Fantasy Arva: Tides of Darkness [IC] [Closed]

[Fighting Monk]

Krasso happily lifts up the almost empty bottle in his hand to his new drinking companions and those who've yet to come. "Cheers indeed to new found friends, and the coming adventure ahead of us. Praise be to the Missing God! May his spirit of merriment overtake us through this delight." He bellows before proceeding to chug the rest of his wine "Opa!" he shouts before smashing his empty bottle to the ground.

 

[Dmaster]

Da'Vost flinches as the glass breaks, pulling back out of his seat as he goes wide-eyed and looks for the source of the commotion. The twitching movements of his head increase in pace as his hands raise from the book and table and spread their fingers in strange positions, likely readying a spell to cast. Eventually he finds the shattered bottle on the ground and looks up to the Satyr, his large red eyes blinking as he loudly clacks his beak and pulls his seat back in. False alarm, then.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Qalhatret made a hissing sound at Valentina and Waylond, including his apprentice, that sounded something like sand rushing over a large dune as she waved her hand about indignantly. "Such children," she lamented, turning and stalking off towards the Satyr and bird-man creature. The former had produced some wine bottles and was boasting of their taste and make. She couldn't eat or drink, but once again she doubted that the stuff was any good. And even if it was....

"What is this gut rot," she said to Krasso, looking at the bottles. "Have you no respect for those who will be dissecting your body when you die? You're turning your innards into a mess. Aiy-yee," she sighed. "What even are you?" She said to Krasso, and then leveled the same question at Da'Vost. "Goat and bird things. Hmph. Strange, but not as strange as the horned red-skins." She poked her foot around at the broken glass of the shattered bottle and picked one shard up. "And such waste! Who wastes glass? Barbarians, that's who."

 

[joshuadim]

Zakala took another look at Invira for a moment before nodding to her. "So you're a thief. Well, I suppose you have skills that might be useful for our line of work." she said before looking to Hughin, who was listening in on their conversation.

"Indeed lass. You can join in, you just need to prove that you can pull your own weight." he commented before motioning to the tables. "Feel free to get to know whom you'll be working with."

 

[Dmaster]

The Fateseeker looks up to Qalhatret and blinks slowly, sufficiently calmed now that his hands brushed about the pages of his tomes and he was working to find his place. "I am Aervis. The world is vast, and many things may appear strange to those with a narrow view." Da'Vost explains with a curt nod. "If I can aid you in expanding it, I would be pleased to." With a gesture of his hand he waves to Krasso, no doubt wobbling about drunkenly in that moment. "The Satyr clearly values merriment and good times, and he wishes to share such pleasantries with his new comrades. I would not berate him for such open kindness."

"Granted, I am rather unfamiliar with the breaking of glass. Perhaps it holds some cultural relevance, and I fail to see the ritual being linked to any pillaging or warmongering."

 

[Emperor Sagan]

"Aervis? Is that a name or what you are?" She looked at the broken glass for a moment, upset at such waste. It could have taken a long time for a skilled glass-smith to make these bottles and here they were shattered. How terrible.

"My view isn't narrow," Qalhatret countered after a second, her head jerking around to look at Da'Vost. "If it was narrow I wouldn't be here. I'd still be laying under the sand." She wasn't sure what to make of his offer to help her learn things, as that was her mission, but she was distrustful of any living creature. Such fickle and unreliable things.

"Breaking glass should be a crime, not merriment. What poor man spends his blood and sweat to make these bottles only for them to be shattered in such a way?" She paused to consider that if paper was more common, perhaps glass was as well these days. Still, that didn't make the waste any better.

 

[Dmaster]

"Aervis are my kin." he answered calmly, now leveling his eyes to hers as she continued to speak. His posture was rather hunched in that small seat, and he straightened his shoulders before drooping them again as a way to stretch somewhat. "My name is Da'Vost."

"Though no longer buried in sand, you must attune your eyes and mind to be more open about a great many cultures and kin. We learn so much quicker with defenses lowered, prejudice and critique left behind." the Fateseeker explains. "I do not know why the glass was broken, though considering how freely he did it I am sure it is of little consequence to the one who crafted such a vessel."

 

[Fighting Monk]

Krasso shrugged at the corpse’s accusations. “In a fleeting world it does little good to put too much value in material goods.” He says pointing to the glass. “This bottle was made with the express purpose of holding wine and thus entertainment, fun, pious actions for my people. Once it has fulfilled its purpose what is it but another thing that will do you no more good in this life or the next.” He ponders opening another bottle for himself.

”As for gut rot, I assure you good madam that my people, Satyrs, are meant to drink in high quantities. It was how we express devotion to the King of Satyrs, by revealing in the gifts he provides us.” He takes a healthy glug of the wine and wipes away a pool of the red liquid from his beard. “Why not partake yourself and see how harmless it it.” He says gesturing the bottle towards the mummy.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Qalhatret nodded to Da'Vost's words. "Curious, so there are more like you? Hmph. I learn plenty the way I am. Defenses lowered and critique withdrawn make for a dull, foolish, and dead mind. Like the shambling meat carrions I'm forced to deal with," she said, glancing about the bar. "And also zombies, as you call them so eloquently in this tongue," she added sarcastically.

Glancing between Krasso and Da'Vost, she continued, "That glass was made by someone who put time and effort into their craft, doing something worthwhile while you drink away and damage their work. Such utter shamelessness, you crude beast," she said, shaking her head. "Who cares of its purpose? It is an art to create. Do you burn your bed each night after you are finished with it?" She was incredulous at this display of disregard for artisan creations. Even when she was a child she remembered watching laborers and craftsmen alike toil in the heat, making their goods. A weaver by the river, hands calloused and sliced open from the reeds, making one basket after another as his blood stained the sand around him. Naked slaves pulling stone blocks the size of small huts through the streets under the whip of their taskmasters, aided only by rolling logs, many collapsing from the strain. The potters sitting in the shade of the palms as their hands work the damp earth into shapes pleasing to them, risking the bite of a gator lurking in the shallows. All that effort, destroyed by the foolish who cared nought for the labor that goes into such work. Time was supposed to be the enemy of creation. A wonder how these races lived on.

"A race born to drink? Truly, the creation of a god of asses and fools." When the drink was offered to her, she stared at it as incredulously as she could, for one with a blank face framed in an immovable alabaster-white mask. She grabbed the bottle and stared at it. Gently, she brought it up towards her face, before turning the opening upside down and letting some of the wine spill out on the floor. "Ah, yes, it tastes like something that has been through the kidneys and bladder of a dying mule."

 

[Fighting Monk]

Krasso laughed at the display "Why yes in fact, I do burn my bed each day after I wake. Such is the life of a nomad who knows no real home." He enjoyed making those who thought highly of themselves squirm under the weight of his own high culture. However the sight of the wine, a gift from the Missing God, being wasted did get under his skin like nothing else. He snatched the bottle away quickly from the mummy and took a large swig of it himself.

"It's one thing to mock a Satyr's etiquette, it's another to insult and waste the gifts of our King... Bladder of a dying mule-Tsk, You'd know all about that wouldn't you you rotting corpse!" Another swig of the brew as he stumbled to stand up from his chair and point accusingly at this accuser. "You know nothing of the Missing God nor the way of the world. To care about things that are fleeting is pointless regardless of its origin. You're nothing but a fool of a lost age." He was starting to slur his words as his temper began to rise, even though he may be a Hedonist he'd be damned if he didn't stand up for the principles of his creed.

 

[CaptainFizzgig]

Invira opened her mouth to correct this demoness’ mistake, she was a tool, not a thief. But it got her into this company where she could make money to be on her way so she just nodded and turned to this rowdy group. For a time, she just listened. She knew little of the world, admittedly, but she was starting to pick out how these folks, at the least, were making out. The goat-man/Satyr seemed to want to give the gift of the alcohol, which she’d only ever used to sterilize equipment and never seemed appealing to her. The bird man seemed to want peace to stare at that very large book. It was doubtful he’d achieve it, but she admired the willingness to try. Mushroom woman didn’t like anything, reminding her of Old Laina at the Lodge.

It was concerning, though, that the Satyr couldn’t find her god. Surely that made a god harder to worship if you couldn’t find them.

“Excuse me, Krasso was it? So sorry to interrupt. What happened to your god? Why are they missing? Is there anyone looking for them?”

 

[Adobe]

Eidunn nodded at the man, before turning and heading back to the table, smiling to herself.

"Krasso, is that right. Mind if I have some of that wine?" She asked, noting the angered expression the Satyr was donning. She positioned herself inbetween Krasso and the undead, giving a smile towards the Satyr.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

"Pfah, a nomad? No wonder you are a drunkard, your kind has nothing to show to justify their existence, and when you are all dead, there will be nothing left for those who come after to know you even existed but in myth. Kamersi may be a grave, but it is a beautiful grave, and our grandest monuments built over hundreds and thousands of years still remain. Your campfires are gone by dawn, and ours persist, eternal." Truthfully, she had nothing against nomads, the camel merchants of the dune sea were nomads and they helped keep the Kamersi villages, towns, and cities alive. But this nomad in particular she didn't like. The satyr did manage to earn a wicked, coughing laugh from the mummy, and she leaned her head back in amusement. "It is I who knows nothing of the world? Coming from one who sees his surroundings through the bottom of a wine stained glass? You amuse me, goat. But your disregard for creation is disturbing, and clearly indicates you are no worthy inheritors of this world. All should care about creation. Even the mud beneath our feet is worth more than a callous, destructive beast like you."

She leaned on her staff a little as Invira and Eidunn approached, the latter getting too close to her personal space and blocking her conversation with the satyr. "Rude thing," she coughed, stalking around Eidunn so that she could see all three of them better. Qalhatret looked towards Invira as she asked her questions to the Satyr, and interrupted. "His gods are missing because that is the nature of gods, to go missing when they are needed most. The Missing God may as well be the Dead God, for he is undoubtedly such. Place your faith only in the infallible strength of the luminaries, of those who rise above petty titles such as gods, and ascend to an even more divine plane of lichdom."

"You want a true god? One worthy of such a title? Go south, across the glistening sands, and stand in the marble chambers of Her August Majesty, Nebrekhotep, blessed be Her name."

 

[Fighting Monk]

Incensed at the accusations of the Mummy once again Krasso prepared to rebuke the witch but the appearance of Edia and this new demoness and their questions brought him back to the ground for a time. He flared his nostrils and let out a mighty snort before handing the bottle to Edia. "You are more than welcome to share in my drink, it is for all of us afterall." Sitting back down in the chair he took out his pipe and lit the herbs inside. He let out a puff in the direction of the Mummy as he collected himself once again. "Wrong on all accounts madam, since our new companion here asked I will give you an account of who the Missing God is as only the bards know."

"Long ago in a land beyond the Western Ocean the Satyrs lived in a constant state of bliss, happiness, and prosperity. This land was known as Nysieon and where we derived the name for the Republic of Nysa. In these ancient times we were ruled over by our creator the God-King of Satyrs, whose name I am not permitted to say to the uninitiated. The legends tell us that he gave birth to the Satyrs by consummating with the world itself and we sprung from the ground like weeds. He nurtured us like a father and established his kingdom for us all to dwell and live in peace. During his reign no Satyr knew death or calamity, it was a golden age. He is the one who taught us how to make wine, how to create music, and how to revel in merriment without care for the world around us. But, one day when the priests went to consort with the King on when to hold new festivals he was simply gone with no sign of where he had gone off to. Perhaps he was paying a price for teaching us to disregard the world around us and simply enjoy one another, the cost of enlightenment. However, his subjects were distraught and searched high and low across Nyseion for him to no avail. Then...then the catastrophe happened. There are many variants to the story of how the land fell to rot and how our people fled from the lost continent. Dragons, Volcanoes, Elementals, the sky itself opening up and raining havoc onto all Satyric kind, there are many possibilites but the point is that our lands fell and we never found the King" He pauses in contemplation for a few moments as he breaths in the smoke deeply as if lost in a memory.

"The survivors eventually found their way to the shores of this continent on the western coast of Nysa but we were no longer a united people. Distraught it was vowed by all of the ancient Satyrs that we would eternally wander in search of the King, whom you may know as the Missing God, for it is not until we find him once again that we may re-establish paradise on this world as existed in a time before time began. We revel in drinking and merriment to remember our god and hopefully to send him the message that we are still here. That is why I am a nomad, witch, for I have a sworn duty to search for my King as all my kind are oath-bound to do." He lets out another large puff of smoke as he remains lost in contemplation on where his King could be.

 

[EdwardDewey98]

Valentina listened carefully to the satyrs story. She had heard it before from other Satyrs during her travels across the land. "Don't bother paying attention to the zombie, master Satyr. I do not follow any Gods, only Lady Luck. But if I had to pray for one it would be the Missing God." She raised her cup again. "...a toast for the Missing God, and that someday he might be reunited with his flock." While the undead woman was annoying, she was used to such characters, having met many like her during her travels. But so far, the newly formed company had quite interesting characters and hopefully the group would stick together to the trails ahead of them, the life of a mercenary is not an easy one. But... this might be it! a new beginning, a new life? Has lady luck blessed me once again?

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Qalhatret was unfazed by the puff of smoke sent her way, for she didn't breath in the first place. The Satyr's origin tale was vulgar and disgusting, but she was meant to suffer this to learn, so that records could be kept in the new archives. She didn't think satyrs came from a copulation with the world, but between men and goats, as clearly that was the more reasonable approach. Probably some sorcery mixed in, or at least the joke of a dying god. However, the tale of what occurred once this nameless god had disappeared did intrigue her somewhat, for her own shattered memories responded to the description of volcanoes and the sky opening up. She could not remember her own death - indeed, most of the reborn did not, for not only was it often traumatic, it was either irretrievable during the process of rebirth or locked away by their own mind. Qalhatret could only recall hunger and fear, and a red sky and red rivers. Things crawling along the ground and over the fields. Over people. It was not a pleasant feeling.

Could she glare, she would have at Valentina. "Ah, yes, ignore your ancestor. Impudent whelp. I feel nothing but sorrow for those forced to raise you, if they didn't dump you in the gutter the first moment they got."

She looked back at the satyr. "How long ago does this myth occur, of the destruction of these distant lands? Speak of the sky. You say it rained havoc?"

 

[Dmaster]

"Indeed, there exist more of us. And we are one of the few races to understand the vastness of this world and beyond." Da'Vost answers, still looking to Qalhatret. Her kind are a neighbor of sorts to the South Spire Aervis, and yet the lands were no doubt ancient and dead.

"A grave is a grave, no matter how ornate." the aged bird asserts. "I pity you, for you shall not join the Aether as you are. Forever earthbound for changes wrought by magic, willing or not."

He grew quiet once Krasso explained the tale of his god and people, leaning back into his seat as he crooned in thought. An interesting tale to be sure, especially the supposed claim that the sky opened and rained fire upon their kind. That did not line up with any previous observations of the Aether. If such a calamity had them wash up on the western coast of Nysa, that meant they had to have come from the west as well. The West Spire would have no doubt had records, unless it preceded the Aervis entirely. Most curious...

"I do not put much faith in gods, only the Aether. Even still, I hope your people find prosperity with or without their god's return."

 

[Fighting Monk]

Krasso nodded in appreciation towards the non-believers kind sentiments before turning to the now surprisingly inquisitive mummy before him. He sat back in his chair for a time to try and figure out a rough guess for how far back the destruction actually occurred. His own teachers were never concise with dating and only giving rough estimates based on how many times the stories had been retold. He stroked his beard as he tried to rectify the differences in each of their telling of the story and come to a reasonable conclusion on what occurred.

"We are not good at keeping track of time I am afraid...however my teachers did like to say that around one hundred generations have passed since we landed on these shores. Given, the long lifespan of Satyrs...It is likely to have been several thousand years ago. At the very least three thousand years perhaps even as long as ten thousand I-I cannot say for certain." He pauses as the true length of time that has passed sinks in. "As for the sky...t is a tale I have only heard from a few of the more mystically oriented priests. But, they say that thunder and lightening raged throughout the land, great stones of fire fell from the sky and desolated cities, the earth itself shook and tremendous waves swallowed up the land and engulfed the coastline...If that is indeed how the end came then I am not sure how my people came to this land unless guided by some magic power across the violent western ocean." He once again resigned to contemplation the variations in the stories left much room for interpretation and it only made finding the truth harder for anyone who sought it.

 

[EdwardDewey98]

"My ancestors? Oh goodness gracious you sound like my mother!" said Valentina while taking another sip of wine. "It's the Nawatu way, talk about the ancestors and the Queens of yore, I give two damns about some woman who conquered lands. I care about going to bed with a belly full of food or wine." She looked at Qalhatret with a big, almost mocking smile on her face. "...but rest easy m'lady, I assure you that you are no ancestor of mine, it's safe to say lady luck blessed both of us in that regard!" She laughed at the idea of having this woman as an ancestor.

Valentina then allowed the satyr to continue with the tales of his people. A much more interesting topic than whatever the mummy was talking about. While taking another sip of her wine, she looked at the fair-haired lady and the demon woman that just joined the group and gave both of them a welcoming smile. "Are you two going to introduce yourselves? I am Valentina, a pleasure to meet you!"

 

[Adobe]

Taking the wine, Eidunn decided to promptly remove herself from the situation, steping round the table, and taking a seat in the corner next to the Aervis.

She took a swig of the wine. 'Weak, water down perhaps' . Thinking nothing more on the subject, she placed the bottle down on the table. It was warm, and as she pulled the fur of her hood around her, Eidunns eyes drifted over to the night sitting opposite her. 'Kregan, maybe?' She scolded herself for forgetting his name. But the fire was warm, and the argument occurring around head began to merge into one low drone. She felt safe, safest she felt in a while, why not relax a little.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Qalhatret snorted at Da'Vost's remarks. "If your kind did not stride among the Kemarsi, I doubt you have understanding of this world," she said. "And save your undesired pity. I care not for some Aether of which you speak, the Kemarsi are destined to the Halls of the Dead, under the guidance of Hapshaput. Evidently the halls are without protection, for we have crawled out way back. Your Aether is nothing to me."

Her attention returned to the Satyr and her fingers twitched, followed by her clacking her staff against the ground. "Between three and ten thousand years? You keep no regards?" She asked, aghast at such utter disregard for historical archiving. "What an utter travesty. You have no scribes? No writers? No reeds to write with, no cane pages, no clay tablets? No inscriptions or scrolls of any kind?" Her amazement at this sent her into a spiral of muttering in her own, ancient language. ["By the old gods and Her greatness Nebrekhotep, what utter filth has spawned in our absence?"] As a scribe herself, archival work was perhaps once of the cornerstones to civilization.

The rest of Krasso's words at least had some possible merit. Fire raining from the sky, the tremors within the earth, mighty waves retaking the shore... that sounded liable to have occurred. Had she lived through that disaster? Something had evidently happened in the distant past.

Valentina spoke up again, earning another snort from Qalhatret. "Don't be so sure, woman. Our skin and hair is of similar complexion, though I cannot say were the Kemarsi lighter or darker. It would be nothing but an utter privilege and honor to have Kemarsi blood within your body. Our traders traveled far and wide. Perhaps your line is the spawn of a drunken caravan guard."

 

[Fighting Monk]

Krasso casually takes another puff from his pipe. “We once did when we first arrived on the continent, but the humans were fearful of us and led campaigns of slaughter against my people. Over the course of centuries our records were burned and destroyed until it was deemed that the safest way to maintain our history was through the bardic tradition.” he gives a light strum of his lyre to demonstrate.

”So it has been for the last several thousand years, our history relayed from one generation to the next through the medium of song. Im sure someone along the lines attempted to write everything down but given the number of bards, the variations in stories, and the overall oral tradition writing down everything from across the land is not even considered feasible anymore.” He shrugs with genuine apathy “The tradition has been refined to the point where there’s roving academies that operate purely from word of mouth so I suppose it’s not going anywhere anytime soon.” He chuckles “Historiography is a fickle thing.”

 

[Dmaster]

The bird could only sigh with exhaustion, beak clicking as he shook his head at the undead's words. To be so steadfast and combative was not any way to conduct oneself. To achieve enlightenment one must flow like the currents of air in the skies or the spiraling flames of the cosmos. Da'Vost only pitied Qalhatret further for such proclamations.

"Understanding does not belong to any one race, madame. You would do well to learn that." he replied calmly just as Eida sat near him, to whom he nodded gently.

"... And you would do even better to not belittle another's culture. Such divisive thinking has wiped out many a civilization. The Aervis have seem it time and time again." Da'Vost states, leveling a slightly drooped digit at the undead.

"And your kind has no doubt suffered a similar fate."

 

[joshuadim]

As Invira walked off to speak to the rest of the group, both Zakala and Hughin looked at the tables with their new recruits for a moment before turning to each other again. "A job well done." Zakala remarked, "We got ourselves an... interesting bunch."

"Aye. We'll wait for a few more. Try to get some other interesting fellows in." Hughin replied, before turning looking around. "Speaking of... where is he? Shouldn't he be back by now?"

"Arnas? How should I know? Off getting into some trouble I suppose."

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Elsewhere in Gwell... 15 minutes earlier.

A fist collided with his face, sending him face first into the dirt underneath him. With his ears ringing, he struggled to get up and could hear muffled voices in the background. One of them was laughing, another was yelling. He couldn't tell what exactly, but he knew the former was laughing at him: the orc. As he started to rise, he felt his senses return to him and quickly he saw that the orc was heading for him again and he pretended to still be stunned. The brute was none the wiser as he strode over confidently only to receive a sharp kick to his groin from the lad on the ground, which caused him to cry out in pain and fall over as he clutched himself.

As the young man stood up from the dirt, he brushed himself off and panted for air. "And next time, pick on someone your own size you big green idiot!" he yelled as he kicked the orc in the face, knocking him out. The child that had been harassed by the orc earlier now walked up to Arnas and was also patting the dirt off him.

"You didn't have to get your self into trouble like that Arnie." the boy spoke, which earned him a response of a chuckle. "Look, I handled it." he spoke.

"Really? Was handling it including you being knocked to the dirt?" the kid responded with a giggle, which got him an exasperated look from Arnas who quickly got a chuckle out.

"Listen, kid. You need to tell your father to stop making promises he can't keep. I won't always be around to save your sorry ass." Arnas joked as he collected what was on the orc, taking a small sack of coin. Originally, it was the child's father's but he thought to take it for himself for a moment as he needed the coin, but he gave it back to the boy anyway. "Also tell your father to stop sending you for such tasks alone." he said, cracking his back before walking off. "Take care, Cestis."

"And you, Arnie!" he called out as Arnas walked off. He made his way back through the busy streets and markets, and although he was somewhat worse for wear after that scuffle he had been through worse. He walked his way back to the Golden Talon he continued to wipe the dirt off his face and neck, wincing in pain at the bruises on his face and the cut on his lip. He'd need to get that treated when he got back. It took a quarter-hour before he returned to the entrance of the tavern and made his way inside.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

As the door opened, Hughin scoffed and muttered to Zakala: "Speak of the devil." he said before walking up to Arnas. "My boy! What kind of scuffle did you get yourself into now?" He walked up to Arnas and patted him on the shoulder, looking over his face.

"Cestis. His father is off getting into trouble again and he's getting caught in it..." Arnas started to say before being interrupted by his father.

"Aye, he's a good lad that one, eh?"

"Yes. This time it was an orc." Arnas nodded as Hughin looked over his bruises a bit more before slapping him on the back. "Well, he didn't rough you too bad it seems. Get yourself a drink then. Meet the rest of the company."

"What, you've filled up already?"

The two of them walked to the bar, Robert nodding towards Arnas. "The usual?"

"I suppose so." he replied.

And soon, he got his mug and he walked over to the tables where the rest of the group were sitting. "Mind if I join you all?" he asked with a smile.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

While roving academies was a novel idea, the concept that all of their written records were destroyed and not rewritten or stored in vaults was alarming. Truly, a race that did not care for anything but what was right before their very eyes. "Written record is always superior to memories and spoken stories," she asserted blandly. Da'Vost spoke up again and she openly laughed at him. "One needn't be a scholar to understand the limitations of barbarity and the benefits of civilization, though evidently not supporting those who bathe in crocodile waters makes me just as bad as them, I who takes to the hot spring. Some child bird-thing knows not of the trials and accomplishments of my people. You make such a laughable assertion. That we fell because we did not understand races we had not seen nor were likely even crawling around in the dirt yet? Will you tell me that the man who trips on the street was brought low by a horse sneezing in the nearby pasture? Pfhah...."

A newcomer - a human covered in filth, cuts, and blood - approached. Qalhatret said nothing and just looked at him.