The secrets we keep..
It was a wonder he had survived his arrival to Novus. Silas had accomplished no small feat dragging himself from Eleutherian Plains to Terrastella. The magician stood in the early morning light at the edge of the Hospital. The sturdy wooden planks were the only solace in a place that was so heavily saturated. The air was flooded with the stench of muck and rot. It permeated the atmosphere; the stench marked its domain. Petrichor. That was the most succinct definition for the marsh. Silas contemplated the decision for Terrastella to open its hospital here. He pondered how they evaluated sanitation here. Proud marble floors did not sweep with grandeur across the marshy surface. The absence of porcelain walls was a jarring realization for Silas. The sleek material had been far from antiquated in Muramir. The flickering light and the still morning brought the mauve magician some peace. He believed it would be a fleeting experience. He could spin metaphors and poetry about peace, but he did not. Silas was a mage, who writhed with discomfort now that his arcanum was gone.
It was harrowing for the archmage to experience. His identity was stripped from him the moment he'd been hurtled through that portal. Novus was proving to be a personal hell of sorts. It dangled the tantalizing knowledge that magic thrived here, and yet it no longer whispered for him. Arcanum spoke in dulcet tones, as it whispered sweet nothings to his soul. Silas identified this feeling he had as he stared out into the still marsh, sadness. It was not the beautiful thing that poets wept about. It was a terrible, destructive entity. I threatened to devour whole cities, and decimate those vulnerable to its gnashing teeth. Bitter. The taste weighed heavily upon his tongue. Silas did not enjoy feeling so raw. So exposed. At his feet sat a horrible concoction. It exhaled vile scented steam from its depths. He was expected to choke down the vile tasting liquid with a smile. For all his humor, Silas was equally as stubborn.
It didn't matter that it consumed the pain. It didn't matter that it stifled the darkness clouding his vision. It was horrible.
Words: 365 | Notes: I hope this is alright! <3 He's just being a grumpy stubborn boy. Glaring out into the marsh super early in the morning.| Tags: @It was harrowing for the archmage to experience. His identity was stripped from him the moment he'd been hurtled through that portal. Novus was proving to be a personal hell of sorts. It dangled the tantalizing knowledge that magic thrived here, and yet it no longer whispered for him. Arcanum spoke in dulcet tones, as it whispered sweet nothings to his soul. Silas identified this feeling he had as he stared out into the still marsh, sadness. It was not the beautiful thing that poets wept about. It was a terrible, destructive entity. I threatened to devour whole cities, and decimate those vulnerable to its gnashing teeth. Bitter. The taste weighed heavily upon his tongue. Silas did not enjoy feeling so raw. So exposed. At his feet sat a horrible concoction. It exhaled vile scented steam from its depths. He was expected to choke down the vile tasting liquid with a smile. For all his humor, Silas was equally as stubborn.
It didn't matter that it consumed the pain. It didn't matter that it stifled the darkness clouding his vision. It was horrible.
... The lives we lead
