Locking horns (for Rolan)
Aug. 11th, 2024 07:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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morphicpoolsOf all the battles he's ever faced, from undead to devils, none has ever unmanned Zevlor to the same extent as standing in the square across from Sorcerous Sundries.
He's arrived in Baldur's Gate late, he knows. After the remnants of the tiefling refugees he was meant to lead, and alone. That he made it by himself is impressive. That he managed it while nightly questioning whether or not he really wanted to wake at all in the morning is a testament to...something. Duty. Bloody-mindedness. Some fragment of the paladin left clinging to his soul. There is no way back; he has no right to ask forgiveness of the people he failed, but that doesn't absolve him of his fealty to them.
He cannot approach them himself, and whether that's practicality, knowing they wouldn't accept him, or whether it's cowardice, he can't say, but what he has done, is tracked them through the city like a ghost, leaving food and coin for them to find here and there, intervening from the shadows when it looked like someone might do them harm. Stupid, really. Neither Gortash nor the Absolute will be defeated by sweets and copper coins. Perhaps all Zevlor is doing is idle fancy, assuaging his own conscience in the laziest way possible.
But it's not as if he can take on the Absolute, himself. It's had a piece of him already.
No. But if he's to do anything more for his people than skulk--and it damn well seems like someone has to--he's going to have to talk to one, face to face. Rolan is his choice for more reasons than one. A gifted wizard in his own right, he certainly never acted as though he needed Zevlor's leadership before, and the old Hellrider has heard enough about their journey without him to be impressed. If nothing else, he owes Rolan thanks, and an apology.
It's just that the last thing he wants is to face him.
It's more than an hour that he lingers, legs feeling like lead, trying to force himself to move toward the door of the shop. Bless and curse the bastard, if it wasn't for Aradin's sudden, noisy appearance in the doorway, Zevlor might have turned to stone and stayed forever. As it is, his argument with the animated armor prompts just enough amusement, and deja vu, to get him moving, letting his steps carry him past the human as quietly as they can. And thanks to the ragged hood and cloak covering his head and his armor, he goes unnoticed.
Rolan, however, is going to notice him fairly quickly. He approaches the counter with barely a glance as the magical summons wandering the room, and if his face is shadowed within fabric, it's still pretty damn distinctive.
He's arrived in Baldur's Gate late, he knows. After the remnants of the tiefling refugees he was meant to lead, and alone. That he made it by himself is impressive. That he managed it while nightly questioning whether or not he really wanted to wake at all in the morning is a testament to...something. Duty. Bloody-mindedness. Some fragment of the paladin left clinging to his soul. There is no way back; he has no right to ask forgiveness of the people he failed, but that doesn't absolve him of his fealty to them.
He cannot approach them himself, and whether that's practicality, knowing they wouldn't accept him, or whether it's cowardice, he can't say, but what he has done, is tracked them through the city like a ghost, leaving food and coin for them to find here and there, intervening from the shadows when it looked like someone might do them harm. Stupid, really. Neither Gortash nor the Absolute will be defeated by sweets and copper coins. Perhaps all Zevlor is doing is idle fancy, assuaging his own conscience in the laziest way possible.
But it's not as if he can take on the Absolute, himself. It's had a piece of him already.
No. But if he's to do anything more for his people than skulk--and it damn well seems like someone has to--he's going to have to talk to one, face to face. Rolan is his choice for more reasons than one. A gifted wizard in his own right, he certainly never acted as though he needed Zevlor's leadership before, and the old Hellrider has heard enough about their journey without him to be impressed. If nothing else, he owes Rolan thanks, and an apology.
It's just that the last thing he wants is to face him.
It's more than an hour that he lingers, legs feeling like lead, trying to force himself to move toward the door of the shop. Bless and curse the bastard, if it wasn't for Aradin's sudden, noisy appearance in the doorway, Zevlor might have turned to stone and stayed forever. As it is, his argument with the animated armor prompts just enough amusement, and deja vu, to get him moving, letting his steps carry him past the human as quietly as they can. And thanks to the ragged hood and cloak covering his head and his armor, he goes unnoticed.
Rolan, however, is going to notice him fairly quickly. He approaches the counter with barely a glance as the magical summons wandering the room, and if his face is shadowed within fabric, it's still pretty damn distinctive.
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Date: 2024-10-17 10:47 pm (UTC)A weight settles in the pit of his stomach when they lock eyes, though Rolan's attention is very quickly drawn to the woman walking in stride with the older tiefling until she breaks off and heads for the staircase. Her presence is as big as she is, her feathered wings billowing behind her and demanding the attention of everyone around without a word. He knows he's openly gaping and closes his jaw with a snap when he realizes.
His attention is brought back to Zevlor at the sound of his name. The wizard's brow furrows in confusion, glancing back to the aasimar quickly. "I-- The Nightsong is a person?"
The pieces of the puzzle slot together, but the weight in his stomach feels heavier at the realization. He's seen the warding circle Lorroakan has in the library and hadn't questioned its true purpose. That monster intended to imprison the Nightsong-- a person-- for his own personal gain? His hands clench into fists atop the counter and his blood boils. Shaking his head, he scowls at the easy-out Zevlor offers. Of simply walking away as if he had seen nothing.
"Zurgan. You can't expect me to just sit by when I could help!" How could he think of turning a blind eye to this? It's the final straw and he wants to be around to see that Lorroakan can't simply do what he pleases while making everyone around him suffer.
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Date: 2024-10-23 02:54 am (UTC)Rolan is the one ambitious wizard he's inclined to trust, but he didn't expect him to volunteer to fight against his own master. The surprise shows in his face, but it only lingers for a moment. "You're quite sure? This is--"
"Your company will be most welcome, young wizard." Aylin says. Her voice is as impressive as the rest of her, and as attention-grabbing. "Zevlor speaks highly of you. But we must move quickly if we are to retain the element of surprise."
Zevlor opens his mouth, then closes it again as the aasimar resumes her purposeful stride toward the stairs. It's more than a little comical, how he has to jog to catch up with her. And now it occurs to him that she could have just flown to one of the upper windows, carrying him along if needed. Maybe she walked through the lobby on purpose, to give Rolan the chance to join them.
He's not in charge of this at all. How humbling!
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Date: 2024-10-31 03:13 pm (UTC)"Good, now that's settled. Come, it's the portal to the left." He said this to regain some control of the situation, but she's gone ahead, striding with purpose up the stairs, and he has to hurry up the steps after them like some eager toddler. His righteous anger keeps him pushing forward, but the closer they get to the portal and the subsequent stepping through into the library, the more his anxiety shoots straight to his throat.
By the time he steps through, the Nighsong is already engaged in conversation with Lorroakan, who casts him an amused expression. His eyebrows arch with the expectation that Rolan will fall in line and help him subdue her. Instead, he scowls at his "mentor", his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest, tail flicking with agitation.