>>177176>Heat of battle is fire that forges strongest blades"My combat experience as a warmagus is limited, but I agree with your sentiment. For magical training, however, entry is the most esoteric and peculiar part; it's more than just having a strong horn, but the mindset to weild your powers... My supervisors, my master, made sure to brand that into me, before I even proved that I was worthy of their tutelage. They subjected me to the most excruciating torture to make me understand the true meaning of pain and fear, the likes of which hail from the Dread League. They chained me in a cellar with a starving rabid, with only the power of fear to defend me from its advanced. They bled me until I was nearly dry, and subsequently starved me, to show me what hunger was. They locked me in a dark vat full of hungry maggots for days on end, letting me out only after I was full of holes. They conjured foul creatures from beyond the realm of insanity, and allowed them to attach themselves to my skull and share their nightmares. They impaled me with hot iron pokers, with magic sustaining me until I begged for death, and only then did they allow me the privilege of trotting down their path... Ummm" The white unicorn pauses, realizing that she's been monologuing and divulging a bit too much information to a total stranger. She changes the subject
>how he is feeling being in such pitch dark place"The feeling of being in total darkness is quite the point, essential to his training, for his profession, which requires becoming one with the darkness. Besides, he's sensitive to sunlight."
>Especially with how quiet he has been(I haven't done the best job of roleplaying him; which is ironic because he's a character based on myself)"He's a bit shy of strangers, or at least the ones you meet in the flesh."
The pale colt with the blotched mane appears to be staring off into points in space with his sunken eyes, as if following something that nopony, not even Rosey Ring, can quite detect. His mood seems to have picked up once the group entered the catacombs, his little hooves tracing invisible circles and in the air, as if drawing on invisible paper. A red Crayola crayon hangs in his little mouth, and what appears to be either a journal or a coloring book lays open on the floating disk of Rosey Ring's magic. The colt seems to be quite used to occupying himself when his mother is working, blissfully distracted by what can only be his imagination... unless?
He's actually hasn't been completely silent, but babbling to himself and occasionally tugging on his mother's tail to point out something the shadows. His voice is faint and raspy, and he mutters strange phrases in what seem to be distorted foreign languages, softly whispering to his unseen playmates.
Silver appears to have gotten his attention though, he turns his head, his ears little ears swiveling as he realizes that he's the subject of conversation.
[Tongue-speaking stops]
"...huh?" he whimpers, his ears folding back as his shyness creeps up on him.
"We were just talking about what a talented colt you are, sweetie." Rosey Ring replies, in an affectionate singsong voice
"Gloomy is a genius, my precious prodigy. He's already been through his basic training, not so torturous as mine, but nonetheless just as rigorous for his age. He trots a different path from my own, but he has shown great promise with his own profession, in spite of what meager instructions I can provide. I believe that one day he'll grow strong enough to carry Death himself on his back."
"He's very heavy." The colt interjects
"That he is, sweetie, but I believe in you."