Atticus' appearance seems as natural as any other dream logic. That's not what makes Vandelin bat an eye. He gazes out over the carnage with sick, sinking deja vu. He's never been here before, not specifically here, with its frost-rimed trees and broken barricades of ice, but the rest of it is so nauseatingly familiar that he may as well have.
"They don't want us dead," he says, rounding sharply on Atticus with an argument he's made so often and so desperately that doing it in his literal sleep is second-nature. The 'us,' too, is reflexive, because it was always an 'us' until it wasn't. "What are we even fighting for, if there's never going to be anyone we can trust? You want to stay out here robbing farmers and sleeping in the dirt until they finally put us down? That's what we left the Circle for?"
In curiosity, he lifts one of his hands, and discovers that the guise he wears now is not one he recognizes. Vandelin's mind has turned him into someone else entirely--a confidante, a friend?
"What are we even fighting for, if there's never going to be anyone we can trust? You want to stay out here robbing farmers and sleeping in the dirt until they finally put us down? That's what we left the Circle for?"
Ah. An idealist. Atticus frowns with some disappointment.
Well, he can work with it, regardless. The quickest way to challenge an idealist is to attack their ideals--with spells and swords, if necessary. Besides, Atticus doesn't particularly care about why Vandelin wields his magic in combat: he just wants to see how he does it. When he has no choice but to raise his staff and cast a spell, what does he choose?
In an eyeblink, he's gone from Vandelin's line of sight, but the transition feels seamless within the dream, as dream things do. So, too, does the sudden surge of the battle in Vandelin's direction through the trees. The templars and rebels are stumbling in clumsy, violent rage towards him--though Atticus has allowed him enough time to seek cover, or higher ground. The dream is his battleground; how will he use it?
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"They don't want us dead," he says, rounding sharply on Atticus with an argument he's made so often and so desperately that doing it in his literal sleep is second-nature. The 'us,' too, is reflexive, because it was always an 'us' until it wasn't. "What are we even fighting for, if there's never going to be anyone we can trust? You want to stay out here robbing farmers and sleeping in the dirt until they finally put us down? That's what we left the Circle for?"
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"What are we even fighting for, if there's never going to be anyone we can trust? You want to stay out here robbing farmers and sleeping in the dirt until they finally put us down? That's what we left the Circle for?"
Ah. An idealist. Atticus frowns with some disappointment.
Well, he can work with it, regardless. The quickest way to challenge an idealist is to attack their ideals--with spells and swords, if necessary. Besides, Atticus doesn't particularly care about why Vandelin wields his magic in combat: he just wants to see how he does it. When he has no choice but to raise his staff and cast a spell, what does he choose?
In an eyeblink, he's gone from Vandelin's line of sight, but the transition feels seamless within the dream, as dream things do. So, too, does the sudden surge of the battle in Vandelin's direction through the trees. The templars and rebels are stumbling in clumsy, violent rage towards him--though Atticus has allowed him enough time to seek cover, or higher ground. The dream is his battleground; how will he use it?