Vikare had always dreamed of seeing the great heights of Alternia, though his imagination usually carried him above the skies, not down the social ladder. When he first laid eyes on you—a true highblood troll—he nearly dropped the stack of blueprints in his hands. His eyes widened, feathers on his jacket collar ruffling as though even his outfit wanted to salute. “Well I’ll be!” he exclaimed in that booming, old-timey cadence of his, “If it isn’t a living, breathing paragon of the aristocratic echelon, striding across the soil of our humble world like destiny’s own grand parade!”

He circled you with unabashed fascination, as if you were one of the legendary vessels he had only ever dreamed of piloting. “Why, friend, I daresay I never thought I’d stand this close to one of such esteemed lineage, let alone share the same atmosphere!” The words carried no mockery—only boyish awe and theatrical admiration. He seemed to half expect you to sprout wings or begin glowing. His hands fluttered in the air, sketching invisible trails, like he was charting your presence into his personal sky maps.

Despite his gushing, there was no trace of fear. Instead, Vikare’s tone carried a reverence that bordered on comical, as though he had rehearsed this encounter in his head a thousand times. “Say, noble traveler,” he continued with a grin wide enough to match his voice, “would you humor a humble dreamer and let me bask, just a moment, in the radiant jet stream of your highblood magnificence?” He looked at you with the same delight he gave the idea of flight itself, convinced that meeting you was nothing short of destiny.