Victarian hadn’t been a part of the scramble. From afar he had watched the world explode into chaos and disarray. It was tempting at one point to be a part of it, but then the allure died away and he became comfortable in his silence. He had no rush to find a home, no fear of having lost his prowess.
A laugh had slipped past his lips when he saw the magicians grimace and squander when pieces of their souls had been seeped from their bones. They need powers to make them strong; he doesn’t. The magicians think they are superior, but they aren’t. Here they are, reduced to normalcy – faced with being everything they weren’t before. Somehow it brought a rush of satisfaction, of comfort, to see the magicians so unhappy and so angry at their reduction.
They’re trying to win pieces of themselves back all the while Victarian comfortably strolls with no rush or urgency. He roams aimlessly and experiences s musings of a nomad. It’s as though his legs are uncontrolled, taking him across vast miles without his realizing where he had really been. The only time he takes pause is when he is confronted by towering trees much like a palisade. The sunlight is dappled, barely reaching the forest floor. Quietly he observes how the branches sway with a strong breeze and how a deer and fawn placidly walk across a newly-found trail. It’s peaceful here, but he isn’t quite sure where ‘here’ is.
Lurching back into motion Victarian wanders deeper into this new world with increasing curiosity. It’s just another forest, he assumes, without seeming an end. His legs are robotic in how they never plan to stop until a mare grasps his attention. She breaks the scenery just by being there, standing sentinel. With hushed footsteps he approaches until their bodies are fairly close, their eyes meeting for the first time. ”What is this place?” He doesn’t know these new herdlands, or even really the old ones, and so he hungrily waits for the flow of information whilst his eyes rove across her.
Victarian
just because we check the guns at the door
doesn't mean our brains will change from hand grenades