Durene Faerise
- Durene
Aliases for Durene Faerise
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Total mentions
4271
mentions
First mentioned in chapter
Last mentioned in chapter
Total mentions
Mentions
Chapters with the most mentions
Interlude chapters are abbreviated with "I." for readability.
Books with the most mentions
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Volumes with the most mentions
Mentions
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171
| Chapter | Text |
|---|---|
| 3.00 E | “My name is Durene. How did you end up here, Mister Laken?” |
| 3.00 E | “Sorry Durene, I’m going to go out on a limb here, but…could you tell me what the year is? And what nation I’m in?” |
| 3.00 E | “I must be. Durene, do I look…unusual to you?” |
| 3.00 E | I’ve heard of a blush as well. Based on people’s descriptions and the one time I touched someone while they were blushing, I imagine heat filling their face. That’s certainly how it feels to me, and I suspect, Durene at the moment. |
| 3.00 E | Rumbling. Gurgling. A massive stomach. And I remember I do have something in one of my hands. I smile even as I sense Durene shifting and presumably, blushing. |
| 3.00 E | “Durene, would you like to share this quiche with me?” |
| 3.00 E | I sit down on the ground. After a second, I sense someone sitting next to me. I don’t have a fork, but it’s no trouble to lever the quiche out of the tin container and break it apart. I give the bigger section to Durene over her protests and we eat and sit and talk. |
| 3.00 E | That was how I met Durene, and my introduction to another world. As I said, I would have liked to eat my quiche first. It was only lukewarm at that point, but at least the company was nice. |
| 3.00 E | That mildly surprised Durene, when she found I was up and quietly exploring her house. She lives in a rather large house next to a stream. I can’t imagine it as a whole yet, but my exploration and her descriptions of the building give me the sense of a building of wood and rough stone, but carefully patched to avoid the elements or nature getting in. The stone floor is only slightly rough on my bare feet, and the lone window has no glass. |
| 3.00 E | In short, this is a medieval building, and from what Durene told me in our hours-long chat yesterday, this is a medieval world. With magic. And only a limited grasp of technology. She was amazed to see my fiberglass cane; she exclaimed over the material as if it were alien to her world, which it was, in a sense. |
| 3.00 E | Now I sit at a table, feeling like a midget in the chair Durene put me in while she clatters around the kitchen. I can smell something cooking, and it sounds like she’s making eggs. The scent of warm bread is already filling my nostrils. |
| 3.00 E | That makes me smile. I may act calm, but I spent a good bit of last night while Durene was snoring outside freaking out and trying to affirm I really wasn’t hallucinating. I have a sore arm from all the times I’ve pinched myself. |
| 3.00 E | Another miraculous invention by her standards. I think it was actually that which convinced Durene I was from another world. That, and my iPhone. I think Siri scared Durene more than anything else. |
| 3.00 E | Another miraculous invention by her standards. I think it was actually that which convinced Durene I was from another world. That, and my iPhone. I think Siri scared Durene more than anything else. |
| 3.00 E | So is having a friend. I smile at Durene. |
| 3.00 E | “I don’t think my world is that special. But I am glad you found me, Durene. I’ve always found that I can trust most strangers.” |
| 3.00 E | “But you’re not. And I have a good sense for people, or at least, I like to think so. You seem like a very nice person, Durene.” |
| 3.00 E | It’s hard not to notice her chomping down her food, to be honest. Durene shifts in her chair, making the wood creak. |
| 3.00 E | Is she young? Durene sounds like she’s a bit younger than I am. Of course, I’m terrible at judging ages so she could be anywhere from my age to still in her teens. Girls grow up quicker than guys, after all. |
| 3.00 E | Back to the conversation. Durene apparently lives in a small village of around sixty souls, most of whom live closer to each other. They inhabit a lovely area of farming land fed by a river, hence the name Riverfarm. The people there grow crops and raise animals—they have a blacksmith, and a dedicated person to go and trade for them at a town, that person having the most skill at buying and selling. |
| 3.00 E | Oh yes, this world has adventurers and the weirdest postal service I can imagine. But what stands out to me in all of Durene’s explanations is an odd…lack of detail. Namely herself. |
| 3.00 E | Durene doesn’t live in the village. From what she says, the only other people who live alone are bachelors or bachelorettes or those who have lost their partners. But Durene is far too young to fit either criteria, and she tells me she’s never met an adventurer, despite them being popular with all the kids. |
| 3.00 E | Durene doesn’t live in the village. From what she says, the only other people who live alone are bachelors or bachelorettes or those who have lost their partners. But Durene is far too young to fit either criteria, and she tells me she’s never met an adventurer, despite them being popular with all the kids. |
| 3.00 E | I smell a rat. And Durene. She still smells…off. If I met other people I might understand what’s different about her, but until then I just keep the conversation going and tell her a bit about where I come from. |
| 3.00 E | That’s me Laken Godart, blind son to two fairly affluent parents, one a lawyer, the other a businessman. I’ve travelled more places than Durene’s heard of, and I’m blind. That’s a basic description, but the key to selling yourself is embellishment. |