auryn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
do_what_thou_wilt) wrote2014-12-23 08:30 pm
do_what_thou_wilt) wrote2014-12-23 08:30 pm
Entry tags:
into the woods
Auryn takes a few days to settle in. To get a roof, however fleeting, over his head; unpack, cast some basic wards over the space he's claimed as his own. To soak up the feel and the history in even the timber and architecture of this town. But it's been an intent road that led him here, unlike some of the other places he's visited in his life.
It doesn't take him a long time to start hearing names he recognizes, to start hearing the way they're said by one or another person. It doesn't take much effort to inquire -- tourist-like and all naivete and wide eyes -- as to the rumors about this town, to drop names he's had pressed into his mind by witches that sent him on his way here. Names like Coombs and Grimhilde, to say things like "curses" and "evil" and to see what people say when they're asked about the truth. It takes even less effort to let them talk, wind stories and tales and histories that build on each other. A question here, an encouragement there. There isn't a trick to it except saying very little about himself.
Some tense at the question, or blow the whole thing off, and he notes that too.
The truth is, as usual, what you make of it. But there are overlaps, and directions that repeat themselves. And it's that, and needing some solitude, that finds Auryn wandering purposefully into the woods north by northeast.
It's been unseasonably warm, grey and damp these last few days, and the gabardine jacket he's wearing over a hoodie, dark jeans tucked into boots is almost too warm as he carefully traces his way up following the trace of trees. He lets himself adjust as the lack of town noise gives in to dense, more subtle cues: birds taking off from trees, the whisper of bare branches against a gray sky, or the shuffle of evergreen: the subtle presence of a fox or stray dog alerting itself in the back of his mind and the dense feel of the magic in the air around here.
He's wandering without thinking, intentionally putting thought out of his head, so much so that when he realizes it's gotten colder, darker, he can't tell how quickly that happened. He raises his head at the sudden distinct silence and stills himself for a moment. A murder of crows -- or ravens? -- takes off from a far off tree and circles, and he turns toward their watching place, holding his right hand open and passive to them before following curiously.
[Open! Auryn's in search of Grimhilde Manor, but choose your own adventure. Does he find it? Does someone else find him first? Feel free to bump into him in the woods, or maybe he get s turned around in a giant circle by the ravens and ends up back in town. A great time to meet him.]
It doesn't take him a long time to start hearing names he recognizes, to start hearing the way they're said by one or another person. It doesn't take much effort to inquire -- tourist-like and all naivete and wide eyes -- as to the rumors about this town, to drop names he's had pressed into his mind by witches that sent him on his way here. Names like Coombs and Grimhilde, to say things like "curses" and "evil" and to see what people say when they're asked about the truth. It takes even less effort to let them talk, wind stories and tales and histories that build on each other. A question here, an encouragement there. There isn't a trick to it except saying very little about himself.
Some tense at the question, or blow the whole thing off, and he notes that too.
The truth is, as usual, what you make of it. But there are overlaps, and directions that repeat themselves. And it's that, and needing some solitude, that finds Auryn wandering purposefully into the woods north by northeast.
It's been unseasonably warm, grey and damp these last few days, and the gabardine jacket he's wearing over a hoodie, dark jeans tucked into boots is almost too warm as he carefully traces his way up following the trace of trees. He lets himself adjust as the lack of town noise gives in to dense, more subtle cues: birds taking off from trees, the whisper of bare branches against a gray sky, or the shuffle of evergreen: the subtle presence of a fox or stray dog alerting itself in the back of his mind and the dense feel of the magic in the air around here.
He's wandering without thinking, intentionally putting thought out of his head, so much so that when he realizes it's gotten colder, darker, he can't tell how quickly that happened. He raises his head at the sudden distinct silence and stills himself for a moment. A murder of crows -- or ravens? -- takes off from a far off tree and circles, and he turns toward their watching place, holding his right hand open and passive to them before following curiously.
[Open! Auryn's in search of Grimhilde Manor, but choose your own adventure. Does he find it? Does someone else find him first? Feel free to bump into him in the woods, or maybe he get s turned around in a giant circle by the ravens and ends up back in town. A great time to meet him.]
no subject
There are not many who take Nerium by surprise. Admittedly, they have not much opportunity, her orbs are windows into the very souls of Siren Cove - and it is her gift to read them and to transcribe the winds of change and energies that surround this town. She knows most here better than they know themselves, she would wager. But Auryn is new. She knows a name, she can feel the crackle of energy and deep wells of magic he carries with him. But who he is is a story she has yet to crack the spine of.
The more he tells the more she wishes to know. And she finds his words luring her own. Speaking words she rarely reveals. Once the tea is poured she leads him from the kitchen down a long and narrow stone corridor. It is not so ornate as the main foyer, but it too is lit by levitating candles dancing shadows along the walls.
"My mother was taken from me when I was young. By the great and wicked deities of chaos, perhaps. But she was a strong swimmer and as I grow older I find it difficult to believe she of such power was lost by a drowning."
At the end of the corridor is the central-most seating room, perfectly round at the base of a tower, ceiling several stories high, deep green sofas with mahogany legs carved into gargoyles sit in the center. With the raise of her arms, Nerium ignites a fireplace set into the backwall.
"What was done to you is an irredeemable atrocity. These are the horrors witches are faced with today. We are the great powers. We were the first, children of the moon, long before the mundanes were even conceived. And now the humans seek to undo us. Condemn us and chain us with their fear. Most in this town no nothing of their true natures and do not wish to hear it. And it is a town far more kind to powered-beings here than most.
"Your honesty is most valued here. I assure you, deception will not pass freely." She takes a seat in a highbacked chair, the wood frame carved into snakeheads above her, and gestures for him to sit himself.
His flame reflects in her dark eyes, and as he disintegrates it, they go large, twinkling with excitement. She's not seen power like this. So effortless. To do so self-taught. He is clearly a force to know.
"Much power is borne in the darkness." Her lips flicker to a smile. "If you wish to learn more, to discover and learn the great magics beyond just yourself, perhaps the great goddesses have brought you to me."
no subject
Auryn can tell that she's not just humoring his speech and it soothes the impulse to keep his secrets safe. He follows her down to the corridor, darker and plainer but all lit by the floating candles.
"I'm sorry for your loss," he says, looking at her with more understanding, knowing all too well how earth-shattering that loss can feel when you're young. Or later, maybe, but he's never had the opportunity to find that out. "Anyone to do that intentionally would have to have great power themselves, to contend with someone that powerful." Before he finishes saying it, he realizes that's a possibility -- from what has been said about the Grimhildes in town, from what Nerium has said. Witch communities are so small now that the idea of warring within one seems nonsensical to him, but there are many reasons to vie for power, and he can imagine not everyone shares their beliefs.
Her words as she ignites the fire in front of him bolster him, but he turns to her with a raised eyebrow as she finishes. "My mother was what you call a mundane," he reminds her, his voice going very slightly hard with defense. If she presses him, Auryn has to admit that his mother is the exception, rather than the rule to humans. Those that he's socialized with or been forced to have called him a freak, been afraid of him and his parents, or prized, fetishized him only for the novelty and the chance at rebellion. He's certainly not going to make generalizations about the kindness of humans. But he remembers their house. His mother loved him and his father and was in no way subservient to their needs. And his father respected and honored her beliefs, though he could have mocked them or handwaved them for his own tangible power. They worked together as a family. Auryn doesn't remember much of them, but he remembers that.
"You're right," he concedes, sitting down, "humans are guided by fear. They chain themselves with it as much as they do us. We could all live freely --" he shakes his head and looks up at her. "You value my honesty," he says. "Then believe, in honesty, I want our freedom. I don't think that requires we dismiss anyone else. I don't think it would be wise. But they've dismissed us for too long."
He shows her his powers and watches her eyes fix on the flame, go wide with uncontrolled excitement, and it makes him smile a little, relaxing as he prompts a good response. "Perhaps," he agrees. He doesn't believe in great deities as much as some others, but who can say what fate has in store. "Is that something you can teach me?" he raises an eyebrow.
[OOC: SO MUCH OVERLAP, hope this made sense to you!]