fighting. [for the fighting tournament he's changed his face - not the Magus of Flowers, but a tiefling is what he saw in the mirror. if he could shift again, why not use it to his advantage? why not become someone of many shapes, many reasons? the sword at his belt is nondescript, the staff in his hand speaking to the path he was given - but other than that and a tilt of his smile, not much gives him away. of course, for those that would have seen someone practicing at night in the Temple, the style of his combat is familiar.
in the ring, he fights with purpose, using both blade and staff more than magic. two hands means double the strikes after all - and until he's defeated, he'll fight with the same intensity as he started. only when bested will he change his face back to the smiling white haired magician. to the murmurs of the crowd, he gives a bow - might as well give them a show, before he walks away.]
lights. [each night, he is there by the lanterns, watching them rise. hopes and dreams borne aloft by so many, set free to sail the skies with their small flames, strong against the dark. there is something truly contemplative in his usually relaxed demeanor, solemn and near sorrowful, as he watches them sail away. a city, and so many human desires. so many threads of interweaving stories that couldn't be grasped just from looking. countless in the sky, and it makes his mouth twist oddly, caught between laughter and a deep thought.
alternately, he might be caught releasing a lantern from his hands, gently pushing it up to help it catch the breeze. he stands in the river a little ways for this, breeches rolled up, staff left by the shore. this is something more important than just tossing a stray thought in the wind - the nature of the place is infectious. and, he thinks, it's good to be reminded of how to let something go.]
masks. - [[ooc: please no characters under 18 for this prompt.]] [the masquerade calls to him as much as flame to small winged things, and Merlin exchanges masks with those that he draws into his orbit, switching from one look to another seamlessly over the course of a night or a few. Faerun's delightful simply as a land, but still it's the population that makes part of it so. he's been carefree and delighted by it, getting and giving flowers, enjoying the lack of weight on his shoulders and the few tricks he can turn. and the pleasant company he can find, of course.
dancing is as much a lure as any other, and the partner in his arms is one he can give a sweet smile, just on that edge of closeness that speaks of mischief and flirtation. his step is sure, confident, and violet eyes sparkle behind his current mask.]
Keeping up alright? I'd hate for you to be uncomfortable
[sometimes the crowd could be a little much for some. sometimes it was easier to slip into anonymity there. not a matter of daring, but whatever made promises easier to hear.]
wildcard.
[got other ideas for the festival? i welcome any and all.]
merlin | fate/grand order | changeling druid
[for the fighting tournament he's changed his face - not the Magus of Flowers, but a tiefling is what he saw in the mirror. if he could shift again, why not use it to his advantage? why not become someone of many shapes, many reasons? the sword at his belt is nondescript, the staff in his hand speaking to the path he was given - but other than that and a tilt of his smile, not much gives him away. of course, for those that would have seen someone practicing at night in the Temple, the style of his combat is familiar.
in the ring, he fights with purpose, using both blade and staff more than magic. two hands means double the strikes after all - and until he's defeated, he'll fight with the same intensity as he started. only when bested will he change his face back to the smiling white haired magician. to the murmurs of the crowd, he gives a bow - might as well give them a show, before he walks away.]
lights.
[each night, he is there by the lanterns, watching them rise. hopes and dreams borne aloft by so many, set free to sail the skies with their small flames, strong against the dark. there is something truly contemplative in his usually relaxed demeanor, solemn and near sorrowful, as he watches them sail away. a city, and so many human desires. so many threads of interweaving stories that couldn't be grasped just from looking. countless in the sky, and it makes his mouth twist oddly, caught between laughter and a deep thought.
alternately, he might be caught releasing a lantern from his hands, gently pushing it up to help it catch the breeze. he stands in the river a little ways for this, breeches rolled up, staff left by the shore. this is something more important than just tossing a stray thought in the wind - the nature of the place is infectious. and, he thinks, it's good to be reminded of how to let something go.]
masks. - [[ooc: please no characters under 18 for this prompt.]]
[the masquerade calls to him as much as flame to small winged things, and Merlin exchanges masks with those that he draws into his orbit, switching from one look to another seamlessly over the course of a night or a few. Faerun's delightful simply as a land, but still it's the population that makes part of it so. he's been carefree and delighted by it, getting and giving flowers, enjoying the lack of weight on his shoulders and the few tricks he can turn. and the pleasant company he can find, of course.
dancing is as much a lure as any other, and the partner in his arms is one he can give a sweet smile, just on that edge of closeness that speaks of mischief and flirtation. his step is sure, confident, and violet eyes sparkle behind his current mask.]
Keeping up alright? I'd hate for you to be uncomfortable
[sometimes the crowd could be a little much for some. sometimes it was easier to slip into anonymity there. not a matter of daring, but whatever made promises easier to hear.]
wildcard.
[got other ideas for the festival? i welcome any and all.]