The many mysteries of this land draw out the fantastical nature of his being, the free-floating philosopher and his endless questions. At the same time, he often feels terribly old and wishes only to be alone with the desert and his thoughts- and still (and always) those endless questions. Thus the almost constant feeling of being torn in two, except when there is someone or something else to pour his attention into.
(There are parts of you that change with the place and time, like leaves on a tree. Then there are parts that you cannot leave behind, that grow back even when you chop them off, even when they're ripped from you. That eternal part of you is the quiet one... If you would only Stop Thinking you might be able to hear it)
He takes a step back, ears half-lowered as the scroll unfolds before him. Despite living in Novus for months now, he is unacquainted with telekenesis. He is aware of the magic here-- he can feel it like a slow, strong undercurrent-- but does not know what it is or how it can be used. The idea that he could wield such magic has never even entered the periphery of his thoughts.
"History..." Eik repeats quietly. He's never been fond of history, for he's never trusted the collective memory of the hive mind. But he's never seen history-- solid, tangible. Old. He supposes older than the oldest living memory. The text seems to hold more power than words alone, but maybe that is because he does not know what it means.
When it is clear the scroll is not going to strangle him or slit his throat, he reaches his nose forward and breathes in. Breathes in first sand and dust (the desert touches everything here), and beneath that... the crushed-bark smell of what he will learn is paper, and the earthy carbon smell of ink. He begins to lip at the curious thing, stopping abruptly as he raises his eyes to hers and finds she is practically stabbing him with her gaze.
He feels a bit sheepish, but unapologetic. A younger version of him would have even chuckled. Instead he politely listens as the conversation rolls on.
Seraphina. He repeats her name again in his mind. burning one. How hard she is to pin down- woman of stone and ice and now fire? Yet the more he stands before her the more he can see all of the elements in her, taking turns in the subtle shifting of her expressions. He reckons she is probably far more dangerous than she looks. (Truly, most women are.) Instead of caution he feels more at ease.
As his question is returned to him, his thoughtful expression morphs to a faraway look. He doesn't often think of home. "Eik is our name for the oak tree." He pictures the great tree he was born under. In his mind it still stands strong and tall, boughs emanating a sense of wisdom... but it is impossible to think of it how it was and not remember the way it looked the last time he saw it. A blackened, scorched tombstone standing taller than himself. At the memory he begins to smell the soot and smoke and his heartbeat quickens. He feels the panic rising in his chest, and then before he can control it it is leeching into his face, desperation and pain twisting his features into something... something he would not say is himself. Something weak.
He breathes in, and out, and it takes a minute but he forces the pain back down inside of him, where it can smoulder quietly instead of burn burn burn us alive. He feels shakey and unsettled and hot, but at least his face is back under control and his heart is not raging like a caged animal. He wishes Seraphina had not witnessed that, and offers her a weary half-smile in apology. He turns his attention back to their surroundings, eager to move on and happy to focus again on her scrolls--
"It must have taken a long time, to learn to make sense of these? Did your mentor teach you." To him, the words are meaningless symbols. He is surprised to find he is a little jealous-- he's always been fond of silent and secret things. "How old are they?" For every answer, two more questions. As his panic fades further, he finds himself comfortable enough to look at her again. Her stone and ice and fire, meeting his great river. He still feels a little shaky, his ghosts not that far gone, and is scrambling for something solid in her eyes. "Have you found what you're looking for?" He realizes he's getting carried away again, the ache ebbing and flowing like a dark tide. He wishes he had more for her than questions. "Sorry," he murmurs, thinking it does not need to be said but it feels right.
Only trust the story.
- E I K
@Seraphina holy cow sorry this is so long, I got a bit carried away... somehow we go from nibbling the scroll to minor panic attack to a bunch of questions lol
