The white sheep of the family
If Loren hadn’t been so wrapped up in his spell casting, he would definitely have taken a good look at Abasi lifting heavy objects, and been more than impressed. As it stood, the summoner was pretty single-handedly focused on making the ice last as long as possible. Which was why he didn’t notice Abasi until the other man actually spoke up.
Glancing up, the Launceleyn gave Abasi one of those special smiles, the one that transformed Loren into almost an entirely new person. Then again, they were coming often enough these days that it might just be the new Loren. ”You know how much I enjoy being useful to you.” If the Launceleyn had been bolder—and if they’d been in private, without two curious demi-gods in the room—he might’ve winked at the other man. As it stood, the summoner just hoped Abasi would get the teasing joke for what it was.
Then it was time to go back into the main area. Loren would leave answering Oia’i’o to Abasi. Instead, the summoner walked up to the other man and dropped his voice to the barest of whispers. ”If there’s paint left over, maybe you can show me how to adorn myself properly later.” It wasn’t exactly flirting, but it was an invitation. Again, the Launceleyn was sort of hoping Abasi would appreciate the call backs to their previous encounters.
However, unlike the daughter of Rae, Loren would take this assignment seriously. He wasn’t an artist, though he would do his best; the paintbrush would rise in the air, carried by the summoner’s telekinesis. Then it would sketch a crude diagram on the wall. Above a flame, a baby would float, or at least something that came close to resembling a representation of a baby. Then, a body would appear next to it, eyes closed, and this time the flame would cover the body.
That was the Launceleyn way: from the fire of magic they were born, and to the fire of magic they returned. Abasi knew that, and maybe remembered. While the demi-gods might be correct about the metaphysics of this world, it weirdly brought Loren some comfort to follow one of the few family traditions that wasn’t steeped in pain and horror.
However, that wasn't exactly the afterlife, unfortunately. Try as he might, he couldn't come up with something suitable. Then, though, his mind supplied something. It was dumb, but it was all he had. The brush darted through the air in jerky motions, painting next to the fires. A hump appeared, with small scribbles to hopefully indicate grass. A hill, kind of. Two crude figures lay on their backs, holding hands. They gazed up at the sky above, which had clouds and a sun. It was simple, and certainly not a masterpiece, but it held a kind of peace and serenity to it. Rest and comfort and love. All that seemed suitable attributes of an afterlife. Satisfied with his work (and knowing he couldn't do better) he returned the brush to the paint.
Glancing up, the Launceleyn gave Abasi one of those special smiles, the one that transformed Loren into almost an entirely new person. Then again, they were coming often enough these days that it might just be the new Loren. ”You know how much I enjoy being useful to you.” If the Launceleyn had been bolder—and if they’d been in private, without two curious demi-gods in the room—he might’ve winked at the other man. As it stood, the summoner just hoped Abasi would get the teasing joke for what it was.
Then it was time to go back into the main area. Loren would leave answering Oia’i’o to Abasi. Instead, the summoner walked up to the other man and dropped his voice to the barest of whispers. ”If there’s paint left over, maybe you can show me how to adorn myself properly later.” It wasn’t exactly flirting, but it was an invitation. Again, the Launceleyn was sort of hoping Abasi would appreciate the call backs to their previous encounters.
However, unlike the daughter of Rae, Loren would take this assignment seriously. He wasn’t an artist, though he would do his best; the paintbrush would rise in the air, carried by the summoner’s telekinesis. Then it would sketch a crude diagram on the wall. Above a flame, a baby would float, or at least something that came close to resembling a representation of a baby. Then, a body would appear next to it, eyes closed, and this time the flame would cover the body.
That was the Launceleyn way: from the fire of magic they were born, and to the fire of magic they returned. Abasi knew that, and maybe remembered. While the demi-gods might be correct about the metaphysics of this world, it weirdly brought Loren some comfort to follow one of the few family traditions that wasn’t steeped in pain and horror.
However, that wasn't exactly the afterlife, unfortunately. Try as he might, he couldn't come up with something suitable. Then, though, his mind supplied something. It was dumb, but it was all he had. The brush darted through the air in jerky motions, painting next to the fires. A hump appeared, with small scribbles to hopefully indicate grass. A hill, kind of. Two crude figures lay on their backs, holding hands. They gazed up at the sky above, which had clouds and a sun. It was simple, and certainly not a masterpiece, but it held a kind of peace and serenity to it. Rest and comfort and love. All that seemed suitable attributes of an afterlife. Satisfied with his work (and knowing he couldn't do better) he returned the brush to the paint.
Will blood tell
