|| The Chaos Mage ||

Chapter 8 - Libertas

This chapter is dedicated to:   

Soren, Affiliation: Rogue

Blindfell City, Affiliation: Edotaria

Image above: Blindfell City

Soren couldn't believe his eyes.

Amongst endless derelict rooftops the place sprawled before him, a scuffed up patchwork of varying greys, the odd shit-brown river lazily winding between buildings. He would say that he hated the colour grey, but there were some certain shades in a very certain someone's eyes that he found quite beautiful...

Maybe he truly had died when they were attacked. It didn't make sense that Zarek had helped him anyways. If he was this was surely his own personal hell.

This village - or rather city now, judging from the cathedral looming in the distance - he'd knocked it down. He'd torn it to pieces with his own bare hands, brick by brick, beam by beam, scream by scream. He could still see it. The green flames which engulfed the simple village. Green flames which had leapt from his palms. It had been beautiful, and horrifying.

But now the destruction he had caused back then was nothing but ghost, only noticeable in the way the city was built a little unevenly where a crater had been left. Seeing that little dip made his ears ring the same way they had when those people screamed back then.

But it had to be done. He had to avenge his brother. 

Didn't he?

It was too late now to be questioning such things.

The real question was how had that broken skeleton town become a city in the space of only a few years? 

And also, why did he sense something familiar further to the centre of it all? Was it simply paranoia from being in the same place it happened?

It seemed the only way of finding out was to ask a local. And the peregrine falcon perched on a nearby rooftop also seemed eerily familiar. Just not in the same way. Those yellow eyes drilling him when it thought he couldn't see. Well, he'd been hoping to see an old friend.

He beckoned Zarek toward him, and began signing again. He hated not being able to talk normally, but as Zarek had irritatingly mentioned before, he wouldn't be able to talk for a few days. His throat continuously ached, like that soldiers deceased spirit still hadn't let go of him yet. He shuddered slightly, and not because of the cold.

Zarek, He began doing his best to keep his motions clear and precise, he was a little rusty on the ESL front. It's been a few months since he last visited his parents. 

I need you to do something, it'll sound weird but trust me.

Zarek quirked a brow, seeming to catch at least the gist of his meaning. Why did those eyes on him feel so much more intimidating compared to literally anyone else's?

Soren shook it off. Business now, complicated feelings toward the enemy later. He stood doing his best to stride confidently into Zarek's personal space, seizing the armour-less soldier's left arm. This close, he could feel Zarek's warm breath tickle his cheek, could see how gorgeous his eyes of molten silver were compared to grey of city life. And was that...a slight pink hue to his cheeks? No he was imagining things. Trust Soren to crush so hardly on the enemy he starts imaging things that aren't there. He forces himself to continue, before he starts colouring up himself. He also needs to stop thinking about how that toned arm muscle feels beneath his palm. Focus.