BE BOLD, BE BOLD
BUT NOT TOO BOLD
He’d been searching the library for what felt like hours.
Septimus is a researcher, but he is not the type to spend most of his time among the shelves; he preferred field research to what could be found in books, and it was far more effective for his studies besides. However, under the circumstances, he didn’t have many other options. He knew nothing about this Novus or its people, beyond what little he’d picked up from the citizens of Denocte and members of the Scarab (who were hardly the most trustworthy sources of information that he could find), and, because he knew nothing, he didn’t even know where to start looking for his magic. So, although it was hardly his favorite subject, he was presently neck-deep in the history section, devouring all the information on this strange island – continent? He couldn’t figure out how it was positioned in space, from the maps, which never seemed to extend too far into the sea – that he could find.
According to the locals, magic was a blessing – a gift from the gods. Septimus isn’t sure that he can believe that. It would require the gods to be entities, for one, and it would require them to interact with mortals. He had travelled to many lands which boasted of physical gods, in his once-immortal wanderings, but he had never encountered any of them for himself; perhaps it was because he was no worshipper, or perhaps it was simply a matter of luck, but, without any evidence to prove that they existed, Septimus could not believe in them. Particularly given what Novus’s gods seemed to represent – time, day, night, dawn, and dusk certainly existed outside of Novus. (Though they did not exist in the forest.) If they were truly sovereign over such elements, surely their existence – and their worship – should not be restricted to Novus; however, he’d heard no whispers of their names in his travels, unless, like some religious figures he’d encountered before, they wore a different name in other lands…
It doesn’t matter, though it is suspicious that this land – of physical, magic-giving gods – was the one to strip him of his fae-blooded birthright.
Septimus is staring down blankly at a page in a history textbook on Terrastella, his eyes darting the words without really processing them, when he becomes aware of the sound of movement behind him. “Oh, hello,” comes a soft voice, interrupting a silence that Septimus hadn’t been aware of until it was broken. He turns, and he finds himself looking at a smaller man – he is a mottled patchwork of mahogany and white, lean and somewhat effeminate, and winged, but only on the front ankles. What catches Septimus’s attention is his eyes; he thinks that he’d call them a rather vibrant shade of pink.
“Hello,” he responds, quietly. Septimus isn’t sure if he should say anymore; for all he can discern, the winged fellow’s greeting might have been just that, rather than an invitation to further conversation.
…so it relieves him when he initiates conversation instead. “It’s been so quiet in here, I thought I was alone.” A gentle laugh – Septimus decides that he is a friendly fellow. He has that kind of face, and that kind of bearing.
“I’ve been engrossed,” Septimus admits, examining the book spread out in front of him. “I’d never even heard of Novus until I…narrowly avoided a fall directly into the Terminus. Minor miscalculation with a transportation spell,-“ He’d forgotten a period. “-disastrous consequences. I’m just trying to get my bearings.” He offers up a friendly smile of his own, though he does not let his lips curl far enough to show his pointed teeth, for fear of unnerving his newfound companion; some horses, he’s discovered, do not take well to his more wolfish characteristics. “I’m Septimus – and who might you be?”
@Ipomoea || <3
"Speech!"
BUT NOT TOO BOLD
He’d been searching the library for what felt like hours.
Septimus is a researcher, but he is not the type to spend most of his time among the shelves; he preferred field research to what could be found in books, and it was far more effective for his studies besides. However, under the circumstances, he didn’t have many other options. He knew nothing about this Novus or its people, beyond what little he’d picked up from the citizens of Denocte and members of the Scarab (who were hardly the most trustworthy sources of information that he could find), and, because he knew nothing, he didn’t even know where to start looking for his magic. So, although it was hardly his favorite subject, he was presently neck-deep in the history section, devouring all the information on this strange island – continent? He couldn’t figure out how it was positioned in space, from the maps, which never seemed to extend too far into the sea – that he could find.
According to the locals, magic was a blessing – a gift from the gods. Septimus isn’t sure that he can believe that. It would require the gods to be entities, for one, and it would require them to interact with mortals. He had travelled to many lands which boasted of physical gods, in his once-immortal wanderings, but he had never encountered any of them for himself; perhaps it was because he was no worshipper, or perhaps it was simply a matter of luck, but, without any evidence to prove that they existed, Septimus could not believe in them. Particularly given what Novus’s gods seemed to represent – time, day, night, dawn, and dusk certainly existed outside of Novus. (Though they did not exist in the forest.) If they were truly sovereign over such elements, surely their existence – and their worship – should not be restricted to Novus; however, he’d heard no whispers of their names in his travels, unless, like some religious figures he’d encountered before, they wore a different name in other lands…
It doesn’t matter, though it is suspicious that this land – of physical, magic-giving gods – was the one to strip him of his fae-blooded birthright.
Septimus is staring down blankly at a page in a history textbook on Terrastella, his eyes darting the words without really processing them, when he becomes aware of the sound of movement behind him. “Oh, hello,” comes a soft voice, interrupting a silence that Septimus hadn’t been aware of until it was broken. He turns, and he finds himself looking at a smaller man – he is a mottled patchwork of mahogany and white, lean and somewhat effeminate, and winged, but only on the front ankles. What catches Septimus’s attention is his eyes; he thinks that he’d call them a rather vibrant shade of pink.
“Hello,” he responds, quietly. Septimus isn’t sure if he should say anymore; for all he can discern, the winged fellow’s greeting might have been just that, rather than an invitation to further conversation.
…so it relieves him when he initiates conversation instead. “It’s been so quiet in here, I thought I was alone.” A gentle laugh – Septimus decides that he is a friendly fellow. He has that kind of face, and that kind of bearing.
“I’ve been engrossed,” Septimus admits, examining the book spread out in front of him. “I’d never even heard of Novus until I…narrowly avoided a fall directly into the Terminus. Minor miscalculation with a transportation spell,-“ He’d forgotten a period. “-disastrous consequences. I’m just trying to get my bearings.” He offers up a friendly smile of his own, though he does not let his lips curl far enough to show his pointed teeth, for fear of unnerving his newfound companion; some horses, he’s discovered, do not take well to his more wolfish characteristics. “I’m Septimus – and who might you be?”
@Ipomoea || <3
"Speech!"
AND RARELY, IF THE WOOD ACCEPTS THE BLADE WITHOUT CONDITIONSthe two pieces keep their balance in spite of the blow❃please tag Septimus! contact is encouraged, short of violence
