Soon. Felix's steady gaze and the pressure on his arm promise that. He's not alone here.
"We all have our sorrows to bear," Nereus says quietly. His tone lightens carefully then, offering a shift back to more comfortable ground. "I hope my sons have been taking care of you on your travels. Cyrodiil is a far gentler place than Skyrim, but I'm sure it can be quite strange in its own way, when you are newly arrived..."
A knock on the door makes them look up, and Felix rises swiftly. "That must be Stratos- there's no need to stir again, Father, I'll let him in." He hurries out, leaving Jim to handle the conversation alone for a minute. However, Terentius takes the chance to start in with a story about coming back home after his time in Hammerfell, which should give the captain some reprieve.
Felix, meanwhile, lets Stratos in and tells him where to find the others. While his brother is knocking snow from his boots and unclasping his cloak, the conjurer's attention returns to the flicker of magic Jim carried in with him. He's inspecting the brooch when Stratos leans over his shoulder.
"An illusion?"
"I suppose so." If Stratos thinks so, that's likely what it is. "It's not... ah. Can you tell what it's for? I don't know where he'd acquire something like this." Something foreign to this plane. Something subtle enough that trying to sense it is like trying to catch a faint star in the corner of one's eye.
"I could-"
"Stratos-!" Their father is in the doorway, though he hesitates just a fraction on seeing the two huddled together by the cloaks. He rallies, however, and chuckles. "How long are you planning to keep us waiting? Come in, before the rest of us finish the cider."
"Father." Stratos hangs his cloak up and steps forward to meet Nereus's embrace. Felix envies how at ease he is with the gesture. Stratos is supposed to be the one with the stiff neck.
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"We all have our sorrows to bear," Nereus says quietly. His tone lightens carefully then, offering a shift back to more comfortable ground. "I hope my sons have been taking care of you on your travels. Cyrodiil is a far gentler place than Skyrim, but I'm sure it can be quite strange in its own way, when you are newly arrived..."
A knock on the door makes them look up, and Felix rises swiftly. "That must be Stratos- there's no need to stir again, Father, I'll let him in." He hurries out, leaving Jim to handle the conversation alone for a minute. However, Terentius takes the chance to start in with a story about coming back home after his time in Hammerfell, which should give the captain some reprieve.
Felix, meanwhile, lets Stratos in and tells him where to find the others. While his brother is knocking snow from his boots and unclasping his cloak, the conjurer's attention returns to the flicker of magic Jim carried in with him. He's inspecting the brooch when Stratos leans over his shoulder.
"An illusion?"
"I suppose so." If Stratos thinks so, that's likely what it is. "It's not... ah. Can you tell what it's for? I don't know where he'd acquire something like this." Something foreign to this plane. Something subtle enough that trying to sense it is like trying to catch a faint star in the corner of one's eye.
"I could-"
"Stratos-!" Their father is in the doorway, though he hesitates just a fraction on seeing the two huddled together by the cloaks. He rallies, however, and chuckles. "How long are you planning to keep us waiting? Come in, before the rest of us finish the cider."
"Father." Stratos hangs his cloak up and steps forward to meet Nereus's embrace. Felix envies how at ease he is with the gesture. Stratos is supposed to be the one with the stiff neck.