"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?"
no subject
"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
"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
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?"