[ Once upon a time, the Hero King had been attuned to all the energies of his realm—with but a single step forward, he had been able to change the landscape of the world, and by turning his golden eyes to the sky, he had been able to watch as its many colors shifted and swirled, altered by those humans who inhabited it, mad with the love he'd granted to them. But here... here, it is different, and he has long since understood that his perspective needed to shift; that he is no longer what he once had been, regardless of the thing which is written into the lines of his body.
Though perhaps not all is so very different.
Should a newcomer approach him, a novice to magic in all its aspects, he will say: spell casting is a simple extension of will. Visualize your means, and give life to them as you would pour your heart into an illustration, your soul into a verse of song.
Should a seasoned Hero find him where he sits, atop a throne of beach-weathered rock, he will only smile, beckoning them forward as a glimmer cascades down from overhead, forming an iridescent dome about both himself and his perch. Show me your magic in turn, he bids.
And whichever you may be, no sooner than magic crackles to life—potent or otherwise, elemental or not—his golden eyes gleam, snapping open: ]
I am your target, then. Come— [ Fire away is the implicit sentiment, spoken not by mouth, but with an elegant gesture of hand. ] —let us see how strong you are.
B. Weapons
[ Though Guiding Light is at his back, and La Vista gilds his shoulders in place of epaulettes, Sion, at first, seems less than keen on employing either in battle unless he is so asked. But upon request, he will seamlessly draw his blade from its place, the sword as aglow as he is in the early morning light. ]
As my partner, please do me the honor of making the opening move.
[ Unless, of course, you'd rather square off against his necklace. ]
C. Healing
[ The end of the day sees Sion sitting at the shoreline, barefoot as waves lap at his feet, his ridiculous thigh-highs boots tossed aside, the long fall of his hair loose and pooled atop the sand. He is meditative in a way he had not been during training, his gaze turned not upon the vastness of the ocean before him, but to a void visible only by his eyes.
But then, his brooding is gone in the instant someone so cares to approach him, and it is instinct which brings the light of healing magic to his hands, a single word—mending—upon his lips as he casts a spell for renewal upon a comrade who is surely spent, wearied by training, and yet... ]
Sion Astal | Trainer (Magic, Stamina, Weapons)
[ Once upon a time, the Hero King had been attuned to all the energies of his realm—with but a single step forward, he had been able to change the landscape of the world, and by turning his golden eyes to the sky, he had been able to watch as its many colors shifted and swirled, altered by those humans who inhabited it, mad with the love he'd granted to them. But here... here, it is different, and he has long since understood that his perspective needed to shift; that he is no longer what he once had been, regardless of the thing which is written into the lines of his body.
Though perhaps not all is so very different.
Should a newcomer approach him, a novice to magic in all its aspects, he will say: spell casting is a simple extension of will. Visualize your means, and give life to them as you would pour your heart into an illustration, your soul into a verse of song.
Should a seasoned Hero find him where he sits, atop a throne of beach-weathered rock, he will only smile, beckoning them forward as a glimmer cascades down from overhead, forming an iridescent dome about both himself and his perch. Show me your magic in turn, he bids.
And whichever you may be, no sooner than magic crackles to life—potent or otherwise, elemental or not—his golden eyes gleam, snapping open: ]
I am your target, then. Come— [ Fire away is the implicit sentiment, spoken not by mouth, but with an elegant gesture of hand. ] —let us see how strong you are.
B. Weapons
[ Though Guiding Light is at his back, and La Vista gilds his shoulders in place of epaulettes, Sion, at first, seems less than keen on employing either in battle unless he is so asked. But upon request, he will seamlessly draw his blade from its place, the sword as aglow as he is in the early morning light. ]
As my partner, please do me the honor of making the opening move.
[ Unless, of course, you'd rather square off against his necklace. ]
C. Healing
[ The end of the day sees Sion sitting at the shoreline, barefoot as waves lap at his feet, his
ridiculous thigh-highsboots tossed aside, the long fall of his hair loose and pooled atop the sand. He is meditative in a way he had not been during training, his gaze turned not upon the vastness of the ocean before him, but to a void visible only by his eyes.But then, his brooding is gone in the instant someone so cares to approach him, and it is instinct which brings the light of healing magic to his hands, a single word—mending—upon his lips as he casts a spell for renewal upon a comrade who is surely spent, wearied by training, and yet... ]
I wonder, have you found fulfillment on this day?