48th of Ashan, Arc 717
Knock knock. Knock, knock, knock."Patrick, are you home?" the man called. It was early in the morning, so it wasn't too unlikely that the other male was hungover or sleeping in, but Alistair was never the type to wait when he wanted to see someone. When he'd grown tired of said waiting, he took a breath, using Splinter on the door. Cracks of a black and sleek red appeared on the wood of the door, and before anyone would know it, Alistair stepped through as if the door weren't there at all, bypassing the space and distance of the object.
He was inside, and within it was still his sundial, sitting in the same place. Good, he noted. He'd need to retrieve the sundial and bring it elsewhere, considering Rharne was now connected to him via his Eye, reigning in Etzos. The sundial belonged in a different city - perhaps Scalvoris, Viden, Uthaldria or Korlasir... assuming Raskalarn felt that she was in half-decent terms with the Venoras.
Entering the small abode, the mage sighed. He looked considerably more dapper than he usually was when approaching Patrick - with a black velvet coat, silver lining across it, and a red vest beneath. He wore white tights - akin to his regular riding attire - and shorter black boots, though still significantly past his ankles. The man even wore a crown of sorts, just a shiny circlet around his head, complimented by a hilt of the same color leading into an excellently crafted scabbard and blade. He looked noble, very noble.
He'd have to go back to Novilane in a few hours, after all, to see to his duties in court.
"Patrick," he called for his dear friend, eyes scanning the silly man. "Are you well?"
