luxnoctis
clarissimum tempus diei.
THE DRUID
location
the gold rose, then the stables outside.
WITH
julian, antigone, aenwyn.
WEAPONS
spear. daggers. elemental magic.
INFO
26. male. he/him. bi. brother of antigone.
agathon.
agathon held his breath for every second of that conversation. his lungs had swollen to the brink of bursting by the time aevar finished his response, downed his ale, and departed with a bucket of water. for a moment, the druid simply lingered in place, hand still gripping the glass handle of that beer jug with a fortitude that might near-shatter it. then, he dropped his head with a heavy sigh, the candle placed in front of his seat sputtering against the breath that tumbled over his lips.
relief washed over him with the same coolness of the stream where he first practiced his water magic, yet agathon could not help the pang of remorse that tugged at his heart. he knew it was for the better, that aevar did not recognize him. knew it meant he and his sister evaded danger once again, even if only narrowly. yet, it did not thwart the young child in him from yearning for one of his first friends.
a number that has, since joining the druids in that secluded forest, reduced to zero.
shoving down the forlorn feeling that surged at the realization, agathon lifted his sorry head and dug into the satchel hanging off his body. he always wore it with the opening flap turned cautiously inward, so as to stave off greedy pickpockets. between the few, drawn-out swigs he took throughout each agonizing moment of his conversation with aevar, the druid had finished his drink, so he might as well pay. his fingers rummaged through the various, diminutive items tossed mindlessly into the accessory: coins, herb bundles, small elixirs and potions he could hand out at no cost to beggars on the streets. yet his fingers trudged around the belly of the bag, clumsy and inept, to no avail. chugging that drink might have been a mistake, for agathon the light-weight.
he grumbled a curse under his breath. he should have just held the stupid cup to his lips and sealed them as he lifted it, pretending to sip. but he did not anticipate aevar f–ing istedar to be sitting at this bar tonight. let alone speak to him, again, after nineteen years of silence.
squeezing shut those light brown eyes, agathon sucked in a slow, steadying breath. the light buzz definitely hindered his awareness to some degree, but he could manage this slight lag to his thoughts, his movements. he had taken enough of his own failed elixirs during his training to know how to sort through such disorientation. finally, fishing the exact change necessary to cover the cost of the drink, agathon flicked the coins onto the bartop.
just as a boy came hurdling into the tavern, hollering about some druid woman letting her bear eat somebody.
for a heartbeat, agathon concluded that his beer had soiled, and now ravaged his system, afflicting him with auditory hallucinations. but upon seeing an elven healer peeling off towards the stables, he confirmed that the boy’s voice was not just in his head.
which meant antigone was in trouble.
a breeze stirred at his feet, and he half-clambered, half-leapt off the bar chair as he shot immediately for the door. an invisible boost, one that would go unnoticed to most, if they lacked an eye for magic. it gave him just the edge he needed to reach the door mere moments after the healer. his flames reared, and it took everything in agathon’s power to keep them from sparking embers at his fingertips. each breath only seemed to fuel their burning, which set his light brown eyes ablaze with an orangey hue.
when he arrived at the stables, agathon’s eyes immediately flicked to antigone, ignoring the rest of the scene, scanning over her for any sign of harm. yet no wounds interrupted the intricate blue tattoos adorning her skin, and no bruises or blood sullied her face, her hair. his flames puckered out with relief.
only for his attention to find her hand, clamped around the arm of a man. a man with a familiarly arresting visage, adorned with a beguiling, charming smile, and framed by long, luxurious locks of dark hair. the smooth, shimmering strands were maintained to a particular degree of quality that agathon had only encountered one person capable of in his entire life.
julian valerius, the third.
the third to his trio of boyhood friends. right next to aevar.
considering the rage evident on his sister’s face, agathon knew their nineteen-year-long ruse was up. they had been caught. recognized. his escape from aevar must have just been one of fate’s cruel, foul attempts at self-entertainment. at a loss for words, agathon merely shot a carefully honed look of alarm towards antigone–concealing the maelstrom of distraught, paranoia, and helplessness raging beneath.
and wished that his beer had been spoiled, after all.
relief washed over him with the same coolness of the stream where he first practiced his water magic, yet agathon could not help the pang of remorse that tugged at his heart. he knew it was for the better, that aevar did not recognize him. knew it meant he and his sister evaded danger once again, even if only narrowly. yet, it did not thwart the young child in him from yearning for one of his first friends.
a number that has, since joining the druids in that secluded forest, reduced to zero.
shoving down the forlorn feeling that surged at the realization, agathon lifted his sorry head and dug into the satchel hanging off his body. he always wore it with the opening flap turned cautiously inward, so as to stave off greedy pickpockets. between the few, drawn-out swigs he took throughout each agonizing moment of his conversation with aevar, the druid had finished his drink, so he might as well pay. his fingers rummaged through the various, diminutive items tossed mindlessly into the accessory: coins, herb bundles, small elixirs and potions he could hand out at no cost to beggars on the streets. yet his fingers trudged around the belly of the bag, clumsy and inept, to no avail. chugging that drink might have been a mistake, for agathon the light-weight.
he grumbled a curse under his breath. he should have just held the stupid cup to his lips and sealed them as he lifted it, pretending to sip. but he did not anticipate aevar f–ing istedar to be sitting at this bar tonight. let alone speak to him, again, after nineteen years of silence.
squeezing shut those light brown eyes, agathon sucked in a slow, steadying breath. the light buzz definitely hindered his awareness to some degree, but he could manage this slight lag to his thoughts, his movements. he had taken enough of his own failed elixirs during his training to know how to sort through such disorientation. finally, fishing the exact change necessary to cover the cost of the drink, agathon flicked the coins onto the bartop.
just as a boy came hurdling into the tavern, hollering about some druid woman letting her bear eat somebody.
for a heartbeat, agathon concluded that his beer had soiled, and now ravaged his system, afflicting him with auditory hallucinations. but upon seeing an elven healer peeling off towards the stables, he confirmed that the boy’s voice was not just in his head.
which meant antigone was in trouble.
a breeze stirred at his feet, and he half-clambered, half-leapt off the bar chair as he shot immediately for the door. an invisible boost, one that would go unnoticed to most, if they lacked an eye for magic. it gave him just the edge he needed to reach the door mere moments after the healer. his flames reared, and it took everything in agathon’s power to keep them from sparking embers at his fingertips. each breath only seemed to fuel their burning, which set his light brown eyes ablaze with an orangey hue.
when he arrived at the stables, agathon’s eyes immediately flicked to antigone, ignoring the rest of the scene, scanning over her for any sign of harm. yet no wounds interrupted the intricate blue tattoos adorning her skin, and no bruises or blood sullied her face, her hair. his flames puckered out with relief.
only for his attention to find her hand, clamped around the arm of a man. a man with a familiarly arresting visage, adorned with a beguiling, charming smile, and framed by long, luxurious locks of dark hair. the smooth, shimmering strands were maintained to a particular degree of quality that agathon had only encountered one person capable of in his entire life.
julian valerius, the third.
the third to his trio of boyhood friends. right next to aevar.
considering the rage evident on his sister’s face, agathon knew their nineteen-year-long ruse was up. they had been caught. recognized. his escape from aevar must have just been one of fate’s cruel, foul attempts at self-entertainment. at a loss for words, agathon merely shot a carefully honed look of alarm towards antigone–concealing the maelstrom of distraught, paranoia, and helplessness raging beneath.
and wished that his beer had been spoiled, after all.
coded by natasha.