[quote]"No worries lad, no worries. I'm mentally unstable, not senseless. I'd be even madder than I am now to try touching this lovely Mote here without some trials beforehand! Now come over, if you please. I don't bite, Knight's honour. Well, a former knight, but same difference. No guarantees for Ranger, though."
[/quote]

"I...I..." Griff was at a loss for words. "Okay." 

He put his hands down. No point in feigning deference. However, Griff wasn't exactly keen on sidling up next to this strange man in the eye-patch. In his mad, sing-song baritone, Griff could see how someone could get mystified at the man's casual mention of his own sanity. There was a phrase for something like that; the truly mad never considered themself such? The stranger's apparent self-awareness actually put Griff more at ease than the man's mention of a forsaken knighthood.

"Appraiser. That sounds...sounds about right," He replied after several long seconds.

The Mote was enchanting. Phosphorescent blue swirls stood out even more against the inky blackness of the night tide. Though it was simply a huge chunk of rock, every crevice and vertex of the relic seemed somehow designed; pressed into shape by diligent earthen fingers. As a craftsman, Griff could appreciate the shape. His eyes drifted upwards, to the storm of trash that gently orbited above the Mote. Old shoes. A snapped bow. Fishline and broken bottles. 

It was easy to get lost in the glow of the Mote. Waves bubbled up against the shore, spray getting caught in the airy vortex above the monolith. Several pieces of garbage would clatter together as the rhythmically jostled in orbit. A meager mewling as what Griff assumed was a crumpled piece of fabric turned out to be a mangy puppy. It pun around, upturned and small legs swimming uselessly against the invisible pull.

"We should--" 

Something happened very quickly. A girl, with long hair and wearing a white dress, folded to her knees. She was small. Griff wagered she was younger than him, though only by a few years. One of his sisters looked near about her age. As wet sand matted the strange girl's dress, he saw her lean forward. Her breath seemed to tarnish the Mote as she mindlessly moved closer.

"Don't touch it!" He hissed. "How many people must I reprimand tonight?" 

He made a motion down towards Capella, as if he was going to snatch her waifish hand out of the air. He stopped, fingers straining against instinctive reflex. The girl's hair; bifurcated perfectly down the middle, light and dark. Chimerical and otherworldly. Witchcraft? Best not to touch her. If only he had something to whap her hands with. A long stick. A piece of driftwood? No time to look. 

The puppy whined again. Griff bit his lower lip, frustrated at this turn of events. While he didn't much care for the idea of keeping a dog at his side, he couldn't just leave the animal to its assured demise. Additionally, if he could get rid of these two strangers, have some time to himself in front of the Mote, he could devise a plan to carve out shards of the monolith and make the return trip to Crossroads, only slightly behind schedule. 

"The dog," Griff said in a forced calm, "I'm here for the dog. Someone in the village, you see, in Laku...they reported a missing puppy. If we touch the Mote, disturb it in some way, who knows what will happen to the dog. But...how to pull it out?"

It wasn't a smooth lie, but it would at least obscure Griff's real reason for coming here tonight. It could also distract these strangers and stop them from potentially ruining his plans. Motes were finnicky, as the stories went. Capricious. If someone touched it, the Mote could blast off into the sky. Erupt in a shower of acid. Griff needed to ensure that it was he and he alone that would make first contact and shave off a piece.