Talinn Ryalor
Duke of Westisle
Staff member
Nobility: Duke
Minister: Innovation
Urk Expedition Service Badge
(This happens after the events of How to Save A Fox, and will be the funeral thread for the beasts who died on the expedition, and for more somber thoughts on it.)
The Captain’s quarters were dark, illuminated only by the first rays of sunlight in the morning and a small, carefully maintained lamp on the desk which had seen little use in the days since the crew of the ship had left Urk. Upon the bed, wrapped up in bandages, splints, and in so much constant agony even with the maximum dosage of the painkilling medication given to him by Barrett that sleep only came in fitful moments, was Talinn Ryalor, Duke of Westisle, Minister of Innovation, and, for a little while longer, Captain of the Golden Hide. His breathing was low, rough, and pained, and thoughts longer than a few words were maintained only by the beast’s prodigious willpower. Some even suggested, in hushed whispers, that perhaps it would have been better for him to die than to live in such a sorry state.
But that could not happpen, for he still had duties to attend to.
His tired, bloodshot blue eyes opened, and he looked across the short, yet to him, impossibly long distance between his right paw and lever that would ring the silver bell situated outside his cabin that would summon Silvertongue to him. In small fits and starts, his arm and paw feeling like they were being both dragged across broken glass and stabbed repeatedly at the same time, he forced by singular will his barely working limb to reach the handle. Grasping ahold of it, tugged it thrice, three loud, lyrical chimes that echoes across the room and for a brief distance outside of the door.
@Silvertongue Songfox @Gyles F. Stowett @FinnianBrightfur
The Captain’s quarters were dark, illuminated only by the first rays of sunlight in the morning and a small, carefully maintained lamp on the desk which had seen little use in the days since the crew of the ship had left Urk. Upon the bed, wrapped up in bandages, splints, and in so much constant agony even with the maximum dosage of the painkilling medication given to him by Barrett that sleep only came in fitful moments, was Talinn Ryalor, Duke of Westisle, Minister of Innovation, and, for a little while longer, Captain of the Golden Hide. His breathing was low, rough, and pained, and thoughts longer than a few words were maintained only by the beast’s prodigious willpower. Some even suggested, in hushed whispers, that perhaps it would have been better for him to die than to live in such a sorry state.
But that could not happpen, for he still had duties to attend to.
His tired, bloodshot blue eyes opened, and he looked across the short, yet to him, impossibly long distance between his right paw and lever that would ring the silver bell situated outside his cabin that would summon Silvertongue to him. In small fits and starts, his arm and paw feeling like they were being both dragged across broken glass and stabbed repeatedly at the same time, he forced by singular will his barely working limb to reach the handle. Grasping ahold of it, tugged it thrice, three loud, lyrical chimes that echoes across the room and for a brief distance outside of the door.
@Silvertongue Songfox @Gyles F. Stowett @FinnianBrightfur
