[Solomon notes the distress, the way those inhuman ears tilt back, even as the man himself starts to flinch from the effects of the space. But he'll at least make his way to their new mentor, a careful hand to his shoulder.
For G'raha, in his ears, like it's him and yet not, he hears the dry and pained gasps of a phantom; a young man, a pained man, a desperate man, not him and not exactly his fellow wizard, but of a fledgling sorcerer hardly in his twenties. Yelling. Mourning. Gasping for pain against the ground, the ache of utter tragedy. The magic exists regardless.
It hurts, and from how Solomon physically shudders along with G'raha voluntarily at the waves of power, it's affecting both of them.]
Careful. Gather yourself, or it's not going to stop.
[The death. The destruction. A radiating danger that courses through your limbs without your control, despite what you try.
"Please------- Please, let me take it back!!!!!"
Hoarse words to the dead from the phantom in G'raha's ears. Pointless crying from the wolf among the slaughtered lambs. Heaven won't hear you.
So call for help. Make them come from elsewhere. The mind rushes in desperation. To make a circle, a spell, a pleading. Drawing from phantom memories, phantom theories, the mystical and dark and forbidden.
Instinct says a circle is possible. Logic says you will die. Fear smells the blood in the air and feels the burn of your magic like bile in your throat.
no subject
For G'raha, in his ears, like it's him and yet not, he hears the dry and pained gasps of a phantom; a young man, a pained man, a desperate man, not him and not exactly his fellow wizard, but of a fledgling sorcerer hardly in his twenties. Yelling. Mourning. Gasping for pain against the ground, the ache of utter tragedy. The magic exists regardless.
It hurts, and from how Solomon physically shudders along with G'raha voluntarily at the waves of power, it's affecting both of them.]
Careful. Gather yourself, or it's not going to stop.
[The death. The destruction. A radiating danger that courses through your limbs without your control, despite what you try.
"Please------- Please, let me take it back!!!!!"
Hoarse words to the dead from the phantom in G'raha's ears. Pointless crying from the wolf among the slaughtered lambs. Heaven won't hear you.
So call for help. Make them come from elsewhere. The mind rushes in desperation. To make a circle, a spell, a pleading. Drawing from phantom memories, phantom theories, the mystical and dark and forbidden.
Instinct says a circle is possible. Logic says you will die. Fear smells the blood in the air and feels the burn of your magic like bile in your throat.
All G'raha needs to do is choose.]