Dramaturgy - Printable Version

Vanyel set down his tea cup, no longer thirsty. At least, not for tea.

”... I have a feeling that those I bring won't leave with themselves completely intact,” he said, ”Let me guess, you'll take their voices? Tongues? What if I retrieved the limb of someone equally as talented but not as close to my heart?”

Or, well, his mother's heart. He didn't know Attikias well enough aside from her stories of him, and had really only met the man in passing. He seemed like a decent fellow, enough that he'd feel a bit bad about taking one of his hands.

”I'm selfish,” he said, ”I really want the instrument you offered but I love my mom a lot. Enough that I'm reluctant to do anything to hurt her. But I won't feel as bad if I do it to someone I don't know. So long as she remains ignorant, honestly, nothing's off the table. I'll get you a singer's tongue, or an artist's hand, or what have you, so long as it's not from one of my own people.”

That meant all of the Elenyas. And maybe the Seven, since that's where James was, and Carja liked him too. God, was there a person she didn't like? She was so naive...