Post by Heron on May 18, 2019 6:08:47 GMT
“Under ordinary circumstances, I would tell you that encroaching upon another thanaturge’s domain without announcing yourself or any other by-your-leave is worth a death sentence,” remarked the woman standing over Melonwei’s fallen form.
“...but these are hardly ordinary circumstances,” finished the man standing next to her, who bore enough of a resemblance for Melonwei to guess brother and sister even looking up at them upside down from her vantage point on the forest floor.
The sun was high but the trees cast long shadows, casting the two strangers in dappled shadows and making Melonwei feel extraordinarily small for her particular straight-vertical view of them.
Her ancestor’s journal was extremely informative about most of the rituals detailed within, but Melonwei had yet to grasp them all, and unlike the magic she had been taught with the Withered Mask, her great-something grandmother’s journal came with no tutors to guide her learning path. Occasionally, she was going to blow herself up in the name of learning. In this case, she had been trying to learn the shape of the spirit raven.
But that word, thanaturge, that was in the journal. Melonwei’s gaze sharpened, winded and panting though she was, eyes narrowing up at her new audience.
“Then what- *cough* what circumstances are these, if not ordinary?” She would have liked to sound less breathless, but being flung to the ground after having been slapped down by the force of her magic being rejected by the Powers That Be had been... breathtaking. Literally.
The brother laughed. The sister merely arched a brow before speaking. “You have met this world, I presume. It necessitates we talk before we fight. Although, if that was your attempt at raven-form, you...grew up without a mentor, I would hazard to guess. Who trained you?”
Melonwei struggled into a sitting position so that she was no longer sprawled out on her back and considered what she wanted to tell complete strangers. Ultimately, curiosity beat caution and suspicion into a bloody pulp and she reached for the journal, holding it up and shaking off the leaves and pine needles.
“It belonged to a grandmother of many grandmothers of mine. Somehow it survived in an heirloom hope chest through the centuries. I heard it whisper to me when I was a child and my grandparents saw no harm in me practicing my reading on family relics. I was an orderly child. By the time they realized what it was, they were glad to have it and me gone.”
A soft intake of breath heralded the sister moving closer, and Melonwei expected the hands that gently took the antique journal away from her. She listened to the flipping of pages. Fast, but not too fast. The woman was genuinely reading or at least seriously skimming, not just glancing at the pages. Eventually the journal was returned to her hand, and Melonwei brought the book close to tuck it against her belly.
“That may be the most detailed and informative text I have ever seen, but it is only a text. You may not ask it questions, such as how to clarify its descriptions of the spirit raven transformation. Or the rules of courtesy in dealing with fellow thanaturges, if indeed we do exist.” She sighed. “My name is Lamia Dunlappe. That is my brother Keirnos. I think you should follow us back to our crypt. You need instruction.”
Keirnos turned into a semi-transparent and purplish raven, flapping off without a sound. Lamia looked off after him with a displeased turn of her lips, but Melonwei looked up with a sense of awe.
Maybe, someday, she could do that too.
Lamia was a lean woman, Melonwei noted, finally taking a good account of her new...tutor. The kind of lean that came from hungry living, despite the noble cast of her features, olivine and aquiline. She looked regal, like a queen, dark hair braided about her head like a crown. Hazel eyes, thematic to her woodland queen theme, her olive and sable under-clothing matched perfectly. Over the splash of color, however, she was dressed in black finery, blooming satin sleeves and velvet corset and all.
“I know quite a bit about raising the dead in many ways, but I confess the methods described here are as confusing as they are fascinating,” Melonwei admitted, standing. “I am Melonwei of...of Haven Weyr? It’s going to take a good long while before saying ‘of the Withered Mask’ is no longer habit.”
“Let me teach you, Melonwei,” Lamia murmured, holding a hand out to shake. “Let me teach you how to listen to the bones and the beasts, and soon you’ll declare your own domain. It will be under your protection, even the insufferable ignorants that revile you for what you are. The very land is a part of you, they too are a part of you, whether they or you like it or not. Or they will be. Once you have grown attuned enough to a domain to claim it as your own, your entire lineage will be drawn to it for the rest of time. Ordinarily that would be your many-times great-grandmother’s domain, but you have been snatched up and brought here.”
Melonwei grasped Lamia’s hand, absorbing the information gratefully. “I...thank you. And trust when I say I am not accustomed to gratitude.”
“...but these are hardly ordinary circumstances,” finished the man standing next to her, who bore enough of a resemblance for Melonwei to guess brother and sister even looking up at them upside down from her vantage point on the forest floor.
The sun was high but the trees cast long shadows, casting the two strangers in dappled shadows and making Melonwei feel extraordinarily small for her particular straight-vertical view of them.
Her ancestor’s journal was extremely informative about most of the rituals detailed within, but Melonwei had yet to grasp them all, and unlike the magic she had been taught with the Withered Mask, her great-something grandmother’s journal came with no tutors to guide her learning path. Occasionally, she was going to blow herself up in the name of learning. In this case, she had been trying to learn the shape of the spirit raven.
But that word, thanaturge, that was in the journal. Melonwei’s gaze sharpened, winded and panting though she was, eyes narrowing up at her new audience.
“Then what- *cough* what circumstances are these, if not ordinary?” She would have liked to sound less breathless, but being flung to the ground after having been slapped down by the force of her magic being rejected by the Powers That Be had been... breathtaking. Literally.
The brother laughed. The sister merely arched a brow before speaking. “You have met this world, I presume. It necessitates we talk before we fight. Although, if that was your attempt at raven-form, you...grew up without a mentor, I would hazard to guess. Who trained you?”
Melonwei struggled into a sitting position so that she was no longer sprawled out on her back and considered what she wanted to tell complete strangers. Ultimately, curiosity beat caution and suspicion into a bloody pulp and she reached for the journal, holding it up and shaking off the leaves and pine needles.
“It belonged to a grandmother of many grandmothers of mine. Somehow it survived in an heirloom hope chest through the centuries. I heard it whisper to me when I was a child and my grandparents saw no harm in me practicing my reading on family relics. I was an orderly child. By the time they realized what it was, they were glad to have it and me gone.”
A soft intake of breath heralded the sister moving closer, and Melonwei expected the hands that gently took the antique journal away from her. She listened to the flipping of pages. Fast, but not too fast. The woman was genuinely reading or at least seriously skimming, not just glancing at the pages. Eventually the journal was returned to her hand, and Melonwei brought the book close to tuck it against her belly.
“That may be the most detailed and informative text I have ever seen, but it is only a text. You may not ask it questions, such as how to clarify its descriptions of the spirit raven transformation. Or the rules of courtesy in dealing with fellow thanaturges, if indeed we do exist.” She sighed. “My name is Lamia Dunlappe. That is my brother Keirnos. I think you should follow us back to our crypt. You need instruction.”
Keirnos turned into a semi-transparent and purplish raven, flapping off without a sound. Lamia looked off after him with a displeased turn of her lips, but Melonwei looked up with a sense of awe.
Maybe, someday, she could do that too.
Lamia was a lean woman, Melonwei noted, finally taking a good account of her new...tutor. The kind of lean that came from hungry living, despite the noble cast of her features, olivine and aquiline. She looked regal, like a queen, dark hair braided about her head like a crown. Hazel eyes, thematic to her woodland queen theme, her olive and sable under-clothing matched perfectly. Over the splash of color, however, she was dressed in black finery, blooming satin sleeves and velvet corset and all.
“I know quite a bit about raising the dead in many ways, but I confess the methods described here are as confusing as they are fascinating,” Melonwei admitted, standing. “I am Melonwei of...of Haven Weyr? It’s going to take a good long while before saying ‘of the Withered Mask’ is no longer habit.”
“Let me teach you, Melonwei,” Lamia murmured, holding a hand out to shake. “Let me teach you how to listen to the bones and the beasts, and soon you’ll declare your own domain. It will be under your protection, even the insufferable ignorants that revile you for what you are. The very land is a part of you, they too are a part of you, whether they or you like it or not. Or they will be. Once you have grown attuned enough to a domain to claim it as your own, your entire lineage will be drawn to it for the rest of time. Ordinarily that would be your many-times great-grandmother’s domain, but you have been snatched up and brought here.”
Melonwei grasped Lamia’s hand, absorbing the information gratefully. “I...thank you. And trust when I say I am not accustomed to gratitude.”
