Set
11-27-2018, 04:18 PM
There are very few in this world – or any world – whose opinions mean anything to him.
His eyes roll back down, tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth with an audible snick. “Perhaps not,” he says with a raised brow, outwardly ignoring Leilan’s dry, internal comment on mindreading. What was the point in being so damn powerful – power that he had earned in the raw light of battle, not that he had petitioned some fairy for or won in one of those quests some of them go on about – if he didn’t use it?
His scars itch, silver knots of raised tissue raked across his shoulders, and he moves to the highest side of the crater, stepping over several rocks half embedded in the ice. With a low groan, he pushes one side up against the rough wall, trying to find an angle to relieve his itching. His helping magic draws back into him when Leilan brushes past him, clearly unimpressed by Set's willingness to assist him, and climbs back out. ”You know what your problem is, Set?” Leilan’s voice is muffled, out of sight, and Set leaves his bear-like scratching to walk to the other side. Rather than climbing back out as he had climbed in, in horse form, there’s a hazy black and white shift in the air, a flash of pain that he’s long grown accustomed to, and a domestic tabby climbs back onto level ground. "You read our minds, and that makes you think you know everything about us." Unconcerned, he pads along the edge of the crater. When he finds a patch of brown grass and dirt, he sits down to groom himself.
At some point he leaves Leilan’s head. The dragon-roan is going around and around, chasing the same thoughts – both dizzying and tedious.
Everyone wanted a magician around when it was convenient for them, but cue a mage who delights in his magic and practices it every chance he gets ... There as a time that Set was just a horse, nary a hint of magic in his veins. His father had come from somewhere beyond Beqanna, where they took young stallions from their mothers to fully immersed them in the art of war. Set's own mother found, for the most part, the traits of others distasteful, a crutch, and perhaps there was a time that he had thought the same, devoted to her as he was. She had eventually come to accept him, her triumphant and bloodied boy, and in her acceptance he had found his real self – the version that now lounges brazenly before an ice-drake in the form of a common housecat.
“Not entirely,” he finally replies, yellow eyes following Leilan back down into the crater. “But I could.” And he leaves it at that. It is true, he has been gone for a long time. Does it matter? Not a bit. He is still just as powerful – even more so with Phasus at his side. He has no aspirations to be a god, nor a fairy. He has been a king, for over a decade - of one of the most commanding kingdoms in Beqanna. He has no current desire to lead the masses of Beqanna. He is adrift, with few goals beyond the immediate now.
“Indulge me, then, Leilan. What do you, as a non-magician, see and hear?”
His eyes roll back down, tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth with an audible snick. “Perhaps not,” he says with a raised brow, outwardly ignoring Leilan’s dry, internal comment on mindreading. What was the point in being so damn powerful – power that he had earned in the raw light of battle, not that he had petitioned some fairy for or won in one of those quests some of them go on about – if he didn’t use it?
His scars itch, silver knots of raised tissue raked across his shoulders, and he moves to the highest side of the crater, stepping over several rocks half embedded in the ice. With a low groan, he pushes one side up against the rough wall, trying to find an angle to relieve his itching. His helping magic draws back into him when Leilan brushes past him, clearly unimpressed by Set's willingness to assist him, and climbs back out. ”You know what your problem is, Set?” Leilan’s voice is muffled, out of sight, and Set leaves his bear-like scratching to walk to the other side. Rather than climbing back out as he had climbed in, in horse form, there’s a hazy black and white shift in the air, a flash of pain that he’s long grown accustomed to, and a domestic tabby climbs back onto level ground. "You read our minds, and that makes you think you know everything about us." Unconcerned, he pads along the edge of the crater. When he finds a patch of brown grass and dirt, he sits down to groom himself.
At some point he leaves Leilan’s head. The dragon-roan is going around and around, chasing the same thoughts – both dizzying and tedious.
Everyone wanted a magician around when it was convenient for them, but cue a mage who delights in his magic and practices it every chance he gets ... There as a time that Set was just a horse, nary a hint of magic in his veins. His father had come from somewhere beyond Beqanna, where they took young stallions from their mothers to fully immersed them in the art of war. Set's own mother found, for the most part, the traits of others distasteful, a crutch, and perhaps there was a time that he had thought the same, devoted to her as he was. She had eventually come to accept him, her triumphant and bloodied boy, and in her acceptance he had found his real self – the version that now lounges brazenly before an ice-drake in the form of a common housecat.
“Not entirely,” he finally replies, yellow eyes following Leilan back down into the crater. “But I could.” And he leaves it at that. It is true, he has been gone for a long time. Does it matter? Not a bit. He is still just as powerful – even more so with Phasus at his side. He has no aspirations to be a god, nor a fairy. He has been a king, for over a decade - of one of the most commanding kingdoms in Beqanna. He has no current desire to lead the masses of Beqanna. He is adrift, with few goals beyond the immediate now.
“Indulge me, then, Leilan. What do you, as a non-magician, see and hear?”