i claim this space as a place to drop excerpts to long winded writings that occupy my brain and need to be put down creatively.
it may or may not serve as writing samples.
chance of posts being incomplete and random things are higher than zero.
check it out, though. ghostie is back.
commentary is cool; ask (privately) before critiquing (privately).
it's my lil' place, so, errors will be tended to as i see fit.
That soft, repetitivetapdrummed discordantly atop a stack of papersโwhy was concentration so difficult? Why was his mind so quick to wander? Every little thing played at the corners of his eyes, noises - from inside and out - teased at eardrums. Again, why were things so difficult for this aspiring spellcrafter? Lectures were a bore. Studying, if such a thing could be called that, was a boreโmore on that later. This city? Half a boreโ
A low, low huff escaped out the freckled pair of nostrils - a curious pigmentation he received from his father's side; entertaining one's self to be halfway considered a bored sigh.Tap.Tap. Tap, tap. Taptaptaptapโit was always the same notification that Zalyndis had checked out mentally, admiring the make believe than being diligent in work. Who could really blame him? There weren't many takers on scribbling and scrolling the same incantation over, and over, and over again. Not when there was so much to see outside this high-rise towerโfelt like a bird, trapped in an ivory coup... even if he was toward the middle section. Perhaps it was punishment from his family; send him off after a small, little brush-fire during a druidic controlled burn. He was helping, not harming. Not that anyone seen it that way when it burnt down a month's worth of crops and torched a few trees.
Everything outside just seemed... better?
โmaybe that wasn't the right phrase, maybe it didn't fit the exact meaning that the half-elf was after. Did wizards and mages of old really learn like this, or has this been a 'modernized' means of controlling them? According to stories, and legend, Albrige the Savior of Theringor learned on the whims of adventureโbuilding his legacy one heroic adventure after another... not holed up in tower, with a collection of tomes and secrets. Well. Holed up is a little extreme. The old wizard teaches arcane mastery, only to use 'free' labor to craft simple spell scrolls for 'adventurers'. Harmless spectaclesโcostumes, merriment, revelry. It was theater without the theater. Unfortunately, for Zalyndisโillusory spells flung at folks dressed as demons would be the closest thing he'd get to spellwork for the foreseeable future.
Voโracโtoom!
"Work."
It was almost instantaneous when that final syllable escaped that Zalyndis had felt the surge of... power overwhelm his senses. His mind shackled as limbs set about on the task delivered, pen no longer tapping away; no, instead, it neatly shaped interconnecting and inter-crossing lines across the first sheet of paper. Fingers delicate around the writing utensil swept across the sheet of paper with ease as cerulean irises honed in on the sheet before him; no longer cast out the circular window the desk surface had been placed, no longer allowed to look to the waning sun setting across the cityโchildren's laughter dying down as they get ushered in by their caretakers, hawkers having packed up their belongings to move on for the day to give the street to unruly miscreants in the waking night hours.
"At this rate, it will take you at least another three hours to finish those scrollsโdo count your blessings that mental hold only lasts ten minutes," The unseen voice was not without it's typical tones; disappointment mixed with a hint of frustration that once again the half-elf has to be encouraged to start working instead of simply choosing of his own free will. Each step came with a creak and a gentle knock, the wooden boards groaned beneath the weight of a heavy foot as the wooden staff-served-cane helped inch the balding, hunched wizard forward into the locked peripherals of the now-diligent scroll maker. "Barring no mistakes, Zalyndis."
Domination over his anatomy wasn't something that he'd ever feel like it'd be something to be comfortable with. Locked away in his mind, watching his own hands work on their own; one sliding the old paper, complete with incantation, before sliding over a new sheet to once more draw the sigil before etching the old draconic phrasesโeach sapping just a little bit of his daily magics away to complete the binding. Crazy to think that some of these scrolls could take full days of magic away from someone... yet, this was his current 'life'.
Wake up to go to lectures, memorize incantationsโall to spend his allotted magic on an old geezer's festive scrolls. TchโAlbrige Theringor... more like Therinbore.
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