Lucianus Adair
S H A D O W
The Home of Lucianus Adair
Annaj
Though it was all well and good to have a home to which he could return on off-hours, and though it was suitable to his interests (the library was a strong point, though still rather barren, and the basement...) it did not compare to the home of his past life (location, location, location!) such that he could spend day after day there and not set out unless his loyalties required it, where he had begun to toy with the thought of setting up his own vineyard after confirming that the soil of the attached land would support it; he had begun to consider trying his own hand at producing wine. It had come to his attention that over many gatherings with his compatriots in this age, that he was of a minority in his choice of libation, the only other that seemed to share this preference being Cordel. He would have to consider cultivating a rapport with the man; wine was hardly meant to be consumed alone. She had known it well. He would lay the memory of Dangereuse Von Balis well and truly to rest, someday, for it stayed his hand, and he was beginning to become restless.
But that was no matter. Between the Eclipse and the Fringe, he rarely was home, and in this odd lull, he had seen fit to ask of [member="Alen Na'Varro"] a favour of practical knowledge. Perhaps, he would repay the man, if there was anything the Arbiter might seek. Adair was a strong telekinetic, among other things, but his power in this respect was largely of broad, sweeping applications of seeming gravitational force, sucking things towards his person, and of the likes comparable to that of the force of a gale or hurricane winds, repulsing with ever-increasing degrees of brute force - he, the eye of the storm, yet not a storm-conjurer. As he had ever been in war for so many years, against increasing instances of multiple foes, these heavy applications of Force had been favoured, and cultivated. What was lacking were most of the more subtle applications.... and that was where Na'Varro came in.
Standing in the kitchen, consuming written news with his eyes from a datapad, and a tall glass of cool water with his mouth, he felt the familiar presence of his associate approach, but he would wait for the knock. It was the way of things.
Annaj
Though it was all well and good to have a home to which he could return on off-hours, and though it was suitable to his interests (the library was a strong point, though still rather barren, and the basement...) it did not compare to the home of his past life (location, location, location!) such that he could spend day after day there and not set out unless his loyalties required it, where he had begun to toy with the thought of setting up his own vineyard after confirming that the soil of the attached land would support it; he had begun to consider trying his own hand at producing wine. It had come to his attention that over many gatherings with his compatriots in this age, that he was of a minority in his choice of libation, the only other that seemed to share this preference being Cordel. He would have to consider cultivating a rapport with the man; wine was hardly meant to be consumed alone. She had known it well. He would lay the memory of Dangereuse Von Balis well and truly to rest, someday, for it stayed his hand, and he was beginning to become restless.
But that was no matter. Between the Eclipse and the Fringe, he rarely was home, and in this odd lull, he had seen fit to ask of [member="Alen Na'Varro"] a favour of practical knowledge. Perhaps, he would repay the man, if there was anything the Arbiter might seek. Adair was a strong telekinetic, among other things, but his power in this respect was largely of broad, sweeping applications of seeming gravitational force, sucking things towards his person, and of the likes comparable to that of the force of a gale or hurricane winds, repulsing with ever-increasing degrees of brute force - he, the eye of the storm, yet not a storm-conjurer. As he had ever been in war for so many years, against increasing instances of multiple foes, these heavy applications of Force had been favoured, and cultivated. What was lacking were most of the more subtle applications.... and that was where Na'Varro came in.
Standing in the kitchen, consuming written news with his eyes from a datapad, and a tall glass of cool water with his mouth, he felt the familiar presence of his associate approach, but he would wait for the knock. It was the way of things.
