[The small castle he returns to is not home in any sense.
More of its stonework has crumbled in his absence, though it otherwise has largely remained the same, frayed tapestries and rugs and furnishings slowly rotting away and the few books left on it shelves blackening with mold. But it offers a roof over his head he doesn't care enough to mind sharing with spiders and snakes and the odd, wandering ghost. There's no point putting work into repair and reinforcements on a larger scale when he doesn't imagine staying long. It's just a place to haul in and skin carcasses from the hunt, to eat and rest, and consider his next move as Hector closes in. The world feels smaller and smaller by the hour as he does, and the silence doesn't help. Just magnifies his bleaker inner-narratives in the echo chamber that is his skull, his wariness sharpening as he waits up in a tower for sounds other than the wind whistling through the cracks it finds in wood and stone and glass.
His growing restlessness sees him flexing his magical prowess, daring to break away from existing templates and visual references to create new creatures from his own visualizations instead. It's harder than it has any right to be after the years of practice he's poured into the devil's art; but he knows, as the ancient incantation rolls off his tongue and he gathers his energy into the palms of his hands, drawing one of the lingering spirits from the castle walls to toy with, that his headspace isn't what it should be, what it could be. With Hector more on his mind than he isn't, Isaac ends up giving shape to a screeching, swollen mass of flesh and bone fighting for life. The second struggling, desperate attempt is less abstract in form: a beast-demon that thrashes into being like Abel had in its earliest evolutions, lashing out at him and drawing blood before it bends to his steely will. It's an imperfect being in all regards: small and asymmetrical, patches of its tawny fur missing along its chest and back. While responsive enough to commands, it stares blankly when left on its own, not noticing or recognizing the threat in a spider nearby that rears up on its back legs until it has already been bitten.
Isaac growls, refusing to give either mistake of his a name.
He's always taken failure hard. But he has the sense, even the maturity, to remember that, when it comes to dabbling with magic, setbacks are only temporary and his persistence would be rewarded. There has always been a sense of fairness, that way, when it comes to working with magic. Someday, he's sure he could surpass what was thought possible and impossible. Maybe even coast briney ocean air currents on a devil's back, casting a shadow over vessels slicing through the water below. It's something to look towards, to work towards. A thought he takes to the wooden tub with him where he soaks for a while, scrubbing a film of grime and sweat and blood off his skin, still feeling dirty afterwards. But it's not too long before another thought shoves its way to the forefront of his mind and sticks when he settles into one of the beds.
Sleep never comes, and at dawn he can't stand it anymore, cursing everything under the sun as he throws on the armour and leathers he had only just cleaned and sets out into the woods to meet Hector halfway, sword in hand. His expression darkens, his nerves on edge. That Hector and Julia met last night doesn't need confirming; he knows what he felt. It's the question of whether Hector's word still means anything at all that is begging for an answer, curiosity and suspicion eating him alive.]
You came all this way seeking my sister's company -- why?
[He demands, forgoing a more civil greeting. But at this point, his scathing bluntness should come as no surprise.]
LOL fucking pumpkin
More of its stonework has crumbled in his absence, though it otherwise has largely remained the same, frayed tapestries and rugs and furnishings slowly rotting away and the few books left on it shelves blackening with mold. But it offers a roof over his head he doesn't care enough to mind sharing with spiders and snakes and the odd, wandering ghost. There's no point putting work into repair and reinforcements on a larger scale when he doesn't imagine staying long. It's just a place to haul in and skin carcasses from the hunt, to eat and rest, and consider his next move as Hector closes in. The world feels smaller and smaller by the hour as he does, and the silence doesn't help. Just magnifies his bleaker inner-narratives in the echo chamber that is his skull, his wariness sharpening as he waits up in a tower for sounds other than the wind whistling through the cracks it finds in wood and stone and glass.
His growing restlessness sees him flexing his magical prowess, daring to break away from existing templates and visual references to create new creatures from his own visualizations instead. It's harder than it has any right to be after the years of practice he's poured into the devil's art; but he knows, as the ancient incantation rolls off his tongue and he gathers his energy into the palms of his hands, drawing one of the lingering spirits from the castle walls to toy with, that his headspace isn't what it should be, what it could be. With Hector more on his mind than he isn't, Isaac ends up giving shape to a screeching, swollen mass of flesh and bone fighting for life. The second struggling, desperate attempt is less abstract in form: a beast-demon that thrashes into being like Abel had in its earliest evolutions, lashing out at him and drawing blood before it bends to his steely will. It's an imperfect being in all regards: small and asymmetrical, patches of its tawny fur missing along its chest and back. While responsive enough to commands, it stares blankly when left on its own, not noticing or recognizing the threat in a spider nearby that rears up on its back legs until it has already been bitten.
Isaac growls, refusing to give either mistake of his a name.
He's always taken failure hard. But he has the sense, even the maturity, to remember that, when it comes to dabbling with magic, setbacks are only temporary and his persistence would be rewarded. There has always been a sense of fairness, that way, when it comes to working with magic. Someday, he's sure he could surpass what was thought possible and impossible. Maybe even coast briney ocean air currents on a devil's back, casting a shadow over vessels slicing through the water below. It's something to look towards, to work towards. A thought he takes to the wooden tub with him where he soaks for a while, scrubbing a film of grime and sweat and blood off his skin, still feeling dirty afterwards. But it's not too long before another thought shoves its way to the forefront of his mind and sticks when he settles into one of the beds.
Sleep never comes, and at dawn he can't stand it anymore, cursing everything under the sun as he throws on the armour and leathers he had only just cleaned and sets out into the woods to meet Hector halfway, sword in hand. His expression darkens, his nerves on edge. That Hector and Julia met last night doesn't need confirming; he knows what he felt. It's the question of whether Hector's word still means anything at all that is begging for an answer, curiosity and suspicion eating him alive.]
You came all this way seeking my sister's company -- why?
[He demands, forgoing a more civil greeting. But at this point, his scathing bluntness should come as no surprise.]