06-09-2024, 07:10 AM
Where I had come from, Magic was used for Seeing and Drifting. It followed rules, was summoned by precise rituals, and could do nothing at all like the wonders that I have witnessed here in Beqanna. Wrapping my head around the myriad of tricks and traits possessed by the natives and residents of this new world has been the most fascinating experience of my short life, and the large bronze eagle is the most recent captivator of my interest. My ears flick forward at the sound of the bird’s laugh, and then away at the suddenly silent woods around us.
The real birds, reminded of an eagle’s presence, had fallen silent, leaving only the sound of leaves and grass rustling in the warm breeze as it passes through the Ruins. The screech of a cicada sounds eerily loudly in an elm to my right, the ‘all clear’ to the world around us, and my attention refocuses on the bright-eyed eagle that flaps onto a higher perch and the birdsong resumes.
A horse, he replies, and I nod.
I know that Magic is most often attached to horses in Beqanna, the way it had been to wolves and horses in my world. He can shift into a bird, he can Drift, his name is Clopin, and I’ve already started off on the wrong hoof by being rude.
But he’s not really upset, his tone implies, and he said it was nice to meet me. Having not done anything especially nice and that I should correct that, what instead comes out is: “How bad are you really at Dr- at Teleporting?” Feeling the lack of tact even as I say it, I carry on quickly with: “ I mean, can you teach me? I can, no - I did, once. I think I could do it again, but…”
Clopin can wear the shape of a bird or a horse, yet he is stuck in this shape. And he can Drift, yet he’d landed on a collision course. Magic just happens, Lautner had said, but perhaps it is not always happening to everyone all at once.
@Clopin
The real birds, reminded of an eagle’s presence, had fallen silent, leaving only the sound of leaves and grass rustling in the warm breeze as it passes through the Ruins. The screech of a cicada sounds eerily loudly in an elm to my right, the ‘all clear’ to the world around us, and my attention refocuses on the bright-eyed eagle that flaps onto a higher perch and the birdsong resumes.
A horse, he replies, and I nod.
I know that Magic is most often attached to horses in Beqanna, the way it had been to wolves and horses in my world. He can shift into a bird, he can Drift, his name is Clopin, and I’ve already started off on the wrong hoof by being rude.
But he’s not really upset, his tone implies, and he said it was nice to meet me. Having not done anything especially nice and that I should correct that, what instead comes out is: “How bad are you really at Dr- at Teleporting?” Feeling the lack of tact even as I say it, I carry on quickly with: “ I mean, can you teach me? I can, no - I did, once. I think I could do it again, but…”
Clopin can wear the shape of a bird or a horse, yet he is stuck in this shape. And he can Drift, yet he’d landed on a collision course. Magic just happens, Lautner had said, but perhaps it is not always happening to everyone all at once.
@Clopin