TIMESTAMP: 4th Solace, Glade, 4604
NOTES: Songs mentioned in thread listed in order under spoiler c:
NOTES: Songs mentioned in thread listed in order under spoiler c:
► Show Spoiler
- - -
- - -
Minutes to hours, hours to days, days to weeks and weeks to years...how long has it been? The flow of time seemed to warp heavily after his beloved’s passing. Sometimes days would blur into weeks, and others? Minutes would feel slow as hours, days like years. Where do you even begin to pick up the pieces when you’ve been shattered into millions of brilliant, prismatic shards? Are there even any left to put together as the winds of life continue to push forward? Where does one find the time?
Letting Averre die without performing the Arlaed was something he viewed as his biggest personal failing, and as a consequence, the weight of the guilt that he felt was colossal and unending, crushing him with each breath. Though he still had a will to live, not being the type to ever want to fully lay down and give up, he definitely didn’t care much for his well being for the moment and hadn’t since the day Averre died. The Veir had cursed himself from that day forth for letting the paranoia caused by living within Daravin, among the Entente, prevent him from keeping his life partner alive.
This particular day was like any other during this immense period of mourning. The sun’s early rays were largely blocked by thick, dark curtains covering the windows in his chambers, but some still managed to shine through the cracks between the layers of fabric. As soon as the emotionally exhausted Ferrier opened his eyes in the morning, he wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep…but he’d been doing that enough. Some days, he slept well over twelve hours if he had not been called elsewhere for business or politics. Slowly, as if his body is made of lead, the distraught elf sits up as half-lidded irises of crimson-tinted amber drift languidly around the room.
With a soft sigh, the Mentalist calls forth a small amount of ether from his soul, infusing it with his neurocrux and into his own mural. The spell was the first of the five Reveries, Minstrel– he was crutching on his mentalism to uplift his mood out of the abyssal depths it would otherwise lay within. He was well aware that using magic on himself in this way as often, and to the degree that he was, would be pretty unwise as it would prevent him from properly processing his emotions…but at this moment, he couldn’t exactly bring himself to really even think about the consequences of these choices. The crushing sadness and grief of it all was so overwhelming he’d rely on his magic for as long as he needed– even if that meant using it every day for the foreseeable future.
Shifting limbs that barely even felt like his own, the pale elf moves to dress himself in something light and comfortable. He didn’t really need to make himself that presentable since he didn’t plan on going anywhere today. Once he is properly clothed, he makes his way over to the hatch in the middle of the room that opens up to the spiral staircase leading to the tower below. With slow, tired steps the Veir descends down to the first of three floors in the tower, though it would feel like it was all one big room. This was because the actual floors of each level were made of very thick glass. Such a thing would allow one to see all three at once if looking up or down, depending on which one you were on. He stares down through the glass at everything in the tower, struggling to really decide what he was going to do.
Each level of it had a myriad of different things he could do, in theory, as they held all of his personal possessions that he’d managed to collect over his roughly eight decades of life. The walls of his tower were covered in bookshelves filled with myriad texts on a plethora of different subjects. If one looked, however, popular subjects in his personal collection seemed to be magic, sociology, anatomy, botany, history and psychology. There were also quite a few works of fiction, volumes of poetry and other works more artistic in their nature. Unfortunately, in his current mental state, it has been quite difficult for him to focus on reading material of any subject.
Sighing a bit as dull amber eyes drift around, looking at the other furnishings and things in his possession. The Ferrier finally seems to settle on something, finally. In the middle of the three primary floors is where he stored most of his instruments of a more musical nature– though the particular one that he had his eyes on was his rather old, but very lovingly cared for, grand piano. It was something of a family heirloom that had been passed to him from his mother; she was a prodigious pianist herself. It had been passed to her from one of her parents, and to them from one of theirs– it really was very, very old. Despite this, however, it played beautifully.
There were periods of Degare’s life where he found himself neglecting his instruments and periods of the exact opposite, but playing them always brought him great comfort in times of emotional turmoil, big or small. To some degree, he did have to will himself to play because his natural interest in doing anything at all was fairly low at the moment. However, he was able to convince himself by remembering how cathartic playing always is for him.
Again, the Veir descends the spiral staircase, this time stopping off at the middle floor and walking at slow pace over to the piano’s bench. Luckily, he had forced himself to tune it recently enough, so there was nothing he had to do in preparation to play. As much as he is presently a depressed mess, he still manages to maintain the things that are actually important to him.
Lifting the cover away from the keys, the pale elf sets long, graceful fingers on top of them. Playing a song he quite loved from memory, it starts off with a very slow tempo. Playing a few soft chords at a time with his left hand accompanied by the gentle keystrokes of his right, those being quicker in speed. As his playing progresses, the melody of his right hand slowly increases in complexity and volume while the chords of his left remain much the same throughout. It was a really pretty, delicate piece laced in melancholy. The slowly rising volume rolled into a gentle crescendo and then slowly quieted towards the end of the song. For him, this song was more of a simple warmup than anything. It was a comfortable piece for him to play, and because it was so short, he repeated it a few times to warm up his hands.
The next piece he decided to play was a fair bit more complex and much quicker in tempo. Though this was the case, it was another song that he’d learned long ago and could play from memory so he could easily lose himself in both the sound of the instrument and the movement of his hands. This was the feeling that he sought, after all. His endless, painful ruminations would all but wash away as his mind was carried off by the rolling notes of his music. The song was sad but breathtakingly beautiful, pulling at one’s heartstrings as the notes flowed together and built upon one another. As his keystrokes increased in intensity, they marched forward towards a crescendo that was both desperate and pleading. The sound evoked an emotional response within Degare that always served to reignite his passion for his music regardless of his mood prior to starting, despite the sound bringing up a long list of memories that ultimately made him sad.
There, within his tower, the Ferrier continued on like this for the rest of the day, only stopping every so often when it was necessary, or when he was interrupted by an overly concerned Valran that brought him something to eat or drink. Many of the staff that worked closer to him did notice that if he were not prodded to take care of himself, he would begin to wither away before their very eyes. Degare was always kind to his Valran; despite his eccentric and often cruel nature, he treated his staff incredibly well, which instilled within them a sense of intense loyalty. In return for his kindness, they helped to care for him during this time.
- - -
Minutes to hours, hours to days, days to weeks and weeks to years...how long has it been? The flow of time seemed to warp heavily after his beloved’s passing. Sometimes days would blur into weeks, and others? Minutes would feel slow as hours, days like years. Where do you even begin to pick up the pieces when you’ve been shattered into millions of brilliant, prismatic shards? Are there even any left to put together as the winds of life continue to push forward? Where does one find the time?
Letting Averre die without performing the Arlaed was something he viewed as his biggest personal failing, and as a consequence, the weight of the guilt that he felt was colossal and unending, crushing him with each breath. Though he still had a will to live, not being the type to ever want to fully lay down and give up, he definitely didn’t care much for his well being for the moment and hadn’t since the day Averre died. The Veir had cursed himself from that day forth for letting the paranoia caused by living within Daravin, among the Entente, prevent him from keeping his life partner alive.
This particular day was like any other during this immense period of mourning. The sun’s early rays were largely blocked by thick, dark curtains covering the windows in his chambers, but some still managed to shine through the cracks between the layers of fabric. As soon as the emotionally exhausted Ferrier opened his eyes in the morning, he wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep…but he’d been doing that enough. Some days, he slept well over twelve hours if he had not been called elsewhere for business or politics. Slowly, as if his body is made of lead, the distraught elf sits up as half-lidded irises of crimson-tinted amber drift languidly around the room.
With a soft sigh, the Mentalist calls forth a small amount of ether from his soul, infusing it with his neurocrux and into his own mural. The spell was the first of the five Reveries, Minstrel– he was crutching on his mentalism to uplift his mood out of the abyssal depths it would otherwise lay within. He was well aware that using magic on himself in this way as often, and to the degree that he was, would be pretty unwise as it would prevent him from properly processing his emotions…but at this moment, he couldn’t exactly bring himself to really even think about the consequences of these choices. The crushing sadness and grief of it all was so overwhelming he’d rely on his magic for as long as he needed– even if that meant using it every day for the foreseeable future.
Shifting limbs that barely even felt like his own, the pale elf moves to dress himself in something light and comfortable. He didn’t really need to make himself that presentable since he didn’t plan on going anywhere today. Once he is properly clothed, he makes his way over to the hatch in the middle of the room that opens up to the spiral staircase leading to the tower below. With slow, tired steps the Veir descends down to the first of three floors in the tower, though it would feel like it was all one big room. This was because the actual floors of each level were made of very thick glass. Such a thing would allow one to see all three at once if looking up or down, depending on which one you were on. He stares down through the glass at everything in the tower, struggling to really decide what he was going to do.
Each level of it had a myriad of different things he could do, in theory, as they held all of his personal possessions that he’d managed to collect over his roughly eight decades of life. The walls of his tower were covered in bookshelves filled with myriad texts on a plethora of different subjects. If one looked, however, popular subjects in his personal collection seemed to be magic, sociology, anatomy, botany, history and psychology. There were also quite a few works of fiction, volumes of poetry and other works more artistic in their nature. Unfortunately, in his current mental state, it has been quite difficult for him to focus on reading material of any subject.
Sighing a bit as dull amber eyes drift around, looking at the other furnishings and things in his possession. The Ferrier finally seems to settle on something, finally. In the middle of the three primary floors is where he stored most of his instruments of a more musical nature– though the particular one that he had his eyes on was his rather old, but very lovingly cared for, grand piano. It was something of a family heirloom that had been passed to him from his mother; she was a prodigious pianist herself. It had been passed to her from one of her parents, and to them from one of theirs– it really was very, very old. Despite this, however, it played beautifully.
There were periods of Degare’s life where he found himself neglecting his instruments and periods of the exact opposite, but playing them always brought him great comfort in times of emotional turmoil, big or small. To some degree, he did have to will himself to play because his natural interest in doing anything at all was fairly low at the moment. However, he was able to convince himself by remembering how cathartic playing always is for him.
Again, the Veir descends the spiral staircase, this time stopping off at the middle floor and walking at slow pace over to the piano’s bench. Luckily, he had forced himself to tune it recently enough, so there was nothing he had to do in preparation to play. As much as he is presently a depressed mess, he still manages to maintain the things that are actually important to him.
Lifting the cover away from the keys, the pale elf sets long, graceful fingers on top of them. Playing a song he quite loved from memory, it starts off with a very slow tempo. Playing a few soft chords at a time with his left hand accompanied by the gentle keystrokes of his right, those being quicker in speed. As his playing progresses, the melody of his right hand slowly increases in complexity and volume while the chords of his left remain much the same throughout. It was a really pretty, delicate piece laced in melancholy. The slowly rising volume rolled into a gentle crescendo and then slowly quieted towards the end of the song. For him, this song was more of a simple warmup than anything. It was a comfortable piece for him to play, and because it was so short, he repeated it a few times to warm up his hands.
The next piece he decided to play was a fair bit more complex and much quicker in tempo. Though this was the case, it was another song that he’d learned long ago and could play from memory so he could easily lose himself in both the sound of the instrument and the movement of his hands. This was the feeling that he sought, after all. His endless, painful ruminations would all but wash away as his mind was carried off by the rolling notes of his music. The song was sad but breathtakingly beautiful, pulling at one’s heartstrings as the notes flowed together and built upon one another. As his keystrokes increased in intensity, they marched forward towards a crescendo that was both desperate and pleading. The sound evoked an emotional response within Degare that always served to reignite his passion for his music regardless of his mood prior to starting, despite the sound bringing up a long list of memories that ultimately made him sad.
There, within his tower, the Ferrier continued on like this for the rest of the day, only stopping every so often when it was necessary, or when he was interrupted by an overly concerned Valran that brought him something to eat or drink. Many of the staff that worked closer to him did notice that if he were not prodded to take care of himself, he would begin to wither away before their very eyes. Degare was always kind to his Valran; despite his eccentric and often cruel nature, he treated his staff incredibly well, which instilled within them a sense of intense loyalty. In return for his kindness, they helped to care for him during this time.
____
'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"
'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"
