Cairyn Midore
Use may be fatal.
Believe it or not, there was a brief -very brief- period in which the son of Midore could enjoy something akin to peace. This was before his extended stay with the Sith, before he'd once again feel the stinging embrace of lightning, before he'd have an inkling of an idea of what death felt like. In that time, he was content to remain for the most part in his sanctuary that was the arena, wasting the days away tending to his pets in all their glory. It was a simple life, caring for the animals that would spell the misery and carnage of so many. One could almost get used to it.
One also could forget just how young the Teevan was. Only 17 and yet the ruler of such a gruesome domain. Sure, one could argue that many had done far worse at younger ages, but that didn't take much away from the fact that he was still a child. The sun might have been setting on his claim to childhood, with it books chalked full of experiences he'd missed out on, and yet he'd managed to maintain some sort of childlike wonder.
Or perhaps that, too, was an illusion.
For one of the few times in years, he was almost timid in his approach. Taking a break from the arena, he'd ventured out to pay a visit to his, well, almost mother of sorts (though he would never think to acknowledge such a thing). He hadn't seen much of Grace, with both of them focus on their areas of expertise. Considering how many times he'd thrown her into near-death situations probably didn't help, either.
"Chase?", he was almost hesitant to speak. As if he was embarrassed to ask the question just on the tip of his tongue. It was several moments before he continued, biting his lip, hands a fidgeting mess. "I have a question."
One also could forget just how young the Teevan was. Only 17 and yet the ruler of such a gruesome domain. Sure, one could argue that many had done far worse at younger ages, but that didn't take much away from the fact that he was still a child. The sun might have been setting on his claim to childhood, with it books chalked full of experiences he'd missed out on, and yet he'd managed to maintain some sort of childlike wonder.
Or perhaps that, too, was an illusion.
For one of the few times in years, he was almost timid in his approach. Taking a break from the arena, he'd ventured out to pay a visit to his, well, almost mother of sorts (though he would never think to acknowledge such a thing). He hadn't seen much of Grace, with both of them focus on their areas of expertise. Considering how many times he'd thrown her into near-death situations probably didn't help, either.
"Chase?", he was almost hesitant to speak. As if he was embarrassed to ask the question just on the tip of his tongue. It was several moments before he continued, biting his lip, hands a fidgeting mess. "I have a question."
[member="Lady Psyona"]