Talon’s expression softened as Arthel spoke such heartfelt words. He reached over, across the space between them. He touched upon the Emblem that marked Arthel as a man whose faith lay partly in him. Softly, the symbol that epitomized the truest meaning and purest manifestation of Hope illuminated at the crown of Talon’s brow. He allowed its warmth, its radiance and its touch to cross from him and into Arthel. What it did for the man and how it affected him would be dependent upon what Arthel needed most, in what way he needed Hope the most. Whatever strength it provided would be in the way that Hope worked brightest.
“I am always grateful for the time to spend with a friend.” Talon withdrew his hand and allowed the symbol of Hope to withdraw behind the veil of his mortal seeming once more. When the old man revealed that he had indeed come for a specific reason however, it did not surprise him. Arthel was not a man who spent time idly. Even if it might have seemed that way. Even friendly chat and reminiscing was done with a purpose, even if that purpose was merely to find comfort and joy. As the ancient man posed his question, Talon thought long and hard about his answer. He thought about the loss of his mortal father. The hole that Savien’s death had blown into the lives of both himself, his family, and his homeland was palpable. The absence of his father had been pivotal in violently derailing any hope of maintaining peace in the Northlands. The events that followed were among the most traumatic and scarring that Talon had ever experienced.
He still experienced those scars. They came in the form of nightmares, in insecurities, in discomfort in things he once thought nothing of. The other side of that was that he had found himself more compassionate, more focused on improving the lives of his people, and more driven to be the model of character that they believed him to be. For all of the horrors it had brought him, there were some good things that came about as a result as well. Despite all of that…he knew what he would do with such a power.
“I know myself.” Talon looked into Arthel’s eyes steadily. “I know what I believe. I know what I am capable of and what I would be driven to do. Yes. With that kind of power, I would try to change things. It is not in my nature to be able to stand by and watch horrifying events unfold.”
Even now, as he sat there speaking with Arthel, there was a part of him that was keenly aware of the sobs of suffering at the Injustice, Despair and Darkness that was all around them. He was moved to act, to respond, to defend and aggressively pursue the sources of such things. Given the kind of power that Arthel was offering, he knew that without a shadow of a doubt that he would become the exact same kind of person that had caused Arthel’s current suffering.
“I am not a god of wisdom or destiny. I have never espoused myself to be. I am driven to act, Arthel. I am a Crusader. I am a Warrior. I am a Builder. But I am not a Sage, as Lyra has oft described me as a gifted but…disappointing student.” He smiled fondly at the lessons that Lyra had tried to instill in him. Despite her absolute best, there were simply some aspects of her methods and teachings that he just did not have the patience for. Runeforging was one thing, but that was a magic that kept him active and engaged both mentally and physically, the other more scholarly pursuits were not where his passions lay.
“Which is why I must decline such an offer.” Talon shook his head.
