“Ah!” Knoll says, as the man collapses. “S-Sir! Are you all right?!” Is he injured somehow? Knoll kneels and reaches for him, body moving automatically. Then he slows as he realises he cannot see or smell blood. Whether he is simply poor at balancing, or is suffering from some deeper ailment, it’s beyond Knoll’s skills of battlefield triage to treat. Especially, he thinks ruefully, with his staves locked up someplace far from him, well out of reach.
So he settles for rocking back on his heels, giving the fellow some space. Space Knoll finds himself grateful for, as he has to disguise a sudden bark of laughter in a forced cough.
“A-Age two thousand and one,” he says, wondering why his usual emotionless fugue has suddenly deserted him. “You are certain that’s the same tome? And not a… an unusual practical joke?” He wouldn’t put it past the creators of the Ark to do something like that, if their cruel humour was enough to rip strangers from their homes and pit them together.
(All the same, he thinks, they’d left him Lyon’s cloak…)
“…Yes,” Knoll says. “I had several tomes taken from me upon my arrival. The common ones are no great trouble to replace– I know the invocations well enough to write new ones myself.” This last bit is said with a touch of pride. “If not here, then when I return home, and can get proper materials.” It would, he thinks, perhaps be less trouble to write new tomes himself than to try and buy more, what with the reputation the Demon King’s war has given Dark magic. But…
He chews his lip worriedly. “…Two of the tomes I had with me were…” He hesitates, not wanting to say too much. “…special. I could not replace them without help, or great effort, or both.” It sounds as if this Forseti –at least in its orginal, untouched state– would have been such a tome. Knoll hasn’t the faintest idea what the man means by Forseti blood, but he can grasp the basic concept. He feels a stab of jealousy that this man gets to keep his precious tome, while his are stolen away. He wouldn’t even use them, even if faced with danger; they are both too precious for that. He just wants to see them safe, and by his side.
Remembering himself, Knoll looks up from his lap, shaking himself out of his reverie. “Forgive me. My name is Knoll. Yourself?”
“Quite peachy,” Levin grunts, dragging himself back into a sitting position – though he made no effort to sit back on his chair, already deciding that it’s far too much effort for his traitorous legs to handle. He pauses, and then pulls a face. “Actually, scratch that – not really doin’ my best here. Sometimes things don’t wanna work when I want ‘em too, an’ I shake a lot for no reason, an’ I get weirdly specific pains in places I haven’t hurt. Prob’ly not much you could do about that.”
He can’t help but smile when Knoll questions the tome’s authenticity, almost laughing himself. “Yeah, you’d think that,” he says, eyes closing as he smirks, so confident in himself. “Except, that’s what it actually said, back when it was-“
And then he pauses, smirk falling from his face as his brows furrow in thought. “…You know what, I never could read the language, but I could understand it, you see – an’ I’m pretty certain that’s what it’s always said, actually. Except now it’s in plain text, an’ it seems kinda stupider, somehow.” He laughs, and scrubs the back of his head. “Considerin’ that this tome was bestowed upon my ancestor a little over a hundred years ago by a god, I mean, I guess that over two thousand years is pretty respectable for a god. Maybe he was a baby god, or one with a pretty good sense of humor. Like, there’s a good prayer or two invokin’ him in the front, an’ then – an’ then-“
He flips through to a random page, trying to find some of the more bizarre things Forseti had left behind. “’Naga paints my tomes to cover my pen, but the wind god Forseti strikes again’. Yeah. He just put things like that, in his book.” Levin laughs, genuinely. “Gotta admit – I like his style.”
Knoll’s tale, though, of the two tomes he lost, strikes a genuine chord in Levin, and his face falls. “Aw, man… Like I said, I dunno who I’d be without Forseti – I can only imagine it’s worse for you, with two of ‘em.” He thumbs the tome absent-mindedly, worrying the edges with a worried frown. “Forseti’s irreplaceable. Not even with help or great effort could I restore it if somethin’ were to happen to it. I hope you’re able to get yours back, an soon.”
…Anyway! Introductions are a thing, and Knoll did that, so he should too! “Name’s Levin. Pleasure to meet you!”