Eleven (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bearshermark) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
westwhere2021-10-09 04:46 pm
bearshermark) wrote in westwhere2021-10-09 04:46 pm
We'll light up the sky [open]
WHO: Eleven & OPEN
WHEN: After dragon shenanigans to mid-month-ish?
WHERE: Taravast's gardens, artisanal district, canals
WHAT: A catch-all?
WARNINGS: None so far, will update if needed
1. garden magic (late morning)
His spirit was no longer a fragile, shattered wisp so weak he barely felt it even when he sought it. Now, soothed and nurtured over the course of two months, it sat warmly in his chest, resonant with the light of the sun and the breath of life in the grass and leaves around him. The next step was as simple as it was taxing: regaining strength much like a weakened limb. Meditation was no longer enough.
Eleven shifted up to his knees and folded his hands together in an echo of prayer. Slowly, a band of runic light circled into being- at first close to his body, then gradually expanding outward. His brows furrowed, hands clasping tighter in concentration as sweat beaded his brow and the flicker of holy energy wavered, then blinked out.
He breathed a hard exhale, settling back down in a daze. Eyes slotting open, unfocused until movement snapped his awareness to his more immediate surroundings, onto someone he hoped hadn't been there before (or for too long)- but then, his eyes had been closed since he'd begun to meditate some hour or so ago.
He blinked, a sheepish smile spreading over his face. "Ah, good morning.."
2. forging (late afternoon)
[With a handful of tasks to get through and a decent amount of coin to manage it with, Eleven manages to broker a deal to rent the forge for a span of hours a day. Most of it in extra work, but it's wonderful, simple, honest work and in another time, another dimension, it could have been the beginning and end of his worldly concerns.
In the present moment, dressed down in a blacksmith's practical wear, thoughts of politics and the undead take a backseat to the heat of the forge and the shape of molten metal beneath his hands.
Given that this isn't his forge however, he blinks to attention whenever he catches the shape of someone hovering nearby. With his hair tied back and soot stuck to his face, Eleven spares a thought to wonder if he'd even be readily recognizable if anyone from court were to spot him. Concerns and a thread of backstory to think about weaving later. For now-]
Can I help you?
3. ferrying (early-mid evening)
As the sun set and the sky darkened, Eleven donned his half-mask and the familiar comfort of his coat for a quiet evening on the water.
He drifted down the canals, a practiced hand now with near-silent strokes of the oar and ripples of a gentle wind left in the gondola's wake. Something that felt near-to an artform, and a point of quiet, insignificant pride as he slowed up to a spot at the bank where he'd made out the silhouette of someone waiting.
Eleven called out with a friendly voice and a smile lit by the edge of light from the single lantern hung from the prow.
"Where would you like to go?"
4. wildcard
[ooc: anything we've spoken about before, or otherwise adjacent to these prompts that you think might work better is fine! hit me up if you'd like to thread something else! also happy to match formatting]
WHEN: After dragon shenanigans to mid-month-ish?
WHERE: Taravast's gardens, artisanal district, canals
WHAT: A catch-all?
WARNINGS: None so far, will update if needed
1. garden magic (late morning)
His spirit was no longer a fragile, shattered wisp so weak he barely felt it even when he sought it. Now, soothed and nurtured over the course of two months, it sat warmly in his chest, resonant with the light of the sun and the breath of life in the grass and leaves around him. The next step was as simple as it was taxing: regaining strength much like a weakened limb. Meditation was no longer enough.
Eleven shifted up to his knees and folded his hands together in an echo of prayer. Slowly, a band of runic light circled into being- at first close to his body, then gradually expanding outward. His brows furrowed, hands clasping tighter in concentration as sweat beaded his brow and the flicker of holy energy wavered, then blinked out.
He breathed a hard exhale, settling back down in a daze. Eyes slotting open, unfocused until movement snapped his awareness to his more immediate surroundings, onto someone he hoped hadn't been there before (or for too long)- but then, his eyes had been closed since he'd begun to meditate some hour or so ago.
He blinked, a sheepish smile spreading over his face. "Ah, good morning.."
2. forging (late afternoon)
[With a handful of tasks to get through and a decent amount of coin to manage it with, Eleven manages to broker a deal to rent the forge for a span of hours a day. Most of it in extra work, but it's wonderful, simple, honest work and in another time, another dimension, it could have been the beginning and end of his worldly concerns.
In the present moment, dressed down in a blacksmith's practical wear, thoughts of politics and the undead take a backseat to the heat of the forge and the shape of molten metal beneath his hands.
Given that this isn't his forge however, he blinks to attention whenever he catches the shape of someone hovering nearby. With his hair tied back and soot stuck to his face, Eleven spares a thought to wonder if he'd even be readily recognizable if anyone from court were to spot him. Concerns and a thread of backstory to think about weaving later. For now-]
Can I help you?
3. ferrying (early-mid evening)
As the sun set and the sky darkened, Eleven donned his half-mask and the familiar comfort of his coat for a quiet evening on the water.
He drifted down the canals, a practiced hand now with near-silent strokes of the oar and ripples of a gentle wind left in the gondola's wake. Something that felt near-to an artform, and a point of quiet, insignificant pride as he slowed up to a spot at the bank where he'd made out the silhouette of someone waiting.
Eleven called out with a friendly voice and a smile lit by the edge of light from the single lantern hung from the prow.
"Where would you like to go?"
4. wildcard
[ooc: anything we've spoken about before, or otherwise adjacent to these prompts that you think might work better is fine! hit me up if you'd like to thread something else! also happy to match formatting]
no subject
We weren't terribly close. Still, I've convinced myself he's alive.
[His heart aches to see the crack in Marcos' composure and wishes he had more assurance to offer him]
But we're playing politics for a reason. The beacon is supposed to be able to send us back. It's what we're working toward. I don't believe many of us want to stay here.
no subject
It's probably oversimplifying things to just call it politics. The people in charge are rarely the ones who suffer the most. But he also knows how long it takes to make a difference, and... he's been here before. There's only so many times you can start over from scratch before it wears on you.
His family is still on his mind when he looks back at him, and his emotions run hot. Too much silence has passed before he finally asks. ]
Do you trust them?
no subject
Eleven stops chewing when Marcos finally speaks again, then swallows and glances up. It takes him a moment to answer]
The politicians? Of course not. But if you mean the rest of us.. I've seen how well we can work together under threat. I have faith in our combined strength and will.
no subject
But that was back home. The problems are different here, even if experience tells him that nothing is ever easy. ]
It's a shame they don't know a lot about your reputation. From what I heard, getting this far wasn't easy. [ He's not out to criticize, just to understand. ] How many of you are there? I haven't been around long, but you're one of the only faces I could put to a name.
no subject
He shrugs]
Last I knew, the count was somewhere around two dozen. But since then, there have been a handful of others I've met. And now, with your group.. Somewhere between thirty and forty, I'd guess.
no subject
That's more than he thought, though. He isn't sure if it's comforting to know that there's probably a sizable amount of them that are just as lost as he is. ]
So they're taking up most of the rooms in the palace. ...They must really be expecting a lot from us.
no subject
The political competition is important to the city.. Both of them will take as much support as they can get. Only Bonaccorso has taken the time to wonder about it, so far as I know. No one gets into politics for the fun of it, after all.
no subject
I guess I just expected something different. [ Different from home. He rubs his eyes and sits back. ] Sorry, I don't expect you to have all the answers. It's just a lot to try to make sense of.