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Consequence eyes the hoof prints with great interest, trailing after the others. Centaurs are satisfyingly exotic, after all. "Is there any difference between centaur and horse prints? They - no, I guess there wouldn't be much difference in weight." Too many questions are crowding his head. He will have to jot them down for later. " - are there any other customs we should know about, if there's a chance we might run into them?"
Consequence takes Janira's advice to heart and drinks deeply, then refills his canteen with fresh water. He stands and admires the city - it seems impossible that mere distance could make something so big and complicated look so small and delicate - and is so lost in thought that he nearly misses what the others are saying. "Hm?"
He murmurs his thanks for the journal, and immediately heads the first page with the date, location, weather and list of those present, all in a tiny, meticulously tidy print. The questions, who addled them, and the answers follow. Now he glances up. "Were they carrying anything? From what direction were they headed - do you have any thoughts on what they were doing before they went into the cave? And is their religion centered on the moon and tides, they being aquatic? Also, are they comfortable in both salt and fresh water?" He pauses, and another thought occurs to him. "Are we going to be able to communicate with them? What languages do they usually speak?" Once all the questions were done and written, he stands and swings his pack on his back.
"Oh, no, I'm the first in the family. The black cloaks and ravens and glooming around don't actually do anything - they're just for fashion, and they get a bit tedious after a while." He gives Kardok an interested look. "Scrimshaw as in the scribing on ivory? We could just call you by that name, if you prefer it."
- seventy-one, seventy-two, seventy - ah. Consequence shrugs, still smiling amiably. "I did. Everyone can be of use, after all."
The young man half stands, an easy, cheerful smile coming to his face. "I'm Consequence Jones. I suppose I'll be your healer and necromancer." And then he sits, mentally counting the seconds until the inevitable question. |
