"Four of them-- what in the seven hells have you..."
There are pointed comments that sting, that he should address, but Phillip is still a bit caught up in the why for the moment. Gustavain had been slaying primals, that would certainly be enough to get their attention, but enough for four of them to try and kill him? Though, thinking about it... somehow he had to be immune to tempering, to make it through those battles with his mind. How would that be possible...?
Warrior of Light. Hydaelyn.
Once he's thought of it, it feels so obvious that he wants to hit himself. He has not been mortal, or a facsimile thereof, for very long in comparison to the rest of his life. Yet he feels like he's adapted too well, slower to recall the wealth of knowledge at his disposal. He quite possibly should have guessed the moment he heard the title, might have been able to avoid this all together. But it's far too late for that now.
He reaches up, scrubbing uselessly at his face and winds up keeping his hands there, not much wanting to look at Gustavain as he finally speaks. "You are not the only one to have fled your homeland," he says, tone a bit dry to hopefully cover for the fact that he doesn't really want to speak at all, "And I have not seen or spoken to any of them since before we met." A subtle confirmation, that it has always been Phillip, always been the Ascian those times they've been together. "And I certainly have no desire to try and kill you."
He pauses there for a moment, before a soft snort leaves him. "And, if it gives you any comfort at all, I am fairly certain that literally no one likes Lahabrea." Asshole.
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There are pointed comments that sting, that he should address, but Phillip is still a bit caught up in the why for the moment. Gustavain had been slaying primals, that would certainly be enough to get their attention, but enough for four of them to try and kill him? Though, thinking about it... somehow he had to be immune to tempering, to make it through those battles with his mind. How would that be possible...?
Warrior of Light. Hydaelyn.
Once he's thought of it, it feels so obvious that he wants to hit himself. He has not been mortal, or a facsimile thereof, for very long in comparison to the rest of his life. Yet he feels like he's adapted too well, slower to recall the wealth of knowledge at his disposal. He quite possibly should have guessed the moment he heard the title, might have been able to avoid this all together. But it's far too late for that now.
He reaches up, scrubbing uselessly at his face and winds up keeping his hands there, not much wanting to look at Gustavain as he finally speaks. "You are not the only one to have fled your homeland," he says, tone a bit dry to hopefully cover for the fact that he doesn't really want to speak at all, "And I have not seen or spoken to any of them since before we met." A subtle confirmation, that it has always been Phillip, always been the Ascian those times they've been together. "And I certainly have no desire to try and kill you."
He pauses there for a moment, before a soft snort leaves him. "And, if it gives you any comfort at all, I am fairly certain that literally no one likes Lahabrea." Asshole.