of fire and ice;; eira, any

[magnus]

— find what you love and let it kill you —

Magnus may have been born and raised a Prince, but he had never thought of himself of the fairy tale kind. Too much darkness burned in his veins, at the edges of his vision; too much sin curdled in his belly. His birthright had been a poison that he had done his best to overcome but one with venom that had never been fully sucked from his flesh. He had been gifted with the wildness of the Jungle, the sharpness of the Chamber; he had been born a child of the jaguar and the panther and raised a weapon.

Although love had later softened his edges, give him reason to temper his hunger, it had never sated it. The goodness that he saw in others did not always come easily, or naturally to him. It was always just a little too tempting to give into his anger, to hand himself over to his rage; the blackness of the shadows were always just a little too alluring to ever let himself live unchecked, unmeasured, unguarded.

Still, these dark desires are battened down and hidden behind the friendly gaze of his gold-flecked eyes. He played his cards close to his chest and instead nodded his head in greeting, twisting his handsome head toward Eira, his scarred lips lifting into a crooked, warm smile. “Eira, it is a pleasure.” He glanced around her for a moment before realizing that the child was not with her today. “And how is Hope doing?”

His attention however was drawn back to the visitor and his expression grew more somber, mouth flattening in thought as he considered her. At her offer, he rolled his shoulders lightly. “I have no magic to be restored,” his voice was whiskey-heat in his throat but there was no shame in the words. He had never minded that he was one of the few ungifted to wander Beqanna. He had seen the way magic burned down homes and destroyed families—the easy way that it could corrupt. Magnus had always trusted in the strength of his back and the sweat on his brow. He never feel the need to supplement it with anything else.

“However, if knowledge of war is what you are after, I could be of assistance.” His body would be a testament to that. Magnus was not particularly tall or foreboding, but he was obviously built for battle and his body wore the scars of it. He had been in battles, in wars, in raids. He had spilled blood and felt it seep from his own wounds. Thoughtful, he looked toward Eira for a moment, wondering if she was in need of such a gift, before glancing back to Raeg’n. “I would be happy to provide it,” a pause as he gestured toward Eira, “although I would ask that you first help should she be in need of such restoration.”

magnus