(An alternative sequence, if this had not happened)
It had been, more or less, a successful ambush. Captain Bertram's company of brutes had been caught completely unawares in the dead of night, and while the resulting skirmish had pushed the empress's raiding forces back, it wasn't without the minor victory a few scorched tents, dead soldiers, demolished supplies and a handful of yet-living prisoners.
(Mostly.)
An odd standout among them was the scrawny thing they'd dragged out of the officer's tent, a young man too quick to cower and surrender himself, when hauled up from his nest of furs, bleary with bedraggled distress. It wasn't unusual, to unearth kept boys from Wulgrimm camps, though on closer inspection this one was declared far too intact to be a cell in use for very long. He'd been banded unlike most slaves of Euramar, at the wrist, and the device pulsed at a steady hum instead of delivering stinging injections at the throat, as was most common thes days. Conveniently, it seemed to keep him subdued, though he'd been bound like the others until it could be settled on, what to do with him. For now, a formal interrogation could wait.
Then the delirium set in.
That night, the guards posted by the prisoners kept jumping at shadows, hearing voices or shuffling noises where a quick patrol proved that all was well. One of the men swore up and down that they were being watched by a multitude of eyes in the darkness. Another was halfway to untying the largest of their prisoners, when it became clear that he'd recieved phantom orders from no one. Behind his bangs, slumped forward, Zexion played them against each other like puppets, until the most sensible of them was throughly convinced that the others had been driven to paranoid madness, or had taken some kind of funny mushrooms.
Symon kept seeing eyes in the shadows. Golden, luminous eyes, the luster rich and warm. The eyes laughed at him, sliding away back into shadow as soon as he turned to look at them head on, and perhaps, perhaps there was breathy laughter that accompanied it.
There was a mage in their midst. Following them perhaps, but more likely one of the prisoners that they had caught. Symon had smiled, when he came to that realization, smiled, as broke the cup in his hands, blood flowing in a slow drip from his lacerated palms.
It was tempting to simply slaughter all the prisoners, but there was the potent draw of actual mage to fight for him. He took a deep breath, and schooled his features, and slowly the mask slipped back on, the courtly smile, the polite face. "Get me the boy." He whispered to Merrick, as the lieutenant slowly plucked ceramic shards from his hand. There was something about him that was different than the rest of the rough looking Wulgrimm soldiers, and while he hadn’t been as well-used as a normal cell, they had just assumed he had been a new addition. Perhaps his master had been keeping him more or less in one piece for another reason.
Merrick slowly wound the bandage around Graves’ hand, neatly pinning the white fabric in place and silently ducked his head, leaving to do his master’s bidding.
Zexion had been tied between two ungagged soldiers whose names he didn't even know, listening as he wove his magic, hearing their whispers to one another as if through a murky fog. First the vetran between them shared a few insights about what to expect from Zakiem hospitality, which he'd hoped would eventually evolve into some consideration of escape plans as their captors rotated and grew adgitated, distracted. Instead, low, ugly talk turned to what they would do with the rattled guards, if their positions were reversed.
A minute of this, and Zexion could feel his mind going numb in dull disgust, shifting against his bonds and heaving a restless sigh as he tried to stretch his back. "They're going to hurt you, if they hear you saying that." He cautioned, grumbling.
"...Ah, and we wouldn't leave your tender arse neglected either, Zex." Assured the younger Wulgrimm soldier, sniggering, which made him stiffen with a sharper scowl, because they apparently knew his name. Captain Bert's new pet made for sensational gossip around the campfires, he supposed.
Either way, he peered up through his bangs with a dry look of exhasperation, meeting the gaze of a one-eyed officer who approached them with something like relief for the timely interruption. When they unlashed him from the pole and hauled him up by his bindings, the veteran soldier swore, spat from the toothless gap in his mouth, and advised the lad not to squeal when they stuck him. The illusionist wrinkled his noise and tried to fight the lurch in his stomach.
He let himself be led, with an uncertainty for what he would do. Grovel? See if they had any idea who'd been tormenting the guards? Explain how he had few options, here, or beg them to put him out of his misery quick?
Merrick led Zexion away, a firm grip on the elbow, so the other man wouldn't look back. So Zexion missed the moment, when another soldier from Symon's unit slammed his boot into the gap-toothed soldier's mouth, making his grin even more gap-toothed.
But Merrick's pace was swift, taking Zexion into Graves' tent. Still silent, he settled the young man comfortably down, but retied his hands behind his back. A simple flick of Symon's fingers sent him just as silently out.
Symon's gaze slowly swept over the slim form before him. "How long had you been kept in that company?" Cool, blunt words.
If he heard the brutal sound of the boot connecting with jaw and teeth behind him, Zexion didn't flinch.
He took note of the shape of his surroundings as they changed, watched the soldiers watching him, as they passed. It was a far smaller group than his master's company, but seemed well-oiled and efficient. The lieutenant moved at a clip that kept him making long strides, till they'd ducked between tentflaps.
And here was the man who gave the orders. Zexion kept his eyes lowered, but his gaze slid sideways under the lashes, this way and that, to discern if it was truly just the two of them here, alone, after the one who'd brought him in was summarily dismissed.
Kept. The word stung a small puckering to his mouth, drawing in his lower lip to pinch against his teeth. His brow furrowed neatly.
"Two?" He replied simply, a little dismayed by the way time seemed to be even more elastic when grounded in one world, than bouncing around many. Perhaps it was the change in routine to blame, and the course of adjustments in general. Some days would seem to bleed together, if not for keeping up Bertram's logs nowadays. "Two months." Which shortchanged his time in Sheatris by a few weeks, at most, but that was close enough.
And now everything changes again. He thought, and wasn't sure whether he should be elated about this turn of fate, or resentful.
"Not long then." Symon murmured. He could just be a new cell, and thus lightly used. His eyes narrowed faintly. "And I'm sure that your master did not engender any sort of...loyalty now did he?" The corner of Symon's mouth curled down. He had not been impressed by the caliber of solider that he captured. Uncontrolled rabble just seeking out the nearest warm body.
"No, not terribly long." Zexion made an uneasy noise of agreement, a sound that was neither here nor there. Made a fleeting motion at his wrist, and then... his eyes rose fixedly.
"Is he alive?" The illusionist asked, mirroring the shape of Zakiem soldier's mouth. "The Captain brought me out. They were going to keep me for common use, in Wulgrimm." He admitted frankly. "I... suppose I do owe him something, for that? No?"
"He ran from our attack, yes." Symon replied, his bandaged hand flexed, before forcing itself to smooth over his own knee.
At Zexion's words, Symon cocked an eyebrow, "You think you owe him for treating you like property? You owe him nothing." He leaned in closer to the prisoner.
"All men who will not fight for Lord Euramar must forfeit themselves and serve." He recited carefully, staring hard at a patch of canvas to avoid Symon's eyes. "To do otherwise would be to forfeit the conditions on which I was brought into this world." He thought about how close he'd been to the brink of death, then, and whatever breed of powerful magic had revived him.
"But... technically," the slave exhaled, bowing his head, a calculated flicker of tongue against lips as he mused carefully aloud, "Under his charge, then what if I am little more than unclaimed baggage, left behind?"
"Then you look for someone who's picking up lost souls." Symon replied, his chin tipping up. His eyes narrowed, "Unless you were thinking of striking out on your own? If, perse, my unit unraveled at the seams?" His gaze sharpened.
Zexion's face was an unchanging mask, nothing shifted under the honed scrutiny of Symon's pointed words, nor his watch.
"You seem to have engendered enough loyalty in your men that I really can't see that happening, sir." He replied smoothly, despite those few spooked-stiff soldiers that had been crying wolf on and off since shortly before midnight, at all of nothing that a thorough search could turned up on the perimeters.
"(This soul's been lost for a very long time." The Noboy added, quieter. This time the corner of his mouth dimpled, in spite of himself. "You, nor any master of this world is likely to recover it.)"
Symon batted away the flattery. "So not even your captain had it then?" He asked softly. "Do you keep it safe, just for yourself, untouched by anyone else?"
A small laugh nearly exploded through his nostrils, a bitter sound he couldn't surpress quickly enough. "No no," He shook his head, grinning tensely. "Safe? aHeh. If only. But out of reach, perhaps."
The Captain had precious little of him, all things considered? His body, some command over where he went, but all in all? It was an outward game. Even his loyalty, part and parcel of playing the unassuming pawn.
"Out of reach." Symon mused. He supposed it was close enough to safe that a cell would get. He was tired enough that his eyes ached, trying to figure out deal with the illusions and the low-level chaos it had been sowing through his normally painfully regimented unit. But he didn't slump, didn't rub at his tired eyes, instead, kept his focus on the man before him. It was a gut feeling, and assumption he was making, but he just felt that his unassuming man before him either knew about the mage, or was the mage. He seriously doubted that any of the rough soldiers they had captured could even read, let alone perform powerful magics.
"Is that why you've been making our life hellish?" He asked, bluntly. "Out of reach is almost like being safe?"
"Your lives hellish?" The illusionist replied lightly, his expression cool and impassive and patient as his fingers twitched behind his back in their bonds.
"I... I hardly presume to be safe now, sir." He said at last, more carefully, shifting the mail cuff along his wrist against the ties. "They can still take control of my body at any time. I only meant that... here in Sheatris, is not the first time I've found myself displaced. It's a bit... tiresome, to be shunted around this way."
At that, Symon smiled, the words gently murmured, "Ahhh, but we are Zakiem troops. Are you worried that somehow we will be worse than your current situation?" And he shrugged a little, before continuing on, unsympathetic, "War has a way of doing that."
The young mage raised his eyes, but not his chin, and seemed to consider the velvety change in the Captain's tone with weary curiousity. War was nothing so glorious as certain guards in his former coterie had often spoken of it, but then, he'd always supposed that Xigbar and Xaldin's bravado, along with all the epic stories put to paper, never had much part for him to play in things.
"Will you give me reasonable hope to think otherwise?" He asked plainly.
"I can certainly hope to try." Symon replied, blunt and frank. He always kept a sharp eye out for potential recruits, and unlike other members of the Empress' army, did not turn his nose up at Wulgrimm soldiers or cells.
There's a dwindling pause, a weighty quiet, and the mage tries to get away with simply making a low, non-commital noise at first.
But soon enough the silence and Graves' eyes seem to be bearing down on him, and he sighs through his nose, shoulders hunching.
"Any loyalty of mine does not really belong to this world." He declares painstakingly, a quiet resolution.
"But Lord Euramar's summoners keep me shackled to it, on a thread of life, and the Captain keeps me out of a cage, and that is..." He swallows, eyes raising again with some grudging difficulty in meeting the officer's gaze for long. "An arrangement that is only half-relevant for the moment, or so it appears."
"Perhaps not." Symon replied, his voice quiet. "But it will not be overlooked, nor undervalued. From me at least." When asked what he wanted, Symon laughed, softly, going back to the original matter at hand. "Stop driving us mad with your magics, as a starter." He replied, "But," He paused, taking in a deep breath, "Perhaps there could be something more between us. Something more than just the demands of a captor to a captive." Symon leaned in closer, his eyes bright and intense on the younger man, "You want to be freed of your captain, and I want to win this war. Surely we can find common ground in that."
"Well it got me out from between Gren and Burke, didn't it?" The boy replied cheekily, a tiny tucked smirk of satisfaction flashing briefly at the corner of his mouth. "I'll have to thank your man for cramming a boot up in his mouth, finally." Zexion rolled his eyes.
"I want to be freed of more than my Captain." He frowned patiently, looking 'round at his control band, twisting his sheathed wrist against the bindinga. "Bert's made this whole ordeal tidy as can be by Wulgrimm's standards, for my cooperation."
His brows lifted in cooled consideration, drinking in Symon's leer. "Now that Lafidia's won, how much longer does Zakiem anticipate this war will drag on for?"
"Merrick will appreciate it." Symon replied, a smile hovering at his lips.
At the question though, he sighed a little, rubbing at his temple. "It's hard to say." He didn't want to spill all the information to this unknown element. "But that's why we need every edge we can get." His head tipped a little, "So, more than just your captain, just all of Wulgrimm? I appreciate a man who thinks big."
Merrick. That was the name of the one who'd practically frogmarched him here, then. Zexion committed it to memory with a nod.
"If not for his claim on me, I was bound for the Cells." The illusionist explained, which seemed awfully wasteful of Wulgrimm's evaluators, unless they somehow hadn't realized they had an illusionist on their hands?
"I don't have a soldier's constitution." The mage insisted too lightly, with all the coy arrogance of a lapcat. Of course not, and it was easy to see why he'd look too scrawny to hold his own among the ranks of this particular band of brutes, especially. Nearly all of them in the frontlines of Bertram's company were twice as broad and thickset with the sort of overswollen muscle mass that came with certain techniques of channeling a glut of mana into superhuman growth, something that really wasn't heavily advised by the Empress's faction.
But that didn't mean the Captain had set him to strictly recreational work, either. Clever, to keep secret weapon on the sly and pretend it was only a fucktoy. Stupid, to leave it lying in your cot unattended while your camp was attacked.
"Soldiers can come in many different flavors." Symon replied, quietly. "Not all wars, or even battles are won by brawn. You skills could turn a battle. But then again even your captain saw that, didn't he?"
"I don't want to fight." Zexion insisted with a slow wag of his head, plainly as he had before his inquisitors after summoning. "I don't mind being useful, but I certainly don't want to go head to head with seasoned warriors."
"My master saw in me an amusing set of parlour tricks... maybe he had something greater in mind, for me? But who's to say? I still haven't been here terribly long."
"I have the feeling more than a bag of tricks." Symon replied, shaking his head, "Your illusions could reshape battlefields, trap troops, just...change everything." There's a light in Graves' eyes, almost like lust as he thinks what he could do with an illusionist.
"And," He smiles a little, "You wouldn't have to be in the midst of the battle to do, now would you?"
"Illusionary magic on that scale demands a great deal of focus, (not to mention power)." Zexion cautions severely, meeting Symon's hungry gaze with eyes wide and blue and a little like a contrite child's. He had certainly managed it in the Winter Ring of Lafidia, and without much prompting? He'd been saturated with mana from the eve before, then.
"That... depends." He murmurs carefully. He could script all sorts of mirages into his Lexicon and unleash them, but explaining their limitations to a military tactician could prove dicey. "Typically, keeping my targets within a line of sight is preferable?"
Symon took a deep breath, and reigned his excitement back in. It wouldn't do to get ahead of himself after all. So for now, he focused back on the practicalities. Fantasies were on his own time.
"I could spare a few men to guard you." Symon offered. "And certainly wouldn't keep you up in the middle of the battlefield."
Silence spooled out again, uncomfortable. Beyond the tent, the camp had gone quiet again, no calling out from on-edge patrols.
Was he waiting on a yes?
Zexion was hesitant to give him a yes. He didn't really like swearing himself to anyone. At least as a slave, he could say it was a fate that had been forced on him.
But a rear guard. And Zakiem food... and after the state of things back in Wulgrimm, after the failure at Lafidia...
The illusionist shuddered a little, shaking his head. Although he had few bargaining tools, unless they managed to cut the band off him, he still was the Captain's mislaid property.
"I told them I didn't want to be a soldier." He finally spoke, gathering up an uneasy sullenness in his voice. When I refused, they made me a plaything instead.
"What makes you think your conscription is any different?"
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For Symon
Date: 2017-03-14 04:35 pm (UTC)It had been, more or less, a successful ambush. Captain Bertram's company of brutes had been caught completely unawares in the dead of night, and while the resulting skirmish had pushed the empress's raiding forces back, it wasn't without the minor victory a few scorched tents, dead soldiers, demolished supplies and a handful of yet-living prisoners.
(Mostly.)
An odd standout among them was the scrawny thing they'd dragged out of the officer's tent, a young man too quick to cower and surrender himself, when hauled up from his nest of furs, bleary with bedraggled distress. It wasn't unusual, to unearth kept boys from Wulgrimm camps, though on closer inspection this one was declared far too intact to be a cell in use for very long. He'd been banded unlike most slaves of Euramar, at the wrist, and the device pulsed at a steady hum instead of delivering stinging injections at the throat, as was most common thes days. Conveniently, it seemed to keep him subdued, though he'd been bound like the others until it could be settled on, what to do with him. For now, a formal interrogation could wait.
Then the delirium set in.
That night, the guards posted by the prisoners kept jumping at shadows, hearing voices or shuffling noises where a quick patrol proved that all was well. One of the men swore up and down that they were being watched by a multitude of eyes in the darkness. Another was halfway to untying the largest of their prisoners, when it became clear that he'd recieved phantom orders from no one. Behind his bangs, slumped forward, Zexion played them against each other like puppets, until the most sensible of them was throughly convinced that the others had been driven to paranoid madness, or had taken some kind of funny mushrooms.
no subject
Date: 2017-03-14 09:45 pm (UTC)There was a mage in their midst. Following them perhaps, but more likely one of the prisoners that they had caught. Symon had smiled, when he came to that realization, smiled, as broke the cup in his hands, blood flowing in a slow drip from his lacerated palms.
It was tempting to simply slaughter all the prisoners, but there was the potent draw of actual mage to fight for him. He took a deep breath, and schooled his features, and slowly the mask slipped back on, the courtly smile, the polite face. "Get me the boy." He whispered to Merrick, as the lieutenant slowly plucked ceramic shards from his hand. There was something about him that was different than the rest of the rough looking Wulgrimm soldiers, and while he hadn’t been as well-used as a normal cell, they had just assumed he had been a new addition. Perhaps his master had been keeping him more or less in one piece for another reason.
Merrick slowly wound the bandage around Graves’ hand, neatly pinning the white fabric in place and silently ducked his head, leaving to do his master’s bidding.
no subject
Date: 2017-03-14 10:23 pm (UTC)A minute of this, and Zexion could feel his mind going numb in dull disgust, shifting against his bonds and heaving a restless sigh as he tried to stretch his back. "They're going to hurt you, if they hear you saying that." He cautioned, grumbling.
"...Ah, and we wouldn't leave your tender arse neglected either, Zex." Assured the younger Wulgrimm soldier, sniggering, which made him stiffen with a sharper scowl, because they apparently knew his name. Captain Bert's new pet made for sensational gossip around the campfires, he supposed.
Either way, he peered up through his bangs with a dry look of exhasperation, meeting the gaze of a one-eyed officer who approached them with something like relief for the timely interruption. When they unlashed him from the pole and hauled him up by his bindings, the veteran soldier swore, spat from the toothless gap in his mouth, and advised the lad not to squeal when they stuck him. The illusionist wrinkled his noise and tried to fight the lurch in his stomach.
He let himself be led, with an uncertainty for what he would do. Grovel? See if they had any idea who'd been tormenting the guards? Explain how he had few options, here, or beg them to put him out of his misery quick?
no subject
Date: 2017-03-14 11:25 pm (UTC)But Merrick's pace was swift, taking Zexion into Graves' tent. Still silent, he settled the young man comfortably down, but retied his hands behind his back. A simple flick of Symon's fingers sent him just as silently out.
Symon's gaze slowly swept over the slim form before him. "How long had you been kept in that company?" Cool, blunt words.
no subject
Date: 2017-03-14 11:47 pm (UTC)He took note of the shape of his surroundings as they changed, watched the soldiers watching him, as they passed. It was a far smaller group than his master's company, but seemed well-oiled and efficient. The lieutenant moved at a clip that kept him making long strides, till they'd ducked between tentflaps.
And here was the man who gave the orders. Zexion kept his eyes lowered, but his gaze slid sideways under the lashes, this way and that, to discern if it was truly just the two of them here, alone, after the one who'd brought him in was summarily dismissed.
Kept. The word stung a small puckering to his mouth, drawing in his lower lip to pinch against his teeth. His brow furrowed neatly.
"Two?" He replied simply, a little dismayed by the way time seemed to be even more elastic when grounded in one world, than bouncing around many. Perhaps it was the change in routine to blame, and the course of adjustments in general. Some days would seem to bleed together, if not for keeping up Bertram's logs nowadays. "Two months." Which shortchanged his time in Sheatris by a few weeks, at most, but that was close enough.
And now everything changes again. He thought, and wasn't sure whether he should be elated about this turn of fate, or resentful.
no subject
Date: 2017-03-15 12:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-03-15 12:39 am (UTC)"Is he alive?" The illusionist asked, mirroring the shape of Zakiem soldier's mouth. "The Captain brought me out. They were going to keep me for common use, in Wulgrimm." He admitted frankly. "I... suppose I do owe him something, for that? No?"
no subject
Date: 2017-03-15 01:31 am (UTC)At Zexion's words, Symon cocked an eyebrow, "You think you owe him for treating you like property? You owe him nothing." He leaned in closer to the prisoner.
no subject
Date: 2017-03-15 02:07 am (UTC)"But... technically," the slave exhaled, bowing his head, a calculated flicker of tongue against lips as he mused carefully aloud, "Under his charge, then what if I am little more than unclaimed baggage, left behind?"
no subject
Date: 2017-03-15 02:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-03-15 02:40 am (UTC)"You seem to have engendered enough loyalty in your men that I really can't see that happening, sir." He replied smoothly, despite those few spooked-stiff soldiers that had been crying wolf on and off since shortly before midnight, at all of nothing that a thorough search could turned up on the perimeters.
"(This soul's been lost for a very long time." The Noboy added, quieter. This time the corner of his mouth dimpled, in spite of himself. "You, nor any master of this world is likely to recover it.)"
no subject
Date: 2017-03-15 03:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-03-15 03:57 am (UTC)The Captain had precious little of him, all things considered? His body, some command over where he went, but all in all? It was an outward game. Even his loyalty, part and parcel of playing the unassuming pawn.
no subject
Date: 2017-03-15 02:14 pm (UTC)"Is that why you've been making our life hellish?" He asked, bluntly. "Out of reach is almost like being safe?"
no subject
Date: 2017-03-15 02:28 pm (UTC)"I... I hardly presume to be safe now, sir." He said at last, more carefully, shifting the mail cuff along his wrist against the ties. "They can still take control of my body at any time. I only meant that... here in Sheatris, is not the first time I've found myself displaced. It's a bit... tiresome, to be shunted around this way."
no subject
Date: 2017-03-15 02:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-03-16 01:58 am (UTC)"Will you give me reasonable hope to think otherwise?" He asked plainly.
no subject
Date: 2017-03-22 08:46 pm (UTC)Even a beaten dog could be retrained, after all.
no subject
Date: 2017-03-22 09:43 pm (UTC)But soon enough the silence and Graves' eyes seem to be bearing down on him, and he sighs through his nose, shoulders hunching.
"Any loyalty of mine does not really belong to this world." He declares painstakingly, a quiet resolution.
"But Lord Euramar's summoners keep me shackled to it, on a thread of life, and the Captain keeps me out of a cage, and that is..." He swallows, eyes raising again with some grudging difficulty in meeting the officer's gaze for long. "An arrangement that is only half-relevant for the moment, or so it appears."
"So what is it you want from me?"
no subject
Date: 2017-03-22 09:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-03-22 10:17 pm (UTC)"I want to be freed of more than my Captain." He frowned patiently, looking 'round at his control band, twisting his sheathed wrist against the bindinga. "Bert's made this whole ordeal tidy as can be by Wulgrimm's standards, for my cooperation."
His brows lifted in cooled consideration, drinking in Symon's leer. "Now that Lafidia's won, how much longer does Zakiem anticipate this war will drag on for?"
no subject
Date: 2017-03-22 11:15 pm (UTC)At the question though, he sighed a little, rubbing at his temple. "It's hard to say." He didn't want to spill all the information to this unknown element. "But that's why we need every edge we can get." His head tipped a little, "So, more than just your captain, just all of Wulgrimm? I appreciate a man who thinks big."
no subject
Date: 2017-03-22 11:29 pm (UTC)"If not for his claim on me, I was bound for the Cells." The illusionist explained, which seemed awfully wasteful of Wulgrimm's evaluators, unless they somehow hadn't realized they had an illusionist on their hands?
"I don't have a soldier's constitution." The mage insisted too lightly, with all the coy arrogance of a lapcat. Of course not, and it was easy to see why he'd look too scrawny to hold his own among the ranks of this particular band of brutes, especially. Nearly all of them in the frontlines of Bertram's company were twice as broad and thickset with the sort of overswollen muscle mass that came with certain techniques of channeling a glut of mana into superhuman growth, something that really wasn't heavily advised by the Empress's faction.
But that didn't mean the Captain had set him to strictly recreational work, either. Clever, to keep secret weapon on the sly and pretend it was only a fucktoy. Stupid, to leave it lying in your cot unattended while your camp was attacked.
no subject
Date: 2017-03-25 05:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-03-26 05:40 am (UTC)"My master saw in me an amusing set of parlour tricks... maybe he had something greater in mind, for me? But who's to say? I still haven't been here terribly long."
no subject
Date: 2017-03-28 02:18 am (UTC)"And," He smiles a little, "You wouldn't have to be in the midst of the battle to do, now would you?"
no subject
Date: 2017-03-28 02:53 am (UTC)"That... depends." He murmurs carefully. He could script all sorts of mirages into his Lexicon and unleash them, but explaining their limitations to a military tactician could prove dicey. "Typically, keeping my targets within a line of sight is preferable?"
no subject
Date: 2017-03-31 01:36 am (UTC)"I could spare a few men to guard you." Symon offered. "And certainly wouldn't keep you up in the middle of the battlefield."
no subject
Date: 2017-03-31 02:14 am (UTC)Was he waiting on a yes?
Zexion was hesitant to give him a yes. He didn't really like swearing himself to anyone. At least as a slave, he could say it was a fate that had been forced on him.
But a rear guard. And Zakiem food... and after the state of things back in Wulgrimm, after the failure at Lafidia...
The illusionist shuddered a little, shaking his head. Although he had few bargaining tools, unless they managed to cut the band off him, he still was the Captain's mislaid property.
"I told them I didn't want to be a soldier." He finally spoke, gathering up an uneasy sullenness in his voice. When I refused, they made me a plaything instead.
"What makes you think your conscription is any different?"