[ Another time, he might chide Fatima for relaxing too soon. Even as last trace of the enemy Servant has been ground to dust, its Master yet lives. Still wreathed in the kaleidoscopic light of his prana, Caster draws himself before the man with a speed that seems far too great for a figure of his size, and the curved blade of his khopesh has hooked around the enemy's neck before he can comprehend the reality of his own defeat.
A cold choice to make, but he has made colder. He can feel the weight of those decisions fill his mouth, pride and love and guilt forming into a bitter taste on his tongue.
It is only once he has done so that he speaks, words resounding through the empty night with the strength and clarity of a general addressing his army. ]
Your loyalty humbles me, my sons.
[ It's pure sentimentality. Fatima's ears are the only ones his words reach. He glances to her at last, his expression carefully aloof. ]
it's perfect!! \o/
A cold choice to make, but he has made colder. He can feel the weight of those decisions fill his mouth, pride and love and guilt forming into a bitter taste on his tongue.
It is only once he has done so that he speaks, words resounding through the empty night with the strength and clarity of a general addressing his army. ]
Your loyalty humbles me, my sons.
[ It's pure sentimentality. Fatima's ears are the only ones his words reach. He glances to her at last, his expression carefully aloof. ]
The battle is won.