I was raised in a deep dark hole, a prisoner with no parole
they locked me up and took my soul, ashamed of what they made
they locked me up and took my soul, ashamed of what they made
The moment their eyes met, Vikander knew something wasn’t right.
He knew magic. He lived and breathed magic. It was his job to know magic, to be intimately familiar with it, to be able to recognize a cast spell in an instant. He had served as a King’s war mage for years. He had enchanted weapons for the Scarab since its foundation. He enchanted these very walls. The magic that coursed through the Scarab was a part of him. He knew magic, and because of it, he knew what this little nuisance was trying to pull.
Tearing his eyes away, as he never held eye contact even if he wasn’t trying to be put under the thrall of some mediocre talent, the soul weaver stalked forward until he was crowding the other stallion’s much-larger frame. He grit his teeth and stared at Valefor’s face, but did not meet his eyes. He stared just behind them, eyes narrowed and expression warped in a furious snarl, meeting the base of where his left ear met his large, thick, dumb skull.
“You attempt to use your magic on me again, boy, and I will have you thrown out of these halls for the rest of your miserable, worthless life.” Obviously this fool had no idea who he was dealing with. Meek, socially awkward, reclusive as he could be, Vikander knew rage and he knew it well, but he also knew when respect was due. He had served the Scarab since the very beginning.
Vikander did not care much for boasting, but this arrogant little whelp deserved it. Hell, in his opinion he deserved a lot more. Since day one, Valefor had been nothing but a nuisance. The warlock did not even care to know what his official ‘position’ within the Scarab even was, but he was useless. Senna guided them. Aghavni reinforced his word and assisted Vikander in his studies and research. August protected her. Madelyn did whatever it was she usually did, but she retrieved items that he asked of her, useful things for his research.
“I gave you that mark,” he growled out with a motion to where Valefor’s Scarab tattoo lay beneath bloodred tufts, lips nearly frothing in anger as his entire body quivered with a strange, foreign rage, ears pinned flat to be lost amidst his mane of wild black curls, “I can take it away.”
With that promise made, the Friesian moved to shove past Valefor’s larger body, intending to shove into him with his shoulder and move him out of the doorway enough for the warlock to slip through.
He needed to tell Senna.
@Valefor
