[ For all the long studious hours set bending his mind toward the Morrison mentality, Brandon would admit if truly pressed that some of what they hold to be abominations puzzles him. There are cultural elements at work, probably, and his own lesser affinity for creatures that he raised up and stitched together himself. Incestuous, cannibalistic, murderous - what, exactly, could be so profane about Tavor that his domain is the basement?
Oh, well. He's about to find out, as unenthused as he is at the prospect. His dedication to giving gifts to all remaining living Morrisons is partially lip service; it's one thing to strive to please Qetzi'ah, who remains above and clearly in a position to do something, or not do something, but the way Haran speaks of Tavor makes Brandon think that's less likely to be true.
Which does make him twice as valuable, then, as a potential ally... yet Brandon doesn't feel confident it's doable. Chalk it up to the atmosphere as they descend.
He wears his coat with its clever linings, his shoes with the soles that leave behind faint imprints of little symbols. No weapons, no armor, no seven league boots (which would do him very little good underground, if he were to take fairy tale relics seriously), no sacred bough as a wand. He's just not that kind of magus.
Better than all those things, though he can't possibly think of taking advantage of it this early, is the pressing sense of the dead. All the bodies and death that have sunk deep into the hill. One might expect him to look wan and trembly down here in the dark. Wan, sure - there's nothing he can do about that pallor - but Brandon is steady of eye and limb, though he keeps his gaze low and humble as always. He doesn't want to display anything like strength right now. ]
no subject
Oh, well. He's about to find out, as unenthused as he is at the prospect. His dedication to giving gifts to all remaining living Morrisons is partially lip service; it's one thing to strive to please Qetzi'ah, who remains above and clearly in a position to do something, or not do something, but the way Haran speaks of Tavor makes Brandon think that's less likely to be true.
Which does make him twice as valuable, then, as a potential ally... yet Brandon doesn't feel confident it's doable. Chalk it up to the atmosphere as they descend.
He wears his coat with its clever linings, his shoes with the soles that leave behind faint imprints of little symbols. No weapons, no armor, no seven league boots (which would do him very little good underground, if he were to take fairy tale relics seriously), no sacred bough as a wand. He's just not that kind of magus.
Better than all those things, though he can't possibly think of taking advantage of it this early, is the pressing sense of the dead. All the bodies and death that have sunk deep into the hill. One might expect him to look wan and trembly down here in the dark. Wan, sure - there's nothing he can do about that pallor - but Brandon is steady of eye and limb, though he keeps his gaze low and humble as always. He doesn't want to display anything like strength right now. ]