Misstep [Degare]

[Amyas]

42 Frost 4617

There is nothing worse than the foolishness of youth. It was a dangerous beast, one that made you abandon your principles, one that made you deaf to the warning bells tolling in your head. It made you bend and bow to the pressure of your peers, and made you capable of great things you would never even think to try.

If there was one type of person Amyas Dal'Morian feared, it was those jackals that lurked at the top. The Entente and their myriad miracle-working, their breaking and making of the laws that were absolute to everyone else. That instinct, that urge for the prey to evade the predator, had managed to keep him alive so far. Or at least, the Sil'norai liked to think that kind of caution was what had gotten him this far.

Unfortunately, any illusion that he could ever stoop below their notice shattered with a simple scrap of paper. Fortunately, that scrap of paper would not arrive for another four years.

But that was a tale for another time.

This was a decision far less grand than the one that would occur, far more simple in its implication. It was, in short, the choice to do your job.

The man dressed in sombre finery was so obviously nobility it hurt to look at him. The people seemed to part before him, as the river parts before the rock. There was a certain level of distance being kept from him, a halo of space that all had wordlessly agreed should never be encroached upon.

All except a boy who took the dares of his friends far too seriously. Slowly, slowly, from behind… The lack of cover made Amyas shiver, but there were just a few steps forward, and many steps back.

One step, then another, assessing where his hand should reach towards. The hairs on his arms raise up as he readies himself to make a break for it. A patch of glass growing on his outstretched hand dimly catches the sun. And then—

[Degare]

TIMESTAMP: -
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Late afternoons in Amoren's Frost were actually considered rather pleasant by the Ferrier. Never reaching the extreme low temperatures of somewhere like the ice-bound Lorien, it was nonetheless rather cold. Though it currently lacked any blanket of snow, the city's natural hues of bright golds and deep oranges were dimmed by thin layers of frost.

The Veir's face would be shrouded by the hood he wore if revealed, though in this scenario, he wore a deep, black mask lacking in any sort of features. While inlaid panels of darkened glass allowed him to see, from a distance it would look like the man lacked a face and was composed of shadow from the robes he wore. A crow flew overhead, appearing to be following the man. Perhaps a Malformist?

For the average Daravinic citizen, approaching this man for any reason would be a poor choice. His status as Entente would be obvious to all. Not only would this mean he was a man of status, but it would imply that he was also a powerful mage. If one were to upset him, even for something petty, politics would likely allow him to respond in whatever way he saw fit…and the Entente are known for being both creative and cruel.

Degare, however, was atypically a petty man. Mentally exhausted for the most part, he lacked the drive for such things…but if directly crossed, he'd still retaliate as one would expect. The Ferrier lived and breathed through his Bane mark, and while strangers wouldn't know he possessed exactly this one, the bite of Pathos would be exactly as harsh as any other powerful mage's mark. Really, though, how much one would suffer depended entirely on his mood; he had several Banes to choose from if he were put in a situation wherein he'd feel forced to use them.

The glint of organic, crystalline glass caught the eye of the crow before the mage. With a sharp caw, the bird alerted her Veir of the younger man's approach. She hesitated; she knew that Degare preferred to solve things himself…holding back her urge to protect him and strike down this would-be attacker was difficult.

When he heard his Valran's alert, the Veir reacted quicker than one might expect. With a swift pivot of his torso, he grabbed the arm of he who had approached him. At first it would almost appear as if that's all he did, but such was not the case. In the same moment as the pale, bare skin of the Ferrier's hand connected with the flesh of the other's arm, he'd had been corrupted by Pathos. The spell was cast in the instant that Degare had moved and the Bane's effects would set in rather quickly, perhaps in around fifteen seconds. For now, he'd chosen Sap. The goal was to weaken the thief? Attacker? Whomever…not kill him. If nothing else, the Veir preferred to poke at the motives of those who attacked him. Was this a common fool or somebody with an agenda?

"Mind telling me what business you have coming so close? Do consider, too, that we Veir are never alone." His tone is actually something closer to polite than anything else, though his voice does bear threads of a sort of sardonic mockery. When he spoke the second sentence, he gestured upwards toward the circling crow with a tilt of his head. Indeed, the bird was another mage– a Malformist and Brand magician. Though the other couldn't have known that, she was poised to return to her true form, tear a blade from her chest, and viciously defend her Veir in an instant.

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'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"
"Silvain Tongue/Speech"