bloonewb

Haven: Summer camp for Supernatural Teens

Lukas was about to answer a third time before the girl who's name he can't seem to remember (it must have been Amy or Ivory, one of the two) got distracted by another camper. Frankly, that was all well and good, yet something about what she said stuck in his craw a little longer than he would have liked. She didn't know Magic? How could anyone be that oblivious? He made a mental note to call Karen at the end of the day, and ask to borrow a couple of decks. He could probably beg his sister into driving them to the camp for him as well. Who knows, maybe he could start a little competition right here!

Wych (open and accepting!)

Sigrid quickly grabbed the bowl of soup, letting trace amounts of it slosh over and splash across the wooden flooring. " . . . Sorry about that," she said. Then, she sneezed again, sending even more over the edge. "I can clean it up, I promise." She then proceeded to tip the bowl's contents into her mouth, not stopping until she was licking the dregs out of the bottom. "Thank you, landlord," she said, wiping grey goop off of her face. "I came seeking adventure and experience," she lied. Lying, she found, did not come so hard to her. It was never distressing to tell her grandfather that she was 'heading down to the beach', when she was actually selling shells and stones to the village jeweler. More than that, she felt 'to make money' was not exactly the answer the landlord was looking for.

Haven: Summer camp for Supernatural Teens

Lukas, once again, only caught one question, and once again, he doubted anyone really asked. "What do I do?" he asked, scratching his head. That is perhaps the most outlandish question he'd ever heard. "Umm . . . I play Magic. I set up a killer red midrange deck a year ago. Well, it's my friend's deck. Still, I know it inside and out. We swept the Orange County tourney just last month. Why, what do you do?"

Haven: Summer camp for Supernatural Teens

(Revised post. I hope this one meets with more approval.)

Lukas went over to the fire pit, and plopped down on one of the logs. With a thump, his bag left his back and fell to the dry earth. Even this far north from his home in Oxnard, the sun was capable of beating mercilessly down on the people below. With an arm, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and nose. Hopefully, he'll just blend in with the crowd.

Yet, unfortunately, some wishes were not to be granted. A chipper voice rang out from behind him, startling him from his little introspections. "Umm . . . uhh . . . " Lukas stammered, trying to keep up with the girl's sentences. He has never claimed to be the quickest mind. "I'm . . . I'm Lukas," he said, extending his hand to shake. Did she ask for his name? He can't recall. Still, it's probably safest to start this way.

Wych (open and accepting!)

Sigrid shook her head. That seemed to be the response the old man wanted. "Perhaps not," she said, wrapping the warm blanket around herself after squeezing the water from her hair. "It's very kind of you to lend your home to me." A magnificent home it was, too, if a little bare. Unlike the manor houses she was privileged enough to see the inside of, the inside was not as opulent as the outside. No jeweled candle-holders hung from the ceiling, and the furniture was rough and built purely for function. Luxuries that Angle lords would keep for themselves, like marble and glass, are completely omitted.

Small minutes later, she was shivering on one of the chairs, occasionally contributing a sneeze to the silence. "I feel like I'm intruding on your hospitality," she said, putting a hand up to her own forehead. Her hands felt like ice, as did the very air around her. "Is there anything I could do to make me feel more deserving of it?"

Magic RP (Open to new players)

Kutur reached into his pack and pulled out a book. It was one of the thinner ones, he knew, but it still thudded as he set it on the table. It was a book on the intricacies of the red discipline, and he noted with pride that of the four authors whose names were honored on the cover, his was third. Quickly, he opened it up to the first page, and pointed to the paragraph at the top. As he read, the margins around the paragraph began to take shape.

The black letters began to expand, then split, the remaining blobs of ink splashing across the blank spaces. They formed whorls of abstraction, spirals and circles, even scales like that on a kobold. He focused hard now, and a pinpoint of red light emerged from the tip of his talon. From it exploded similar patterns, adorning the very air above the paragraph.

Kutur closed the book again. when he opened it, the ink illuminations glowed a faint red. He tapped one of them, and the red began to glow ever more intense, until a projection of the illumination jumped from the pattern and hovered a few fingers above the page. "That's illumination," he said. "It's not hard, but it does take a while, not least of which because the text must first be read. There's . . . " he looked shyly down at his near-bursting sack. "A lot of work to go through, and I was thinking you could help me."

Haven: Summer camp for Supernatural Teens

@KatherinWinter Sorry. I got confused when reading the post. Perhaps it's for the best if you mention referenced characters from now on.

Magic RP (Open to new players)

"Just Kutur is fine," he said. It was at this time that the two worlds he inhabited, the two cultures that were so different he had to keep them separate, began to collide. Kali was so direct in her interests. He had been away from the continent for so long that he'd forgotten whether or not it was normal. His master had drilled into him the traditional manners of humans, elves, and orcs, the three great races in the Bythesea Empire. He knew exactly how to behave among any of those peoples, yet when he is here, he is as much a stranger as any of them. How was he to respond? How could she say she loved him, when he didn't even know if he loved anyone?

That was when his mind began to escape, as it often seemed to do lately. He thought back to the contents of his bag, the books needing to be illuminated. Illumination was a complicated process. His job was to imbue the very paper in the books with magic, and in that process place a bit of himself within as well. When doing so, his innermost thoughts regarding the text are made manifest in abstract images that line the margins, and in strong moments of emotion, may even become images of light that hover above the page when it's open. It's as much commentary as bookkeeping, and as much art as science. Perhaps he should ask for help, mage to mage. "So, what do you know of illumination?"

Wych (open and accepting!)

"Sigrid," she said, almost at a whisper. "That is my name. Sigrid Geirdóttir. I hail from Jutland." Was there sympathy in the old man's eyes? He had never seen her in her entire life, that she could be sure enough of. Yet, he seemed to know her mind, as well as her troubles. With ginger hands, she accepted the quilt, clutching both it and her damp dress close. Something compelled her to keep talking. "My father was here before. He was at Iona, the cross temp- the cathedral. Are you a man of the cross?"

Wych (open and accepting!)

There it was. That much-feared discovery of her heritage had finally come. It was inevitable, perhaps. When one has been trading in countless towns in the course of a year, such a thing was bound to happen at least once. Or twice. To be honest, she has been chased out of more villages than she'd like to admit. Sigrid hung her head low, awaiting the inevitable condemnation and later expulsion. For now, she just wanted out of the rain. "Ay, refuge would me much appreciated," she said, quiet and nervous.