Winter
10-20-06, 08:36 AM
[Reservations; Anenfel, Cassandra, and Elrundir]
Genesis:
Spellbirth
“From the deepest shadows, lights reveal.
From the tallest mountains, clouds squeal.
From the lowest valleys, life arrives.
From the light of day, magic derives.
From the heart and soul, pact is sworn
From the advent of Genesis, She Is Borne.”
-Dais
Serenity…
A susurrus rumbled softly, barely heard, through the tired ears of a young traveler; whispering of fortune, grief, past visitors, and loneliness. Simple sentences swirled together, flowing nonstop. Gentle and direct, the silent babble slithered between thoughts, filling the void of the mind. Full and complete, it swept out of the mind, washing anew the psyche. The stories it told, memories it shared, and longings it had were delicate threads tying together the soothing nothingness of the one sided conversation. It is always one sided when one listens to a river.
Stretching out the taught muscles and tendons in his arms, Eoin sighed happily as he lay on the soft turf of grass, wet from the morning dew. Listening to water was a fascination of his, imagining what it would be say if he could turn the crash of waves and rolling tides into ideas and meanings. An endless conversation, it could be, if then he could find a way to answer its questions, to ask it mysteries, and to plea that it listen, as well, to his story. He was aged to be an adult, but in body he was but a boy. To the river, he was a fly, the lifespan of a gnat that comes and goes in a blink of its existence. All water is connected, and so, the ocean itself must be a live entity, breathing and thinking and admiring the ecosystem sustained by it.
Eoin thought all this, laying there on the bank of the river, watching the shimmering fish dance through the water and air. Catching flies and gulping down water to break their fine morning fast. Scales flashed in the reflected and refracted light of an early dawn, bringing out the best in life and nature and showing it with brilliance. The seasons had changed from the harsh silence of winter and into the growing melody of spring, and no land showed the change better then his beloved Raiaera. Both the land and the residents were beautiful in their own way, and changed with each turn of the year.
This was life.
Pulling him from the ebb and flow of the river, Eoin’s mind climbed back into his body and he sat up, supporting himself on a rock. His satchel, coat, and a still sealed letter rested there, awaiting his return in somber patience. Enjoying the idea of his possessions being things that loved him, the boy placed a calm and loving hand on each before taking up the letter and laying on it on his lap. Without even seeing the seal, he knew from whom it came and why it came to him. The Alchemology Society had sent him out in the world, like they send all their journeymen, to discover new means of deriving Alchemy. When they found points of interest, they ambivalently chose the Acolyte closest to the location and sent him a kind yet firm ‘letter of suggestion’. Eoin often saw them, instead, as ultimatums. With flowing words and soothing notes, the letter addressed the concern of the Society, and then gently put forth the idea that it would be most pertinent to the benefit of the Society for one such Acolyte as thyself to investigate this new interest. In more casual words, one either fulfills their request or loses the approval of the society and is thusly removed.
Another sigh escaped his lips, this one not lined with pleasure and relaxation but with the concern of oncoming stress. Pulling open the letter gently, with care not to rip the parchment, the boy saw two things instantly that quite surprised him. First, at the leading corner of the diamond shaped paper was a signet of sealing, indicating that something other then simply words lay hidden in the scroll. Deciding to deal with it later, Eoin proceeded to read and examine the task set before him. The survey of an uncharted, unknown, and possibly cursed island; it must have been the cursed part that sparked their attentions. A last note regarded the seal contained therein and that it held four letters within. These letters were a common thing, a source of resource for the Society, and they directed any funds allocated to be charged directly to the Society instead of the bearer of the letter. Unfortunately, they were good for but one purchase of service or good, and then became null for the amount required would be written upon its surface and sent to the Society headquarters to be processed.
Already on the outskirts of the magnificent port city of Anabrilith, Eoin stood and made his way to its open gates. The architecture of the Elves had always fascinated him, constructed to be made in light of nature yet having an unnatural surrealism to it. Floating buttresses and curving arches that are normally only seen when staring up at the canopy of a forest, one felt much a part of nature even in the highest of civilized areas. All of it flowed quite alike the motion of a river, and for that, he loved the Raiaerans. Not sure where to start, for only the location of the island was given, Eoin moved into the commotion of the living and breathing Elven metropolis.
Their talk, though understandable, was still not as pleasing as the River.
Genesis:
Spellbirth
“From the deepest shadows, lights reveal.
From the tallest mountains, clouds squeal.
From the lowest valleys, life arrives.
From the light of day, magic derives.
From the heart and soul, pact is sworn
From the advent of Genesis, She Is Borne.”
-Dais
Serenity…
A susurrus rumbled softly, barely heard, through the tired ears of a young traveler; whispering of fortune, grief, past visitors, and loneliness. Simple sentences swirled together, flowing nonstop. Gentle and direct, the silent babble slithered between thoughts, filling the void of the mind. Full and complete, it swept out of the mind, washing anew the psyche. The stories it told, memories it shared, and longings it had were delicate threads tying together the soothing nothingness of the one sided conversation. It is always one sided when one listens to a river.
Stretching out the taught muscles and tendons in his arms, Eoin sighed happily as he lay on the soft turf of grass, wet from the morning dew. Listening to water was a fascination of his, imagining what it would be say if he could turn the crash of waves and rolling tides into ideas and meanings. An endless conversation, it could be, if then he could find a way to answer its questions, to ask it mysteries, and to plea that it listen, as well, to his story. He was aged to be an adult, but in body he was but a boy. To the river, he was a fly, the lifespan of a gnat that comes and goes in a blink of its existence. All water is connected, and so, the ocean itself must be a live entity, breathing and thinking and admiring the ecosystem sustained by it.
Eoin thought all this, laying there on the bank of the river, watching the shimmering fish dance through the water and air. Catching flies and gulping down water to break their fine morning fast. Scales flashed in the reflected and refracted light of an early dawn, bringing out the best in life and nature and showing it with brilliance. The seasons had changed from the harsh silence of winter and into the growing melody of spring, and no land showed the change better then his beloved Raiaera. Both the land and the residents were beautiful in their own way, and changed with each turn of the year.
This was life.
Pulling him from the ebb and flow of the river, Eoin’s mind climbed back into his body and he sat up, supporting himself on a rock. His satchel, coat, and a still sealed letter rested there, awaiting his return in somber patience. Enjoying the idea of his possessions being things that loved him, the boy placed a calm and loving hand on each before taking up the letter and laying on it on his lap. Without even seeing the seal, he knew from whom it came and why it came to him. The Alchemology Society had sent him out in the world, like they send all their journeymen, to discover new means of deriving Alchemy. When they found points of interest, they ambivalently chose the Acolyte closest to the location and sent him a kind yet firm ‘letter of suggestion’. Eoin often saw them, instead, as ultimatums. With flowing words and soothing notes, the letter addressed the concern of the Society, and then gently put forth the idea that it would be most pertinent to the benefit of the Society for one such Acolyte as thyself to investigate this new interest. In more casual words, one either fulfills their request or loses the approval of the society and is thusly removed.
Another sigh escaped his lips, this one not lined with pleasure and relaxation but with the concern of oncoming stress. Pulling open the letter gently, with care not to rip the parchment, the boy saw two things instantly that quite surprised him. First, at the leading corner of the diamond shaped paper was a signet of sealing, indicating that something other then simply words lay hidden in the scroll. Deciding to deal with it later, Eoin proceeded to read and examine the task set before him. The survey of an uncharted, unknown, and possibly cursed island; it must have been the cursed part that sparked their attentions. A last note regarded the seal contained therein and that it held four letters within. These letters were a common thing, a source of resource for the Society, and they directed any funds allocated to be charged directly to the Society instead of the bearer of the letter. Unfortunately, they were good for but one purchase of service or good, and then became null for the amount required would be written upon its surface and sent to the Society headquarters to be processed.
Already on the outskirts of the magnificent port city of Anabrilith, Eoin stood and made his way to its open gates. The architecture of the Elves had always fascinated him, constructed to be made in light of nature yet having an unnatural surrealism to it. Floating buttresses and curving arches that are normally only seen when staring up at the canopy of a forest, one felt much a part of nature even in the highest of civilized areas. All of it flowed quite alike the motion of a river, and for that, he loved the Raiaerans. Not sure where to start, for only the location of the island was given, Eoin moved into the commotion of the living and breathing Elven metropolis.
Their talk, though understandable, was still not as pleasing as the River.