Even the lack of personal advancement off that list throws him for a loop. Whatβs life without personal advancement? Ness can see from that second momentary pause that Stephen is, briefly, baffled. His entire life had been personal advancement, for better and ill. There had been so many well-established orderly rungs to climb, moving his way up the ladder of a medical career. Even clambering up the hierarchy of the Masters of the Mystic Arts had been tidy and orderly and sequential: you went from a novice in white robes, to an apprentice in crimson, to a disciple in blue, then a master with your own customised outfit, then heβd made the ill-timed leap to Sorcerer Supreme.
Advancement. Self-betterment.
βSo. Comfort, control, andβ¦ independence? These were the things he was after, for himself?β Stephen asks.
Heβs still working through something, chewing over it, piecing together a picture of the drow— and finding himself flabbergasted, too, that that created the girl in front of him.
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Advancement. Self-betterment.
βSo. Comfort, control, andβ¦ independence? These were the things he was after, for himself?β Stephen asks.
Heβs still working through something, chewing over it, piecing together a picture of the drow— and finding himself flabbergasted, too, that that created the girl in front of him.