| Aurora Basin Phantom atk: 7.5 | def: 10 | dam: 2.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16 hh :: 8 yrs HP: 60.0 | Buff: NOVICE |
| Glo |
The next word out of Murdock’s mouth threw him off balance, and for a moment he only stood dumbly and stared, doubts clouding back into his mind. Perhaps this was a hallucination after all, or some creature taking the form of his friend for a cruel joke- but then realization dawned upon him, and he let out an embarrassed laugh. “Ah, I’m afraid you’ll have to know me by a new name. A lot has happened since we parted ways.” A smile ghosted across the Impersonator’s lips. Since his birth, Roland had gone from title to title, as had seemed necessary in his line of work, when his identity was as precious and indefinite as his own life. His father had christened him Ramses on the night they left him with his foster family; a strong name, as would have been typical for Ion to choose. Yet just like all the other names Roland had entertained, it had never stuck.
But he had no reason to believe that Murdock would use this knowledge against him. He had, after all, shared with the stallion many other secrets during their service, and Silas was but a long forgotten alias. As of yet, he had nothing to hide from in Helovia, besides his own detrimental thoughts, and thus no reason to shield his current name from an old friend. “It’s Roland now.” Not Ramses, nor Silas or Magnus or any of the others he’d come up with when he had to disappear once again.
Murdock rambles on, as is typical for him, and Roland listens with interest even as he remains caught up in the amazement that their paths have managed to cross again, after so many years. It seems that they both came to Helovia with a similar purpose in mind, to start anew, distanced from old connections and once-familiar faces. “I’m sorry to hear that, brother,” he offers once Murdock has finished his story, and not a drop of the sympathy in his voice is false. He can imagine well enough how dismal captivity would be. It was once his job to interrogate prisoners and tease intel from them, and the life of a captive was not luxurious.
The next question falls upon him, and for a moment Roland finds himself grasping at straws. He is incongruously cast back into the arms of old memories, things he has avoided religiously, and flinches under their sudden weight upon his mind. For someone as prideful as he, any reminder of the mistakes he has made is enough to knock the breath from him. There is so much to tell; books worth of words unfolded in the space between the war and this sunny day and he’d rather burn them than voice them aloud, but perhaps it would be good to get his life off his chest for once. He’s kept it buried for so long, forgotten beneath towering drifts of snow.
Roland tilts his head to the side, visibly reluctant to speak. “Perhaps not the happiest of stories, but a long one.” He thinks of his father, imposing and deadly, standing before him like an executioner; of the shock he felt when he realized that Ion not only had never missed him, but saw the creature he had grown into and wanted him killed. If not for the fact that he’d given his son a head start, to ‘make the game a little more interesting’, Roland would have been dead long ago. That had just been the first domino in a long line to collapse, destroying one thing after another until he’d had no choice but to run from his home. “I’ll tell it to you another time,” he murmured.
Never before had he been as grateful for a distraction as he was when Murdock jumped onto the subject of the Foothills, which piqued Roland’s interest enough to let his melancholy thoughts go. “You live there?” He asked, feeling somewhat foolish. “I was there not too long ago to make negotiations between our herds,” he huffed out a disbelieving laugh. Curse his ignorance. “You’ve been right under my nose this whole time, and I never noticed.”
Naturally, then, the Basin was brought up. Roland felt tension curl against his spine like icy fingers, and suddenly he could hardly bear to meet Murdock’s eyes. “It’s…” He blinks, stumbles for words and draws his gaze away from the curious face of his comrade. The wildflowers wash against his legs like the tide, unconcerned and vibrant as ever. He feels safe in the clearing, under an open sky with the sun beating warm upon their backs, but to speak poorly of his home feels like committing treason. “It’s different. I’ve lived there for a long time now, and…” All this time and he never noticed loyalty creeping up behind him; but now the words seem to stick in his throat. Perhaps he should not be bestowing all his trust upon Murdock so suddenly anyways. They could discuss the Basin later. “Well, I’m happy to have a home at last.”
“I can’t say too much has changed though, since I saw you last. I'm still caught up in my old habits.” He chuckled softly.
Push your luck if it makes you a promise
that turns con men honest.
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Image Credit
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