Parameters and possibilities, magic never quite finding its limitations. Whether or how it was marked, chiseled, into their veins might not have mattered in any great significance; once they were slated as Abandoned, the notations were already slanted. It had never bothered him anyway. It was how he’d been since he was born, in either worlds and kingdoms he’d pressed through; accustomed, streamlined, within its figments and elements, his father’s fire, his mother’s water, and then death coiling over his own existence. [say]“I like to think it matters to the individual here too. It is all in how it is used.”[/say] In demolition or terror, in mending broken armaments, in tending to others, in assisting the earth again and again and again.
No one had hissed or scorned or scowled at him in a long while. Perhaps it was reputation. Perhaps it was the known factors of what he’d done and what he’d do. Perhaps it was nothing at all.
Then they continued their dutiful march, closer and closer, winding along the Fangs, over varied routes made by other travelers, by a path soon to freeze over in the midst of changing seasons. The Citadel seemed like a monolith rising from the ice and rime, towering over spectral glances of snow and powder, a landmark against the backdrop of so many other filaments and fragments.
No one had hissed or scorned or scowled at him in a long while. Perhaps it was reputation. Perhaps it was the known factors of what he’d done and what he’d do. Perhaps it was nothing at all.
Then they continued their dutiful march, closer and closer, winding along the Fangs, over varied routes made by other travelers, by a path soon to freeze over in the midst of changing seasons. The Citadel seemed like a monolith rising from the ice and rime, towering over spectral glances of snow and powder, a landmark against the backdrop of so many other filaments and fragments.
