Heck, I've even had the story shifted out from under me while in complete control of the story line, so I REALLY don't do more than have some semblance of an idea which can morph at any time.
At present, the only driving idea I have is that this area is far more magical than it ought to be and that Wren has been under the magic's wandering eye for some while. In some way or another, the ancient magic of the area has wanted Wren and if that is to fulfill Chall's destiny or to help the area out or make a change in the country or... whatever - there is an intelligence of sorts which is keenly interested in the pair of them. :)
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STATUS: "Bother. Isn't there anybody at all?" "Nobody!" 7 yrs ago
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Bio
A long time player, I have been co-writing (aka "role playing") for "ae long tahm". I have a fairly involved career which some years can be nigh all encompassing for months and months at a time. However, I always seem to return for the sheer delight of creating alongside another imaginative individual.
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I had initially meant it to be Chall's natural magic, but if it suits something else, feel free to make it that. That is the great thing about working with someone else, sometimes one's ideas get turned on their heads. :) He might be going after a spell someone put on him, or perhaps he's capturing Chall's actual essence, or ... who knows? I see him as very ancient and very powerful and luckily, not overly interested in people. Kind of like maybe this pond had been a druidic sacrificial hollow complete with stone alter or something. Or maybe he's just the embodiment of the old magics and there's been enough care taken in this town that it remains strong enough to actually gain a body when the spirits of the pond over-drain Chall.
I am really quite open to any way you wish to interpret it all. If I'd had a very set idea, I'd have told you so you could work around it, but I rarely get too set in my ideas when RPing because I've had that shifted under me often enough that I find it somewhat naive to try and direct everything when I'm co-creating as opposed to GMing or some such.
I am really quite open to any way you wish to interpret it all. If I'd had a very set idea, I'd have told you so you could work around it, but I rarely get too set in my ideas when RPing because I've had that shifted under me often enough that I find it somewhat naive to try and direct everything when I'm co-creating as opposed to GMing or some such.
Good!
Okay, so... this is an NPC to some extent. An ancient power of a sort which I'm assuming Chall's power wakened. I'm thinking that Wren may have some untapped magical potential which might be utilized to trap them together all the more, so here is a possible impetus. Or, maybe he's just aware that they're about to embark on a journey. :) However you want it.
Okay, so... this is an NPC to some extent. An ancient power of a sort which I'm assuming Chall's power wakened. I'm thinking that Wren may have some untapped magical potential which might be utilized to trap them together all the more, so here is a possible impetus. Or, maybe he's just aware that they're about to embark on a journey. :) However you want it.
As the Kirin stepped into the water, Wren turned the draft underneath him back toward the road. Behind him, he imagined he could sense the wrongness of it all in much the same way he had in the courts all those years ago. His shoulders hunched defensively and the mare dropped her head with a soft snort, shaking her great head to relax her rider. It did little good, however as the man spurred her into a shambling trot toward town.
Therefore, it was not Wren at the water's edge who watched Chall exit the water, but at first glance it may have been. They were identical in almost every way, down to the clothing they wore. In fact, even in soul, they might have been brothers. This man who stood in the stead of the weaver had fashioned himself a carbon copy of the man who had left almost immediately. It was a pity, really. It would have done Wren good to see courtly magic used so respectfully in his own land.
“They are,” the man intones, his voice the same as the large shepherd's had been. It is a deliberate ruse and the man does not think that the kirin, magic drawn from so deep, will notice. Chall iss, the man thinks with a slight tilt of his head, but a child yet and has much to learn of the ways of the spirits which preside over the wilder places in the world.
Had Chall been less of a gentleman, less apt to try and make his watcher feel comfortable, he might then have looked more directly upon the man when the last of the farce settled upon his broad shoulders. He may have seen the shimmer of antlers or perhaps he might have noted the faint, green aura which faded from view. But he is young still and trusting of places which are, in essence, innocence. He has not learned how long forgotten places might leap at the turned doe's back, hungry in that wild innocence. He has not learned yet to keep watch in all directions, for when in the open field does a mouse think to worry about the skies until a shadow has passed over his trembling body?
This Wren who is not, takes some steps down to where the half kirin is working on his ingredient mixture. Even the mixture smells good to the pond and the wild and the man grunts in approval. He stands over Chall and turns his attention to the pond beyond. It humms in happiness, glad for the additional magics it leeched from Chall, not quite full as it had been ages past, when the ancients gave as a lover to his lady, but pleased nevertheless. The hum resounds inside of him and he does not move to it, does not brush fingers over it, does not yet immerse himself in the life which thrums under the surface of the water.
Folding his arms over his chest, he considers giving a warning to the fledgling mage. There had been, in the ages past, a time when he might have done so even. Then, magic in the land and magic in man bound themselves together and together, were greater than any of the more tame magics of the world. During those days, the half kirin would have been honored for existing – a blend of one and another. The blend would have given him the promise to be one of the greats and he would have been raised to know it. Now, however, there is no such sense to this child and what promise there is, will no doubt be beaten into submission by the court mages of these emasculated southern lands. Prosperity, it seemed, led to stagnation. Unlike those lands to the far north and those in the deserts to the east, where life was more tenuous and magic honored, this boy's countrymen were fat and lazy, like indolent lapdogs in sunshine. They ate, they shat, and slept. It was all they were good at.
The man shares much of Wren's thoughts on his lands, which may be a good reason to take on the shepherd's form and spirit. With a smirk, he leans down to look at the ingredients, then brushes his fingertips against the nape of the boy's neck, still wet from the pond's touch. “Don't move,” he hisses as his first and third fingers trace from the nape of Chall's neck down his spine and to the the center of his shoulder blades. Magic swirls like a hidden snake under the boy's skin, weakened by the activity of healing, and the man finds the head, presses his thumb to just behind and holds it still. “Whatever you do,” he rumbles, “don't move.”
Therefore, it was not Wren at the water's edge who watched Chall exit the water, but at first glance it may have been. They were identical in almost every way, down to the clothing they wore. In fact, even in soul, they might have been brothers. This man who stood in the stead of the weaver had fashioned himself a carbon copy of the man who had left almost immediately. It was a pity, really. It would have done Wren good to see courtly magic used so respectfully in his own land.
“They are,” the man intones, his voice the same as the large shepherd's had been. It is a deliberate ruse and the man does not think that the kirin, magic drawn from so deep, will notice. Chall iss, the man thinks with a slight tilt of his head, but a child yet and has much to learn of the ways of the spirits which preside over the wilder places in the world.
Had Chall been less of a gentleman, less apt to try and make his watcher feel comfortable, he might then have looked more directly upon the man when the last of the farce settled upon his broad shoulders. He may have seen the shimmer of antlers or perhaps he might have noted the faint, green aura which faded from view. But he is young still and trusting of places which are, in essence, innocence. He has not learned how long forgotten places might leap at the turned doe's back, hungry in that wild innocence. He has not learned yet to keep watch in all directions, for when in the open field does a mouse think to worry about the skies until a shadow has passed over his trembling body?
This Wren who is not, takes some steps down to where the half kirin is working on his ingredient mixture. Even the mixture smells good to the pond and the wild and the man grunts in approval. He stands over Chall and turns his attention to the pond beyond. It humms in happiness, glad for the additional magics it leeched from Chall, not quite full as it had been ages past, when the ancients gave as a lover to his lady, but pleased nevertheless. The hum resounds inside of him and he does not move to it, does not brush fingers over it, does not yet immerse himself in the life which thrums under the surface of the water.
Folding his arms over his chest, he considers giving a warning to the fledgling mage. There had been, in the ages past, a time when he might have done so even. Then, magic in the land and magic in man bound themselves together and together, were greater than any of the more tame magics of the world. During those days, the half kirin would have been honored for existing – a blend of one and another. The blend would have given him the promise to be one of the greats and he would have been raised to know it. Now, however, there is no such sense to this child and what promise there is, will no doubt be beaten into submission by the court mages of these emasculated southern lands. Prosperity, it seemed, led to stagnation. Unlike those lands to the far north and those in the deserts to the east, where life was more tenuous and magic honored, this boy's countrymen were fat and lazy, like indolent lapdogs in sunshine. They ate, they shat, and slept. It was all they were good at.
The man shares much of Wren's thoughts on his lands, which may be a good reason to take on the shepherd's form and spirit. With a smirk, he leans down to look at the ingredients, then brushes his fingertips against the nape of the boy's neck, still wet from the pond's touch. “Don't move,” he hisses as his first and third fingers trace from the nape of Chall's neck down his spine and to the the center of his shoulder blades. Magic swirls like a hidden snake under the boy's skin, weakened by the activity of healing, and the man finds the head, presses his thumb to just behind and holds it still. “Whatever you do,” he rumbles, “don't move.”
So apologies for the lack of response there. I will have a post for you tout de suite!
AND! Very cool stuffs. I'm helping my neighbor training his horses. I've been invited to move a pair of mares over to their place (which is really mine, but it's all... confuzzled - they use a good deal of my pasture land) and then can work with them while he works with his. :) It would be FUN. But, more importantly, it's really interesting and I'm always for learning something new.
So that took far too long to do.
Now then! I was going to rush in and throw someone down back at the Finger (or a host of someones) who might/might not be chasing down a troll, or perphaps a Keeper or something. Or maybe they're just a delegation to shut down the Reach or....
Honestly, I realized I didn't know what they were doing, so thought I'd throw them out there and see what we might think up? I had originally thought they were a result of Wilhelm's presence. I'm more than willing to just throw something out and see where they go - and you're always welcome to grab and run with whatever so we can create as we go. We've been kind of doing that as it is. *L*
Now then! I was going to rush in and throw someone down back at the Finger (or a host of someones) who might/might not be chasing down a troll, or perphaps a Keeper or something. Or maybe they're just a delegation to shut down the Reach or....
Honestly, I realized I didn't know what they were doing, so thought I'd throw them out there and see what we might think up? I had originally thought they were a result of Wilhelm's presence. I'm more than willing to just throw something out and see where they go - and you're always welcome to grab and run with whatever so we can create as we go. We've been kind of doing that as it is. *L*
Hap's delicate brow furrowed, a crease breaking the smooth, timelessness of it's face. Words, for all that they were a boon, were a road to confusion more often than not. It was not that Wilhelm spoke in vocabulary which the Keeper found difficult to understand. Even the Keeper had had time with trees, with leaves, with water, even. Albeit distant, these things could be reached by sledge and many steps by its self and its dogs.
It rose and settled in the chair with Wilhelm exhausted at its feet, a pup on its knee. Despite the inherent lacks of understanding, the creature had settled in to unentangle this mystery in much the same way it had the netting. One knot at a time, one tangle, the world which Wilhelm spoke of would come to sight and they would then know of what they spoke.
“My home is here,” Hap waved a hand about them. “I have lived under stone and above the sun for ...” The Keeper paused then its slim lips quirked. “I cannot recall arriving,” it mused softly to itself, then turned its great eyes back upon the spent troll.
“But,” it continued, “if you must call it Home as you walk within, you are welcome to.” With a pause, the small Keeper's tail beat a soft tattoo with the tip upon the back of the chair upon which it sat. In that almost stillness, Hap's furrow grew and with a soft sigh, it shook its head sadly.
“I have seen leaves upon the trees in the twilight mountains, but they are not quite so large as your hands,” it gave a grave nod toward his hands. “Nor, have I see others of your kind, but I do not travel often or far. There is much to do here.”
Dimly, within the vast reaches which were the lands of Hap's memory, there was kept a frozen moment in which Home had been lost. Hap slid fingertips about the pup's fattened belly and rubbed as the memory clarified. The pup had quieted so the new attention caused it to crack its milky lips in a smacking moan before it snuffled into sleep once more. No great thing, this memory. It did not pang, nor did it do more than gain edges like ancient ice might when scored. Still, it had a solidity to it which left Hap sensing that the loss had been painful. In a fit of kindness, the Keeper abandoned the line of questioning for want of a more pressing problem.
“Do you drink?” it asked as it opened the bottle with one hand. From the darkness rose the sharply sweet scent of fermentation. Casually, Hap leaned forward and held the bottle to its guest.
It rose and settled in the chair with Wilhelm exhausted at its feet, a pup on its knee. Despite the inherent lacks of understanding, the creature had settled in to unentangle this mystery in much the same way it had the netting. One knot at a time, one tangle, the world which Wilhelm spoke of would come to sight and they would then know of what they spoke.
“My home is here,” Hap waved a hand about them. “I have lived under stone and above the sun for ...” The Keeper paused then its slim lips quirked. “I cannot recall arriving,” it mused softly to itself, then turned its great eyes back upon the spent troll.
“But,” it continued, “if you must call it Home as you walk within, you are welcome to.” With a pause, the small Keeper's tail beat a soft tattoo with the tip upon the back of the chair upon which it sat. In that almost stillness, Hap's furrow grew and with a soft sigh, it shook its head sadly.
“I have seen leaves upon the trees in the twilight mountains, but they are not quite so large as your hands,” it gave a grave nod toward his hands. “Nor, have I see others of your kind, but I do not travel often or far. There is much to do here.”
Dimly, within the vast reaches which were the lands of Hap's memory, there was kept a frozen moment in which Home had been lost. Hap slid fingertips about the pup's fattened belly and rubbed as the memory clarified. The pup had quieted so the new attention caused it to crack its milky lips in a smacking moan before it snuffled into sleep once more. No great thing, this memory. It did not pang, nor did it do more than gain edges like ancient ice might when scored. Still, it had a solidity to it which left Hap sensing that the loss had been painful. In a fit of kindness, the Keeper abandoned the line of questioning for want of a more pressing problem.
“Do you drink?” it asked as it opened the bottle with one hand. From the darkness rose the sharply sweet scent of fermentation. Casually, Hap leaned forward and held the bottle to its guest.
I like your father! God made tomatoes so that us lesser beings might enjoy a taste of heaven. ;)
SO! I'm so sorry! I'm utterly in love with writing with you and it seems I've done everything but respond to your post. It is well past time to right this wrong and as I'm finally home and preparing to leave behind summer and move back into the working classes, I will rectify the issue straight away.
Still! It's been a busy and fun few days. We tried to go to Leavenworth, Washington. However, along the way, one of our tires all but burst quite suddenly. We had to do a quick stopover one hundred fifty miles from our target and wait for the next morning in order to fix it. Then we arrived and I spent the evening in an entertaining pub crawl (we're all far too mellow to make it much of an exaggerated one - we ended it with ice cream as befits collective parents of myriad children aged from nine to twenty). Woke this morning, ran to taste test at a distillery (amazing things the creative can do with vodka), then had a meal before shuttling back onto the highway in order to get to where we were both (my son and I) were needed by this evening. It was sort of a whirlwind tour of the family and much too short, but Leavenworth (if you've not heard of it, it is absolutely gorgeous) was a place I've not visited in almost ten years, so it was a nice treat.
And with that, to that post I go!
SO! I'm so sorry! I'm utterly in love with writing with you and it seems I've done everything but respond to your post. It is well past time to right this wrong and as I'm finally home and preparing to leave behind summer and move back into the working classes, I will rectify the issue straight away.
Still! It's been a busy and fun few days. We tried to go to Leavenworth, Washington. However, along the way, one of our tires all but burst quite suddenly. We had to do a quick stopover one hundred fifty miles from our target and wait for the next morning in order to fix it. Then we arrived and I spent the evening in an entertaining pub crawl (we're all far too mellow to make it much of an exaggerated one - we ended it with ice cream as befits collective parents of myriad children aged from nine to twenty). Woke this morning, ran to taste test at a distillery (amazing things the creative can do with vodka), then had a meal before shuttling back onto the highway in order to get to where we were both (my son and I) were needed by this evening. It was sort of a whirlwind tour of the family and much too short, but Leavenworth (if you've not heard of it, it is absolutely gorgeous) was a place I've not visited in almost ten years, so it was a nice treat.
And with that, to that post I go!
It's fairly easy. There is a cheat sheet just below the text box in which you enter your post. It's called the QQCode Cheatsheet right down there, below us. :) Under headings "Embolden" and "Italicize".. Can't miss'm!
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