If anyone understands the frustration of their power being one of the few things they really have left, it is Istredd. He’s always considered himself a scholar and academic first and a mage second, but he knows now that it isn’t the truth. He’s been reliant on magic his entire life, it is the foundation of who he is as a person, he’s simply ignored that to feel ‘different’ from the other mages. As a sort of excuse for why he can’t relate to them and wanted a different life. Now he finds without easy access to Chaos, he feels empty.
Since arriving here the first day he has witnessed a lot of trouble, even been captured himself by those vines, so he knows what to look for. He isn’t sleeping much due to his anxiety and feeling responsible for everyone there, so he often wanders and checks on others. Just to feel useful somehow. Sometimes his abilities do come in and out, enough for something to tingle in the back of his mind, and he turns.
He spots Anakin struggling and hurries over, using a bone that he found early on and got to as fine a point as possible. It isn’t a knife, so it takes actual effort to make work as one, but Istredd is determined. The real knives are with the killers, but he can try to dig into the vine enough to start unraveling it. It isn’t easy.
“Sorry, hold on, Anakin. It nearly got me yesterday.” It’s a reassurance of a kind, a shared struggle. He would try magic but it is pinned too closely to Anakin’s chest, he’s more likely to set fire at his hair.
no subject
Since arriving here the first day he has witnessed a lot of trouble, even been captured himself by those vines, so he knows what to look for. He isn’t sleeping much due to his anxiety and feeling responsible for everyone there, so he often wanders and checks on others. Just to feel useful somehow. Sometimes his abilities do come in and out, enough for something to tingle in the back of his mind, and he turns.
He spots Anakin struggling and hurries over, using a bone that he found early on and got to as fine a point as possible. It isn’t a knife, so it takes actual effort to make work as one, but Istredd is determined. The real knives are with the killers, but he can try to dig into the vine enough to start unraveling it. It isn’t easy.
“Sorry, hold on, Anakin. It nearly got me yesterday.” It’s a reassurance of a kind, a shared struggle. He would try magic but it is pinned too closely to Anakin’s chest, he’s more likely to set fire at his hair.