing that it might make more sense to her if he actually spoke the proper name, and corrects himself. "But elves call 'em Memoriam Trees." His tongue shifts into the familiar terms, even if he rarely uses elvish anymore. But it's ingrained in him, as much as Draconic is, and he'd never forget those two languages.
"Back when the gods walked 'long with their people, 'f an elf chose to die, they'd give their soul to a god-- usually Eriat, but there's been exceptions-- an' she'd unweave their spirit from their soul, an' settle the spirit inside a seed. The soul returns to the cycle, an' the spirit stays an' watches over their families an' friends, weavin' aethers into protections. Against drought, 'gainst fire, 'gainst wild animals." It's... not much. He just doesn't know how else to bring her spirits up.
"Maybe... Maybe Kigi is still around in your world. Her spirit planted with Old Willow?" He suggests, clumsily, trying to bring her a bit of cheer. It's awkward and half-blind-- he's suspecting Old Willow might not exist anymore either, if the Dark Lord was released, if the seals were broken. But he's still hoping that there might be some comfort, from his world to hers. A parallel that just might work.
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It seems that they have similar tales in some fashion.
But her tale soon grows darker, edged with shadows that Esteban isn't quite sure how to fight, always getting back to that Dark Lord, the Mistrals, the quest thrust onto Najaran's shoulders. She's had companions too, but it's starting to make sense-- how much she pours of herself into this, into being a savior worthy of Kigi's trust, because of circumstances, because of the desperation, because of the hope that was laid on her shoulders.
He... gets it. He doesn't like it, far from, but he... gets it. Najaran is too young-- she shouldn't have to fight with these monsters. But there are times where the choice is no longer there, where the only options are to stand and fight, or do nothing and let the world crumble, and... Esteban gets it.
"... In my world, we've got what we call Naming Trees." He pauses, realizing that it might make more sense to her if he actually spoke the proper name, and corrects himself. "But elves call 'em Memoriam Trees." His tongue shifts into the familiar terms, even if he rarely uses elvish anymore. But it's ingrained in him, as much as Draconic is, and he'd never forget those two languages.
"Back when the gods walked 'long with their people, 'f an elf chose to die, they'd give their soul to a god-- usually Eriat, but there's been exceptions-- an' she'd unweave their spirit from their soul, an' settle the spirit inside a seed. The soul returns to the cycle, an' the spirit stays an' watches over their families an' friends, weavin' aethers into protections. Against drought, 'gainst fire, 'gainst wild animals." It's... not much. He just doesn't know how else to bring her spirits up.
"Maybe... Maybe Kigi is still around in your world. Her spirit planted with Old Willow?" He suggests, clumsily, trying to bring her a bit of cheer. It's awkward and half-blind-- he's suspecting Old Willow might not exist anymore either, if the Dark Lord was released, if the seals were broken. But he's still hoping that there might be some comfort, from his world to hers. A parallel that just might work.