Voltaire
It was good that Maxence didn’t ask him why he pledged blind loyalty to the causes of the Day Court – for Voltaire would pledge his loyalty to anything. Now that he had decided it would be the Day Court, of course his allegiance would be there… but he was a creature without a cause, a sinner with nothing to lose. He would not share the story that cause him such shame, or be turned away from such a place as this. For as much as he was ambivalent about life in general these days, he didn’t want to start over again. Voltaire would live out his days as the dutiful soldier here, whether Maxence found his motives worthy or not.
When the leader asks him about midwifery, he laughed – a genuine and rusty sound, more like a bark than a laugh. ”I’ve always hated that term… midwifery… make it sound like women’s work.” Not that he had issues with women, but it was a task all healers should understand. ”Aye, I know a fair bit about birthing. Goes with the mantle of healing. Suppose you’re in luck there – I’m not much of a fighter, but I will heal your wounded.” Nevermind that he’d grown up in a warrior’s tribe himself – or that he’d felled another at such a young age. The tale wasn’t one he cared to share.
”I am called Voltaire.” And nothing more personal was given to the king. He wasn’t much for idle chit chat, but kept to the point. ”And you? Forgive my ignorance, I’ve spoken only to the wild-haired girl Eden. She spoke of your god – and I’ve gone to pay my respects on the mount.” And to ask for the forgiveness he knew would never come. One could only hope that redemption would one day fall in his reach.
When the leader asks him about midwifery, he laughed – a genuine and rusty sound, more like a bark than a laugh. ”I’ve always hated that term… midwifery… make it sound like women’s work.” Not that he had issues with women, but it was a task all healers should understand. ”Aye, I know a fair bit about birthing. Goes with the mantle of healing. Suppose you’re in luck there – I’m not much of a fighter, but I will heal your wounded.” Nevermind that he’d grown up in a warrior’s tribe himself – or that he’d felled another at such a young age. The tale wasn’t one he cared to share.
”I am called Voltaire.” And nothing more personal was given to the king. He wasn’t much for idle chit chat, but kept to the point. ”And you? Forgive my ignorance, I’ve spoken only to the wild-haired girl Eden. She spoke of your god – and I’ve gone to pay my respects on the mount.” And to ask for the forgiveness he knew would never come. One could only hope that redemption would one day fall in his reach.
Day Court Caretaker
@Maxence
