The man listened to her story. It began with sadness. There was not an instant where it didn't consist - at least - of sadness, of grief, of dread and regret. The story as it unfolded made him feel arrogant by claiming that his own childhood was troubled. Her mother and father were both dead - slain by one another? How twisted. And her sister . . . suicide. Her brother, illness, at least a mercy compared to what the rest of the family got. Caesarion-Rhaenon's eyes expressed his grief in hearing her story. His lips curved downward into a frown. He couldn't imagine that all of that happened in such quick succession. How did a family disassemble so quickly?
She followed with a story about the woods - and how eventually they came to possess a feeling of dread as her family grew more exhaustively anxious for power through Maledicted artifacts. He knew that magic always possessed risk, but it was hard to believe that it could turn a family against itself so easily. In search of power, they instead simply died . . . mother killing father and vice-versa, sister killing self, and illness against brother. Was the illness that of a Maledicted curse? He could not know. Perhaps even Leeta did not know. But he could understand why she wanted a new beginning - why it was a fantasy of hers to make that great escape into the open world, far away from Zeltiva, which he could very easily accept as being a place of evil in her mind. That was appropriate. "A mage's intuition is the most powerful thing, Leeta. If you felt dread, then surely you were right to leave." He couldn't exactly forget that she acted like a theatrical drama queen about it, but it didn't really matter very much. Perhaps strangeness was how she dealt with grief.
He didn't really know what to say. He didn't want to let things become silent though - like it was awkward, like she shouldn't have brought it up. There was no reason for her to feel - at all - apologetic. "I'm glad you told me about that, but I'm sorry that it had to happen. It is unfortunate that magic can turn people so wild for power and glory - but it also helps to teach people like you and I a lesson." He sighed. The man decided he would share some of his own background with her, too, if only so she got some look into him. "Nothing bad like that happened to me. I had an exalted life. I was raised by Panthos, a wealthy family of slavers in Ravok. My father was Mhaenies Panthos, a strange name, though if I recall it meant something in some dead language or other. My mother was Lyssa, my brother Rhaenon. All of them are currently alive but my father. He died of stress at a young age . . . forty-five if I recall, just a few years ago." He repeated another sigh as he mentioned that. His voice seemed restrained. Recently, he'd come to feel discourse on the subject of his father, especially when speaking about his death.
The feeling was even more mixed when it came to his mother and brother. "I don't suspect my mother will ever die. She looks about my age despite being nearly twice that. An intimidating woman. My brother takes after her and my father - the perfect specimen, crafted by Rhysol's skilled talons, seeking to be made into a Druvin. I saw him shortly after the Djed Storm . . . he was outstanding, the energy about him electric. I could see him as becoming The Voice one day. He's come so far." He of course admired his brother. Reimancy prodigy, skilled talker and physical combatant, natural-born leader and businessman. A lady-killer, and surely any man if he ever sought such a thing. He was everything. Caesarion's mother was the 'Maiden of Ravok', and his brother was its gallant Knight. A family to die for . . . if you excluded the dead father, who struggled to function for much of his career, and the rebel son.
"Fortunately for us all, that is all past me now. I was actually very unhappy in Ravok, due to jealousy, pressure, and moral conflicts. So, I left. Went to Syliras. Went to Sahova. I gained new perspectives - so many. The world around me has changed, and I have changed with it. Morphed . . . if you would dare say," he smiled faintly, then sat back up again. He tried not to look so lazy considering the topic of conversation. "I don't want to seem arrogant, but I've become a great man compared to who I used to be. Finally someone worthy of my name, and of my birthplace. You will change too, as we migrate across the map. Eventually you won't recognize the old Leeta, and all of your grief. You'll only see the new woman, who will surely be a masterpiece in the eyes of her peers." He stood up, turned around and reverted his form - his face shifted back to normal, though she wouldn't see it as he was looking opposite from her.
He exhaled. "Apologies if this seems abrupt, but I will be retiring for the night. I fear I've used too much Djed and now feel quite tired. In the morning, early morning, before we leave . . . or in the evening before we set up camp, you may come into my room and wake me if you would like to explore something. Reimancy, Hypnotism, Malediction, Morphing. Whatever the subject, I'd be happy to oblige." The man hoped she didn't believe he'd leave because of her story - his real reason was instead that he sought to relax himself and recuperate from the stinging and Djed loss. Additionally, he wanted to think on what she had said and what she did. Re-imagine his approach to Morphing, as well as his relationship with the other mage. He bowed his head slightly, picked up his lantern, then moved through the tent's flaps and lit the thing again with Reimancy - before heading back to his tent after whispering the words, 'goodnight, Miss Snow'.
She followed with a story about the woods - and how eventually they came to possess a feeling of dread as her family grew more exhaustively anxious for power through Maledicted artifacts. He knew that magic always possessed risk, but it was hard to believe that it could turn a family against itself so easily. In search of power, they instead simply died . . . mother killing father and vice-versa, sister killing self, and illness against brother. Was the illness that of a Maledicted curse? He could not know. Perhaps even Leeta did not know. But he could understand why she wanted a new beginning - why it was a fantasy of hers to make that great escape into the open world, far away from Zeltiva, which he could very easily accept as being a place of evil in her mind. That was appropriate. "A mage's intuition is the most powerful thing, Leeta. If you felt dread, then surely you were right to leave." He couldn't exactly forget that she acted like a theatrical drama queen about it, but it didn't really matter very much. Perhaps strangeness was how she dealt with grief.
He didn't really know what to say. He didn't want to let things become silent though - like it was awkward, like she shouldn't have brought it up. There was no reason for her to feel - at all - apologetic. "I'm glad you told me about that, but I'm sorry that it had to happen. It is unfortunate that magic can turn people so wild for power and glory - but it also helps to teach people like you and I a lesson." He sighed. The man decided he would share some of his own background with her, too, if only so she got some look into him. "Nothing bad like that happened to me. I had an exalted life. I was raised by Panthos, a wealthy family of slavers in Ravok. My father was Mhaenies Panthos, a strange name, though if I recall it meant something in some dead language or other. My mother was Lyssa, my brother Rhaenon. All of them are currently alive but my father. He died of stress at a young age . . . forty-five if I recall, just a few years ago." He repeated another sigh as he mentioned that. His voice seemed restrained. Recently, he'd come to feel discourse on the subject of his father, especially when speaking about his death.
The feeling was even more mixed when it came to his mother and brother. "I don't suspect my mother will ever die. She looks about my age despite being nearly twice that. An intimidating woman. My brother takes after her and my father - the perfect specimen, crafted by Rhysol's skilled talons, seeking to be made into a Druvin. I saw him shortly after the Djed Storm . . . he was outstanding, the energy about him electric. I could see him as becoming The Voice one day. He's come so far." He of course admired his brother. Reimancy prodigy, skilled talker and physical combatant, natural-born leader and businessman. A lady-killer, and surely any man if he ever sought such a thing. He was everything. Caesarion's mother was the 'Maiden of Ravok', and his brother was its gallant Knight. A family to die for . . . if you excluded the dead father, who struggled to function for much of his career, and the rebel son.
"Fortunately for us all, that is all past me now. I was actually very unhappy in Ravok, due to jealousy, pressure, and moral conflicts. So, I left. Went to Syliras. Went to Sahova. I gained new perspectives - so many. The world around me has changed, and I have changed with it. Morphed . . . if you would dare say," he smiled faintly, then sat back up again. He tried not to look so lazy considering the topic of conversation. "I don't want to seem arrogant, but I've become a great man compared to who I used to be. Finally someone worthy of my name, and of my birthplace. You will change too, as we migrate across the map. Eventually you won't recognize the old Leeta, and all of your grief. You'll only see the new woman, who will surely be a masterpiece in the eyes of her peers." He stood up, turned around and reverted his form - his face shifted back to normal, though she wouldn't see it as he was looking opposite from her.
He exhaled. "Apologies if this seems abrupt, but I will be retiring for the night. I fear I've used too much Djed and now feel quite tired. In the morning, early morning, before we leave . . . or in the evening before we set up camp, you may come into my room and wake me if you would like to explore something. Reimancy, Hypnotism, Malediction, Morphing. Whatever the subject, I'd be happy to oblige." The man hoped she didn't believe he'd leave because of her story - his real reason was instead that he sought to relax himself and recuperate from the stinging and Djed loss. Additionally, he wanted to think on what she had said and what she did. Re-imagine his approach to Morphing, as well as his relationship with the other mage. He bowed his head slightly, picked up his lantern, then moved through the tent's flaps and lit the thing again with Reimancy - before heading back to his tent after whispering the words, 'goodnight, Miss Snow'.
