Scrub Mage — Roleplayer Guild

The Witnessed Day turned his topmost left eye toward this Whisper – an apt name for something which would be lost upon the tides of noise – but did not react aside from a simple, subtle nod toward the inferior being. He angled the left side of his head toward him, a sign of disregard among the Nebula Shaman. To be disregarded was generally considered worse than having death wished upon one – to be disregarded meant to have no value, at least the dead could feed the earth. Only a carefully trained eye could catch the motion as something more than an accident, but The Witnessed Day did not even grace the voice with a response. Had the thing really been worthy of fear, it might have tried weaving a phrase of True Speech (though, admittedly, if it were reduced to vocalizations from flesh, it probably wouldn’t be able to find the proper “channels”, even if it knew where to look). Then the thing began to speak again, its voice much less hostile. With that, The Witnessed Day’s eye returned to its normal position as he took in Golby’s words.

Well, he did not sleep, and he did not eat (not physically, at least), and he did not like the stiff environments of rooms. Ever the arrogant, he decided that he would roam the ship at his leisure, though when he meandered into the ship he narrowed his eyes. Noisy was the only word which came to mind, but he decided he would find the most organic part of the ship to meditate. He hoped that he would be able to have a conversation with The Helium Frightful, so he decided to sit in the engine room. The stomach was where energy flowed from, and thusly was one of the most intimate places to commune with a person. Energy flowed from the engine, and so the same reasoning was to be applied here. Form a bond with the ship, probe its mind, and learn its architecture – when dreaming himself anew, he could more perfectly mimic its form that way. But for learning to be effective, there must be a bond.

The engine room was a bit too warm for his liking, of course, but conditions must be learned to be tolerated lest he waste time dreaming himself luxuries. But still, the warm threatened to lull him to sleep, and if he dreamt in such a state… The Witnessed Day dared not imagine it, lest it creep into his daydreams. Now was not the time for such worry, but rather to make himself at home. The room itself was noisy, though a different sort of noise – instead of the constant mumbling of voices, it was the constant hum of The Helium Frightful’s belly. He dug around in his robes, shuffling around for trinkets he had brought along. Mostly twine and beads, the same used to adorn his horns. They held some esoteric significance to him, though it was more ritual than meaning. Had he remembered to bring rugs with him, he would have laid them out on the floor, but figured that he did not need them so long as he had his robes.

The Witnessed Day placed a hand on the wall to feel its heartbeat. Funny, for its grandeur, it still carried a primitive set of organs. Melded with machinery, to boot. He mourned to himself over this simple fact, but quickly got over it. It still had parts of use, and there was always something to be learned. To disregard its errors would be childish – everything must be improved upon if even a fraction of a fraction (and so on until near infinity) were to be taken into one’s being. It was a long way off being home, but it would be his study for the time being. Satisfied with his read of the room, he began to place ropes of bead wherever he felt it would be appropriate. He adorned doorways with numerous strings of bead to alert him to the entrance of others. Then he hung beads in a circle pattern to form a faux wall around what would eventually become his place of meditation. Spent, but unwilling to sleep, he sat down in the center, his robes spreading out to create the illusion of a mound topped by his head. He placed his HOBO on the ground outside of his sacred circle as his thoughts lingered on Whisper, trying to make connections to any figures from his past, slowly raking over every leaf of his past in an attempt to place the unfamiliar voice.
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