Kell shrinks in his place. He knows everything about practice and patience. When it comes to magic, he has plenty of both. It's not were his problem lies. But Istredd is wrong about one thing in him. Maybe it's true for his world to see magic as something external, but for Kell it's integral part of him. Like his blood, like his all-black eye. Maybe that's the reason Abraxan one feels so jarring.
"But it is who I am," he protests quietly.
Kell lifts his hand palm up so that Istredd can see well. A clear sphere of water coalesces right above his fingers hovering effortlessly in the air. Small flame burning in its center. Thin layer of air separates the elements letting them both exist in this seemingly impossible combination. Kell smiles. He loves tricks like this.
"This is mine," he states. "I have no problem with it. I can feel it. It speaks to me and I can understand it."
He closes his fingers around the sphere. It disperses as easily as it has appeared. Not a drop of water falls to the floor.
"I hate Abraxan magic. With its rituals and sacrifices to foreign gods or dumb rote memorization."
Kell shudders at the memory of most recent ritual he's seen, and the vulture entity that was clearly its intended audience.
"I'd loose my dinner if had to touch anything that's connected to the gods. And breakfast, and supper from the day before. It's gross."
He's pretty sure he would literally vomit. He actually did, back in the murder cave when the Acolytes tried to feed him the mushroom goo. It doesn't help that he still can't get rid of the wilted flower from his Horizon domain. A ghastly reminder of the encounter with the Herald of Decay.
"But it's not all that better with Thornean magic. I've been studying alchemy for a year now. Subject on its own is fascinating, but the way they teach it? The books on it? Half of the time I need to fight the urge to fall asleep on the lectures. And that's before attempting to understand any of it."
no subject
"But it is who I am," he protests quietly.
Kell lifts his hand palm up so that Istredd can see well. A clear sphere of water coalesces right above his fingers hovering effortlessly in the air. Small flame burning in its center. Thin layer of air separates the elements letting them both exist in this seemingly impossible combination. Kell smiles. He loves tricks like this.
"This is mine," he states. "I have no problem with it. I can feel it. It speaks to me and I can understand it."
He closes his fingers around the sphere. It disperses as easily as it has appeared. Not a drop of water falls to the floor.
"I hate Abraxan magic. With its rituals and sacrifices to foreign gods or dumb rote memorization."
Kell shudders at the memory of most recent ritual he's seen, and the vulture entity that was clearly its intended audience.
"I'd loose my dinner if had to touch anything that's connected to the gods. And breakfast, and supper from the day before. It's gross."
He's pretty sure he would literally vomit. He actually did, back in the murder cave when the Acolytes tried to feed him the mushroom goo. It doesn't help that he still can't get rid of the wilted flower from his Horizon domain. A ghastly reminder of the encounter with the Herald of Decay.
"But it's not all that better with Thornean magic. I've been studying alchemy for a year now. Subject on its own is fascinating, but the way they teach it? The books on it? Half of the time I need to fight the urge to fall asleep on the lectures. And that's before attempting to understand any of it."