"Well, that's good," he says, blankly, with a few surprised blinks before shaking his head as if to clear it. "Sorry- it's just-"
"There were mages, back where I came from. With loose morals and even looser concepts of respect." And an ancient dragon god of destruction unimpressed with humanity hell bent on destroying everything, and lording it over those left in their wake using the faces of those who would hurt the most, but he doesn't say that aloud.
(He's grateful to Naga, for her counsel, and general apparent benevolence, but can't quite entirely stamp out the barest flicker of resentment that what feels like it should have been an affair for those designated as gods was left for those below them to deal with. But then again, maybe that's only his forgotten upbringing as Grimleal speaking. Not worth thinking about.)
Instead, he unfolds his arms and raises a hand to allow a few tendrils of aimless dark magic to curl out from it, slow and soft flickers of violet-black.
They bounce, a little, when he waggles his fingers, miming puppetry. Then it all vanishes as he releases the nosferatu spell again.
"I'm glad, though!" he follows up. "That you have family here." Skeletons made of magic, and not of someone's remains. Certainly a form to be given them, and rife for misunderstanding... he'd suspect a joke were it not for how fervent they are. No, the child cares, and he can't fault them for anger when they're only defending the ones they're close to. Something about the thought strikes true, somewhere, and- he almost smiles.
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Date: 2018-04-20 10:10 pm (UTC)"There were mages, back where I came from. With loose morals and even looser concepts of respect." And an ancient dragon god of destruction unimpressed with humanity hell bent on destroying everything, and lording it over those left in their wake using the faces of those who would hurt the most, but he doesn't say that aloud.
(He's grateful to Naga, for her counsel, and general apparent benevolence, but can't quite entirely stamp out the barest flicker of resentment that what feels like it should have been an affair for those designated as gods was left for those below them to deal with. But then again, maybe that's only his forgotten upbringing as Grimleal speaking. Not worth thinking about.)
Instead, he unfolds his arms and raises a hand to allow a few tendrils of aimless dark magic to curl out from it, slow and soft flickers of violet-black.
They bounce, a little, when he waggles his fingers, miming puppetry. Then it all vanishes as he releases the nosferatu spell again.
"I'm glad, though!" he follows up. "That you have family here." Skeletons made of magic, and not of someone's remains. Certainly a form to be given them, and rife for misunderstanding... he'd suspect a joke were it not for how fervent they are. No, the child cares, and he can't fault them for anger when they're only defending the ones they're close to. Something about the thought strikes true, somewhere, and- he almost smiles.
"Are you the oldest, then?"