[Ah yes, Carlisle's family, consisting of two uncles he mentions all the time and holds in high regard, his father he only passingly mentions on occasion and for whom he has no warmth to his tone, and his mother he never mentions at all. There's never any question which members of his family he was closest to.
He's about to ask what it is Qubit would like to hear about them, but he sees that shake of his head, and decides to just make a decision himself to save his friend another decision. Let his mind rest.]
How about a story? Something to digest while you drink.
[And something far from where they are now.]
Uncle Benistad — a magician by trade — and my father, Kevin, could be quite competitive when it came right down to it. It was one afternoon on a long journey that the two of them — and my Uncle Boris with them — found themselves in a town that was hosting an archery contest. The prize was a night in the inn's most popular room: the Duke's Suite, a lodging practically fit for a king.
Now, my uncles and my father could afford lodging when they wanted it, but the fact of the matter was that there was a competition to be had among them, and so Uncle Benistad challenged the other two to the contest. The winner of them would get the suite; the losers would share a bed in the cheapest available room.
One would think my father, as the natural archer, would be the guaranteed winner, and indeed, he hit the target with deadly aim from the first shot. Uncle Benistad was a clever man, however, and when his turn rolled around, he enchanted his arrow to target my father's. His shot split Kevin's down the middle, and the hosts had to call it a draw. They would make shots until there was a clear winner between the two of them. Turn after turn and arrow after arrow they went. Every time Benistad would make sure his didn't miss, my father would match it. When my father fired a perfect shot, Benistad would manipulate the wind to move it ever so slightly from its mark. Eventually, they were down to one arrow.
It was then that the judges realized they still had one competitor who had not yet made a shot: Uncle Boris. Uncle Boris, though he'd been trained with the bow when he was younger, had not used one in well over a decade. The bow they had for him to use was not a greatbow, but a standard one too small for his brawny arms. He drew it back and it unceremoniously snapped in half.
Thankfully, the arrow itself remained. Both my father and Benistad began bargaining, attempting to appeal to Boris' mercy so that he would allow them the final shot. My father promised him the pelt of his next kill; Benistad offered advanced enchantments. When bribery wouldn't work, they pleaded. 'I was always your favorite brother,' insisted one; 'Ah, but it was I who sucked the venom from your leg when bitten by the Wayward Eel of the Alabaster Cliffs,' said the other.
This devolved into further bickering, until finally, Uncle Boris could take no more. In a rare moment of anger, he hurled the final arrow at the target, lack of bow be damned. The shaft pierced the dead center, cut clean through, and struck the leg behind it, knocking the whole thing over. The judges were so impressed with his immense strength that they awarded him the victory on the spot.
And when Kevin and Benistad tried to argue, those same judges insisted Boris was the clear winner: after all, he'd had to put up with them for nearly his entire life. What better man to allow a night of peace away from the two of them in lodgings fit for a king?
Kind and generous as Uncle Boris was — and he was the most generous of them by far — he did take the room for that night, and often said it was the best sleep he ever had. As for my father and Uncle Benistad, they shared a bed that night that was too small for either of them, but at least they came to an agreement: they would never again drag Uncle Boris into their petty squabbles.
no subject
He's about to ask what it is Qubit would like to hear about them, but he sees that shake of his head, and decides to just make a decision himself to save his friend another decision. Let his mind rest.]
How about a story? Something to digest while you drink.
[And something far from where they are now.]
Uncle Benistad — a magician by trade — and my father, Kevin, could be quite competitive when it came right down to it. It was one afternoon on a long journey that the two of them — and my Uncle Boris with them — found themselves in a town that was hosting an archery contest. The prize was a night in the inn's most popular room: the Duke's Suite, a lodging practically fit for a king.
Now, my uncles and my father could afford lodging when they wanted it, but the fact of the matter was that there was a competition to be had among them, and so Uncle Benistad challenged the other two to the contest. The winner of them would get the suite; the losers would share a bed in the cheapest available room.
One would think my father, as the natural archer, would be the guaranteed winner, and indeed, he hit the target with deadly aim from the first shot. Uncle Benistad was a clever man, however, and when his turn rolled around, he enchanted his arrow to target my father's. His shot split Kevin's down the middle, and the hosts had to call it a draw. They would make shots until there was a clear winner between the two of them. Turn after turn and arrow after arrow they went. Every time Benistad would make sure his didn't miss, my father would match it. When my father fired a perfect shot, Benistad would manipulate the wind to move it ever so slightly from its mark. Eventually, they were down to one arrow.
It was then that the judges realized they still had one competitor who had not yet made a shot: Uncle Boris. Uncle Boris, though he'd been trained with the bow when he was younger, had not used one in well over a decade. The bow they had for him to use was not a greatbow, but a standard one too small for his brawny arms. He drew it back and it unceremoniously snapped in half.
Thankfully, the arrow itself remained. Both my father and Benistad began bargaining, attempting to appeal to Boris' mercy so that he would allow them the final shot. My father promised him the pelt of his next kill; Benistad offered advanced enchantments. When bribery wouldn't work, they pleaded. 'I was always your favorite brother,' insisted one; 'Ah, but it was I who sucked the venom from your leg when bitten by the Wayward Eel of the Alabaster Cliffs,' said the other.
This devolved into further bickering, until finally, Uncle Boris could take no more. In a rare moment of anger, he hurled the final arrow at the target, lack of bow be damned. The shaft pierced the dead center, cut clean through, and struck the leg behind it, knocking the whole thing over. The judges were so impressed with his immense strength that they awarded him the victory on the spot.
And when Kevin and Benistad tried to argue, those same judges insisted Boris was the clear winner: after all, he'd had to put up with them for nearly his entire life. What better man to allow a night of peace away from the two of them in lodgings fit for a king?
Kind and generous as Uncle Boris was — and he was the most generous of them by far — he did take the room for that night, and often said it was the best sleep he ever had. As for my father and Uncle Benistad, they shared a bed that night that was too small for either of them, but at least they came to an agreement: they would never again drag Uncle Boris into their petty squabbles.