The moment that Llyr Llywelyn laid eyes on the small group, he knew who they were, and he felt both apprehension and excitement at the sight. Llyr hurried to the gate's border, where the guards glanced at him but otherwise paid him no mind. The short human didn't stand out with his mop of curly brown hair and the familiar smudges of dirt on his lightly tanned face. He had on coarse, old leathers that'd clearly been through a long journey and had a rucksack strung up to rest against his shoulder.
Llyr nearly felt like crying upon seeing his Quacian associate. The blond mage shook his head, then outstretched his arms in an enthusiastic greeting as he greeted him in Vahanic, "Watcher!"
He kept with the obscure southern language. "You've made it safely. I'm so glad to see you again."
Watcher stepped up, though he avoided the arms in obvious discomfort to not be hugged or anything of that nature. He set the rucksack on the ground and glanced up at the tall Citadel towers behind Llyr. He lowly whistled. "Your Vahanic has gotten better, Zari-"
"No, shush," the biqaj quickly cut him off. He set a hand against his chest and said, "Llywelyn, people know me by Llywelyn here."
"Llywelyn? That's a shit name. You still a lord or what?" Watcher spat to the side. He shrugged, then picked up his rucksack again. The human leaned in, brown eyes dull, and he muttered, "I didn't come alone."
"I noticed," answered Llyr with a glance toward the two obvious Tribunals who were still talking with the guards. The couple wore the black and red garb of the Theocratic clergy. It seemed they were arguing about handing a book over to the guards. "Did they ask you any questions on the journey?"
Watcher snorted. "You think Tribunals didn't ask any questions? It was non-stop questions the whole trip. Now, come on, tell me, are you still a lord? Or can I spit on your feet and not get flogged for it?"
Llyr looked at the slightly older man with an unamused expression. He warned in a low voice, "Watcher, you better not spit on my shoes."
"But... you're not a lord, yes?" Watcher raised his eyebrows, the slightest of smirks showing on his chapped lips.
"Watcher, I swear to the Wounded God, if you spi-" He quickly stepped backward as Watcher hawked a wad of spit directly at his shiny black boots. "Fates! Dammit, Watcher!"
"I've been wanting to do that for a long while. Okay, time to head back to Quacia now." Watcher took a few steps away. He looked at the Tribunals, then turned back to Llyr. He sniffed and rubbed the back of his sleeve to rub at his nose. "Let's get to it, eh? Show me where you're going to want me scoping things out?"
"Wouldn't you like to eat and rest first? I got you a room at a nice inn," offered Llyr. He scuffed his boot in the dirt to get rid of what little frothy saliva had landed on the pointed toe.
Llyr nearly felt like crying upon seeing his Quacian associate. The blond mage shook his head, then outstretched his arms in an enthusiastic greeting as he greeted him in Vahanic, "Watcher!"
He kept with the obscure southern language. "You've made it safely. I'm so glad to see you again."
Watcher stepped up, though he avoided the arms in obvious discomfort to not be hugged or anything of that nature. He set the rucksack on the ground and glanced up at the tall Citadel towers behind Llyr. He lowly whistled. "Your Vahanic has gotten better, Zari-"
"No, shush," the biqaj quickly cut him off. He set a hand against his chest and said, "Llywelyn, people know me by Llywelyn here."
"Llywelyn? That's a shit name. You still a lord or what?" Watcher spat to the side. He shrugged, then picked up his rucksack again. The human leaned in, brown eyes dull, and he muttered, "I didn't come alone."
"I noticed," answered Llyr with a glance toward the two obvious Tribunals who were still talking with the guards. The couple wore the black and red garb of the Theocratic clergy. It seemed they were arguing about handing a book over to the guards. "Did they ask you any questions on the journey?"
Watcher snorted. "You think Tribunals didn't ask any questions? It was non-stop questions the whole trip. Now, come on, tell me, are you still a lord? Or can I spit on your feet and not get flogged for it?"
Llyr looked at the slightly older man with an unamused expression. He warned in a low voice, "Watcher, you better not spit on my shoes."
"But... you're not a lord, yes?" Watcher raised his eyebrows, the slightest of smirks showing on his chapped lips.
"Watcher, I swear to the Wounded God, if you spi-" He quickly stepped backward as Watcher hawked a wad of spit directly at his shiny black boots. "Fates! Dammit, Watcher!"
"I've been wanting to do that for a long while. Okay, time to head back to Quacia now." Watcher took a few steps away. He looked at the Tribunals, then turned back to Llyr. He sniffed and rubbed the back of his sleeve to rub at his nose. "Let's get to it, eh? Show me where you're going to want me scoping things out?"
"Wouldn't you like to eat and rest first? I got you a room at a nice inn," offered Llyr. He scuffed his boot in the dirt to get rid of what little frothy saliva had landed on the pointed toe.