From the seat in the corner, overlooking the rest of the room but not instantly drawing attention to himself, Maever sat, inspecting the rest of the room with his bittern on his lap. Since he'd completed all his paperwork and there was nobody to coddle, he didn't feel bad sitting back and playing the bittern, a soft and relaxing tune that drifted across the room like a gentle breeze. He could do this, when it was quiet; too many people and he would put the instrument away. The Illianer supposed he ought to feel happy and content.
On mornings like this Maever didn't know what to do next. Not in an instant sense, but in a longer term, existential crisis sort of way. His life spread out before him - he was a mere 90 years old, quite young for a channeller and certainly not old for the Head of Ajah role. His parents were dead and had been for quite some time. He had outlived some of his nieces and nephews by this point, though he didn't like to learn more about them than was absolutely necessary. What was next for the Illianer? He was conducting some research into the uses of medicinal herbs, and he had finally gotten the hang of playing an instrument.
Things were quiet... but maybe they were a little too quiet. And that was coming from Maever. Perhaps it was time for an adventure. A sabbatical. Some travelling and shenanigans. Perhaps he could convince Dax to go somewhere with him, were he to head on out for a few months exploring the world.
- Spoiler: show