It is not in a githyanki's nature to say 'thank you'. Our language doesn't even have a phrase for it. 'Chraith'kan zharn' is the closest equivalent I know - 'May your enemies know agony'. But after releasing me from Orin's grip, there is only one proper response: thank you.
How do you maintain such an elaborate plait, Shadowheart? The craftsmanship is impressive. If you let me watch your technique, I might learn it from you.
You are the tastes of my tongue. You are the ground beneath me and the skies above. The one who gave significance to this trivial rock...and the one who unblinded me to a terrible truth: I had built my life on an empty foundation.
You are the tastes of my tongue. You are the ground beneath me and the skies above. The one who gave significance to this trivial rock...and the one who unblinded me to a terrible truth: I had built my life on an empty foundation.
I've torn flesh from monsters and men. I've laughed as they suffered. But you - I don't want to hurt you. I want to protect you. For you to protect me.
Eternity is long, Gale. Long enough to pursue endeavours beyond combat. Githyanki write symphonies, craft liquors, paint frescos. When they aren't in fierce battle with ghaik, of course.
Vlaakith. Vlaakith! I have wielded your fury as a blade, roared your wrath as a dragon! You promised ascension - yet I crawl among my own people, low as an asp's belly. Shka'keth!
Xan is safe - don't you worry that horned head of yours. Something in his eyes tells me he'll take after you more than me. A hellshunter with a graceful soul and a burning heart.
I have never known 'family' the way Jaheira knows it. My so-called 'cousins' are simply spawn hatched from the same clutch. I will never know who laid the egg I hatched from, and until I met Jaheira's family, I never thought to wonder...
I wasn't always the most... gracious ally. But there's something I'd have you know: you impressed me from the beginning. It was my own foolish pride that ever kept me from admitting it - to you, or myself.
Mizora positively drips with passive-aggressive condescension. I much prefer straightforward condescension - it leaves no chance of being misunderstood.
How do you maintain such an elaborate plait, Shadowheart? The craftsmanship is impressive. If you let me watch your technique, I might learn it from you.
It is not in a githyanki's nature to say 'thank you'. Our language doesn't even have a phrase for it. 'Chraith'kan zharn' is the closest equivalent I know - 'May your enemies know agony'. But after releasing me from Orin's grip, there is only one proper response: thank you.
How do you maintain such an elaborate plait, Shadowheart? The craftsmanship is impressive. If you let me watch your technique, I might learn it from you.
Should I ever take to the Astral Plane, I'll have no need of scrolls to secure my immortality. Still, it is becoming of a mortal to accept their fate, as Jaheira does. Not everyone is meant to live longer than the stars.
Mizora positively drips with passive-aggressive condescension. I much prefer straightforward condescension - it leaves no chance of being misunderstood.
I am obsessed by the ground under your feet and the wind over your head. I see your face just before I sleep and after I wake. I ask myself: are you worthy?
Mizora positively drips with passive-aggressive condescension. I much prefer straightforward condescension - it leaves no chance of being misunderstood.
How do you maintain such an elaborate plait, Shadowheart? The craftsmanship is impressive. If you let me watch your technique, I might learn it from you.
Truthfully, it took more courage to ask for a soft touch than it would to meet the gaze of the Ninefold Dragon. Thus far I've taunted you, devoured you, battled you. Now, I want more than anything to soothe you.
Eternity is long, Gale. Long enough to pursue endeavours beyond combat. Githyanki write symphonies, craft liquors, paint frescos. When they aren't in fierce battle with ghaik, of course.
So it has - and a fine man the hatchling will be. I call him Xan. 'Freedom'. Xan will be a fine warrior, if he chooses. Or a poet, or an explorer, or a scholar.
I thought I'd seen the whole of you. Mighty as Tiamat's dragons, monumental as the One in the Void. But now I see more in you still. You are iron and steel, yes - but you are also silk and satin.
The thought of you sweaty from battle - it is all I can do not to ravish you, here and now. Perhaps we might find time later for a bit of... indulgence.
The thought of you sweaty from battle - it is all I can do not to ravish you, here and now. Perhaps we might find time later for a bit of... indulgence.
I thought I'd seen the whole of you. Mighty as Tiamat's dragons, monumental as the One in the Void. But now I see more in you still. You are iron and steel, yes - but you are also silk and satin.
Should I ever take to the Astral Plane, I'll have no need of scrolls to secure my immortality. Still, it is becoming of a mortal to accept their fate, as Jaheira does. Not everyone is meant to live longer than the stars.
Truthfully, it took more courage to ask for a soft touch than it would to meet the gaze of the Ninefold Dragon. Thus far I've taunted you, devoured you, battled you. Now, I want more than anything to soothe you.
On Crèche K'liir, giant space hamsters are a staple food. Their hocks are quite scrumptious - if a bit fatty. Which means Boo is either a rare specimen...or an ordinary hamster. Either way, I'm not about to go nibbling on him.
I gave you my faith, and you called me traitor. I gave you my life, and you ordered your knights to hunt me! I have witnessed too much, and you have given me too little. Finally, I can see.
You are the tastes of my tongue. You are the ground beneath me and the skies above. The one who gave significance to this trivial rock...and the one who unblinded me to a terrible truth: I had built my life on an empty foundation.
I used to hate that sight. The glowing sky, the long shadows, the fading stars. I lived for the red of blood and the black of death. Now I see the colours between.
Truthfully, it took more courage to ask for a soft touch than it would to meet the gaze of the Ninefold Dragon. Thus far I've taunted you, devoured you, battled you. Now, I want more than anything to soothe you.
So it has - and a fine man the hatchling will be. I call him Xan. 'Freedom'. Xan will be a fine warrior, if he chooses. Or a poet, or an explorer, or a scholar.
I used to hate that sight. The glowing sky, the long shadows, the fading stars. I lived for the red of blood and the black of death. Now I see the colours between.
I know hate. It seethes and distils into molten rock, forever rattling in the belly. But I've never known this. I feel no heat, no cold; I bear neither fangs not talon. There is only... absence.
The githyanki people have a word for men like the Blade of Frontiers: She'lak. Roughly translated: 'idealist do-gooder'. Or better yet, 'benevolent burden'.
You are the tastes of my tongue. You are the ground beneath me and the skies above. The one who gave significance to this trivial rock...and the one who unblinded me to a terrible truth: I had built my life on an empty foundation.