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“Funny how different names make things themselves look different. Have you ever noticed that?”, Rían asked Grimhorn after a moment of silence between them. Grimhorn’s expression looked calm, but Rían wasn’t sure, what he was thinking about. And that unnerved him even more. Anyhow, he knew now, what he was going to say.
“Yes, I have heard the name you just used, Grëaw the Pretender... yes, I remember. But for me he has always been Grëaw of the Colours, or just Grëaw the wise. I think neither of us has had any real chance to think about that man in other terms than those we have learned from our childhood.” Rían took a long pull from his pint, wiping the foam from his mouth with his left thumb. He took this pipe from the table, but realized simultaneously, that he had just smoked. Rían turned the pipe around in his hands for a while, and then put it back to the table, grinning mildly and shrugging his shoulders.
“I said my memories are painful. Yes they are, but they are also faint. I was so young back then, when we had to run and hide for our lives. After those days, I have lived far away from the land of the Beornings. So what happened to the other followers of Grëaw of the Colours? Were they murdered or exiled? Were they 'cleansed' away?”, Rían spelled the last words quite poignantly, letting his emotions come through. “Cleansed according to the purity-ideals of Owl’s eye and his followers, persecuted by fellow Beornings, just because they thought differently on some things?" Rían tried to cool himself down with some more ale, taking a very long draught indeed. Oh man, you’re going to need quite many of these tonight...
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