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Rowan halted his advance when the Highlander came out to meet the group. It was about time this show got on the road Rowan was getting REALLY tiered of waiting. There was probably going to be a big ceremony and all that jazz too before he would be allowed to go to bed. "About time," Rowan mutters, and still all those who heard his voice would be a little entranced by the supernatural quality of it.
Leave their weapons? Rowan pushed his tattered cloak aside and unclipped his razor ribbon from his slender hip. He stared down at the weapon and then up at Bruce. Rowan had taken two things from Arcadia when he had fled and that was one his leotard and two the ribbon he held in his hand. The handle was made out of dark shadow-sucking black metal that blinked and glittered with a million individual stars from within its black surface when within use, almost as if someone had grabbed a chunk of a clear winter's night and hammered it into shape and submission. The ribbon was a dark alluring purple, the kind of shade that would draw attention to its beauty and fluid grace. The ribbon was laced with razors on the edge of it, a feat that Rowan suspected was possible only by the most skilled of Faerie craftsmen.
He loved his ribbon with a passion and as much as he desired to leave the ribbon rolled up around the handle and never let it be used again, he just couldn't seem to throw it away. "Lose this," Rowan said in a calm collected voice and handed it to the Swordmaster, "And I swear by every glittering star within its handle that I WILL kill you." Handing his weapon over to a stranger was an immense sign of trust upon Rowan's behalf.
Re: Freehold of Burnt Bones: Changeling the Lost
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