I am annoyed at myself for not being able to hold up my end of the bargain. But as I haven't finished those other posts I owed, this is a good sign that I am currently full up of rp and need to not apply here until I'm less full. But this looks like it will be awesome and I wanna join in so I'll definitely be keeping an eye on it. Might jump in down the road if there's an opportunity. :)
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Oh goodness, you incorporated a tortoise city! I'm going to go to sleep grinning over this fact.
I'm thinking of a Redwatch scout from Westercroft, or maybe two... Possibly siblings, one rides a bird... Not sure yet.
I'm thinking of a Redwatch scout from Westercroft, or maybe two... Possibly siblings, one rides a bird... Not sure yet.
Sounds good! No rush though, if you need to take more time.
But ancient history is important! :P I mean, that's like... two years ago if you're a mouse...
Tentatively count me in. Provided I can finish the posts I owe before you finish your write up.
Tentatively count me in. Provided I can finish the posts I owe before you finish your write up.
Don't know how well this stands up as far as wolf hierarchy ideas go these days, but I remember once hearing that betas were usually the biggest, most boisterous and troublesome in a wolfpack. Always ensuring that everyone knew their place and that the alphas were still fit to be the alphas. So, that's what this situation makes me think of: that your armour making badmouther is forcing the alpha to prove himself in order to make sure the alpha remains suited to the position. Not because they're being an ass (though they could well be that too) but because it's for the good of the pack to make sure the alphas are capable.
I honestly have no idea how to deal with that though, cuz I'm sure it can get a bit tiring. But in order to keep things from escalating, that's how I'd try to spin things, so that the alpha simply doesn't need to back down, rather than having to put this smith in his place. Sort of a... oh here we go again routine.
I honestly have no idea how to deal with that though, cuz I'm sure it can get a bit tiring. But in order to keep things from escalating, that's how I'd try to spin things, so that the alpha simply doesn't need to back down, rather than having to put this smith in his place. Sort of a... oh here we go again routine.
That's a pretty good foundation as far as necessary detail goes. It answers most immediate questions and needs for any players who want their characters to address the gods. Two extra questions I can think of, though they may be answered in other sections you've written, are how the gods relate to each other (origin stories, divine family or individual powers) and therefore how parishioners relate to each other. ie, are they related sects of the same religion, or do they consider themselves separate from each other? And can that cause tension?
If you have a pantheon of gods, but people mostly worshipping singular deities, it's usually a good idea to know why or how that came about, or at least how the people view other gods. Whether they believe in them and simply choose to worship one over another because of different benefits/conditions, or if they only believe in one and think the others are phony. Or whatever the case may be. Or do people worship all the gods? Merely changing their prayers and acknowledgements and rituals throughout the year and day depending on which god may have the most power over that particular season, or personal effort they're making?
If you have a pantheon of gods, but people mostly worshipping singular deities, it's usually a good idea to know why or how that came about, or at least how the people view other gods. Whether they believe in them and simply choose to worship one over another because of different benefits/conditions, or if they only believe in one and think the others are phony. Or whatever the case may be. Or do people worship all the gods? Merely changing their prayers and acknowledgements and rituals throughout the year and day depending on which god may have the most power over that particular season, or personal effort they're making?
Finally posted! I am sad that the wait did not offer any proof of how much I enjoyed your own post. :(
But hopefully that works! Addison is not a good conversationalist, but he's very happy to not be wet anymore. :) If you need any edits or further stuff, lemme know!
*bounces happily*
But hopefully that works! Addison is not a good conversationalist, but he's very happy to not be wet anymore. :) If you need any edits or further stuff, lemme know!
*bounces happily*
Given as he’d lost hope of anyone picking him up, Addison likely shouldn’t have been watching the cars slow down as they went past with much suspicion, but he was both confused to see the three car caravan and wondering if he’d finally have a chance to get out of the wet. No one else had stopped though, so what was it that changed the pattern?
He didn’t know. Maybe these were locals and the others had just been passing through. Maybe they had other reasons for showing a bit of kindness to a soggy youth. Maybe the man behind the wheel, looking him over now with a casual disregard for the rain pelting through the open window, was just the friendly sort. Still, shoulders hunched and head pulled down as much as he could manage without turning into a turtle, the young man couldn’t help glancing after the other two cars before he let the promise of warm food and a dry spot lure him inside. Didn’t feel right besides, hesitating while the man’s truck got soaked. Not that scrambling onto the seat and shutting the door really helped. He was already waterlogged and brought it all in with him. Had to resist the urge to shake out, as though it would do anything useful.
Instead, he struggled out of his backpack straps to bring it around to the front before buckling up, already starting to shiver now he was out of the elements. Hugging his bag and trying to stop the trembles so the heavy man wouldn’t notice, Addison only managed to get out a delayed bit of gratitude after they’d already been underway a good five minutes. The word was quiet, somewhat sheepish, emerging after he blinked out of a brief daze from the sudden change in his surroundings. He’d been mentally preparing himself for a night in the storm when they came by, hadn’t been ready for an open door. Forgot his manners.
Forgot how nice it was to be off his feet and still moving. So much easier than walking… Though somehow more tiring. Or maybe it was just catching up with him now he was sitting down.
Needless to say, he didn’t mind the quiet. Didn’t even care to ask where they were going, though he knew he should have been at least a little curious. He didn’t want it to matter, just as long as the promised meal was there. A little too much trust was asking for it, but then, a little too much suspicion could leave you paralysed. Addison only yawned widely, wriggled farther into his seat as though he could vanish into it and left the rest up to fate. Spent most of the ride staring at the dash, trying not to nod off.
The question wrung a tired smile out him, and a lazy sort of nod. Yeah, he wanted a place to stay. For the night, right. Though he had to actually turn towards the guy, an eyebrow raised at the observation that he didn’t look like a City-type. What did City-types look like? For that matter, what type did he look like then? Though, the guess was pretty accurate; he didn’t like populated areas much. Never had, but it had gotten worse, recently. For good reason, not that he was going to explain that. To anyone.
Though he did grin back, the sudden spark of pale teeth against dark skin briefly lifting his somber aura, and took the proffered hand without hesitation. “Addison. Might take you up on that.” If it wasn’t illegal… He didn’t know which borders he had or hadn’t crossed already. And if he stuck around that long. He didn’t plan on staying more than a night unless the storm got worse. Even then…
He had no plans to settle down soon. A month didn’t seem like enough time, even being constantly on the move, to put the distance he wanted between himself and his memories. But a friendly face was still a nice find. Unfortunately, he wasn’t much up for chatting. He didn’t mind conversation, but Addison had been on his own a while, and words were easy for him to leave behind. The quiet was comfortable, the storm bad enough that letting Angus keep his attention on the road seemed like a good idea. And as the trees opened up to the farmer’s fields he’d been sure had to be somewhere nearby, he had to admit the view was a picturesque ideal. Town looked even smaller than his old place. And Angus thought it counted as city?
The idea made him smile as he stared out the window, but he wasn’t about to argue the point, populated was populated, size of the population didn’t matter. Well, not much. Definitely had that small town feel though, small town look. Friendlier than some places he’d wandered through. But he still hesitated to follow Angus back into the elements, especially when he saw the little crowd gathered about the building they’d parked near. But, he couldn’t stay in the truck forever.
So, he climbed out, trying to minimize the rain’s intrusion by nearly shutting the door before he was all the way out, and then he stood quietly beside the truck, listening to the rain and faint calls between strangers, watching the man and old lady talking, not sure if he was welcome to join their company until she came over. He followed her without a word, not entirely sure what it was they had to spare but not wanting to make her stand about in the rain either. Hell, he’d rather not stand about in the rain, so dragging his heels seemed counter-productive.
Addison only just remembered to glance back at Angus, giving him a wave in lieu of shouting back an extra thank you, before he disappeared inside and stood dripping in a pleasantly old-style foyer. The lady had already wandered off, but he wasn’t about to take one step farther without an invite, or a towel. Dripping all over her floor wasn’t the best way to say thanks. But he couldn’t help looking around some after he shut the door, appreciating the warmth of both four sturdy walls and the cozy interior. Homey.
Her return with clothes and towels and cheerful attitude despite the weather, had him starting slightly and then smiling again, accepting the proffered collection quietly. “Thank you.”
Once she was gone again, he stood for another long moment, hands out, now full, confused by this turn of events and not entirely certain what to do with it. After a while though, he felt silly just standing there, and the warmth of being out of the wind had turned back to the chill of being soaked. Kicking off his shoes and pulling off his socks, he hurried down the hall until he found the bathroom, grateful there weren’t that many rooms to look through, and closed the door. She’d said he could take his time, but who wanted to be standing around half naked, or all naked, in a stranger’s house?
He towelled himself vigourously dry, trying to warm up while he did, and was pleasantly surprised to find that she’d not been far wrong with her size estimates. Clean, not wet, and warmer, Addison emerged a few minutes later, no longer dripping with his clothes hung up to dry and his bag resting on both towels for the moment, and stepped into the kitchen, glancing around curiously and unable to keep from sniffing the air slightly. “Thank you, ma’am. Anything I can do?”
He was not the greatest cook in the world, she’d probably regret saying yes, but even if all she needed was a bowl got down, he'd feel more comfortable having something helpful to do. Though, he couldn’t remember now… “Are you Susan or Maggie?”
He didn’t know. Maybe these were locals and the others had just been passing through. Maybe they had other reasons for showing a bit of kindness to a soggy youth. Maybe the man behind the wheel, looking him over now with a casual disregard for the rain pelting through the open window, was just the friendly sort. Still, shoulders hunched and head pulled down as much as he could manage without turning into a turtle, the young man couldn’t help glancing after the other two cars before he let the promise of warm food and a dry spot lure him inside. Didn’t feel right besides, hesitating while the man’s truck got soaked. Not that scrambling onto the seat and shutting the door really helped. He was already waterlogged and brought it all in with him. Had to resist the urge to shake out, as though it would do anything useful.
Instead, he struggled out of his backpack straps to bring it around to the front before buckling up, already starting to shiver now he was out of the elements. Hugging his bag and trying to stop the trembles so the heavy man wouldn’t notice, Addison only managed to get out a delayed bit of gratitude after they’d already been underway a good five minutes. The word was quiet, somewhat sheepish, emerging after he blinked out of a brief daze from the sudden change in his surroundings. He’d been mentally preparing himself for a night in the storm when they came by, hadn’t been ready for an open door. Forgot his manners.
Forgot how nice it was to be off his feet and still moving. So much easier than walking… Though somehow more tiring. Or maybe it was just catching up with him now he was sitting down.
Needless to say, he didn’t mind the quiet. Didn’t even care to ask where they were going, though he knew he should have been at least a little curious. He didn’t want it to matter, just as long as the promised meal was there. A little too much trust was asking for it, but then, a little too much suspicion could leave you paralysed. Addison only yawned widely, wriggled farther into his seat as though he could vanish into it and left the rest up to fate. Spent most of the ride staring at the dash, trying not to nod off.
The question wrung a tired smile out him, and a lazy sort of nod. Yeah, he wanted a place to stay. For the night, right. Though he had to actually turn towards the guy, an eyebrow raised at the observation that he didn’t look like a City-type. What did City-types look like? For that matter, what type did he look like then? Though, the guess was pretty accurate; he didn’t like populated areas much. Never had, but it had gotten worse, recently. For good reason, not that he was going to explain that. To anyone.
Though he did grin back, the sudden spark of pale teeth against dark skin briefly lifting his somber aura, and took the proffered hand without hesitation. “Addison. Might take you up on that.” If it wasn’t illegal… He didn’t know which borders he had or hadn’t crossed already. And if he stuck around that long. He didn’t plan on staying more than a night unless the storm got worse. Even then…
He had no plans to settle down soon. A month didn’t seem like enough time, even being constantly on the move, to put the distance he wanted between himself and his memories. But a friendly face was still a nice find. Unfortunately, he wasn’t much up for chatting. He didn’t mind conversation, but Addison had been on his own a while, and words were easy for him to leave behind. The quiet was comfortable, the storm bad enough that letting Angus keep his attention on the road seemed like a good idea. And as the trees opened up to the farmer’s fields he’d been sure had to be somewhere nearby, he had to admit the view was a picturesque ideal. Town looked even smaller than his old place. And Angus thought it counted as city?
The idea made him smile as he stared out the window, but he wasn’t about to argue the point, populated was populated, size of the population didn’t matter. Well, not much. Definitely had that small town feel though, small town look. Friendlier than some places he’d wandered through. But he still hesitated to follow Angus back into the elements, especially when he saw the little crowd gathered about the building they’d parked near. But, he couldn’t stay in the truck forever.
So, he climbed out, trying to minimize the rain’s intrusion by nearly shutting the door before he was all the way out, and then he stood quietly beside the truck, listening to the rain and faint calls between strangers, watching the man and old lady talking, not sure if he was welcome to join their company until she came over. He followed her without a word, not entirely sure what it was they had to spare but not wanting to make her stand about in the rain either. Hell, he’d rather not stand about in the rain, so dragging his heels seemed counter-productive.
Addison only just remembered to glance back at Angus, giving him a wave in lieu of shouting back an extra thank you, before he disappeared inside and stood dripping in a pleasantly old-style foyer. The lady had already wandered off, but he wasn’t about to take one step farther without an invite, or a towel. Dripping all over her floor wasn’t the best way to say thanks. But he couldn’t help looking around some after he shut the door, appreciating the warmth of both four sturdy walls and the cozy interior. Homey.
Her return with clothes and towels and cheerful attitude despite the weather, had him starting slightly and then smiling again, accepting the proffered collection quietly. “Thank you.”
Once she was gone again, he stood for another long moment, hands out, now full, confused by this turn of events and not entirely certain what to do with it. After a while though, he felt silly just standing there, and the warmth of being out of the wind had turned back to the chill of being soaked. Kicking off his shoes and pulling off his socks, he hurried down the hall until he found the bathroom, grateful there weren’t that many rooms to look through, and closed the door. She’d said he could take his time, but who wanted to be standing around half naked, or all naked, in a stranger’s house?
He towelled himself vigourously dry, trying to warm up while he did, and was pleasantly surprised to find that she’d not been far wrong with her size estimates. Clean, not wet, and warmer, Addison emerged a few minutes later, no longer dripping with his clothes hung up to dry and his bag resting on both towels for the moment, and stepped into the kitchen, glancing around curiously and unable to keep from sniffing the air slightly. “Thank you, ma’am. Anything I can do?”
He was not the greatest cook in the world, she’d probably regret saying yes, but even if all she needed was a bowl got down, he'd feel more comfortable having something helpful to do. Though, he couldn’t remember now… “Are you Susan or Maggie?”
Admittedly, despite her curiousity and memory of stories as frightening as madness in a dog, Herring saw nothing exceptional when she looked down on the prone form. Dark elf or not, she’d seen more than her fair share of bodies in these woods. Irritation was prone to have her exaggerating the number and the fuss, but it was not complete fabrication. Despite the foreign pigment of his skin and that shock of hair, his sleeping face was remarkably alike to a dead one. Slack, inanimate, and utterly banal.
He had himself a nose, lips, two eyes, two ears, albeit she could see that one was pointed. Supposedly the other was, as well. Nothing much to remark upon otherwise. And caught so easily by shadows, was there really anything to be frightened of?
He’d been rough, the day before, gruff and sharp and she’d thought he’d had a certain arrogance about him, making demands without no by your leave. But when she’d surprised him, hadn’t he acted like a scared little rabbit? Surely some dangerous creature would have attacked then, taken advantage of the moment, and her lack of suspicion. So, what was he? Dangerous monster come wandering out of his hole and gotten lost? Or victim of a good story’s wont to build itself up beyond recognition. His eyes certainly hadn’t been glowing beneath his hood yesterday, though, she couldn’t remember seeing them either. Not when he’d spun around, nor when he’d made pleasant suppositions about her life. She hadn’t appreciated that moment of release on his part, letting loose at her over troubles she’d been no part of. Still, if anyone might be able to understand the disparity between hearsay and truth, it was surely the woman living in a cursed wood without concern.
When his eyes flickered beneath closed lids, she tensed, despite her growing certainty that he might not fit the ideal she’d created in her head. Appearances could be deceiving, and though he’d had little reason to try tricking her into thinking himself harmless instead of merely killing her, he might have liked playing with his food. Who was she to judge his character before she knew him? (Ignoring, if you will, the fact she’d done just that before ever even seeing his back.)
Needless to say, Herring was frowning down at him in consternation when he finally opened his eyes, though she’d relaxed her arm so the knife was at her side rather than held ready. Dangerous pretender or no, she didn’t expect he was capable of doing much harm anymore. Besides, with him lying in that stream, she had the advantage of being up the bank and almost out of reach of him standing, which he most definitely was not, at the moment. And his eyes were brown. Nothing bright or alien about them. She wasn’t even sure he could see her, though he seemed to be staring right through her. Had he hit his head?
Ah, no, there it was, the slightest widening of those eyes and, finally, motion.
Slipping back beyond his reach as he sat up, and raising an eyebrow at what must have been a laborious effort, Herring evinced a natural caution that had not been evident the day before. That he was a still alive unknown in her forest merited the extra suspicion, but it certainly did not help that he seemed to belong to a race of elves she’d never heard a kind word about. If he wished to stand, she was not going to stop him. But she wasn’t going to help him either.
Had he been facing her, letting her see his pained grimace, she might have been more inclined to offer the advice of staying sat, if it was so much trouble to stand, but he seemed not the least bit interested in her company. In truth, had she not discovered his secret, Herring might well have left him to it. He was wobbling so much she doubted he’d make it far before falling on his face or his ass. But now that she knew he wasn’t human, she found herself curious as to the reasons a dark elf, already plenty dangerous as the stories told it, would come seeking the promise of strength here. Maybe it didn’t matter where a man came from, they were all simple fools, powerhungry and eager to chase after any stray hope no matter the risk. Or was it something else had drawn him here? What, she wasn’t sure, as he’d already asked her to show him where the dragon lived, but maybe he didn’t want to kill it.
Either way, as he picked up his pack and shambled off like the living dead chasing after Halla’s tailfeathers, Herring glanced ruefully at her neglected basket and the task she’d set herself for the day, already knowing full well she was about to abandon it. Then, guilty conscience and future regrets acknowledged so she could say she told herself so come some near morning when she was lamenting the lack of good bread, she followed her curiousity.
Her easy, quiet steps after him were a strong contrast to his wobbly shuffle. Bare feet leaving hardly a mark behind and movements so obviously easier that her caution felt nearly like making mock. Even so, she kept her knife out and a good ten paces between them, dogging his shadow and wondering if he had any notion as to his direction, or if he was simply walking because he still could. Moving forward rather than leaving himself to rot. She’d seen the same in mortally wounded beasts, merely struggling to take that next step to somewhere. Maybe he hadn’t the presence of mind to realize he was wasting energy now, or maybe he thought the nightshades wouldn’t find him again if he only moved far enough away. Well, rate he was going, there was nowhere far enough. They ran the whole woods through when they came, and it was only getting beyond its borders that would keep him safe.
Either that, or climbing a proper tree, or lighting a bonfire, or being behind the door of her own house, though she’d certainly not be inviting him there. He wasn’t liable to outrun them as the deer did. Nor hide in holes too small for them to creep through, as the little creatures did. Was he even thinking about the night to come? Given the angle he was leaning at, Herring was inclined towards believing he wasn’t thinking at all.
Peaceful sort of way to go…
Though the path he was taking wandered like a brook, all wide turns and no direction, until she finally couldn’t take it anymore. He obviously wasn’t planning ahead or trying to reach some goal. And his stumbling pace and lack of any threat towards her had long since ruined her remaining vigilance. A soft breeze could have knocked him over!
Stopping where she was, feet set on the log she’d been stepping over, Herring finally sheathed her knife and crossed her arms, taking a deep, calming breath in of rotting wood and damp earth before she broke the stillness surrounding them. “Isnit a one thing worth th’walk thataway, Rabbit. What’s movin’ yehr feet any road?”
How was he still standing? And where, on this good earth, did he think he was going?
He had himself a nose, lips, two eyes, two ears, albeit she could see that one was pointed. Supposedly the other was, as well. Nothing much to remark upon otherwise. And caught so easily by shadows, was there really anything to be frightened of?
He’d been rough, the day before, gruff and sharp and she’d thought he’d had a certain arrogance about him, making demands without no by your leave. But when she’d surprised him, hadn’t he acted like a scared little rabbit? Surely some dangerous creature would have attacked then, taken advantage of the moment, and her lack of suspicion. So, what was he? Dangerous monster come wandering out of his hole and gotten lost? Or victim of a good story’s wont to build itself up beyond recognition. His eyes certainly hadn’t been glowing beneath his hood yesterday, though, she couldn’t remember seeing them either. Not when he’d spun around, nor when he’d made pleasant suppositions about her life. She hadn’t appreciated that moment of release on his part, letting loose at her over troubles she’d been no part of. Still, if anyone might be able to understand the disparity between hearsay and truth, it was surely the woman living in a cursed wood without concern.
When his eyes flickered beneath closed lids, she tensed, despite her growing certainty that he might not fit the ideal she’d created in her head. Appearances could be deceiving, and though he’d had little reason to try tricking her into thinking himself harmless instead of merely killing her, he might have liked playing with his food. Who was she to judge his character before she knew him? (Ignoring, if you will, the fact she’d done just that before ever even seeing his back.)
Needless to say, Herring was frowning down at him in consternation when he finally opened his eyes, though she’d relaxed her arm so the knife was at her side rather than held ready. Dangerous pretender or no, she didn’t expect he was capable of doing much harm anymore. Besides, with him lying in that stream, she had the advantage of being up the bank and almost out of reach of him standing, which he most definitely was not, at the moment. And his eyes were brown. Nothing bright or alien about them. She wasn’t even sure he could see her, though he seemed to be staring right through her. Had he hit his head?
Ah, no, there it was, the slightest widening of those eyes and, finally, motion.
Slipping back beyond his reach as he sat up, and raising an eyebrow at what must have been a laborious effort, Herring evinced a natural caution that had not been evident the day before. That he was a still alive unknown in her forest merited the extra suspicion, but it certainly did not help that he seemed to belong to a race of elves she’d never heard a kind word about. If he wished to stand, she was not going to stop him. But she wasn’t going to help him either.
Had he been facing her, letting her see his pained grimace, she might have been more inclined to offer the advice of staying sat, if it was so much trouble to stand, but he seemed not the least bit interested in her company. In truth, had she not discovered his secret, Herring might well have left him to it. He was wobbling so much she doubted he’d make it far before falling on his face or his ass. But now that she knew he wasn’t human, she found herself curious as to the reasons a dark elf, already plenty dangerous as the stories told it, would come seeking the promise of strength here. Maybe it didn’t matter where a man came from, they were all simple fools, powerhungry and eager to chase after any stray hope no matter the risk. Or was it something else had drawn him here? What, she wasn’t sure, as he’d already asked her to show him where the dragon lived, but maybe he didn’t want to kill it.
Either way, as he picked up his pack and shambled off like the living dead chasing after Halla’s tailfeathers, Herring glanced ruefully at her neglected basket and the task she’d set herself for the day, already knowing full well she was about to abandon it. Then, guilty conscience and future regrets acknowledged so she could say she told herself so come some near morning when she was lamenting the lack of good bread, she followed her curiousity.
Her easy, quiet steps after him were a strong contrast to his wobbly shuffle. Bare feet leaving hardly a mark behind and movements so obviously easier that her caution felt nearly like making mock. Even so, she kept her knife out and a good ten paces between them, dogging his shadow and wondering if he had any notion as to his direction, or if he was simply walking because he still could. Moving forward rather than leaving himself to rot. She’d seen the same in mortally wounded beasts, merely struggling to take that next step to somewhere. Maybe he hadn’t the presence of mind to realize he was wasting energy now, or maybe he thought the nightshades wouldn’t find him again if he only moved far enough away. Well, rate he was going, there was nowhere far enough. They ran the whole woods through when they came, and it was only getting beyond its borders that would keep him safe.
Either that, or climbing a proper tree, or lighting a bonfire, or being behind the door of her own house, though she’d certainly not be inviting him there. He wasn’t liable to outrun them as the deer did. Nor hide in holes too small for them to creep through, as the little creatures did. Was he even thinking about the night to come? Given the angle he was leaning at, Herring was inclined towards believing he wasn’t thinking at all.
Peaceful sort of way to go…
Though the path he was taking wandered like a brook, all wide turns and no direction, until she finally couldn’t take it anymore. He obviously wasn’t planning ahead or trying to reach some goal. And his stumbling pace and lack of any threat towards her had long since ruined her remaining vigilance. A soft breeze could have knocked him over!
Stopping where she was, feet set on the log she’d been stepping over, Herring finally sheathed her knife and crossed her arms, taking a deep, calming breath in of rotting wood and damp earth before she broke the stillness surrounding them. “Isnit a one thing worth th’walk thataway, Rabbit. What’s movin’ yehr feet any road?”
How was he still standing? And where, on this good earth, did he think he was going?
Yay for enjoyment!
Aaaand, confusion time! lol
Yes. The first half or so of the post is Curdle's time in Renna being held for the supposed murder of Fiira. The only reason he's still alive is because he's technically now her son's, and they can't reach the man to ask how they should handle this. He is conveniently halfway around the world, probably, doing some trading business... Yay for busy, negligent children!
The dream state for Curdle is pretty much astral projection until he's in Miria's head. He's never done it before the start of the story because he's never had the magic strength or a strong enough desire to be away from where he is. So, yes, it is most definitely new to him and he was mostly experimenting and figuring things out for himself half accidentally and half on purpose. I think any parts where it might seem he almost *poofed* were merely horrible surprises for him, though he wasn't in too much danger. Merely falling asleep would bring him back to his body. And he has yet to realize that he can teleport that way, cuz, y'know, that's just not a thing that would ever occur to him. lol
But yessirreebob, much bewilderment, mourning and all of the repetitive questions. heh He didn't get a chance to ask anyone stuff about the magic though, he's not supposed to be talking to people unless he's answering their questions, not the other way around. :P
The end of the post with the house, after he tumbled into Miria again, is them both dreaming together since, yeah, he's more aware of what's happening. I don't think he really understands it yet, but he knows he's dreaming, he just doesn't realize that he's as in control of it as he is.
The bits and pieces of Fiira's life should be somewhat static though and available for Miria to peek at as she wanders the house. Like every room has its own little vignette/play going on depending on what memory Curdle most associates with that room.
So, the post ended, actually after Fiira died, she is very dead on the bed right now, but the memories are still playing out their short stories everywhere else.
Aaaand, confusion time! lol
Yes. The first half or so of the post is Curdle's time in Renna being held for the supposed murder of Fiira. The only reason he's still alive is because he's technically now her son's, and they can't reach the man to ask how they should handle this. He is conveniently halfway around the world, probably, doing some trading business... Yay for busy, negligent children!
The dream state for Curdle is pretty much astral projection until he's in Miria's head. He's never done it before the start of the story because he's never had the magic strength or a strong enough desire to be away from where he is. So, yes, it is most definitely new to him and he was mostly experimenting and figuring things out for himself half accidentally and half on purpose. I think any parts where it might seem he almost *poofed* were merely horrible surprises for him, though he wasn't in too much danger. Merely falling asleep would bring him back to his body. And he has yet to realize that he can teleport that way, cuz, y'know, that's just not a thing that would ever occur to him. lol
But yessirreebob, much bewilderment, mourning and all of the repetitive questions. heh He didn't get a chance to ask anyone stuff about the magic though, he's not supposed to be talking to people unless he's answering their questions, not the other way around. :P
The end of the post with the house, after he tumbled into Miria again, is them both dreaming together since, yeah, he's more aware of what's happening. I don't think he really understands it yet, but he knows he's dreaming, he just doesn't realize that he's as in control of it as he is.
The bits and pieces of Fiira's life should be somewhat static though and available for Miria to peek at as she wanders the house. Like every room has its own little vignette/play going on depending on what memory Curdle most associates with that room.
So, the post ended, actually after Fiira died, she is very dead on the bed right now, but the memories are still playing out their short stories everywhere else.
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