Gryphon closes his eyes and bites the inside of his lower lip for a second to stifle his frustration with the ambassador’s parenting decisions, with Ghastor’s uselessness, with Kleris’ placating attitude, and with everyone else for excusing their dispassion with professionalism.

What the hells is wrong with these humans? A kid, Layla, is gonna get hurt because we’ve been so f***ing narcissistically fixated on our own egos!

He shakes his head slightly but can’t master his thoughts before memories of receiving the letter that informed him that his parent’s ship had gone down and they were MIA, coalesce in his mind.

Dad left the church of the flame as an apostate to fight a war he thought was morally right. Mom was a once in a generation bard and scholar; they were heroes, officers…adventurers. Adventures BEGIN with a ship getting knocked out of the sky, not end that way. It was just… such bull****, it didn’t make sense, it wasn’t fair…

But it was what happened. They never returned, just like the pension check the navy promised never showed up. The chef, the maid, even his tutor stopped showing up; they weren’t getting paid and their loyalty to the little rich boy who lost his parents didn’t extend beyond the last paycheck they received. Within a fortnight of the letter’s arrival he was alone in the manor house, eating the last of the food, cold out of the larder, staring out the windows like a ghost, at Sien and the other kids that he used to play with.

The cascade of thoughts refuses to slow as he remembers selling everything he could in the house, everything that reminded him of his parents and his life to pay his caravan ticket out of Stormhome. The lack of anything resembling care from the Tharashk mercenaries, and then his arrival in the Great Crag itself.

His first moments with his new family were defined by the unanesthetized splitting of his tongue and it was a perfect preamble for his next 12 years. Was not nearly every inch, aside from his face and hands, of his body covered in tattoos, carvings, scars, and brands to increase his arcane power? Was not every moment spent training or preparing for his eventual role as Droaam’s bridge to Khorvaire? Etiquette lessons, spellcasting theory, swordsmanship, and political science. Even sleep was no reprieve as nightly his mind was invaded with Dream spells as his daily lessons continued into the 8 hours he spend in Dal Quor.

And thank gods I had grandmothers who loved me. What’s gonna become of Layla without anyone like my family to look after her? How can everyone just be so flippant about her fate?

Finally mastering his thoughts, Gryphon returns to the present. Yes. Yes, Sir Kleris, I can sweep the room for magic but it’s going to take me 10 minutes. Perhaps it would be better to move everyone to a more secure room in the interim. Once we determine this room is clear from prying ears, perhaps, Professor Shardstone, you might be able to perform a quick veracity test to determine if anyone here has loose lips. Then we can set up an area free from divinations. Oh and… I’m sorry for my outburst and admonishment, Ambassador, it was out of line.

Spoiler: OOC
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Gryphon ritual casts Detect Magic and scans the room for magic that someone might be using to spy on The Reprieve.