TIMESTAMP: 3rd Solace, Glade 4622 03:23
NOTES: -
NOTES: -
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In the distance, the sounds of water crashing down from cliff sides reverberates through the city. Alongside a breeze blowing mist through the air, through the trees, these are the only sounds to be heard on this lonely night. The full moon’s bright light illuminates the mist in the air, casting an almost ethereal glow on all reflective surfaces in the garden. It is here, on the flagstones among the plots of white poppies that the Ferrier lies– staring up at the deep blue abyss above, counting the stars. Eyes of amber reflect the moon’s vibrant luminescence but are otherwise dark alongside empty, expressionless features. With slow, deep breaths he exhales Spectrified ashes casting a ghostly, blue glow all around him while the ashes from his mutation float alongside them glinting with an iridescent shimmer in the soft gleam of the moon. The sight was as beautiful as it was wistful.
Surrounded by this hazy fog of ashes, the silver elf lay alone with his thoughts. Drifting those empty eyes closed he notices a shadow hanging over him as they reopen but he doesn’t react or even acknowledge the other’s presence. For a few more moments, there continues to be silence. With soft steps, the other figure walks to the Ferrier’s right side and kneels down next to him.
“Trying to say something with the flowers by picking this spot?” She speaks softly with an arch to her brow. Lips curling upward with the first note of a laugh, “...I might,” the Ferrier replies, voice tired but light. “You’re never awake at this hour,” he remarks back to her, honestly sounding a bit surprised as amber irises shift to match the woman’s clear gaze. “...and you’re awake at this hour in ever increasing frequency,” she retorts, expression feigning annoyance.
“Do you recall what you were supposed to do yesterday?” She asks this question to a man who clearly did not. In response, it appears as if he’s going to sigh but really, it was just a particularly deep exhale of yet more spectrified ashes. He resembled something akin to a dragon despite the fact that ashes are inherently cool to the touch. “No? I don’t recall any missed obligations,” the male elf says this with unfounded confidence. “Really? That’s funny, because I recall you promising me your Ferrier’s mark. I also recall that the specific date you gave me was, indeed, yesterday,” her voice is inherently playful but laced in a tight weave of sarcasm. She wasn’t truly upset– she knew he had a lot on his mind, but teasing him was always fun.
“Why don’t I just give it to you now, then? It’s not as if I’m busy,” he speaks with gentle amusement flowing through the velvet timbre of his voice. She responds to this, initially, with bright laughter containing a chiming musicality, “...Wait, oh, you’re serious. Out here?” She blinks a few times in consideration. “I suppose I’m not against it….you did say this initiation makes a mess,” it would seem she’s come around to the idea rather quickly. Propping himself up now on his elbows, the Ferrier speaks, “I’d recommend you stay seated…the nausea at the end will make you drop to your knees regardless. Where do you want the mark…?” His voice carries a certain soft affection along with it with these words.
At that, the female elf repositions from kneeling to sitting cross legged on the ground next to him. Looking her Veir directly in the eyes now, “Same place as yours!” Her tone is warm and her expression is as radiant as the moon. “If that’s really what you want, Lucia, then sure,” ending his sentence with the faintest hint of laughter. “Just…don’t die on me, alright? My moods have been pretty poor as of late and I crutch on you quite a bit for comfort,” it almost sounds like he’s joking but there’s sincerity reflected back in eyes of red amber. The Norai woman responds with giggles, bright confidence not wavering at all. “I would never do that to you– I promise.”
While surviving an initiation is never truly a guarantee, she did have the process thoroughly explained to her and she felt confident in her ability to withstand it and succeed. Languid in his movements, Degare pushes himself upright and turns his body to face the Valran. “Well…don’t disappoint me then,” words said with oddly tepid ambivalence in stark contrast to how he’d just spoken to her. The woman’s neckline was low enough to reveal the top of her sternum where she wanted the mark; therefore, the Ferrier drew upon his own ether to manifest the required Pathos and paint it upon her chest mere moments after those words were delivered.
Though she did try to maintain her brighter disposition, such a thing was hard to do once the initiation properly began. Like slow, creeping vines dread begins to wrap its way around her as she was blanketed in the ethereal blue silk of Ethos. This initiation was never a long one, but it always felt eternal to the one going through it. Ethos was cold as it was constricting, ghostly as it was claustrophobic. Once Lucia was thoroughly encased, her breaths began to shorten and the whispers of the dead began to ring in her ears. Her mind at this point was thoroughly steeled to the horrors of this world, so while the whispers and hallucinations were distracting and in some ways fascinating to her, she found herself able to maintain her composure quite well in comparison to the more easily overwhelmed who folded to fear.
Such mental fortitude was an invaluable boon for an initiation of this design. The sounds and images around her rolled through her mind like flowing rivers but caused no distress as her breathing became ever shallower. That was the true timer for her; she must figure out how to call upon her own ether to generate her very first Pathos– something one cannot teach you beforehand at all. Focusing intently on the mark she bore over her sternum, she could feel the ether stir in her soul under the black seed’s influence. Slowly, it flowed outward through her shoulders and down her arms in a rolling, almost electrified crawl. When the ether she drew reached her open palms, her breathing was quite short and any air she received was an utter blessing. She knew her time was running out, but finally she could feel the warmth of the oily miasmatic Pathos in her palms.
Requiring intense focus to move within the constraints of the Ethos and remain calm despite not being able to breathe, the silver elven woman brings her hand slickened with Pathos to her lips and manages to consume some of it. Heart beating with strained intensity, she sighs with relief as she can feel the Ethos woven around her beginning to finally unravel, loosening its grip. Eyes of bright, clear jade widen as she is overcome with the horrendous nausea that is to be expected at the denouement of Bane’s initiation. With quick movements, the senior Ferrier pushes himself back and away from her to avoid the spray of bile that was soon to come.
Dry heaving and gasping for air, she falls forward leaning on the ground with her palms. After a few more raspy, strained breaths the bile erupts from dainty lips into a black, oozing lake on the ground. A thin sheen of cold sweat coats her exposed skin as she expels the rest of the bile onto the ground before her. Degare kneels now beside her and rests a hand on her shoulder. With a soft, congratulatory smile, “You’ve done it, love. Had me worried for a second with how long it took you to get your Pathos to form…but the lack of any panic was impressive,” in his voice is genuine relief woven through a tone meant to praise her. He is thoroughly glad she survived.
Exhausted and disheveled, the woman glances to the side at him and smiles, “I’m…offended you ever doubted me,” words said between deep, stabilizing breaths. Shortly after speaking, she lifts one of her hands from the puddle of bile on the ground and flicks it into the face of the Veir. His initial reaction is to flinch as the liquid is splashed into his face but afterwards he laughs. “Oh, you’re funny…” words trailing off as he expresses a bit more of his ether and blows spectrified ashes directly into the woman’s face. She giggles brightly in kind.
The two of them remained there, under the starry night sky among the white poppies and clouds of glimmering ash for a few more moments longer if for no other reason than to enjoy the other’s company. “I think now that this is done…you should head off to sleep. I’m not going to let you mope out here any longer and I’d like to go get myself cleaned up, frankly.” One corner of the older Ferrier’s lips curls upwards into a half smile at the other’s words.
She was right– this was one of the many strange things he had been doing over the past month to pass time, to distract himself from the worry that crawled through him in creeping waves and the anxiety that gripped at his throat. The two silver elves slowly begin to stand with Lucia clinging to her Vier for stabilization at first. “Especially with these problems stemming from the hollowness of your heart…come to me instead of lurking out here alone.” Despite how drained she was, her voice was firm in its reassurance. "I suppose you're right-- my methods of coping haven't been the most productive of late," he replies, voice low with slightly embarrassed undertones. At this, the two parted ways– Degare returning to his tower and Lucia to her chambers in the manor.
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In the distance, the sounds of water crashing down from cliff sides reverberates through the city. Alongside a breeze blowing mist through the air, through the trees, these are the only sounds to be heard on this lonely night. The full moon’s bright light illuminates the mist in the air, casting an almost ethereal glow on all reflective surfaces in the garden. It is here, on the flagstones among the plots of white poppies that the Ferrier lies– staring up at the deep blue abyss above, counting the stars. Eyes of amber reflect the moon’s vibrant luminescence but are otherwise dark alongside empty, expressionless features. With slow, deep breaths he exhales Spectrified ashes casting a ghostly, blue glow all around him while the ashes from his mutation float alongside them glinting with an iridescent shimmer in the soft gleam of the moon. The sight was as beautiful as it was wistful.
Surrounded by this hazy fog of ashes, the silver elf lay alone with his thoughts. Drifting those empty eyes closed he notices a shadow hanging over him as they reopen but he doesn’t react or even acknowledge the other’s presence. For a few more moments, there continues to be silence. With soft steps, the other figure walks to the Ferrier’s right side and kneels down next to him.
“Trying to say something with the flowers by picking this spot?” She speaks softly with an arch to her brow. Lips curling upward with the first note of a laugh, “...I might,” the Ferrier replies, voice tired but light. “You’re never awake at this hour,” he remarks back to her, honestly sounding a bit surprised as amber irises shift to match the woman’s clear gaze. “...and you’re awake at this hour in ever increasing frequency,” she retorts, expression feigning annoyance.
“Do you recall what you were supposed to do yesterday?” She asks this question to a man who clearly did not. In response, it appears as if he’s going to sigh but really, it was just a particularly deep exhale of yet more spectrified ashes. He resembled something akin to a dragon despite the fact that ashes are inherently cool to the touch. “No? I don’t recall any missed obligations,” the male elf says this with unfounded confidence. “Really? That’s funny, because I recall you promising me your Ferrier’s mark. I also recall that the specific date you gave me was, indeed, yesterday,” her voice is inherently playful but laced in a tight weave of sarcasm. She wasn’t truly upset– she knew he had a lot on his mind, but teasing him was always fun.
“Why don’t I just give it to you now, then? It’s not as if I’m busy,” he speaks with gentle amusement flowing through the velvet timbre of his voice. She responds to this, initially, with bright laughter containing a chiming musicality, “...Wait, oh, you’re serious. Out here?” She blinks a few times in consideration. “I suppose I’m not against it….you did say this initiation makes a mess,” it would seem she’s come around to the idea rather quickly. Propping himself up now on his elbows, the Ferrier speaks, “I’d recommend you stay seated…the nausea at the end will make you drop to your knees regardless. Where do you want the mark…?” His voice carries a certain soft affection along with it with these words.
At that, the female elf repositions from kneeling to sitting cross legged on the ground next to him. Looking her Veir directly in the eyes now, “Same place as yours!” Her tone is warm and her expression is as radiant as the moon. “If that’s really what you want, Lucia, then sure,” ending his sentence with the faintest hint of laughter. “Just…don’t die on me, alright? My moods have been pretty poor as of late and I crutch on you quite a bit for comfort,” it almost sounds like he’s joking but there’s sincerity reflected back in eyes of red amber. The Norai woman responds with giggles, bright confidence not wavering at all. “I would never do that to you– I promise.”
While surviving an initiation is never truly a guarantee, she did have the process thoroughly explained to her and she felt confident in her ability to withstand it and succeed. Languid in his movements, Degare pushes himself upright and turns his body to face the Valran. “Well…don’t disappoint me then,” words said with oddly tepid ambivalence in stark contrast to how he’d just spoken to her. The woman’s neckline was low enough to reveal the top of her sternum where she wanted the mark; therefore, the Ferrier drew upon his own ether to manifest the required Pathos and paint it upon her chest mere moments after those words were delivered.
Though she did try to maintain her brighter disposition, such a thing was hard to do once the initiation properly began. Like slow, creeping vines dread begins to wrap its way around her as she was blanketed in the ethereal blue silk of Ethos. This initiation was never a long one, but it always felt eternal to the one going through it. Ethos was cold as it was constricting, ghostly as it was claustrophobic. Once Lucia was thoroughly encased, her breaths began to shorten and the whispers of the dead began to ring in her ears. Her mind at this point was thoroughly steeled to the horrors of this world, so while the whispers and hallucinations were distracting and in some ways fascinating to her, she found herself able to maintain her composure quite well in comparison to the more easily overwhelmed who folded to fear.
Such mental fortitude was an invaluable boon for an initiation of this design. The sounds and images around her rolled through her mind like flowing rivers but caused no distress as her breathing became ever shallower. That was the true timer for her; she must figure out how to call upon her own ether to generate her very first Pathos– something one cannot teach you beforehand at all. Focusing intently on the mark she bore over her sternum, she could feel the ether stir in her soul under the black seed’s influence. Slowly, it flowed outward through her shoulders and down her arms in a rolling, almost electrified crawl. When the ether she drew reached her open palms, her breathing was quite short and any air she received was an utter blessing. She knew her time was running out, but finally she could feel the warmth of the oily miasmatic Pathos in her palms.
Requiring intense focus to move within the constraints of the Ethos and remain calm despite not being able to breathe, the silver elven woman brings her hand slickened with Pathos to her lips and manages to consume some of it. Heart beating with strained intensity, she sighs with relief as she can feel the Ethos woven around her beginning to finally unravel, loosening its grip. Eyes of bright, clear jade widen as she is overcome with the horrendous nausea that is to be expected at the denouement of Bane’s initiation. With quick movements, the senior Ferrier pushes himself back and away from her to avoid the spray of bile that was soon to come.
Dry heaving and gasping for air, she falls forward leaning on the ground with her palms. After a few more raspy, strained breaths the bile erupts from dainty lips into a black, oozing lake on the ground. A thin sheen of cold sweat coats her exposed skin as she expels the rest of the bile onto the ground before her. Degare kneels now beside her and rests a hand on her shoulder. With a soft, congratulatory smile, “You’ve done it, love. Had me worried for a second with how long it took you to get your Pathos to form…but the lack of any panic was impressive,” in his voice is genuine relief woven through a tone meant to praise her. He is thoroughly glad she survived.
Exhausted and disheveled, the woman glances to the side at him and smiles, “I’m…offended you ever doubted me,” words said between deep, stabilizing breaths. Shortly after speaking, she lifts one of her hands from the puddle of bile on the ground and flicks it into the face of the Veir. His initial reaction is to flinch as the liquid is splashed into his face but afterwards he laughs. “Oh, you’re funny…” words trailing off as he expresses a bit more of his ether and blows spectrified ashes directly into the woman’s face. She giggles brightly in kind.
The two of them remained there, under the starry night sky among the white poppies and clouds of glimmering ash for a few more moments longer if for no other reason than to enjoy the other’s company. “I think now that this is done…you should head off to sleep. I’m not going to let you mope out here any longer and I’d like to go get myself cleaned up, frankly.” One corner of the older Ferrier’s lips curls upwards into a half smile at the other’s words.
She was right– this was one of the many strange things he had been doing over the past month to pass time, to distract himself from the worry that crawled through him in creeping waves and the anxiety that gripped at his throat. The two silver elves slowly begin to stand with Lucia clinging to her Vier for stabilization at first. “Especially with these problems stemming from the hollowness of your heart…come to me instead of lurking out here alone.” Despite how drained she was, her voice was firm in its reassurance. "I suppose you're right-- my methods of coping haven't been the most productive of late," he replies, voice low with slightly embarrassed undertones. At this, the two parted ways– Degare returning to his tower and Lucia to her chambers in the manor.
____
'Thoughts'
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"Raillen Tongue/Speech"
"Silvain Tongue/Speech"
'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"
"Silvain Tongue/Speech"
