who: @despairlyklor where: the shoreline, which one, idk, I didn't pull up a map when: as the first group leaves to scout for survivors notes: yum yum yum some delicious despair for our boyo at the end!
A plume of black smoke had been billowing on the horizon for some time now and it seemed to be a common understanding that the Kossith vessel that had ghosted away so many of Taravell’s finest had exploded. Talisa’s stomach had been in knots since the first scout reported seeing it on the horizon. The defeat of the Arishok had been an unexpected boon, but the victory was short lived for the Steel Dragon when news of the explosion circulated and she could not disguise her anxieties from those close to her no matter how hard she tried. Fyren would know she was afraid that it would be a recovery of Nyla’s body rather than a rescue, and it had been unspoken that they would be amongst the first to fly out to whatever wreckage could be found.
Talisa chewed her nails, an unusual habit for someone who took pride in her pristinely manicured hands and overall visage, as she stood at the water’s edge with Lyklor. She had confided in him regarding her anxieties and fears over Nyla’s fate during Kossith's presence on more than one account. It was why she was there, after all, and why she had been so insistent that Lyklor lent his services as well. Her mask of vanity and frivolity was practiced and polished, a coping mechanism she relied heavily on, but in the present moment she could not keep every crack in it concealed.
“I’ll be flying out with Fyren,” she said, staring out at the black smoke on the horizon. “We’re leaving soon. I know you won’t be far behind. But do make sure you’re cautious, won’t you?” Talisa peered up at him, her expression just short of batting her eyelashes at him, as if she needed to mold or manipulate him to her will that he be careful. But the expression crumbled in a moment, and she barely whispered, “What if she isn’t alright?”
