Rolan is reluctant to see the writing on the wall; the violence will escalate despite his eagerness to please his mentor. He wants to believe that eventually, Lorroakan will run out of excuses or reasons why he isn't worthy of his teaching. The wizard releases a breath when the potions are tucked away instead of offered, glad his demeanor gives off the impression they'd be refused. They would, but it's complicated.
He knows he's talented, he'd have to be to have even been considered for an apprenticeship that so many others undoubtedly sought. It's not the tedium that keeps him under thumb, it's the thought that if he fails, there's nothing more he can do for his siblings. He has to provide for them because if he can't? The thought doesn't bear thinking about. He'll give up and do anything to see them taken care of. So what if he feels trapped in the situation? Like Zevlor said, all are one under the Absolute, and that thought is terrifying enough on its own. Would the wizard of Ramazith's tower lift a finger to aid the city?
His mind spins in the wake of Zevlor's retreat, mulling over their conversation and the inevitable future that's waiting for them should the Cult of the Absolute not be stopped. He's distracted enough that it's noticed, much to his chagrin. Lorroakan is displeased with his performance and frustrated at another dead end in the hunt for the Nightsong which doesn't bode well for his evening. Rolan's mind wanders to the slip of paper and the location written on it that he will talk himself out of visiting multiple times.
Once again, Zevlor is correct- he's never wanted the other tiefling's guidance nor anyone else's, though a small part of him longs for someone to vent his frustrations to who might understand. He's shouldered far more difficult tasks, so that's what he does. Selfishly, he hopes Lorroakan never gets his hands on the Nightsong, simply to see the petulant wizard continue to suffer for it.
The slip of paper stays tucked between the pages of his battered spellbook, a lifeline he refuses to take, its presence both patronizing and welcome all the same. Each day he resists the compulsion to simply raze the place to the ground in a fireball out of frustration, but the consequences far outweigh how good it would feel.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2024-09-11 08:25 pm (UTC)He knows he's talented, he'd have to be to have even been considered for an apprenticeship that so many others undoubtedly sought. It's not the tedium that keeps him under thumb, it's the thought that if he fails, there's nothing more he can do for his siblings. He has to provide for them because if he can't? The thought doesn't bear thinking about. He'll give up and do anything to see them taken care of. So what if he feels trapped in the situation? Like Zevlor said, all are one under the Absolute, and that thought is terrifying enough on its own. Would the wizard of Ramazith's tower lift a finger to aid the city?
His mind spins in the wake of Zevlor's retreat, mulling over their conversation and the inevitable future that's waiting for them should the Cult of the Absolute not be stopped. He's distracted enough that it's noticed, much to his chagrin. Lorroakan is displeased with his performance and frustrated at another dead end in the hunt for the Nightsong which doesn't bode well for his evening. Rolan's mind wanders to the slip of paper and the location written on it that he will talk himself out of visiting multiple times.
Once again, Zevlor is correct- he's never wanted the other tiefling's guidance nor anyone else's, though a small part of him longs for someone to vent his frustrations to who might understand. He's shouldered far more difficult tasks, so that's what he does. Selfishly, he hopes Lorroakan never gets his hands on the Nightsong, simply to see the petulant wizard continue to suffer for it.
The slip of paper stays tucked between the pages of his battered spellbook, a lifeline he refuses to take, its presence both patronizing and welcome all the same. Each day he resists the compulsion to simply raze the place to the ground in a fireball out of frustration, but the consequences far outweigh how good it would feel.