09-08-2016, 09:10 AM
no matter what they say, I am still the king
Immortality is such an outlandish thing. To live forever – to never wrinkle, never age, never mar your skin with the aches of life. To cheat death year after year – why, you would think it exciting, but instead it grows old. You, Ashley, should know. The life of a magician is never quite what it seems. While others may pine for the power, the chance to wield the world in their hands – they hardly realize that it becomes a chore. Your life becomes one long stretch of curling days after the next. You bide your time becoming a king, fathering children, creating friendships, wreaking havoc, fighting wars – you do whatever you may find feasible to keep you occupied. But how long can that last? How long can healing and hurting and battling and conjuring really tide you over?
Eight had lost his kingdom, and the magic inside his veins. It was strange, really, how fickle life could be. How one moment you are content to have everything, and the next moment the rug is pulled up from under you – you are left with dust in your mouth and your palms clutching at empty air. You are orphaned by your body and your land, with no true reason to continue. For, who are you without your power and your home?
Odder even, was that Eight did not quite seem to care so much. For so long, he had been characterized as the magician king. He was no Carnage, no ‘god among them all’- but he was certainly one of the few magicians who resiliently stayed in Beqanna, one of the few to seek for bartering, for protection, for battle. For so long, Eight was sought for the power he controlled. And now? Now he was simply like the rest of them, no better (but perhaps worse).
He is in the meadow when you find him, unadorned save for the large, black wings that were left to him. Have you two met? Perhaps only Beqanna knows. With magic and the ever undulating life that comes with it, it is far to easy to meet, greet, and never remember again.
He looks towards you with a small nod. “Come to see the clamoring of lost souls and glaring realization of normalcy? “
Eight had lost his kingdom, and the magic inside his veins. It was strange, really, how fickle life could be. How one moment you are content to have everything, and the next moment the rug is pulled up from under you – you are left with dust in your mouth and your palms clutching at empty air. You are orphaned by your body and your land, with no true reason to continue. For, who are you without your power and your home?
Odder even, was that Eight did not quite seem to care so much. For so long, he had been characterized as the magician king. He was no Carnage, no ‘god among them all’- but he was certainly one of the few magicians who resiliently stayed in Beqanna, one of the few to seek for bartering, for protection, for battle. For so long, Eight was sought for the power he controlled. And now? Now he was simply like the rest of them, no better (but perhaps worse).
He is in the meadow when you find him, unadorned save for the large, black wings that were left to him. Have you two met? Perhaps only Beqanna knows. With magic and the ever undulating life that comes with it, it is far to easy to meet, greet, and never remember again.
He looks towards you with a small nod. “Come to see the clamoring of lost souls and glaring realization of normalcy? “
∞
and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in
@[Ashley]