Oh—it's a region. The Holy See of Ishgard is within its boundaries, which is the city state I hail from.
[He says it all as if he's gloating, and maybe he is a little. He is the son of one of the four high houses, after all! And that is something worth gloating over. Or, at least, he thinks so.
But when she goes on... about how long she's been here, and how long others have, any gloating, or preening he might have been doing (or totally was doing) wilts. Instead, it's steadily replaced by a horrified expression. Sure, whatever, a few days in the snow that's fine, he can deal with that! It sucks, but he'll survive probably!
But 50 days. Nearly two moons stuck in this snowy hell? That is unacceptable.]
That's... awful. Nay, that's terrible! Fifty days? Fifty days... And I hadn't seen one tavern or pub here, neither! How is a man to survive this frosty hell for so long without even a single sip of ale for due comfort!
[Yes, that's his concern. Sure, he doesn't like being in the cold, but how is this medieval french elf noble going to get his drink on to cope!?
He starts to pace a little in front of the fire.]
Pray tell me I merely missed the tavern on my way in—there...there has to be one! I cannot hope to survive in this veritable hell if there is not. 'Tis cruel beyond measure to think of such a reality.
no subject
[He says it all as if he's gloating, and maybe he is a little. He is the son of one of the four high houses, after all! And that is something worth gloating over. Or, at least, he thinks so.
But when she goes on... about how long she's been here, and how long others have, any gloating, or preening he might have been doing (or totally was doing) wilts. Instead, it's steadily replaced by a horrified expression. Sure, whatever, a few days in the snow that's fine, he can deal with that! It sucks, but he'll survive probably!
But 50 days. Nearly two moons stuck in this snowy hell? That is unacceptable.]
That's... awful. Nay, that's terrible! Fifty days? Fifty days... And I hadn't seen one tavern or pub here, neither! How is a man to survive this frosty hell for so long without even a single sip of ale for due comfort!
[Yes, that's his concern. Sure, he doesn't like being in the cold, but how is this medieval french elf noble going to get his drink on to cope!?
He starts to pace a little in front of the fire.]
Pray tell me I merely missed the tavern on my way in—there...there has to be one! I cannot hope to survive in this veritable hell if there is not. 'Tis cruel beyond measure to think of such a reality.
[Someone needs a sippy cup of mead...]