81st of Fall, 519 AV
HD Approval Thread
That man was supposed to be meat for the half-Zith’s family.
Zordon had paid careful attention to the Damazar since he’d first spotted the blond-haired bastard talking to the other Svefra that had arrived on the shore. It had taken the mage quite the journey to find the man he’d been tasked to look for: A warrior who was stupid enough to fall into a trap, and blind enough to miss the truth of his situation back in Sunberth.
Shaking his head with a smile, the half-zith walked forward, barefoot in the sand, watching the tides wash over the rocks. He was looking forward to seeing his old friend. There was a time when they were more aptly called enemies, but Zordon only hoped that they had both let bygones be bygones.
That is, if Dessarian Damazar was indeed still on his side.
A part of Zordon wished he hadn’t told the warrior’s men about the Svefra rumour from long ago. The rumour that there had been a silver eyed Kelvic sea eagle that was traded to the gangs in Sunberth. If he hadn’t told Dess about the lucky Kelvic, none of this would've ever come to pass. They could've both stayed peacefully ignorant amongst their now dead brothers and sisters. But even he could admit that the loss of the K’etir had been a blow to the Damazar’s ego and pride. Zordon had been relieved to finally get the chance to see his private foe have fire in his eyes again, knowing that his promised creature might be safe.
They’d grown up together, Zordon and Dess, more or less. Don was many seasons older than the warrior, but while one was experiencing the beginnings of adolescence, the other was in the middle of his blooming rebellious youth. They’d shared similar training where they were from and had both come to learn the basics of The Flux, which had been standard for the Damazars and Drust at the time. But the half-zith had far more interest in his own family’s specialties, which involved some magics that caused more trouble than they were worth, in hindsight.
Zordon continued to walk along the shore when he spotted a dark blue pebble. He bent down, picking up the smooth stone, and turned it over in his hand. His loose-fitting pants of light linen allowed the movement easily but the weight in his rucksack and the axe belted to his side made him adjust his balance using a hand placed on the ground. With a swish of his fingers gesturing in different directions before an arching arm, he sent the stone flying through the air, making it skip across the water multiple times, his half-zith eyes squinting in the light as he watched it sink in the distance.
He'd been angry with himself. Furious, knowing that he’d let his friend follow the sorry symbol of their demise.
Hey Don, at least you’re here now, remember? We just need to find out where his allegiance is, after all this time you’ve both spent apart, okay? You never know, maybe nothing changed. On the bright side, he’s alive!
The voice in his head came from the kitten that was leisurely following along beside him. They were both waiting by the sand, about twenty feet away from the Damazar that they’d come to meet at last.
Yea, I know he’s alive, flesh n’ bones, he looks a lot better than when he was in the Pits. Zordon looked at Kitty, his red-orange familiar, cocking a grey brow when he found the strange creature playing with the water, watching its paws turn to smoke and back to its solid form. The mage groaned and walked forward.
It was time to introduce himself.
“Dessarian, old friend,” he called out, waiting until familiar blue eyes turned to meet pitch black ones filled with a certain curious spirit. “Wysar, it has been too long,” Zordon smirked. “Many have died, and yet here we are. You must have found her, I imagine,” he paused here, searching the Damazar’s gaze for any hint of his current loyalties.
“Missed me?”
That man was supposed to be meat for the half-Zith’s family.
Zordon had paid careful attention to the Damazar since he’d first spotted the blond-haired bastard talking to the other Svefra that had arrived on the shore. It had taken the mage quite the journey to find the man he’d been tasked to look for: A warrior who was stupid enough to fall into a trap, and blind enough to miss the truth of his situation back in Sunberth.
Shaking his head with a smile, the half-zith walked forward, barefoot in the sand, watching the tides wash over the rocks. He was looking forward to seeing his old friend. There was a time when they were more aptly called enemies, but Zordon only hoped that they had both let bygones be bygones.
That is, if Dessarian Damazar was indeed still on his side.
A part of Zordon wished he hadn’t told the warrior’s men about the Svefra rumour from long ago. The rumour that there had been a silver eyed Kelvic sea eagle that was traded to the gangs in Sunberth. If he hadn’t told Dess about the lucky Kelvic, none of this would've ever come to pass. They could've both stayed peacefully ignorant amongst their now dead brothers and sisters. But even he could admit that the loss of the K’etir had been a blow to the Damazar’s ego and pride. Zordon had been relieved to finally get the chance to see his private foe have fire in his eyes again, knowing that his promised creature might be safe.
They’d grown up together, Zordon and Dess, more or less. Don was many seasons older than the warrior, but while one was experiencing the beginnings of adolescence, the other was in the middle of his blooming rebellious youth. They’d shared similar training where they were from and had both come to learn the basics of The Flux, which had been standard for the Damazars and Drust at the time. But the half-zith had far more interest in his own family’s specialties, which involved some magics that caused more trouble than they were worth, in hindsight.
Zordon continued to walk along the shore when he spotted a dark blue pebble. He bent down, picking up the smooth stone, and turned it over in his hand. His loose-fitting pants of light linen allowed the movement easily but the weight in his rucksack and the axe belted to his side made him adjust his balance using a hand placed on the ground. With a swish of his fingers gesturing in different directions before an arching arm, he sent the stone flying through the air, making it skip across the water multiple times, his half-zith eyes squinting in the light as he watched it sink in the distance.
He'd been angry with himself. Furious, knowing that he’d let his friend follow the sorry symbol of their demise.
Hey Don, at least you’re here now, remember? We just need to find out where his allegiance is, after all this time you’ve both spent apart, okay? You never know, maybe nothing changed. On the bright side, he’s alive!
The voice in his head came from the kitten that was leisurely following along beside him. They were both waiting by the sand, about twenty feet away from the Damazar that they’d come to meet at last.
Yea, I know he’s alive, flesh n’ bones, he looks a lot better than when he was in the Pits. Zordon looked at Kitty, his red-orange familiar, cocking a grey brow when he found the strange creature playing with the water, watching its paws turn to smoke and back to its solid form. The mage groaned and walked forward.
It was time to introduce himself.
“Dessarian, old friend,” he called out, waiting until familiar blue eyes turned to meet pitch black ones filled with a certain curious spirit. “Wysar, it has been too long,” Zordon smirked. “Many have died, and yet here we are. You must have found her, I imagine,” he paused here, searching the Damazar’s gaze for any hint of his current loyalties.
“Missed me?”
Boxcode credit to Antipodes
