Velho
Approved Character
- Messages
- 200
- Race
- Æld'Norai
- Profession
- Ferrier
- Location
- AElheim
- Arcana
- Character Sheet
༺༉❁ September 2nd year 124 of the third age ❁༉༻
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"Velho, dear, I think your little experiment has reached its terminus– I hear the boy would've died in flames had you not gone out of your way to save him." Hespæride began, her smooth, dulcet voice laced with the discordant tones of both concern and condescension.
"...and how would you know that?" Her son replied, trying in vain to mask his anxiety. There was an ever so subtle tremble in his voice, and he couldn't seem to stop fidgeting with the rings adorning his slender fingers. Conversations like these always made him feel like a little boy again, no matter how many additional threads were woven into the ever expanding tapestry of time.
The two of them sat within Velho's crowded library in Själasalr. The walls, floors and furniture of which were all grown from the richly dark sequoia like the rest of the establishment, and so filled were the shelves with dizzying amounts of texts and oddities that one might describe the room as claustrophobic despite its overall size and high ceilings. Hespæride had flit over through Apparation, arriving much as a surprise to her son. Such was a common strategy for her visits– she preferred to catch people off guard with her confrontations, as doing so gave the other party little to no time to gather their thoughts beforehand. Even her son was not spared from this tactic.
"A little flame-haired bird told me." She answered bluntly, brows raised as to paint a picture of faux surprise; he had to have expected this outcome. "All of the witches who call Hespæria home are loyal to me, you know that."
And he did. Further, he knew that he had no right to hold any ire towards Magnea for tattling, either. The Ferrier was well enough aware that she held infinitely more loyalty to the Weaver than she cared for him. On top of that, when it came to being honest with him or honest with his mother, Hespæride always won. Then there was the fact that she thought his hypothesis was stupid– crafting a Paragon out of anyone would be a fool's errand. She scarcely even believed such a thing was possible when he'd explained it to her, but doing so out of a Fælnir was outright disgraceful in her eyes.
Granted, one could argue that the choice of lab rat was merely a matter of principle.
But debates of this nature were far from new; it'd been a point of contention between Æld'Norai since the Fælnir's fall from grace almost fifteen millennia past. Many have spent truly unholy amounts of time pontificating on both sides of the issue, or else found themselves mired in endless heated arguments. Neither side was truly 'winning,' either, albeit there have been a few noble Fælnir who've earned the right; roughly a couple at most every thousand years. This drip fed the satisfaction of those who believed in the possibility of redemption, while those against it held their tongues because, at the very least, doing this sparingly bolstered the loyalty of the other Fælnir. The masses always clung to the infinitesimally low possibility that they, too, could achieve such deification.
"You can't truly think that pet of yours possesses the constitution to withstand another, much less achieve consummate enough control over all five, can you?" Hespæride asked, the expectant look in her emerald gaze cutting into her son like a hot knife.
"I…" he really did believe…but no, he couldn't say that. He'd disappoint his mother– something that stung him like a lash every time. "...well, no, but he's not useless–"
"Ah, there it is– 'no,'" she interrupted in a tone that exuded self-satisfaction. "And I never said he was useless," she corrected, an uncharacteristically kind sentiment towards a Fælnir, but one that was ultimately utilitarian.
"Merely, I think that he is a waste of time– a waste of your time, Velho." For a moment, the witch would pause– she wanted Velho to sit with her words in weighty silence.
"There have been some complaints that you're harder to contact, and another Ferrier has started having to pick up some of your slack; these whispers began at the onset of your experiment and have continued ever since." She tapped the tips of her fingers together for a moment, as if emphasizing the correlation between these complaints and her prior assertion.
Her son was silent, knowing his mother well enough to realize she'd already made a decision at this point.
"You've made the boy into a useful pet, but I think we'd all be better served if he were moved out of your hands and into mine– I doubt he'll be stable enough to survive the next trial. Even with your fleshweaving, his Aether might fray, breaking him in an unfixable instant. His death would be…" she trailed off; an act of obvious dramaturgy. "...a waste, wouldn't it? And don't worry; he'll be taken care of and kept busy– he'll get a fulfilling enough life for a Fælnir."
Hespæride considered this choice of action to be the optimal one; whilst she was aware it'd upset her son, sometimes, that was a cost she was willing to pay. Nevertheless, such choices were never made without due consideration, and, where possible, she did prefer to go out of her way to appease him. She'd given him the latter assurance for that reason, and was perfectly prepared to give the boy a life other Fælnir would envy. Velho's sentimentality was a trait she knew well enough to assume that this caveat would quash any rebuttal.
…and she was right. "As you wish, mother," he voiced his acquiescence in an obedient tone rooted deeply in familial obligation.
"I'm glad you remain amenable to reason," Hespæride responded, her cheery little smirk uplifted by the hypnotic joys drawn only from the satisfaction of complete control. Which, of course Velho would be; she'd raised him well.
And so the decision had been made. Velho would relinquish control of Æhti to his mother and the boy would move from Själasalr to her sprawling demesne in Thokkmyrr's dark heart. The Fælnir was confused at first– scared, even, given the Weaver's reputation. His confusion only increased when he noted how he was oft treated better than others in a similar position beneath her, but he knew better than to ever question it. And, ultimately, he was glad for the change– rid of Velho, he was assured that he'd never be forced to endure another initiation. Furthermore, he wouldn't continue to risk his life for ostensibly no reason, either; the work she gave him focused more on how his extraordinary arcane talents might be put to non-violent use.
...but this interaction still wouldn't dissuade Velho from his ultimate goal: a loyal Paragon. He was a stubborn man despite everything, though with so much progress lost...he'd have to get creative with whom he used as his next text subject.
"...and how would you know that?" Her son replied, trying in vain to mask his anxiety. There was an ever so subtle tremble in his voice, and he couldn't seem to stop fidgeting with the rings adorning his slender fingers. Conversations like these always made him feel like a little boy again, no matter how many additional threads were woven into the ever expanding tapestry of time.
The two of them sat within Velho's crowded library in Själasalr. The walls, floors and furniture of which were all grown from the richly dark sequoia like the rest of the establishment, and so filled were the shelves with dizzying amounts of texts and oddities that one might describe the room as claustrophobic despite its overall size and high ceilings. Hespæride had flit over through Apparation, arriving much as a surprise to her son. Such was a common strategy for her visits– she preferred to catch people off guard with her confrontations, as doing so gave the other party little to no time to gather their thoughts beforehand. Even her son was not spared from this tactic.
"A little flame-haired bird told me." She answered bluntly, brows raised as to paint a picture of faux surprise; he had to have expected this outcome. "All of the witches who call Hespæria home are loyal to me, you know that."
And he did. Further, he knew that he had no right to hold any ire towards Magnea for tattling, either. The Ferrier was well enough aware that she held infinitely more loyalty to the Weaver than she cared for him. On top of that, when it came to being honest with him or honest with his mother, Hespæride always won. Then there was the fact that she thought his hypothesis was stupid– crafting a Paragon out of anyone would be a fool's errand. She scarcely even believed such a thing was possible when he'd explained it to her, but doing so out of a Fælnir was outright disgraceful in her eyes.
Granted, one could argue that the choice of lab rat was merely a matter of principle.
The Ferrier did not want to risk even a single Æld'Norai life. Plus, he'd argue, if a Fælnir were actually able to endure the trials of five Galdr initiations and master all of them, then survive apotheosis in the Aetherium, would they not have earned their right to be Tethered once more, thus regaining their erstwhile Æld'Norai lineage?
On the other hand, this train of thought disgusted Magnea; the Fælnir were as worms to her. She had actually tried to reason with Velho before his experiment even began that he ought to find willing Æld'Norai participants. That way, one of their own kin, at least, would reach the pinnacle of Aetheric power should his delusional dream ever come to fruition.
On the other hand, this train of thought disgusted Magnea; the Fælnir were as worms to her. She had actually tried to reason with Velho before his experiment even began that he ought to find willing Æld'Norai participants. That way, one of their own kin, at least, would reach the pinnacle of Aetheric power should his delusional dream ever come to fruition.
But debates of this nature were far from new; it'd been a point of contention between Æld'Norai since the Fælnir's fall from grace almost fifteen millennia past. Many have spent truly unholy amounts of time pontificating on both sides of the issue, or else found themselves mired in endless heated arguments. Neither side was truly 'winning,' either, albeit there have been a few noble Fælnir who've earned the right; roughly a couple at most every thousand years. This drip fed the satisfaction of those who believed in the possibility of redemption, while those against it held their tongues because, at the very least, doing this sparingly bolstered the loyalty of the other Fælnir. The masses always clung to the infinitesimally low possibility that they, too, could achieve such deification.
"You can't truly think that pet of yours possesses the constitution to withstand another, much less achieve consummate enough control over all five, can you?" Hespæride asked, the expectant look in her emerald gaze cutting into her son like a hot knife.
"I…" he really did believe…but no, he couldn't say that. He'd disappoint his mother– something that stung him like a lash every time. "...well, no, but he's not useless–"
"Ah, there it is– 'no,'" she interrupted in a tone that exuded self-satisfaction. "And I never said he was useless," she corrected, an uncharacteristically kind sentiment towards a Fælnir, but one that was ultimately utilitarian.
"Merely, I think that he is a waste of time– a waste of your time, Velho." For a moment, the witch would pause– she wanted Velho to sit with her words in weighty silence.
"There have been some complaints that you're harder to contact, and another Ferrier has started having to pick up some of your slack; these whispers began at the onset of your experiment and have continued ever since." She tapped the tips of her fingers together for a moment, as if emphasizing the correlation between these complaints and her prior assertion.
Her son was silent, knowing his mother well enough to realize she'd already made a decision at this point.
"You've made the boy into a useful pet, but I think we'd all be better served if he were moved out of your hands and into mine– I doubt he'll be stable enough to survive the next trial. Even with your fleshweaving, his Aether might fray, breaking him in an unfixable instant. His death would be…" she trailed off; an act of obvious dramaturgy. "...a waste, wouldn't it? And don't worry; he'll be taken care of and kept busy– he'll get a fulfilling enough life for a Fælnir."
Hespæride considered this choice of action to be the optimal one; whilst she was aware it'd upset her son, sometimes, that was a cost she was willing to pay. Nevertheless, such choices were never made without due consideration, and, where possible, she did prefer to go out of her way to appease him. She'd given him the latter assurance for that reason, and was perfectly prepared to give the boy a life other Fælnir would envy. Velho's sentimentality was a trait she knew well enough to assume that this caveat would quash any rebuttal.
…and she was right. "As you wish, mother," he voiced his acquiescence in an obedient tone rooted deeply in familial obligation.
"I'm glad you remain amenable to reason," Hespæride responded, her cheery little smirk uplifted by the hypnotic joys drawn only from the satisfaction of complete control. Which, of course Velho would be; she'd raised him well.
❀ •════════════════════• Over the next couple of weeks... ❀
And so the decision had been made. Velho would relinquish control of Æhti to his mother and the boy would move from Själasalr to her sprawling demesne in Thokkmyrr's dark heart. The Fælnir was confused at first– scared, even, given the Weaver's reputation. His confusion only increased when he noted how he was oft treated better than others in a similar position beneath her, but he knew better than to ever question it. And, ultimately, he was glad for the change– rid of Velho, he was assured that he'd never be forced to endure another initiation. Furthermore, he wouldn't continue to risk his life for ostensibly no reason, either; the work she gave him focused more on how his extraordinary arcane talents might be put to non-violent use.
...but this interaction still wouldn't dissuade Velho from his ultimate goal: a loyal Paragon. He was a stubborn man despite everything, though with so much progress lost...he'd have to get creative with whom he used as his next text subject.
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