The Prophet's Song
After he told his story in order to illustrate his point about free will, Revna decided to divulge the details of her past as well. The story helped to pass the time during their journey to the lab. Though he had seen much of it in his visions, he didn’t interrupt her with questions or comments apart from one cryptic remark: “You are like my father. Except you’re better at being a Sith.”
His father had been a slave, too. The Sith lifted him out of bondage and put him on the path to becoming an alchemist. Yet they could not bestow upon him the ambition and focus which were required to make a good Sith. His father was not driven by any of these things. Even after being cursed, wandering for years in the Netherworld, and nearly losing his son to a rival, he was still ultimately just a sad, broken man who had never known anything better. Marcus had been skeptical of Revna’s motives, but his concerns were soothed by the thirst for power she expressed. With that attitude, she would go far.
As for Silas Fogg, it was hard to miss his disappointment upon learning Revna was not there to be experimented upon. He had been hankering for new test subjects all week. Marcus smirked at him. “If our order continues to be delayed, I will personally escort some fodder down here before the week is out. You have my word, master.”
Silas snorted, then stood up a little straighter when Revna called him milord. He stepped out from behind the console to get a better look at their guest. He was much older than he looked, but thanks to his alchemical skills he still had the appearance of a handsome young man with no signs of aging. Yet if you looked closely, you would see that his red and black robes were fraying at the edges, decades of wear and tear visible in the gildenweave fabric.
“Then a demonstration is in order.” He walked over to an empty table, tracing a possessive hand over its smooth, unmarked surface as he kept his eyes fixed on Revna. “But whatever shall we make?”
His father had been a slave, too. The Sith lifted him out of bondage and put him on the path to becoming an alchemist. Yet they could not bestow upon him the ambition and focus which were required to make a good Sith. His father was not driven by any of these things. Even after being cursed, wandering for years in the Netherworld, and nearly losing his son to a rival, he was still ultimately just a sad, broken man who had never known anything better. Marcus had been skeptical of Revna’s motives, but his concerns were soothed by the thirst for power she expressed. With that attitude, she would go far.
As for Silas Fogg, it was hard to miss his disappointment upon learning Revna was not there to be experimented upon. He had been hankering for new test subjects all week. Marcus smirked at him. “If our order continues to be delayed, I will personally escort some fodder down here before the week is out. You have my word, master.”
Silas snorted, then stood up a little straighter when Revna called him milord. He stepped out from behind the console to get a better look at their guest. He was much older than he looked, but thanks to his alchemical skills he still had the appearance of a handsome young man with no signs of aging. Yet if you looked closely, you would see that his red and black robes were fraying at the edges, decades of wear and tear visible in the gildenweave fabric.
“Then a demonstration is in order.” He walked over to an empty table, tracing a possessive hand over its smooth, unmarked surface as he kept his eyes fixed on Revna. “But whatever shall we make?”
