[ may catchall ]

[wythersake]

WHO: Isaac, Cedric, Lazar + Clarisse, others, you??
WHAT: Open & closed prompts for a bit
WHEN: Vaguely post-attacks, like enough that it isn't silly
WHERE: Here n' there
NOTES: Adding these as I go. Wildcards welcome. HMU on plurk or Discord if you want anything bespoke.

Comments

[allthatgleamsisgold]

There is trepidation from Vlast at the question. However he was opposed to his grandfather and his siblings, they are still his kind, something he could have become.

Something his mother set him on the path to become.

(Though he wonders now if that was ever truly his intended purpose, or if she had looked upon the death of her first son and thought it only a stepping stone for her daughter...)

Laying bare all their secrets to some stranger chafes at him.

"Old dragons. Very old."

He huffs. It's all there in the name, isn't it?

"I can hazard a guess at what you are thinking, and yes, there are a concerning number of similarities. But you have killed five of the seven, and your world remains scarred but intact. I do not think they are pillars of your reality."

A dark frown thins his mouth as his eyes settle on an accounting of the fifth blight.

"Though I wonder if they champion beings that are."

[wythersake]

Eye to book:

"The accepted theology is that the Old Gods, as with other spirits, once served the Maker."

So much as the matter is ever accepted, settled; only clerics bicker more than mages.

[allthatgleamsisgold]

He snorts dismissively.

"I care little for what gods and their sycophants accept."

On the rare occasions it's the truth, reverence twists it to some agenda. Even his own mother had become alien to him in the hymns the Exalted sang of her.

"What do you think?"

[wythersake]

"I think you’d do well not to voice that opinion beyond our walls,"

Dull. Distracted: He's thinking of Joselyn, of her stubborn faith; he's wondering whether she reached for a spell in those final moments.

(Had she even the time? He doesn’t know how she died.)

"But I’ve seen enough of the Fade to not put my faith in the Maker’s children." First or second, thanks. "You might do to inquire with our Wardens. We've lost our firsthand witnesses to the Blight, but they ever hoard information."

[allthatgleamsisgold]

Vlast only scoffs, but only in mild annoyance. Isaac's advice has been sound so far.

"Hoarding. The implication being they are loathe to part with it."

...And the vast array of contradicting opinions on the Blight scattered throughout the library further implies they are very, very good at hanging on to it.

Vlast doubts he has the silver tongue that will wrest secrets from the cagey organization. He'll have to seek his answers elsewhere.

Or find a particularly stupid and chatty Warden.

"What do you put your faith in, then? ...If you have any left."

[wythersake]

Loathe to part with it, well – yes –

His brows skate in answer. Reflex, really; not half so animated as they might pull, were his mind circling some other pit.

(Did she know it was coming? What did any of them think, when they found themselves overtaken?)

"I suppose," Too distant now to find any sort of joke. Scraping the wounded edge of something real: "That life goes on."

[allthatgleamsisgold]

The tone seems off, different from Isaac's usual flippant affect, that much he can tell.

He pauses in his search for books, gaze lingering for an uncomfortably long time on Isaac.

"For some, at least," he says finally. "It is strange how fate and chance conspire to choose for whom."