merlin (
courtmagic) wrote in
acatalepsy_logs2018-09-07 06:54 pm
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(open.) sing it low or sing it loud
Who: Merlin and others.
Where: Sometimes the Temple, sometimes the forest.
When: Early September.
Rating: Just PG for now.
What: The Circle's gained a new wizard. He explores, and tries to not get ill.
[this is not a dream. a dream doesn't feel like this - he's trekked across enough of them in the centuries to know. and still, he wonders, because of how different it all is. that woman, and her beautiful eyes - Astoria, she'd called herself. he'd been half numb, struck and dazed when the world beneath his feet did not give. magic at the far reaches of himself, a memory halted in the process of becoming an action.
the world behind his eyes has gone silent, and he marvels at it. the sheer expanse of the unknown. Merlin breathes air utterly new to him, and cannot decide if this is for good or ill. it is, and he must adapt. freedom at a price, or the illusion of such. there is much to contemplate, but as ever, the only road ahead is forward.
--
of course, he explores the Temple. it's where they're supposed to be, after all, a place with rooms and beds and one he finds unoccupied with a single to lay his head. but beyond that, he wanders, peeking in at various areas. the kitchen is where a hopeful might look to find someone else doing the work of cooking that he can charm the result out of - why bother if he could simply get it for free? other times he's in the halls, seemingly searching for something. not someone, of course. that would be asking for far too much. but when evening falls, he heads to the outskirts, to watch the sky, a figure in pure white robes. as long as he can, he observes the stars, eyes as intent as a navigator as he traces where they are now.
but the illness is all too apparent. the sickness that infested the land cannot be lifted by hands that haven't been fully summoned, the flowers that could trail behind him not so much as sprouting. only their scent that clings to his clothes, and so he moves outward. can't stay in one place too long, trying to minimize his exposure, and the forest beckons. easy to wander, easy to take a rest nestled up a tree, where the sound of soft snoring gives away his napping, dozing with a few of the nymphs climbing on him. other times, he finds himself at the bank of water, sitting down and humming quietly a song he remembers to amuse himself, considering the plight of what's occurred. but as it happens, sometimes he is trying to converse with the sprites, so worked up are they. it doesn't seem to be excellently going, if his small frown says anything, but they'll notice a newcomer before he does, allowing enough time for greeting.]
[[ooc: please feel free to drop me a note if you'd prefer an individual starter! these can be any time, except for stargazing. choose your own adventure, and hit me with something else if it strikes your fancy!]]
Where: Sometimes the Temple, sometimes the forest.
When: Early September.
Rating: Just PG for now.
What: The Circle's gained a new wizard. He explores, and tries to not get ill.
[this is not a dream. a dream doesn't feel like this - he's trekked across enough of them in the centuries to know. and still, he wonders, because of how different it all is. that woman, and her beautiful eyes - Astoria, she'd called herself. he'd been half numb, struck and dazed when the world beneath his feet did not give. magic at the far reaches of himself, a memory halted in the process of becoming an action.
the world behind his eyes has gone silent, and he marvels at it. the sheer expanse of the unknown. Merlin breathes air utterly new to him, and cannot decide if this is for good or ill. it is, and he must adapt. freedom at a price, or the illusion of such. there is much to contemplate, but as ever, the only road ahead is forward.
--
of course, he explores the Temple. it's where they're supposed to be, after all, a place with rooms and beds and one he finds unoccupied with a single to lay his head. but beyond that, he wanders, peeking in at various areas. the kitchen is where a hopeful might look to find someone else doing the work of cooking that he can charm the result out of - why bother if he could simply get it for free? other times he's in the halls, seemingly searching for something. not someone, of course. that would be asking for far too much. but when evening falls, he heads to the outskirts, to watch the sky, a figure in pure white robes. as long as he can, he observes the stars, eyes as intent as a navigator as he traces where they are now.
but the illness is all too apparent. the sickness that infested the land cannot be lifted by hands that haven't been fully summoned, the flowers that could trail behind him not so much as sprouting. only their scent that clings to his clothes, and so he moves outward. can't stay in one place too long, trying to minimize his exposure, and the forest beckons. easy to wander, easy to take a rest nestled up a tree, where the sound of soft snoring gives away his napping, dozing with a few of the nymphs climbing on him. other times, he finds himself at the bank of water, sitting down and humming quietly a song he remembers to amuse himself, considering the plight of what's occurred. but as it happens, sometimes he is trying to converse with the sprites, so worked up are they. it doesn't seem to be excellently going, if his small frown says anything, but they'll notice a newcomer before he does, allowing enough time for greeting.]
[[ooc: please feel free to drop me a note if you'd prefer an individual starter! these can be any time, except for stargazing. choose your own adventure, and hit me with something else if it strikes your fancy!]]
no subject
I come from a world that's already been saved. Making this the second go-round of events. A place as complicated as any could be, teeming with foolishness, cruelty, beauty, and persistence.
[he'll talk of that world. not the one he's truly residing in - that is his and his alone to bear.]
no subject
A world of hope, is it?
[ Such fortune for a world to have the luck to be saved. ]
no subject
[what he had been able to predict...poor Ritsuka. it never ended, for humans.]
no subject
Boreas exhales. If he had a pipe, he might have blown out some mist; but his only worldly indulgence is drinking, and that is partly for appearances. ]
Is it a world of hope for you?
no subject
[as completely useless as that answer sounded, it was the truth - it was a world of hope in that it continued, but he remained locked away. his function hadn't changed. was it hopeful, to live such a life? it was dependent on the one living it, utterly.
but before he'll elaborate, his hand darts out, trying to steal some food.]
no subject
Tell me how it is.
[ That's all he'll ask; leaning a little against the counter with his arms folded ]
no subject
You've put a good amount of effort into this.
[he says it with his eyes still closed, savoring.]
Are you a chef?
no subject
Not by living. I consider cooking an art, though. Especially when one has to take care of others that way.
[ Food isn't easy to come by in the mountains, so everything is carefully regulated. Entrails of kills preserved for the frost months, tubers and what little greenery around rationed and partitioned for a good diet. What good is a leader if he can't feed those that follow him?
A poor one, at that. ]
no subject
Looking after others has been your whole life, hasn't it? Not just by simple tasks such as these.
[it's written into his posture, in his actions. part of Merlin's work was being a prophet, yes, but part of being a wise man was simply being observant.]
no subject
Cooperate, or die. Those were the choices offered to him so many years ago. He picked the former. ]
I suppose.
[ What does it mean to Merlin, then? An implicit question. ]
no subject
[now the tables, turning. if he can get this man to talk about himself, that means less space where Merlin has to dodge questions about himself.]