Snippet #2623866

Hazarmaveth stood unphased by Vescteseg's bolstering and his challenge.

"Only because someone felt too proud to discuss the matter," Hazarmaveth said somberly, his eyes giving off a ghostly blue haze. "And do not confuse a choice of non-violence as synonymous with weakness, perhaps you will learn that eventually, perhaps after this skirmish."

His staff Quell shakes in his hand, he was losing his composure and he did not like it. He bows his head politely and turns away in an effort to avert his thoughts and evade making matters worse. This was one of the few things that worried him, to lose himself to anger, giving in to wrath. This was one important reason behind his choice of solitude.

He listened to the proceeding plans, wincing at Vescteseg wanting half of the adamant for himself in exchange for some of his land but he says nothing. He wanted a hand in this now, however, he had hardly any worshipers, most of which were hardly warriors. His only servants being the Seekers, souls of those who's lives were cut too short in his eyes remade in new form. Then something hit him, other than Kelthi's sharp shrill voice.

"Ah, I... may have a suggestion," he says carefully as he steps forward, realizing how bizarre it was for him to speak out so much, let alone put a mortal on the pedestal.

He holds out a hand, aether warping into a figure of a man of modest stature and moderate build throwing knives at a target pinned to a tree. His attire a far-from-lavish mess of cloth forming a brown and gray cloak, his face partially obscured, only his wild green eyes and his unkempt black hair show. The sleeve of his arm was limp, there was no arm there to fill it, what is visible of his skin is dark, scars mar it here and there. The man looked less a hero and more a bandit or a beggar, but there was something strange about him. The target was the symbol of a god but hard to make out through the viewing portal.

"His name is Winston Borne, he has been before me many times, near death, he has no extraordinary skills, a very minor grasp on magic, and no respect for gods," He says so plainly making no efforts to elevate this mortal, "either the luckiest transient or cursed strongly upon birth, he's been denied death fourteen times in his entire life, first time being when his mother was murdered by raiders."

Hazarmaveth closed the view port and paced back and forth, he was not done with this sudden bizarre display. He twirls Quell proudly despite the amount of unheroic traits he's listing off. If this were a sales pitch he'd already have lost the business.

"He's not of noble birth, he's crude, and tell not Karvana this but also an illegitimate halfbreed, though I suppose the more bestial traits didn't show so well, few want him around, not even he wants himself." Hazarmaveth stamps his staff down then waves a finger around, a but coming to his downhill speech. "He's clever though, and fearless, surviving alone has given him excellent instincts and he's compensated well for his handicaps as you could see."