Eternity RPC Board
04-15-2018, 05:59 AM
(This post was last modified: 05-11-2018, 06:58 PM by Seperallis.)
Another slight pause followed Elke’s request. Perhaps, Nevina thought, she had been too tactless, but what were they teaching in those colleges if their pupils act ignorant of fundamental truths? Apparently the great mages of Sidgard felt more content to churn rote magicians and obedient servants from their studies, than advance their sciences. Such a sad state of education that pupils should trek so far afield alone in search of a proper teacher!
Still though, Nevina’s lecture left much to desire as well. Filled with the moment’s passion she forgot many other important truths, and had surely insulted her pupil in the act: Elke’s words rung with a dejected reservation and sudden hesitation, her face creased in the unmistakable image of disappointment while scribbling her notes. Determined to correct the record, the elf leaned in towards Elke as she slipped herself out from the strap of her tubular pack and pulled it upon her lap.
“I am sorry,” she stated with a matter of fact as she undid the clasps on the case, “I was far too ahead of myself and did not give you proper context: my talents are not of an artificer, and I have my own biases. Still, Man is not an innately magical creature, and neither you nor I could hope to will a bush aflame or force the trees to dance any more than an ordinary frog could will itself to grow a lion’s face. We require preparation and practice, through the science and study of the world’s magics. As our understanding grows, so too is our practice more accurate and reliable.”
Nevina hung onto that thought for a moment as to catch a breath before diving back into her stream of consciousness. One hand cupped the unclasped opening of the tube in her lap while the other lightly rubbed the length of its felt exterior.
“So it is, one must remember what they teach in Sidgard - and the other realms of Man - as magic is a mockery...no, sorry, an imitation. Our rituals, your charms and baubles, my focus: none of these are magic, these are tools that allow us to experience magic. Our understanding is learned and not innate, and so it is incomplete, like a wolf who has learned to run and kill but not work with the pack. So are our tools, our rituals and especially our artifacts, flawed and limited. This is a hard truth for some to accept, for it demands a humility that is of such short supply among mages.”
“What I try to say, in too many words,” Nevina shrugged, speaking slower now as she tried to finish her thought, “is to simply remain mindful of your tools’ limitations.”
The elf ended her idle stroking of the case and slid her hand inside, where she retrieved her flute from its sleeve. As long as her arm and hewn from a single solid redwood branch, its heft in her grip did not match the delicate slender intricacies of its craftsmanship. Shallow, burned engravings etched with hot iron curled and twisted around themselves on a criss-cross journey along its length. A fine silverine filigree like mirrored strands of hair traced along the flowing etchings and around the instruments’ openings in a thin, near-luminescent outline which rippled and waved as she turned it, spotlighted in parts by the leaf-torn sun. She ran a finger along her magical focus, tracing along indentations of its decoration and gliding across rough-cut wood worn smooth and glossy from untold years of use.
She gripped it firmly.
“Despite our limitations, I believe people can come close to an innate understanding of magic. Magic flows through our world like winds washing over a plain, and if the beasts of the wilds can feel these waves and react from them, then it stands to reason we can know the same with only some listening and understanding. Tales of bygone ages told in a babbling brook. A breeze whispering a past epic yet to come. The earth grumbling against an injury done. And the heavens! Gazing watchful upon all creation, what secrets they are so eager to share!”
Nevina closed her eyes and inhaled, slowly and quietly. “Maybe even you felt it, though you did not yet know, the quiet whisper and gentle nudge of a breeze guiding you along the forks in your path to lead you here? If we can learn to listen and understand magic is more than a force - it is the coursing lifeblood of our world - then can we not feel it and speak with it? This has been my life’s work, Miss Elke,” she stated, turning to her captive audience, “to learn to act as its guide and partner, and not as the domineering slavemasters who seek to make it their thrall.”
She took her flute lightly by one end, mimicking circles in the air as one mixes cream with tea. “My aim is to simply stir it up,” she explained as a small patch of grass began to thrash violently beneath her motions before picking the leaves and debris near them into a small and furious dust devil.
“Then, I let it do as it knows how.”
Nevina’s stirring became a flick and she raised the hand of her impromptu wand at a precariously stacked pile of rocks that had once formed the base of a wall. Following her direction, the dust devil kicked apart, leaves and grass scattering left and right as a scar in the soil left the duo and sailed across the clearing to the “target.” The wall resisted for a moment, then its stones scattered on the grass in its slow and overdue final death.
She sat ponderous a moment, her stare blank on the fallen wall. She slid the flute back in its sleeve, and closed the clasps on the case. “I am still learning and growing in my study. Like any friendship you may have, my relationship with magic is personal. I can show you a divination, of sorts, but I’m not sure how useful it would be.”
Still though, Nevina’s lecture left much to desire as well. Filled with the moment’s passion she forgot many other important truths, and had surely insulted her pupil in the act: Elke’s words rung with a dejected reservation and sudden hesitation, her face creased in the unmistakable image of disappointment while scribbling her notes. Determined to correct the record, the elf leaned in towards Elke as she slipped herself out from the strap of her tubular pack and pulled it upon her lap.
“I am sorry,” she stated with a matter of fact as she undid the clasps on the case, “I was far too ahead of myself and did not give you proper context: my talents are not of an artificer, and I have my own biases. Still, Man is not an innately magical creature, and neither you nor I could hope to will a bush aflame or force the trees to dance any more than an ordinary frog could will itself to grow a lion’s face. We require preparation and practice, through the science and study of the world’s magics. As our understanding grows, so too is our practice more accurate and reliable.”
Nevina hung onto that thought for a moment as to catch a breath before diving back into her stream of consciousness. One hand cupped the unclasped opening of the tube in her lap while the other lightly rubbed the length of its felt exterior.
“So it is, one must remember what they teach in Sidgard - and the other realms of Man - as magic is a mockery...no, sorry, an imitation. Our rituals, your charms and baubles, my focus: none of these are magic, these are tools that allow us to experience magic. Our understanding is learned and not innate, and so it is incomplete, like a wolf who has learned to run and kill but not work with the pack. So are our tools, our rituals and especially our artifacts, flawed and limited. This is a hard truth for some to accept, for it demands a humility that is of such short supply among mages.”
“What I try to say, in too many words,” Nevina shrugged, speaking slower now as she tried to finish her thought, “is to simply remain mindful of your tools’ limitations.”
The elf ended her idle stroking of the case and slid her hand inside, where she retrieved her flute from its sleeve. As long as her arm and hewn from a single solid redwood branch, its heft in her grip did not match the delicate slender intricacies of its craftsmanship. Shallow, burned engravings etched with hot iron curled and twisted around themselves on a criss-cross journey along its length. A fine silverine filigree like mirrored strands of hair traced along the flowing etchings and around the instruments’ openings in a thin, near-luminescent outline which rippled and waved as she turned it, spotlighted in parts by the leaf-torn sun. She ran a finger along her magical focus, tracing along indentations of its decoration and gliding across rough-cut wood worn smooth and glossy from untold years of use.
She gripped it firmly.
“Despite our limitations, I believe people can come close to an innate understanding of magic. Magic flows through our world like winds washing over a plain, and if the beasts of the wilds can feel these waves and react from them, then it stands to reason we can know the same with only some listening and understanding. Tales of bygone ages told in a babbling brook. A breeze whispering a past epic yet to come. The earth grumbling against an injury done. And the heavens! Gazing watchful upon all creation, what secrets they are so eager to share!”
Nevina closed her eyes and inhaled, slowly and quietly. “Maybe even you felt it, though you did not yet know, the quiet whisper and gentle nudge of a breeze guiding you along the forks in your path to lead you here? If we can learn to listen and understand magic is more than a force - it is the coursing lifeblood of our world - then can we not feel it and speak with it? This has been my life’s work, Miss Elke,” she stated, turning to her captive audience, “to learn to act as its guide and partner, and not as the domineering slavemasters who seek to make it their thrall.”
She took her flute lightly by one end, mimicking circles in the air as one mixes cream with tea. “My aim is to simply stir it up,” she explained as a small patch of grass began to thrash violently beneath her motions before picking the leaves and debris near them into a small and furious dust devil.
“Then, I let it do as it knows how.”
Nevina’s stirring became a flick and she raised the hand of her impromptu wand at a precariously stacked pile of rocks that had once formed the base of a wall. Following her direction, the dust devil kicked apart, leaves and grass scattering left and right as a scar in the soil left the duo and sailed across the clearing to the “target.” The wall resisted for a moment, then its stones scattered on the grass in its slow and overdue final death.
She sat ponderous a moment, her stare blank on the fallen wall. She slid the flute back in its sleeve, and closed the clasps on the case. “I am still learning and growing in my study. Like any friendship you may have, my relationship with magic is personal. I can show you a divination, of sorts, but I’m not sure how useful it would be.”