12-17-2018, 09:43 AM
BUT HOW COULD YOU KNOW THE SWEETEST SUFFERING
OF MOVING ON
OF MOVING ON
They’ve been surviving. Voices drift with the wind across the island and soothe Tiphon’s heart each time he stands in the midst of it. His objective of a refuge is succeeding thus far, but his curiosity is heightening; his want to help is rising in his gut. With so many faces scattered throughout the palm trees he has lost track of everyone. Those plagued with sickness are his primary concern.
His voice is symphonic - too pure in a land so infested with cruelty and illness – like the strings of Apollo’s lyre. It rings loudly across the island, twirling around the trees and dancing with the tide. It lures them to the source, to Tiphon standing near the shallows adjacent to the patch of mountains. Water gurgles around his legs as he gingerly walks through the gentle current until reaching the inner island. Surrounding him is the sound of gulls overhead and the stream surrounding him. Occasionally, a cool autumn breeze dances with the trees and tousles Tiphon’s molten locks. He smiles, an expression that softens his face as he observes the area. He has memorized much of the island, locking away the information into his memory
As they begin congregating, one by one, Tiphon regards each of them with a pleasant nod. His gaze drinks in the sight of each, thirsty to know them all. Some show symptoms of disease while others are seemingly healthy with glossy coats and bright faces.
He takes careful note of this.
But his attention flinches upon seeing Wallace. Something inside him quivers excitedly – nervously even – but he composes himself quickly and begins addressing the group as a whole. ”As most of you know, I’m Tiphon.” He has overheard a few of them confirm he is the leader of this island, his name spoken with respect rather than disgust, something that soothes his anxiety of the matter. ”I’m just wanting to get a headcount of everyone. I want to know who, if any, are sick. While I cannot heal anyone entirely, I can at least ease away the symptoms.” He has been leaking his own magic through his body when it showed signs of the plague. To them, he looks healthy enough, but inwardly he continues to suffer. ”My goal right now is to remain a refuge. Ideally, I would like to focus on surviving this plague together before trying to organize everyone unless you would prefer more structure? I’m not facing all of this alone – I need help.” Wallace, Leliana, and Cress come to mind briefly. The two healers have seemingly abandoned the island, but it doesn’t drain him of hope.
Wallace, however, is a light for him in this troubled time. Although without healing, she at least provides a backbone. Declaring that, however, would root her to him and to the island. She mentioned wanting Ischia again, that his island isn’t truly their home, and so he falls into silence, waiting for their opinions to arise and break the quiet.
His voice is symphonic - too pure in a land so infested with cruelty and illness – like the strings of Apollo’s lyre. It rings loudly across the island, twirling around the trees and dancing with the tide. It lures them to the source, to Tiphon standing near the shallows adjacent to the patch of mountains. Water gurgles around his legs as he gingerly walks through the gentle current until reaching the inner island. Surrounding him is the sound of gulls overhead and the stream surrounding him. Occasionally, a cool autumn breeze dances with the trees and tousles Tiphon’s molten locks. He smiles, an expression that softens his face as he observes the area. He has memorized much of the island, locking away the information into his memory
As they begin congregating, one by one, Tiphon regards each of them with a pleasant nod. His gaze drinks in the sight of each, thirsty to know them all. Some show symptoms of disease while others are seemingly healthy with glossy coats and bright faces.
He takes careful note of this.
But his attention flinches upon seeing Wallace. Something inside him quivers excitedly – nervously even – but he composes himself quickly and begins addressing the group as a whole. ”As most of you know, I’m Tiphon.” He has overheard a few of them confirm he is the leader of this island, his name spoken with respect rather than disgust, something that soothes his anxiety of the matter. ”I’m just wanting to get a headcount of everyone. I want to know who, if any, are sick. While I cannot heal anyone entirely, I can at least ease away the symptoms.” He has been leaking his own magic through his body when it showed signs of the plague. To them, he looks healthy enough, but inwardly he continues to suffer. ”My goal right now is to remain a refuge. Ideally, I would like to focus on surviving this plague together before trying to organize everyone unless you would prefer more structure? I’m not facing all of this alone – I need help.” Wallace, Leliana, and Cress come to mind briefly. The two healers have seemingly abandoned the island, but it doesn’t drain him of hope.
Wallace, however, is a light for him in this troubled time. Although without healing, she at least provides a backbone. Declaring that, however, would root her to him and to the island. She mentioned wanting Ischia again, that his island isn’t truly their home, and so he falls into silence, waiting for their opinions to arise and break the quiet.
TIPHON
STARLACE AND INFECTION