in tenebris est veritas.
A short hush falls over the shaman as she deliberates over the implications of his words-- first for the nerve that might have been struck in her presumption, and then in the knowledge of the magic that she would never learn. Somewhere in her peripheral intuition, perhaps she knew this to be the case. But hearing it said out loud sends her mind down a similar rabbit hole of solutions. “You said it was yours, the unicorn. Did you...” Recruit? Capture? Befriend? “How did you obtain it?” Her tone suggests that she would not treat such a useful creature as a beloved companion, and she seems to expect the same sentiment from Deimos.
The skull mask alters Chaele’s vision somewhat, painting a small blind spot directly in front of her as she sees through the orbital holes of a monocular animal. So as they trudge through the endless corridors of igneous stone and low magma glow, her head rocks gently from side to side. This offers her mindful glimpses of her new traveling companions: he, somber and brief, remains precisely as honest as her questions allow while it, noisy and pleased, seems to contain enough sincerity for the both of them. She indulges in a quiet smile at the proud little predator, her steps taking on a more decisive rhythm.
“It is no matter to be without healing magic,” she decides, speaking as much to herself as to the much more capable hunter at her side. “The wound is a worthy one. And the pain of mending is a test of its own. It is a reminder of a mistake that will not be repeated. Of a weakness that will one day be eliminated.”
The skull mask alters Chaele’s vision somewhat, painting a small blind spot directly in front of her as she sees through the orbital holes of a monocular animal. So as they trudge through the endless corridors of igneous stone and low magma glow, her head rocks gently from side to side. This offers her mindful glimpses of her new traveling companions: he, somber and brief, remains precisely as honest as her questions allow while it, noisy and pleased, seems to contain enough sincerity for the both of them. She indulges in a quiet smile at the proud little predator, her steps taking on a more decisive rhythm.
“It is no matter to be without healing magic,” she decides, speaking as much to herself as to the much more capable hunter at her side. “The wound is a worthy one. And the pain of mending is a test of its own. It is a reminder of a mistake that will not be repeated. Of a weakness that will one day be eliminated.”
