Silence again. A long, empty silence. Felix, have you scared them off at the mere notion of leniency and patience? Or maybe, in some backwards way, the magic that animates those blades is testing his own patience? Being perfectly honest, they're probably just examining their options.
Eventually that spark of knowledge swings back around and enters his consciousness again. Something tells Felix that the blades have an idea of what he intends to gift them. A very good idea. And yet there is a certain curiosity in them. They’d like to know for certain, as Harrowheart has been careful not to tell them a thing. He gives them nothing, in this world of the Nexus. It’s enough for him to run his mouth off at every stranger and busy his mind with baubles in this place. He has no need to inform them of his life – their lives. Honestly, the blades are as lenient and patient as any magical artifacts could be expected to be in light of everything Harrowheart does... And fails to do.
They push their luck by moving beyond simply presenting knowledge to Felix as if it were his own realizations. Now they present images to him, suggestions which flash in and out of his mind too quickly to truly process but just clearly enough to be suggestive. Low-detail scenes like half-remembered dreams flit in and out: Harrowheart, glassy-eyed, stony-faced and serious wielding the runeblades in various violent ways. They cleave through metal breastplates for him and sever limbs without resistance. The broad sides of the axes block projectile magic, and the weapons themselves are astute enough to guide their wielder in parrying blows he otherwise might have been struck by. And they are capable of magic of their own, invigorating and even healing the death knight with sparks of their runes and jolts of blue magic. In every false memory Harrowheart is the actor, and yet the blades themselves feature prominently, their bright runes fiercely illuminated as they draw Felix’s attention to their strength.
This is the sort of power they offered to a knight-turned-fool who now squanders it. Who wishes them away. There is great capability in them, if only it were allowed to be realized. If only they weren’t forced to be lenient to that shiftless bearer of theirs. If only…
But Felix, you must be aware that it has to be this way. The blades are the servants. Powerful though they are, they are never in control. No, no. They obey the whims of the one who bears them. And so they will – no, must – show him leniency. But, in return… Wasn’t there something about an offering, Felix? A gift of some sort? You have the feeling they’d like to hear more about it…
no subject
Eventually that spark of knowledge swings back around and enters his consciousness again. Something tells Felix that the blades have an idea of what he intends to gift them. A very good idea. And yet there is a certain curiosity in them. They’d like to know for certain, as Harrowheart has been careful not to tell them a thing. He gives them nothing, in this world of the Nexus. It’s enough for him to run his mouth off at every stranger and busy his mind with baubles in this place. He has no need to inform them of his life – their lives. Honestly, the blades are as lenient and patient as any magical artifacts could be expected to be in light of everything Harrowheart does... And fails to do.
They push their luck by moving beyond simply presenting knowledge to Felix as if it were his own realizations. Now they present images to him, suggestions which flash in and out of his mind too quickly to truly process but just clearly enough to be suggestive. Low-detail scenes like half-remembered dreams flit in and out: Harrowheart, glassy-eyed, stony-faced and serious wielding the runeblades in various violent ways. They cleave through metal breastplates for him and sever limbs without resistance. The broad sides of the axes block projectile magic, and the weapons themselves are astute enough to guide their wielder in parrying blows he otherwise might have been struck by. And they are capable of magic of their own, invigorating and even healing the death knight with sparks of their runes and jolts of blue magic. In every false memory Harrowheart is the actor, and yet the blades themselves feature prominently, their bright runes fiercely illuminated as they draw Felix’s attention to their strength.
This is the sort of power they offered to a knight-turned-fool who now squanders it. Who wishes them away. There is great capability in them, if only it were allowed to be realized. If only they weren’t forced to be lenient to that shiftless bearer of theirs. If only…
But Felix, you must be aware that it has to be this way. The blades are the servants. Powerful though they are, they are never in control. No, no. They obey the whims of the one who bears them. And so they will – no, must – show him leniency. But, in return… Wasn’t there something about an offering, Felix? A gift of some sort? You have the feeling they’d like to hear more about it…