The sway and pull of the water beneath the ferry. The movement of vessel through the peaceful lake was relaxing, even soothing in the midst of it all. Though, in the time it took for the ferry to traverse approximately half-way through Lake Ravok, the adrenaline that pulsed through Venser's veins had faded, the effects of the Flux and its increase of his threshold for pain dissolved, Venser's arm was irritating him.
Lacerations, small gashes and holes in the arm were coursing pain through his now unable to resist body, Venser clenching his jaw to combat it as his good arm moved through the rucksack he carried with him, now on his lap, and pulled out a pipe. He held it with his injured hand, removing a bag of Heldrog from within as he listened to Miro's answers to his questions. Fingers twitched and trembled involuntarily with the pain, but Venser paid it no mind.
The masked man spoke of places far from Ravok, the word Sahova - a term he remembered from reading - coming up more than once. Venser knew nothing about the place aside from the fact that it was a place of magic, some sort of fortress that protected age old secrets. But, it obviously was not from where Miro hailed or gained his power. From what he said, Miro gained his strength from travel, years of moving through the weave of Mizahar and finding his way. It was enviable, for sure, but Miro seemed to have paid a great deal in order to acquire what he had.
He spoke of not having a face, the mask that Miro wore shielding it from the world. Venser cared little for the face behind the mask, but the wording of it was odd in it of itself. Venser cast his gaze to the wizard's mask, noting the presence of teeth bound to a plate of bone, holes carved into the bone to allow space for eyes, made from an assortment of bones, design shaped into it and filled with red.
Is Miro wearing a Legacy? On his face? He speaks of not having a face, which could mean that it was burned or otherwise disfigured, a likely scenario given his magical prowess. But is there perhaps a different reason? If his face was marred, he'd have some difficult seeing or speaking, wouldn't he? I think that...
Venser narrowed his gaze for just a moment before moving his attention to his pipe, pushing Heldrog into the piece, packing it into the body before lifting the pipe to his lips. He carefully lit the pipe, taking several puffs to ensure that the flame lingered within before the Rush twin took a deep breath of oxygen, pushing the smoke into his lungs before exhaling. A smile marked his expression as his thoughts continued to compile, Venser pairing his knowledge of Zapatl with basic logic to figure out that the Mask was lightly bonded to flesh and therefore unable to be removed.
The danger of Zapatl, aside from inheriting curses, is knowing that the Legacy can develop a desire or even a personality... Perhaps the Mask does not wish to be removed and therefore, Miro doesn't have a face anymore, as he said.
Venser was curious to see how the item worked, as well as checking to see if his understanding of Miro's words was correct or not, but he decided not to press into it. Not just yet. Instead, he looked to Miro, taking several more puffs from his pipe, allowing the smoke to escape his lips as wisps, coalescing in the air above before being scattered by the ferry's movement, the wind carrying the smoke off into the open air above the calm waters of Lake Ravok before he listened to Miro ask questions of his own.
Venser's story was far less eventful than Miro's, given the lack of extensive travel, though he did go to and from the city of Ravok to both Nyka and Syliras, which most would find odd, but Venser simply figured it to be a work of his father's - the bastard that he was - devious and harsh nature. Perhaps that was what kept Vilkas Rush safe for so long, that his very nature was in line with Ravok's own despite his hatred of the place and his defiance of Rhysol's will. Of course, the latter was the reason that kept Venser safe from scrutiny when the man was killed.
Venser held the pipe in his hands, his fingers traversing the mouthpiece of the pipe as he replied to his new ally, jumping back to the present just as the movement of a dagger and the smell of blood stained his memory,
"I was born in Ravok, my father a Syliran merchant who claimed to abandon his love for the city and its God in favour of Rhysol. My mother was, as I am, a born daughter of Ravok, and the two, for reasons beyond my understanding, eloped. My brother and I were born from their union, and my father, despite his so-called loyalty to Ravok from my mother's influence, took us there to visit at times. We even lived there for about a season, though the memories of that accursed place cripple me.
I've also been to Nyka in travels to and from Syliras, an interesting enough place, but the vast majority of my life has been spent here. In the past, I held resentment to this place for how my brother and I were treated by my father, though upon reflection, I can only say that it was him and him alone that stirred such hatred. My father was murdered about five years ago, my brother and I remaining in Ravok due to loyalty of the place that has since treated us so well.
I learned the Flux from theories presented to me in a particular book in Syliras, learning the theory and bringing it to memorization, though inexperience has made it difficult to further my knowledge of the craft. Controlled environments to practice the Flux are difficult to come by. Zapatl, on the other hand, was a passion that I fostered in my youth. A desire for knowledge that was brought upon by the understanding of Nader-Canoch that my father pushed into my brother, who in turn pushed it into me, became an entity unto itself, and thus, I became a Legate.
Understanding of djed came with the understanding of Nader-Canoch, Zapatl and knowledge of the Flux, compiling understanding brought upon by books, though I have never had or felt that I've needed a teacher until recently. Even more so now that I see the power that has, as of yet, avoided me."
Though Miro did not ask details as to how he had come to learn about the magicks he had shown, Venser saw it fit, as a gesture of the loyalty Miro asked of him, to present the information freely. A wizard that had saved his life was not someone to be feared, but respected. Miro deserved Venser's confidence, and so, he received it. The whispers of change still breathed into Venser's lungs, intuition telling him that he was doing the right thing by confiding in Miro.
Venser raised the pipe to his lips again, hoping that it remained lit as he told the story, and to his happy surprise, it had.
Lacerations, small gashes and holes in the arm were coursing pain through his now unable to resist body, Venser clenching his jaw to combat it as his good arm moved through the rucksack he carried with him, now on his lap, and pulled out a pipe. He held it with his injured hand, removing a bag of Heldrog from within as he listened to Miro's answers to his questions. Fingers twitched and trembled involuntarily with the pain, but Venser paid it no mind.
The masked man spoke of places far from Ravok, the word Sahova - a term he remembered from reading - coming up more than once. Venser knew nothing about the place aside from the fact that it was a place of magic, some sort of fortress that protected age old secrets. But, it obviously was not from where Miro hailed or gained his power. From what he said, Miro gained his strength from travel, years of moving through the weave of Mizahar and finding his way. It was enviable, for sure, but Miro seemed to have paid a great deal in order to acquire what he had.
He spoke of not having a face, the mask that Miro wore shielding it from the world. Venser cared little for the face behind the mask, but the wording of it was odd in it of itself. Venser cast his gaze to the wizard's mask, noting the presence of teeth bound to a plate of bone, holes carved into the bone to allow space for eyes, made from an assortment of bones, design shaped into it and filled with red.
Is Miro wearing a Legacy? On his face? He speaks of not having a face, which could mean that it was burned or otherwise disfigured, a likely scenario given his magical prowess. But is there perhaps a different reason? If his face was marred, he'd have some difficult seeing or speaking, wouldn't he? I think that...
Venser narrowed his gaze for just a moment before moving his attention to his pipe, pushing Heldrog into the piece, packing it into the body before lifting the pipe to his lips. He carefully lit the pipe, taking several puffs to ensure that the flame lingered within before the Rush twin took a deep breath of oxygen, pushing the smoke into his lungs before exhaling. A smile marked his expression as his thoughts continued to compile, Venser pairing his knowledge of Zapatl with basic logic to figure out that the Mask was lightly bonded to flesh and therefore unable to be removed.
The danger of Zapatl, aside from inheriting curses, is knowing that the Legacy can develop a desire or even a personality... Perhaps the Mask does not wish to be removed and therefore, Miro doesn't have a face anymore, as he said.
Venser was curious to see how the item worked, as well as checking to see if his understanding of Miro's words was correct or not, but he decided not to press into it. Not just yet. Instead, he looked to Miro, taking several more puffs from his pipe, allowing the smoke to escape his lips as wisps, coalescing in the air above before being scattered by the ferry's movement, the wind carrying the smoke off into the open air above the calm waters of Lake Ravok before he listened to Miro ask questions of his own.
Venser's story was far less eventful than Miro's, given the lack of extensive travel, though he did go to and from the city of Ravok to both Nyka and Syliras, which most would find odd, but Venser simply figured it to be a work of his father's - the bastard that he was - devious and harsh nature. Perhaps that was what kept Vilkas Rush safe for so long, that his very nature was in line with Ravok's own despite his hatred of the place and his defiance of Rhysol's will. Of course, the latter was the reason that kept Venser safe from scrutiny when the man was killed.
Venser held the pipe in his hands, his fingers traversing the mouthpiece of the pipe as he replied to his new ally, jumping back to the present just as the movement of a dagger and the smell of blood stained his memory,
"I was born in Ravok, my father a Syliran merchant who claimed to abandon his love for the city and its God in favour of Rhysol. My mother was, as I am, a born daughter of Ravok, and the two, for reasons beyond my understanding, eloped. My brother and I were born from their union, and my father, despite his so-called loyalty to Ravok from my mother's influence, took us there to visit at times. We even lived there for about a season, though the memories of that accursed place cripple me.
I've also been to Nyka in travels to and from Syliras, an interesting enough place, but the vast majority of my life has been spent here. In the past, I held resentment to this place for how my brother and I were treated by my father, though upon reflection, I can only say that it was him and him alone that stirred such hatred. My father was murdered about five years ago, my brother and I remaining in Ravok due to loyalty of the place that has since treated us so well.
I learned the Flux from theories presented to me in a particular book in Syliras, learning the theory and bringing it to memorization, though inexperience has made it difficult to further my knowledge of the craft. Controlled environments to practice the Flux are difficult to come by. Zapatl, on the other hand, was a passion that I fostered in my youth. A desire for knowledge that was brought upon by the understanding of Nader-Canoch that my father pushed into my brother, who in turn pushed it into me, became an entity unto itself, and thus, I became a Legate.
Understanding of djed came with the understanding of Nader-Canoch, Zapatl and knowledge of the Flux, compiling understanding brought upon by books, though I have never had or felt that I've needed a teacher until recently. Even more so now that I see the power that has, as of yet, avoided me."
Though Miro did not ask details as to how he had come to learn about the magicks he had shown, Venser saw it fit, as a gesture of the loyalty Miro asked of him, to present the information freely. A wizard that had saved his life was not someone to be feared, but respected. Miro deserved Venser's confidence, and so, he received it. The whispers of change still breathed into Venser's lungs, intuition telling him that he was doing the right thing by confiding in Miro.
Venser raised the pipe to his lips again, hoping that it remained lit as he told the story, and to his happy surprise, it had.
