sylas. /// fraying.
𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐄, 𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑, 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋, 𝐀 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐄 … the wolf’s teeth snap around the wings of a bird. it chews through feather and flesh and sinew and bone, the crunch so loud; but the screech, the lark - song of distress, drowns out all growls of hunger and whistling of weeping willows. the wolf leaves the bird with its broken wing alive, for someone else to eat, for wolves do not hunt birds for feed, so all that is left is for sport.
“ tell me about these people of yours. ”
demacia does not hold many vastaya within their ranks, their innate connection to magic making them much too close to the very thing the land detests the most, and thus books of knowledge or gossip of old holds little more power than a candle to the fire sylas desires to start.
he folds a hand beneath chin, resting elbow on knee. golden chains are collected in lap, heavy and familiar and a constant but awful reminder of the burdens placed upon a young boy’s shoulders. sylas blinks slowly, wolf - ish eyes squinting into a glare, and despite the rays partially blinding him the evening sun is pleasantly warm against his skin.
summer in ionia is different than it is in demacia, he muses, for they need not worry about the cold draft brought in from the north.
“ the lhotlan vastaya. i have heard of your wings and naught else. tell me, does everyone participate in the art of battle - dance, or is it just the ostentatious few ? ”
@feyquil / starter call.
BUT OH, MALEVOLENT WOLF WHOSE GAPING MAW bares blood of flightless bird, what is folly if not the half - assed action ? intent not to feed, intent not to sate infinitesimal hunger, it was all for sport, yet only a song of distress escaped nightingale —— what of its swan song ? on his stage ( the stage you have so dared walk on ), such performance is averted from gaze of a predator. fractured wing shall never be graced with flight's song anew, fractured wing must accept fate's cruel truth : deprivation of freedom, deprivation of flight !! oh, dear wolf, finish what is started, for revenge's guiding light shall not mend aching wing, albeit it shall grant tools to return favor ; wolf, wolf, a predator needs not its eyes to hunt.
revolutionary who bears magic with natural ease intrigued him, for tales have been whispered of ( the unshackled wolf, free from the cage that once barred gift of magic — like a bird that sought freedom & found its calling despite its clipped wings ), fear & admiration stirred for one that is at forefront of pivotal rebellion. what is rakan to make of this ? verily, some humans possessed natural affinity for magic, thereby the silencing of this one's gift not too different from his own cause he so voraciously devoted himself to.
a gray area is conjured at the conception of such a thought : whilst their relations clung onto appearance of being amicable, was that truth itself ? is he to doubt one whose aspirations align with his own ? or shall admiration be exhibited through look & actions ? he doesn't know.
perchance it's the cant of his head the denotes initial confusion, only to be cleared up at mage's clarification of his query. though the sun continues to set beyond horizon, its dying rays paving way for glimmering moonlight's rise from opposite direction, rakan's features brighten up with raised brows & momentary open - mouthed smile ( soon closes into regular grin, for those pearly whites may show some form of aggression ——— something he wishes to avoid with his ' guest ' ), they are enough to rival the radiant sun that elates ionia's people. as rakan sits cross - legged, elbows resting on either knee, his posture shifts with intrigue, leaning forward a bit, maybe too eager to talk.
what better is he at than talking, after all ?
❛ not everyone's as great at battle - dancing as i am, that's one thing we've gotta get settled. ❜ much too confident statement delivered without any thought on repercussions of his words. just like him. ❛ not everyone participates in it, not as far as i'm aware. ❜ source of knowledge for his own tribe ? probably not. ❛ i like to think of it as an art. the best art that comes from it are the bodacious ones ! the ones who put heart & into their battle - dancing. you need the flow of battle, the flow of rhythm, & the HEART of magic. ❜ at least, that's what his style has embodied.