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Entry tags:
( OPEN ) forgive that fact
When; Sunday
Rating; G
Characters; Jast & Open
Summary; For the dead.
Log;
The fog across the beach is chill and laced with ice, almost glittering against the starkness of the night, almost sighing with a breath of its own, in time with the rolling of the ocean. The augur has gone to stand upon the shore, a beacon of white skin stationed at the edge of the two worlds, garlands of flowers draped across his neck and shoulders, and in his hair. There is something sorrowful on his face, large blue eyes filled with unshed tears. His lips move soundless for a long time, something being murmured to unseen ears, soft prayers in an ancient language of magic; the mothertongue.
The longer he stands, the more a strange sensation begins to take root, spread throughout the fog, creating a vibrancy that is almost like the sharp chime of silver bells. Something is happening - about to happen. His movements begin slowly, a few swaying steps back and forth, feet beginning the outlines of a pattern that traverses both land and sea, crystal drops of saltwater splashing up at his passage. His feet in a steady rhythm now that has path has been trod out in the sand, they become more confident in it, moving at a sedate sort of gallop, spinning and turning at certain cardinal points. His hands and arms follow, purposefully articulated in certain ways, hands posed and flexed, fingers curled into meaningful shapes, weaving a message that none but his brothers and sisters would know how to read, but their meaning is almost subliminal. There is a sorrow to it, and while these movements of his hands begin at his waist, they steadily flow upwards above his head.
And the song begins, his vocalizations an eerie mixture of the human's throat and the bird's song, kept in rhythm with the ocean, counterpointed with the shuffle of sand beneath his feet, the splashing of water. The air is already chill and wet, but something is almost vibrating now, something unseen come to life. The tempo increases, bit by bit, until his slow gallop has become an almost preternatural gliding, flying, between each step.
The wind twirls around him, creating a clearing in the fog around him and his arcane symbol until suddenly he stops. Like a shatter glass, everything goes deafening still and silent. No more singing, no more restless sand and raining water droplets. He drops to his knees in the center of his circle, curled around his chest with one brief sobbing-gasp before taking in a deep inhale. The visceral sense of sorrow, raised to a screaming pitch in his dance has dissipated, leaving something clean and open.
It is a rite he has performed many times before, will perform many times again. A song for the dead, those murdered in the daylight, those drowning in the night, and all those in between (birds caught in squalls and dashed upon the rocks, bugs crushed under foot, bucks ruined by steel bards through their hearts.) It is all a servant to the forces of life can offer: respect, reverence, love.
[[ooc; If you'd like to see his weird hoodoo and be baffled, cool beans! He'll also be hanging out on the beach waiting for the ship's survivors, if any of them want to comment here and be helped.]]
Rating; G
Characters; Jast & Open
Summary; For the dead.
Log;
The fog across the beach is chill and laced with ice, almost glittering against the starkness of the night, almost sighing with a breath of its own, in time with the rolling of the ocean. The augur has gone to stand upon the shore, a beacon of white skin stationed at the edge of the two worlds, garlands of flowers draped across his neck and shoulders, and in his hair. There is something sorrowful on his face, large blue eyes filled with unshed tears. His lips move soundless for a long time, something being murmured to unseen ears, soft prayers in an ancient language of magic; the mothertongue.
The longer he stands, the more a strange sensation begins to take root, spread throughout the fog, creating a vibrancy that is almost like the sharp chime of silver bells. Something is happening - about to happen. His movements begin slowly, a few swaying steps back and forth, feet beginning the outlines of a pattern that traverses both land and sea, crystal drops of saltwater splashing up at his passage. His feet in a steady rhythm now that has path has been trod out in the sand, they become more confident in it, moving at a sedate sort of gallop, spinning and turning at certain cardinal points. His hands and arms follow, purposefully articulated in certain ways, hands posed and flexed, fingers curled into meaningful shapes, weaving a message that none but his brothers and sisters would know how to read, but their meaning is almost subliminal. There is a sorrow to it, and while these movements of his hands begin at his waist, they steadily flow upwards above his head.
And the song begins, his vocalizations an eerie mixture of the human's throat and the bird's song, kept in rhythm with the ocean, counterpointed with the shuffle of sand beneath his feet, the splashing of water. The air is already chill and wet, but something is almost vibrating now, something unseen come to life. The tempo increases, bit by bit, until his slow gallop has become an almost preternatural gliding, flying, between each step.
The wind twirls around him, creating a clearing in the fog around him and his arcane symbol until suddenly he stops. Like a shatter glass, everything goes deafening still and silent. No more singing, no more restless sand and raining water droplets. He drops to his knees in the center of his circle, curled around his chest with one brief sobbing-gasp before taking in a deep inhale. The visceral sense of sorrow, raised to a screaming pitch in his dance has dissipated, leaving something clean and open.
It is a rite he has performed many times before, will perform many times again. A song for the dead, those murdered in the daylight, those drowning in the night, and all those in between (birds caught in squalls and dashed upon the rocks, bugs crushed under foot, bucks ruined by steel bards through their hearts.) It is all a servant to the forces of life can offer: respect, reverence, love.
[[ooc; If you'd like to see his weird hoodoo and be baffled, cool beans! He'll also be hanging out on the beach waiting for the ship's survivors, if any of them want to comment here and be helped.]]
no subject
It was Jast's dancing that caught her attention, eyebrows furrowing slightly. She waited until she was sure he was finished before making her way over.
"That was kind of beautiful." That was all she had to say about it.
no subject
He opened his mouth to answer her, but paused, fumbling around for something in his pocket, he takes out the little string of beads and wraps it around his lips before trying again,
Greetings, flame-bearer, thank you for your kind words, the dance was for you, as it is for many.
He did not, precisely, speak. His lips did not move with the words, only pursing slightly as he shaped his mouth to whistle, the string of it like a bird's song song, but Howl's charm does the trick in allowing him to be understood.
no subject
"Was it? And...how'd you know about the flames?" She's watching him now, intrigued by everything, basically.
no subject
I have known others before you who wear embers in their hearts. Dear friends with strong arms and welcome laughter.
no subject
Charlie was the only one like her in her world, though, but hearing about others from anywhere made her smile.
"I'm Charlie."
no subject
Good evening, Charlie, my name is Jast and I am honored to meet you.
no subject
"It's an honor to meet you, too. Are you a new arrival to the City?"
no subject
I have been here almost a fortnight now, there is a great deal of activity here, for such a contained space. You know the city well, Charlie?
no subject
no subject
It was easy for him to agree to that, he was sure she was quite clever and lovely. It was a trait of the element, although they tended to reach a plateau, burnt out and in need of a complete replenishment if they wished to go any further. One of his sisters, an ancient elder, had attempted to learn the dances of the firebirds, mastering several quickly but spending the next hundred years on those to follow.
This is a place full of much magic and fascination.
That was also not, precisely, an answer to her question. He found the City to be chaotic, and it made him anxious to be in this cage so far from his brothers in sisters. He was immensely claustrophobic, and this place was little better than a bubble, and the way it toyed with life and death and reality was incredibly anathema to him. He would not admit so, just kept the churning knot of worry to himself, smiling.