jamie
02-25-2021, 03:46 PM
Jamie
The story he’d heard had been one of his mother picking Pangea out of the ashes of its own ruin. The shadow magician, mother of aliens, Anaxarete saving Pangea from its untimely demise. Anaxarete, who had seemed to favor the white magician over her own children, taught the white magician how to wield her power. And then it had been the white magician who had taught Jamie what to do with his own terrible power because Jamie had never learned how to trust his mother, Anaxarete, convinced as he had been in his youth that his mother had crafted him from something horrible. Convinced that she had built him to be a monster.
(He knows now that it is not such a bad thing to be a monster. The monsters are his family. Those dark things that move in the shadows. The things that had sunk their vicious teeth into his bones and torn him apart. The things that had welcomed him home.)
He does not think his mother would have let any harm come to the land she dug out of its own filth but he feels no impulse to tell Desire this. At least not specifically. “There are many dark forces that call Pangea home,” he murmurs, though he’s certain she knows this already, “I do not think they would let Pangea fall.” Beyza had shown him the witch that had tried to burn it and how the earth had retaliated.
She has no plan. He shifts his weight. His breath rattles.
He flashes that same shark-tooth smile and tilts his peculiar, featureless head.
“What do you consider a useful ability, Desire? You and I might have very different ideas on the subject.”
What is his talent? Well, that’s simple, isn’t it? He turns his focus from her then, briefly. Glances over his shoulder and pulls from his shoulder half a dozen shadow creatures. But they do not look like him. They are canines, baring their razor sharp teeth, their ink black mouths, their freakish yellow eyes. Absolutely silent as they slink through the darkness toward them. They are not the things that sprung forth with the eclipse, these creatures belong to him alone. He studies them a long moment, such an adoring expression on his face before he blinks and they drop dead where they stand and he returns his focus to her.
“Death.”
(He knows now that it is not such a bad thing to be a monster. The monsters are his family. Those dark things that move in the shadows. The things that had sunk their vicious teeth into his bones and torn him apart. The things that had welcomed him home.)
He does not think his mother would have let any harm come to the land she dug out of its own filth but he feels no impulse to tell Desire this. At least not specifically. “There are many dark forces that call Pangea home,” he murmurs, though he’s certain she knows this already, “I do not think they would let Pangea fall.” Beyza had shown him the witch that had tried to burn it and how the earth had retaliated.
She has no plan. He shifts his weight. His breath rattles.
He flashes that same shark-tooth smile and tilts his peculiar, featureless head.
“What do you consider a useful ability, Desire? You and I might have very different ideas on the subject.”
What is his talent? Well, that’s simple, isn’t it? He turns his focus from her then, briefly. Glances over his shoulder and pulls from his shoulder half a dozen shadow creatures. But they do not look like him. They are canines, baring their razor sharp teeth, their ink black mouths, their freakish yellow eyes. Absolutely silent as they slink through the darkness toward them. They are not the things that sprung forth with the eclipse, these creatures belong to him alone. He studies them a long moment, such an adoring expression on his face before he blinks and they drop dead where they stand and he returns his focus to her.
“Death.”
( FROM THE DESTRUCTION, OUT OF THE FLAME
YOU NEED A VILLAIN, GIVE ME A NAME )
YOU NEED A VILLAIN, GIVE ME A NAME )
@[Desire]