02-24-2016, 12:47 PM
no matter what they say, I am still the king
The Valley was quiet – as she usually was. It was really how they liked it here, it seemed. Shadows and sullenness and keeping to one’s self. Eight didn’t mind it, not really. He was more of a lone figure himself. He arrived when he was needed (and somehow he always knew when that was) – and he stayed on the sidelines elsewise.
Now, it seemed he was needed.
It was no secret that the tremor of war hung on the edges of Beqanna. For the past few years, there were stirrings of words, inklings of tension in the lands- and now it seemed it had come to fruition. The first wheels were turning- and once set in motion, they would only begin to whir faster and faster. There was no stopping warfare once it begun.
There was no soul that entered or left the Valley without Eight’s knowledge (benefits and hindrances of being a magician, I suppose). Now, whether he chose to act upon greeting or bidding them farewell was another thing entirely. For the most part, he chose to stay silent – to continue his lurk through the tall trees of the forest and meander upon his own.
However, every now and then there was a reason for him to stir from his throne of thorns and come down the mountain and see what was array. And this, was one of those cases.
The faces and voices of the little group roll through his mind like a reel – shadow wolves and formalities and the news of war. The Death Parade was just about to begin.
He arrives with a small shudder of air in the atmosphere – appearing quietly at the edge of the group. “ I believe I can help you with that.” He spoke well stepping closer to the trio, and once reaching the edge of their small cluster, closed his eyes ever just a moment longer than a usual blink. When he opened them, a slight blur surrounded them. The group could still see perfectly outwards – however to the rest of the world, they were imperceptible in both sight and sound. As private as could be.
“Eight.” He said, towards Rhonan and Killdare. Best not to be rude, right?
Now, it seemed he was needed.
It was no secret that the tremor of war hung on the edges of Beqanna. For the past few years, there were stirrings of words, inklings of tension in the lands- and now it seemed it had come to fruition. The first wheels were turning- and once set in motion, they would only begin to whir faster and faster. There was no stopping warfare once it begun.
There was no soul that entered or left the Valley without Eight’s knowledge (benefits and hindrances of being a magician, I suppose). Now, whether he chose to act upon greeting or bidding them farewell was another thing entirely. For the most part, he chose to stay silent – to continue his lurk through the tall trees of the forest and meander upon his own.
However, every now and then there was a reason for him to stir from his throne of thorns and come down the mountain and see what was array. And this, was one of those cases.
The faces and voices of the little group roll through his mind like a reel – shadow wolves and formalities and the news of war. The Death Parade was just about to begin.
He arrives with a small shudder of air in the atmosphere – appearing quietly at the edge of the group. “ I believe I can help you with that.” He spoke well stepping closer to the trio, and once reaching the edge of their small cluster, closed his eyes ever just a moment longer than a usual blink. When he opened them, a slight blur surrounded them. The group could still see perfectly outwards – however to the rest of the world, they were imperceptible in both sight and sound. As private as could be.
“Eight.” He said, towards Rhonan and Killdare. Best not to be rude, right?
∞
and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in