Crossroads

Málmr cut a hard glance when the rogue retorted with that sheep insult, warning him before they all sat down and talked, but at least he had the decency to apologize and hand the lad his (cold) dinner. Even if that apology was immediately followed with a lack of responsibility for how his barbs had upset them both. He sighed through his nose, his heavy brows knitting in a frown as Sylen apologized and Jericho prompted him for further magic use.

A mere glance of Sylen told him that this was no time to ask him for another casting. The lad was an inch away from tears, panicking and grieving over a life he couldn’t have as a new mage. It was like looking at himself before he’d come to Ivras seeking the Order’s guidance, afraid of the risk of becoming a beast, afraid of his kinsmen turning away from him. But it was worse for Sylen now with Miriam in power, worse in a thousand little ways that made the very title of mage stained.

Málmr laid a hand on Jericho’s shoulder solemnly. “You’re asking too much,” He said softly. “That vision was an accident, and the control you ask of him takes time.”

Then he looked back to Sylen, nothing but gentle empathy in him. “It would be a good thing if we had your magic to bring to the shadow mage’s defense. But even without it, if we could have your testimony to Floren’s ill character, it could be enough to place doubt on the matter. You can help. If you wish to.”

He offered an empathetic, small smile as he let his hand slip from Jericho’s shoulder. “I know...this all feels daunting. But we’re not here to harm you or take you in, I promise you that. You can take your time to think, to calm your heart, to ask us things if you need to.”

He was quiet for a moment, bringing his hands together on the table, chewing on his words. “...I was scared too when my magic appeared. It was on a Hunt on the sea. I cast shields. The ones I created to save the ship cost me these pretty things,” He tapped the raking scars across his eye. “And I was terrified of what it meant. Of becoming one of the things we’d hunted.”

“The Order taught me what I could do, how to bear my shields to help others, how to widen them, make them stronger.” He idly rubbed his forearm, at the rope-like scars there. His body was littered with scars from the cost of his magic. “...How to ignore the pain, how to do first aid on myself. I’ve used it for Hunts here in Ivras – used it stopping Hagia. I needed their guidance then, and I was glad that I was able to make that decision on my own. Before...Miriam, I was proud of what I could do to help people.”

He glanced back to Sylen, smiling fondly. “So whether you wish to go to them or search for your own guide, whether you wish to help or go on your way, I respect your decision, Sylen. It’s alright. You don’t have to be afraid.”