And wasn't sure if the nymph's cryptic little bit of offered help might be too cryptic or not. If you need it laid out, or don't think Samaire would get it in a million years, I can find other ways to have her say it. :P
Question asked, the nymph said nothing more, and spent no time trying to understand a human’s thoughts or emotions through expression. She’d never learned the art of human communication, had only learned the language of the spirits recently from the wind. Tears could not sway her. Anger could not reach her. Reason or blade or fire were how she knew humans best, so, she waited for words or that sword to lift. Either was expected, neither would go without consideration, though one would, admittedly, earn far more reaction than the other.
Patience, among spirits, was not a virtue, it was a simple trait that could be as troublesome for the humans that dealt with it as it was intuitive for nature. They could rush or they could wait, time was a human concept.
At the least, in this instance, it meant Samaire was free to recover her poise (inasmuch as she was able) without prompting or annoyance. Though the nymph’s stare never wavered, neither did her interest in the answer. So, when it finally came, as jumbled as might be expected of a human’s clumsy tongue, she listened. Beside her, Matiir lay still, head on his arm, eyes rolled upwards to watch the distress on the human who had kept him and fed him. He did not know enough to be glad of her tears. He would not have understood why he should be, besides, salt water was not for drinking, and every other human who made such noises only brought trouble for him.
When she finally spoke again, still in the language he understood, the youth raised his head and grumbled in the back of his throat. His understanding was instinct, not knowledge, so he could not piece together her scattered words as well as the nymph did, though she did not know the words that came next any more than he did. And together, they studied the human’s desperation as her voice lost all hesitation and became emotion. Enough, without known words, to resonate even with the nymph, whose head tilted slowly, before she nodded. Decision made.
<When you leave, little human, these chains will remain to rust.> She would be sure of it. <The wilds should not be bound. I will give you this one favour for your tale.> Even as she spoke, she was fading, back into the trees that shaped her being, but Samaire’s words had worried her, and Matiir’s distant recognition of trouble, even if he wasn’t sure which she meant, whether from before or after they’d met, it was enough to tell her things were moving where they shouldn’t. So, the wind and the leaves still shaped her words even after she was gone. <Family shares blood among his own, offer him the same and you will need no chains.>
But she would not be leaving with the metal ones she and Matiir had carried between them until now, even had she felt no obligation to obey the nymph’s order. As she’d sunk into the tree around which the chain had been wrapped, so too did the chain, disappearing beneath the bark. If Samaire wanted to bring the man-thing with her, she would either have to let him loose, or carve through the trunk.
Matiir, for whom nothing had changed, merely fell onto his side with a huff of disappointment. Trees were better company than humans.
Shenanigans! Is a great word, it really is. Hi again! :D
Heh, as you are probably well aware, I'm sort of making this all up as I go, so I have no concrete rules about how their magic works. Well, I have some, a very small amount, that I can't figure out how to put into words, so... They don't really exist, perse... It's a bother. But you are so wonderful for letting me play around with it. :D And Curdle, I'm making his stuff up too as we go. Fun times.
I am totally ready and willing to milk this situation for all it is worth in building up our characters and developing their first/second/onward impressions of each other and how they choose to deal with the situation and each other. Because, it is a pretty good moment for that, I mean... they pretty much can't escape each other, unless she inadvertently scrubs him from existence, and I honestly have no idea if she could or not. Heh. It's possible. :P
BUt using the moment for developing their interactions with each other is the key point. Secondary to that point, we must figure out how to get them moving in whichever direction we need them to go. Since Miria wouldn't know what Curdle needs her to do without him telling her, and Curdle probably doesn't really know what to do himself, unless he remembers an old story from somewhere or something. It is possible Miria might remember something Tamal once said to her, which could help jog Curdle's memory, too. Or maybe that deer jinni might know how to help, so, thankfully, we do have options, we just need to figure out which one we want to go with. I figure we try to keep as many open as possible so we're not forcing them down one route and hope we can find the choices they'd be making for themselves or the opportunities to toss in what tidbits we need to, to set their thoughts rolling in the right direction. :P
So! Yes, I'll definitely be making sure Curdle at least gives her something to try to get him out of her head, whether it works or not.... Remains to be seen. Mwahahahaha, I'm horrible. There's a good chance that whichever choice we go with, they'll wind up on their own at least part of the way, though I'm now liking the idea of enlisting that deer jinni's help.
And, as far as I can think it, yes, if he doesn't get back to his body, it will eventually die, since it's asleep right now and basically in a coma. Another jinni, or people forcefeeding it, might keep it alive indefinitely, but given as he's about to stand trial for the possible killing of Lady Gerun, it is unlikely anyone would bother putting that effort in. So, either way, he's probably got a week or two at most before his body goes. Whether or not his spirit-y, soul thing would last without it, I have not yet decided. It's a difficult decision, but I think I'd prefer Curdle keeping his own body, even so.
Now then! I've babbled about I think all the other points, if I missed something, poke me about it. Time to babble about my thoughts on getting him back in his body!
1) Easy-peasy (not really) getting him out of her head is as simple as waking up. So, they'd have had to make their plans before she does. Whether or not Curdle can figure out how to get back in his own head shall be left up for debate, because I'm a butt like that. But she'd hopefully know, or he'd be able to get the message to her somehow through magical means and maybe writing in the sand (I'm not even sure he can read, but pictographs are a thing, right?) to have her turn around. And we go from there.
2) He's stuck in her head until she takes him back to his body. Or maybe the deer jinni can help. Anyway, there's some extra step that needs to be taken to get him out, then they have to go back to get his body.
3) I was thinking something with magic (like that's not already happening), wherein sand and names and teleportation of some sort is used, but I don't particularly want to toss in something that big this early in the story. So, I've sort of switched my idea to making him a golem sort of deal. So, there's something to do with shaping a body out of sand which he can 'inhabit' and use to talk until they get to Renna or something like, which would require them working together, though I'm not entirely sure how.
-they might be working together in the same body once she wakes up, somehow brought him with her into the conscious world without getting rid of his thoughts in her head
-or something similar to the first option's actions but with the golem making included, he can't talk in noncorporeal form, or really breathe, and part of Jinn magic does require motion and breath (or at least that's how Curdle knows it, there's more involved but that's the basic foundation), so Miria would probably have to be the one doing certain things, though again, they might enlist the deer Jinni's help
-or in the creation of the sand body and sticking his spirit/essence into it with his name, it becomes flesh and blood while his other body becomes sand
-we could always use this idea for later shenanigans and fun times if it doesn't get used now, I just feel like sand is a great and versatile resource for some reason
4) Alternately, we leave Curdle stuck in Miria's mind, and maybe there's some form of mirror/reflection magic they could use for communication purposes during the day and our story becomes less about magicking Curdle up (and character transformation that way) and more about magicking them both up while they search for separation methods and try not to get caught up in too many problems which we, as the authors, will probably toss them into anyway, :P It's actually doable as a similar arc to what happens in those Rai-kirah stories of Carol Berg's. Except different cuz there's no all powerful dude trying to make them into something else. That'd be all on them, hahaha. >.>
Clearly, I need to think my options through a little more before I start story arcs, but at least there are ways to get past this. :P
I am a little leery, as I said, of the third one, simply because it's quite a powerful act, and neither of them are experts in this more powerful magic. I mean, half of it is belief and will and instinct, but the other half is very much rules and knowledge, which is awkward as all get out, but it'll probably work once I actually figure it out. So, yeah, can be done, either through accident or remembering an old story or just being extremely wishful, but it's also a lot more magic in the very beginning than I was thinking would happen. So, I dunno if that's necessarily the direction we want to go in or not, but yeah, I'd still be curious to see how it goes even so. Therefore, any of those four work for me. So, if you've got a preference, or if you have different ideas or directions you want to take them in, I'm all ears(eyes?) for that, too. :)
Ha! I don't mind the wait provided there's quality content, and I figure here, I definitely did not mind it. :P
I think you're doing well with setting and visuals and giving us other folks details to work with. Or, well, I came off that read with ideas for what to write next, so, you're certainly not leaving us hanging out to dry. :)
But new ideas and tips and plans for the plot and writing and whoo! Sounds like we're in for fun times, eh?
So much to figure out. I have a vague idea of how they might get Curdle out of her head and bring his body to them, but I'm not sure if it wouldn't make more sense to see if we can't convince Miria to go back and try getting him out the old fashioned way.
I'm thinking that his actual name might be a good beacon, and that if he went in on an inhale, he might come out on her exhale, but beyond that it gets a bit fantastical (like it isn't already ha!) and I'm not sure if he'd be able to figure it out so easily.
You got any ideas or thoughts? Preferences? I think the options are separating the two and him still stuck in Renna with her moving on. Not separating them (or separating them) and her going back to get him out of Renna. Or separating and getting him out of Renna at the same time.
If she did not understand, it was no surprise to him, though he found it difficult to face the confusion of her expression while having no explanation of his own. He did not understand either. In that, they were truly well matched, indeed.
In fact, Curdle had no idea what he was doing. Not in the slightest.
And with no words to ease that confusion, he elected to remain silent beneath her stare. Whether accusations or exhortation followed, he could remember clearly enough to know that he had begun this journey somehow, and he had started the fall into this place that was hers. Accidentally, true, but accidents were never innocent in his world. She had every right to be upset, and he would accept her decision. He would, he promised himself, though the longer she stared at him in such broken shock, the more shaken his resolve felt.
Had it been any longer before he realized where her mind had taken them, he might have found himself on his knees and begging. Begging for help, for escape, for remembrance, for her hands to do what his could not, or even, simply, for an answer. Any would do better than the silence she surrounded him with then.
Only, as the tremble stirred from his voice to his hands and weakened his gaze, made his breath stutter, sound returned. A crowd at his back and to either side, isolating them before the very stall where fate had seen him pause. Was it really only two days now? Not even.
Shaking fingers reached for woven cloth between them and stilled in fright as he watched his skin and bone dissolve and reshape itself as though the strange light magic he’d seen before tumbling into her dreams made up his body now. And, like midges, was stirred by every breath of wind or—as the air was still here—her every wayward thought.
He was not here.
No, yes, please, it was not true. Not yet, his thoughts were here. He witnessed as she did, the changing patterns of the market, the shifting colours of her cloth weavings. Dreams, he thought, did not understand the value of inertia. How could he be anywhere else? Yet what she said was also true. He was here, but somewhere else. He might have led her there through the streets her mind conjured. Away from the city square to a small, plain wall with a wooden door guarded by two men through which one could look in on an old man, stiff and weary. He could not have said how this was possible, or how he knew it to be the truth.
So, he held his tongue, and still she questioned him.
He managed only a shake of his head for his current whereabouts. And was grateful she did not press further. With her next breath, he regretted that she had not.
Flinching at that bald question that turned him into something other than what he should be, Curdle kept his gaze lowered as he pulled his hand back, wares untouched. In a moment of nostalgia, it lingered briefly on the hilt of the sword at his hip before dropping away as though burnt with the memory that he was no longer a guard, no longer anything, and unfit to bear arms. His fingers curled into fists at his sides as he took a breath to answer, once sure her questions were finished and he would not be interrupting, able only to hope she would not know he was breaking the law in her dreams. “I-I am Jinn. Lady Fiira Gerun’s Jinni, messi.” Or, he had been hers, until her final breath left without him knowing… Now, he did not know who…
No, he still was, until he finished what he had started. “She called me Curdle.” It was how he’d introduced himself. So long ago now, and far away. A lifetime past. When he was still young enough to believe that petty secrets mattered. Now, with plenty of regrets thickening in his stomach, it suited him better than his true name, he thought. He wished that he had known then what he did now, and shared even a little more with her, that he could have heard it said aloud even once over the years.
But now was not the time to make wishes.
Her last question stumped him. And his mouth moved for a moment without sound as he sought some simple explanation. “This magic, messi, is not one I have ever known. Yet, I think that it is mine. It is something I have done. I flew on-no, as the wind, here, messi. As the tales tell it, there is no Jinni alive who would ever ask such of the wind.” But maybe, once, there had been many. He did not know. Every story he’d ever learned of the Jinn was a frightening one, meant to remind them not of past glories, but of past misdeeds. There was nothing that might compare with the wonder of riding wings of wind so high above the dunes, or seeing the sun sparkle from within the sand.
But just as it should not have been his, so it could not have been any other’s either. He had heard of no Jinni this powerful. Then again, this power had trapped him in a human’s mind and left him at their mercy. It was not so great as his awe would have him believe.
cottonferret,
Qia,
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Festive,
Rockette,
Skai,
Snowdrops,
Cleveraptor,
ButtsnBalls,
Dion
