azrael
The stallion was matter of fact, which Azrael did not mind. In fact, there is something oddly soothing about his presence, and so when the gruff voice questions him, the shed-star simply nods and offers his answers in a fashion much the same. “The place where I’m from is gone now, destroyed by dragon fire.” There is a hint of sadness when he speaks of it, the wounds still there, though healed some by the passing of time.
Now was not the time to reflect on lives lost though, Azrael thinks as he turns to watch the lanterns float to the skies. They were symbolic, he supposed – lights for the heavens. He liked to think of them as a way to remember the fallen, and had even released his own with a silent prayer for his people – a prayer for hope and memory.
“But now, I reside in Denocte… we too celebrate the autumn.” The Night Court seemed to celebrate any reason to celebrate, a strange thing in his mind, but not a bad one. After all, festivals drew strangers together and offered a place of relaxation and camaraderie. “My name is Azrael, and you?”
He finds it curious the way a silver spark seems to lick along the stranger’s spine, flicking a glance at the male and wondering without asking about the stranger. After all, it would be impolite to pry. He supposed it was some kind of magic, a thing Azrael too knew – for the stars had granted him a magic of his own. He was still honing his craft, but the shed-star had made a pledge to himself to learn more about the meaning behind his dreams, to try and make sense of his new gift.
“I’m told there is a library in Delumine – have you been there?” While he couldn’t claim to be a scholar, perhaps the tomes were just what he needed to begin his journey of self discovery. For when the stars could not provide answers, he would rely on the scholars.
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