YOUR LIPS ARE THIN BUT MINE ARE OPEN-
If he weren’t on a mission, Septimus would have likely spent hours mulling over each individual leaf, patch of moss, and unnatural insect that he encountered in the stretch of woodland that coated the center of the island. Before the eruption, when he had seen it from shore – for he could only assume that this was the volcanic island – Septimus had never noticed a forest. He assumed that, like the ivy, it was the creation of some sort of strange magic, divine or otherwise. (Novus’s native population certainly seemed to think that it was divine.) That assumption made him feel a bit better about the way that he drifted past so many fascinating specimens, rather than pausing for a while to examine them, even sketch them in his notebooks (which were, of course, neatly tucked in his satchel, below his wing).
He had something even more fascinating to find, though no less magical. The relic of the time god, the natives claimed. They called him Tempus. There had been other time gods, in other lands, though not by the same name; he wondered if they were all aspects of the same god, fractured like light through a prism to shine differently on each nation, or if they, like worlds in of themselves, each had a time god all their own. (Of course, that does not mean that he believes in those other gods – or this one. Yet. Not until he has seen him with his own eyes.)
(He could almost laugh at his own presumptuousness. Until. As though anything was certain, in a land like this. But Septimus knows the importance of confidence, in any exploratory venture; if he does not believe that he will find the god, the god will certainly not show himself.)
But what he is looking for is not quite god, unless god will give his magic back to him. What Septimus is looking for is the relic of the god. He struggles to imagine it; there were plenty of items of pure magic, back in the forest he used to call him, but a divine relic seems like it should be something else entirely. Timeless, and beautiful, or maybe terrible. All he knows is that it has time magic, of some sort, and, well, if he can’t get his own magic back…
It might be able to help him return home, if nothing else.
Night has fallen, and he has to take care not to trip over gnarled roots and misplaced stones. The forest is quiet, now; occasionally, he hears the call of something like a nightjar in the distance, though he knows in some intimate, vague way that the creature making the sound is no nightjar. If he were more skittish, or less accustomed to the wilderness, he might be disquieted by the rustles in the thick underbrush, here and there, which break the silence with all the force of gunshots. However, whatever might be lurking in the dark will not go after him if he is unafraid, not with those sharp antlers and even sharper teeth -
He is not such an easy target.
Grey-green moss hangs in curtains from the branches ahead of him. He pushes forward, through the veil, and finds himself standing in front of a pool, bordered by smooth, shiny stones. Though deep, the water is tantalizingly clear, and it gives off a turquoise glow that seems to emanate from a stone protruding from the very bottom of the pool. Colorful flowers – an array of violets, pinks, and oranges – sprout amidst the stone border, giving off a sweet scent. Though Septimus is suspicious by nature, while he stands here, surrounded on all sides by trees dripping moss curtains, he cannot help but feel soothed.
The water, he thinks, looks placid (and tempting) enough to swim in, though he does not dip his hoof into the surface yet.
@Elchanan || <3
"Speech!"
If he weren’t on a mission, Septimus would have likely spent hours mulling over each individual leaf, patch of moss, and unnatural insect that he encountered in the stretch of woodland that coated the center of the island. Before the eruption, when he had seen it from shore – for he could only assume that this was the volcanic island – Septimus had never noticed a forest. He assumed that, like the ivy, it was the creation of some sort of strange magic, divine or otherwise. (Novus’s native population certainly seemed to think that it was divine.) That assumption made him feel a bit better about the way that he drifted past so many fascinating specimens, rather than pausing for a while to examine them, even sketch them in his notebooks (which were, of course, neatly tucked in his satchel, below his wing).
He had something even more fascinating to find, though no less magical. The relic of the time god, the natives claimed. They called him Tempus. There had been other time gods, in other lands, though not by the same name; he wondered if they were all aspects of the same god, fractured like light through a prism to shine differently on each nation, or if they, like worlds in of themselves, each had a time god all their own. (Of course, that does not mean that he believes in those other gods – or this one. Yet. Not until he has seen him with his own eyes.)
(He could almost laugh at his own presumptuousness. Until. As though anything was certain, in a land like this. But Septimus knows the importance of confidence, in any exploratory venture; if he does not believe that he will find the god, the god will certainly not show himself.)
But what he is looking for is not quite god, unless god will give his magic back to him. What Septimus is looking for is the relic of the god. He struggles to imagine it; there were plenty of items of pure magic, back in the forest he used to call him, but a divine relic seems like it should be something else entirely. Timeless, and beautiful, or maybe terrible. All he knows is that it has time magic, of some sort, and, well, if he can’t get his own magic back…
It might be able to help him return home, if nothing else.
Night has fallen, and he has to take care not to trip over gnarled roots and misplaced stones. The forest is quiet, now; occasionally, he hears the call of something like a nightjar in the distance, though he knows in some intimate, vague way that the creature making the sound is no nightjar. If he were more skittish, or less accustomed to the wilderness, he might be disquieted by the rustles in the thick underbrush, here and there, which break the silence with all the force of gunshots. However, whatever might be lurking in the dark will not go after him if he is unafraid, not with those sharp antlers and even sharper teeth -
He is not such an easy target.
Grey-green moss hangs in curtains from the branches ahead of him. He pushes forward, through the veil, and finds himself standing in front of a pool, bordered by smooth, shiny stones. Though deep, the water is tantalizingly clear, and it gives off a turquoise glow that seems to emanate from a stone protruding from the very bottom of the pool. Colorful flowers – an array of violets, pinks, and oranges – sprout amidst the stone border, giving off a sweet scent. Though Septimus is suspicious by nature, while he stands here, surrounded on all sides by trees dripping moss curtains, he cannot help but feel soothed.
The water, he thinks, looks placid (and tempting) enough to swim in, though he does not dip his hoof into the surface yet.
@Elchanan || <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
