Voltaire
Her story draws him in, and as he listens to her tell of Solis and the neighboring courts, Voltaire chews on his lip thoughtfully. Perhaps if he were a younger man with a brighter future, he may have chosen a place less harsh than this. The healer had always grown up in a warrior herd, expected to do his duty for the betterment of the whole, and to think less about his own desires. He’d been schooled in the art of fighting, as all the young had done… and found it more than a bit ironic that now, he found himself in the realm of the warriors once more – a place that he so clearly did not belong.
Still too, the sky-kissed stallion knew that in the rough and tumble world of war, there was a call and a need for healing. His studies before had been cut short, after he’d slain the king and been exiled from the only home he’d ever known… but after being cut down as a fighter, he’d been relegated to the role of healer, and it had stuck with him as the only skill he’d been destined for in life. While Voltaire had been little more than a passable soldier, he’d made more than a fair healer.
His gaze tilts toward the sun, and if he closed his eyes for a moment, the stag could almost picture the gods as they created this world – each taking a piece and molding it toward their liking. Solis would be a warrior, strong at heart and braver than all the rest. He would be unlikely to shy away from the harshness of Solterra, and as Voltaire reasoned through the personality he expected of such a deity, it began to make more and more sense that the Day god would choose this severe environment for his followers. Like the place where he was born, Voltaire instinctively knew that only the strong would survive here – the strong willed, the strong at heart.
”And you?” He asks after a moment, wondering what role Eden had to play in the hierarchy of this world. ”Are you a fighter, a teacher, or a healer here?” It wasn’t like Voltaire to hold a conversation for so long, but he found himself interested in the exotic creature, and wanting to know more about the first that he’d met in this new world.
Still too, the sky-kissed stallion knew that in the rough and tumble world of war, there was a call and a need for healing. His studies before had been cut short, after he’d slain the king and been exiled from the only home he’d ever known… but after being cut down as a fighter, he’d been relegated to the role of healer, and it had stuck with him as the only skill he’d been destined for in life. While Voltaire had been little more than a passable soldier, he’d made more than a fair healer.
His gaze tilts toward the sun, and if he closed his eyes for a moment, the stag could almost picture the gods as they created this world – each taking a piece and molding it toward their liking. Solis would be a warrior, strong at heart and braver than all the rest. He would be unlikely to shy away from the harshness of Solterra, and as Voltaire reasoned through the personality he expected of such a deity, it began to make more and more sense that the Day god would choose this severe environment for his followers. Like the place where he was born, Voltaire instinctively knew that only the strong would survive here – the strong willed, the strong at heart.
”And you?” He asks after a moment, wondering what role Eden had to play in the hierarchy of this world. ”Are you a fighter, a teacher, or a healer here?” It wasn’t like Voltaire to hold a conversation for so long, but he found himself interested in the exotic creature, and wanting to know more about the first that he’d met in this new world.
Day Court Caretaker
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