There was no greater sense of helplessness than that moment when he held his hand and watched as the light left his eyes and the devastating reality hit him in full.
He had failed. And nothing he could do now would rectify that.
Even as the knight locked eyes with him and searched so desperately, emotions welled up with the things he had yet to tell him. All the things that he had wanted to say, but which had never quite been the right Time for.
And now it would never be.
Silas woke up with a start and rubbed at his bleary eyes, cracking one open only to be greeted by the full brunt of the unfiltered morning sun. He groaned to himself. Of course it was his one good eye that he opened to the blistering inferno.
How he loathed the glaring light with a passion. Silly as it was it felt but a mockery in its flickering light.
How easily the world moved on and left its true heroes but forgotten in its shadow.
He who cowered behind his kin had lived, and was so showered in praise. Praise won in blood and sweat of not his own.
He was no warrior of light. Clumsy hands trembled with the adrenaline rush, struggling to draw the quill with which to cast his arcane magic.
Whereas most followed reason, he heard but his Heart. A romantic notion to most. Inconvenient at best. After all, those driven by the brash were not the most tactful, and to this he was no exception.
Now though he was taking a step back, as his acquaintances had insisted he do.
He fished, he mined, he reaped the bounties of the forest, and he tended to the garden.
Away from the frontlines.
There would be other heroes to rise up to the challenge, there always would be. No longer did he desire to struggle.
It wasn't his fight. Not anymore.
Silas pulled a grub off of the glazenut bush, tossing it into the morning glory vines that were creeping along the trellis.
He didn't want to outright kill them. And the floral plant would suffer less than the crops anyhow.
It wouldn't be long now. Soon it would be Time to move on.
His stay had been longer than he thought it would, at the very least.
It never lasted long.
Wasn't worth staying for, too many disagreeances, the company had grown distant if not deserted, there were plenty of reasons.
Certainly he could try for once to make it work, but it felt too forced.
Don't push it. If they didn't like him, they didn't like him.
Silas closed his eyes as he relished in the morning sun. In his mind he called for one of the many minions.
The poppet appeared in a swirl of green teleportation magick before ambling about.
If we could not bring with him the knight that was so fond of the oddities of what lay beyond the walls, he would at least honor him by doing so with the small poppet of his likeness.
His fellow acquaintances roused at their own pace, and Nash as always, dropped by with a smile on his face and a hug in his arms.
This Time though he hesitated, glancing between Silas and the minion as it ran around.
"How are you doing that?"
Silas blinked and it dawned on him, "Mammeteer. You learn a couple tricks after obtaining a number of--"
"Oh no, I know about that. But you're not wearing that title!"
Oh.
Silas didn't much care for the achievements nor glory boasts, and had long ago turned off the function for his headset to display such information.
What was he wearing at the moment?
Apparently the makai title. Right. It had been quite a tumble in Carteneu yesternight.
He glanced back at the poppet, puzzled, and not unlike his visitor.
Nash quirked a brow and poked the mammot, "You think it gained sentience? Like Gigi?"
No response from the wind-up Haurchefant.
The thought brought a grimace. He sure hoped not. Gigi had put him off sentient mammets for the long haul.
"Maybe it's residual aether. My anima maybe." He speculated. It was plausible as he'd left the Mammeteer shebang on for the past few weeks and had grown accustomed to manipulating the mechanical minions. So much so that it became second nature to him, almost as one would with drawing breath. Silas beckoned and it came to him.
He hugged the poppet close, ignoring the cold bite of its metal surface.
He hoped not.
The lalafell didn't know if he could handle having a poppet gain sentience and meander about with Haurchefant's likeness.
Too many memories.
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