into the woods
Dec. 23rd, 2014 08:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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
Date: 2015-01-05 08:47 pm (UTC)"A flock of ravens, huh?" Les just snorts. He imagines Nerium Grimhilde huddled over her wall of stalking fun watching Auryn wandering through the woods as she led him on a merry chase to nowhere. She had a weird way of making friends. Though how many times had Les himself gone pillaging through these woods looking for a way into Grimhilde Manor. Half the reason was the effort it took.
He glances up at the flock of birds Auryn creates from the flames. He's impressed. "This---" Les raises an eyebrow back. "---is cursed land. Legend goes that at Jonatan Thornton's wedding his jilted ex lover showed up and torched the place. Never date a witch I guess. But it makes for a good story."
no subject
Date: 2015-01-05 09:27 pm (UTC)He looks around as Les explains. The other has a bit of a knack for "More like, never betray one," he points out thoughtfully -- not too serious. "This is where the wedding was? I've heard the story, a bit, but it doesn't exactly come with a tourist map. Siren Cove tourism board should get on that, it'd make a fortune." But he's more curious than anything else, runs his hand over the wall and presses it to the wood. "Do you believe the story as it's told?"
no subject
Date: 2015-01-06 05:23 am (UTC)However, he shakes his head watching Auryn press his hands to the burned out walls. "No, I don't," he says. "I mean she probably cursed this church. But as for the town, weird things happen but mainly because there are a lot people around here that do a lot of dumb shit." He doesn't elaborate. If this guy decides to stay, it won't be long before he understands.
Things happen here. Bad things. But it's not because of some dumb curse.
no subject
Date: 2015-01-07 02:11 am (UTC)Auryn nods with a wry smile. There's something about Les' cynicism that he relates to instinctively, though there's a part of him that keeps a candle lit for romantic stories. About magic, anyway.
"Fair enough," he says. "It's human nature, isn't it? Doing a lot of dumb stuff?"
He looks up at him. "What about you? What brings you to a cursed chapel in the middle of the night?"
no subject
Date: 2015-01-08 03:45 am (UTC)"There's a tunnel system under the church. I was just gonna poke around," he says. "Or you know...I can stay up here with you and we can summon an evil spirit."
no subject
Date: 2015-01-10 10:04 pm (UTC)That smirk's a little cocky, a little mischievous in a way that has always appealed to Auryn's rebellious side, and he meets it.
"Admittedly, I missed out a little on the Bloody Mary part of childhood," he deadpans, "but I have to say, those tunnels sound a lot more interesting and less likely to end us up as the backstory for a horror movie."
no subject
Date: 2015-01-10 10:27 pm (UTC)