Tell Me a Story

Moirean

So...uhh...I saw a room I didn't have on my map and went to go explore it. Turned into slightly more than that. I was floored by this guy. Seriously, amazing and beautiful writing, and a really cool and fun character. Thanks for letting me take a peek at your character!

You close your eyes momentarily and extend the range of your vision, seeking out the presence of Gideon.

You see that Gideon is at A small, comfortable library in Spinesreach.

You detect 0 other people in that location.

You touch the prism tattoo and suddenly a razor-thin beam of prismatic light shoots off into the distance.

An irresistible force pulls you along to the other end of the prismatic light.

A small, comfortable library. (lost)

Small bookcases are scattered around this library, each stacked with books of various shapes and sizes. The cool stone floor, walls, and ceiling of this room keep the temperature at a comfortable level, whilst providing a safe haven for the books. Dark, leather upholstered chairs have been placed near each of the stained-glass windows to provide readers with enough light. The images on the windows are of famous Sciomancers and Magi. A beautifully carved chess board is attached firmly to a heavy stand here. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. Gideon is here. He wields a black voidstaff in his left hand. A small sign indicates that LIBRARY CATALOG will list the materials in this library.

You see exits leading up and down.

You discern that you are standing in Spinesreach.

Your environment conforms to that of Urban.

You stand upon the Continent of Sapience.

You are in the Prime Material Plane.

This building belongs to the Sciomancers. 

Comprehension flashes across your face.

He is a typical Human with a rawboned frame, standing an inch or two under six feet. Irregular and somewhat handsome, his face is large and expressive with a wide mouth and bright, hazel eyes. A dash of Trollish blood could be read in its hard planes and exaggerated features; but smooth, pale skin and lack of muscular definition prove a strong counter-argument. His hair is a rich brown, cut long but slicked against the skull, fringe swept back to one side. He is wearing:

a pair of black, buckled leather shoes

a loose, white poet shirt

3 thin black bands

sturdy brown leather trousers

a brown, fur-lined winter coat

a pair of brass-rimmed spectacles

You have emoted: Moirean seems at first embarrassed by her accidental trespass, blinking rapidly as she grumbles when she spies the carvings of Magi over the windows. As the minutes drag on, however, and you neglect to shoo her away, she seems to sink into a comfortable, casual air and begins to ponders you thoughtfully.

Gideon coughs softly.

Brightly, you say to Gideon, "Ah. You didn't drown in a tome about aquamancy, then."

You have emoted: Frowning, in a rather unbelievable amount of concern, Moirean says, "I was worried, you know."

Gideon blinks somewhat self-consciously as he retreats from his thoughts, tapping his staff to his forehead in an informal greeting to cover the awkwardness of the situation. He rises from his chair-made-bed, and with as much enthusiasm as he can muster (unsurprisingly little) he says, "No need, I assure you. Just- ah, right. Studying. Of course."

Clicking her tongue against her teeth, you say, "Lost many a young mage that way, you know. Need to remember to come up for air every now and then."

You illusioned: 

It's probably safest to assume she's talking about studying.

You give a prickly pear to Gideon.

You beam broadly at Gideon.

You illusioned: 

Perhaps not.

Gideon turns the pear over in his hand idly, tossing it into the air and catching it. His eyes are never far from you, and as they slightly narrow he asks, "So- uh, not to be rude but...can I help?"

Gideon leans slightly on his staff, standing with the wobbly legs of the recently-woken.

You have emoted: Moirean shrugs casually and replies, "Dunno. What can you do?" She fold her arms behind her back and rocks back and forth on her heels, staring up at you as if you are a trained animal she is waiting to see perform.

Gideon takes the bait with gusto, leaning forward and grinning wide- a grin wide enough to swallow boredom whole, and he pronounces proudly, "What -can't- I do. Shadows. Tricky. Magic. Stories, oh I love to tell a good story. Would you like to hear one? It begins a long, long time ago, in a library not unlike this. And suddenly, one uneventful day...an imp appears. Please, stop me if you've heard it before."

You have emoted: Moirean raises a skeptical eyebrow at the mention of stories, but a smile begins to creep across her face as you bring in the Imp. She claps her hands together, apparently delighted, and invites herself to sit down (mostly by just plopping herself square into one of the seats). She swings a booted foot up onto the chair's arm and rolls her hand in the air, regally gesturing for you to continue.

Gideon begins to pace and continues to speak, arms gesturing wide when appropriate, and occasionally when not. His staff, carried with the motion, begins to cast shadows against one of the walls; shadows like a battlefield of ink, transmogrifying the bookcase-stuffed canvas into the current scene being told. An Imp appears in a pop of black, unnamed according to the enthusiastic narrator, alongside what can only be described as a devilishly handsome silhouette. He's currently sitting, but not for long, rising to greet the Imp with raised voice and arms.

You illusioned: 

The Imp's shadow features a tail. Mustn't forget the tail.

Grinning further at this part of the story, Gideon says, "And he said unto the Imp: how dare you! Do you not know my name? I am- uh, Gydahan the Great, Shadow Wizard and Slayer of Many-a-Dragon !"

You have emoted: Moirean leans forwards, eyes widening. "And was he?" she asks quite seriously. "Great, I mean."

Gideon turns to face his lackluster audience of one, nodding as much a nod as a wink, the shadows continuing to move behind him in their own puppet-theater dance. "Oh of course," he assures you, "Gydahan was known as the One True Honest man of his time."

You have emoted: Moirean purses her lips and points out, "Great is not the same as honest."

Gesturing vaguely, Gideon reassures, "He had a medal for it. Honest and Great. Uh- he had two medals, but they were a set. Something to do with a magical curse and a blessing from the Gods themselves."

Gideon frowns as the threads of his story run away from him. Behind him, the two shadow-creatures have begun to pause in their argument, unsure themselves what to do. The shadow-man picks his shadow-nose in the interim.

You have emoted: Moirean leans back and giggles at the shadow play, her foot swinging idly as she nods and continues to listen. Her tail mimics the motion, twisting behind her, back and forth, back and forth, back and for- It's found a pile of quills. You didn't need those notes, did you? They are much prettier, now, all adorned with leering faces and rude little sketches. Far better off.

You illusioned: 

The shadow-Imp shakes a shadow-finger at the shadow-mage, apparently shadow-berating him for his shadow-rudeness.

Gideon is engrossed within his own tale, within the art of perfecting it, that he fails to notice your own. It shouldn't go without noting that your tale is far the ruder of the two. But Gideon soon finds his beat again, arms beginning to sway as his voice drops with stage-gravitas, "And the Imp took dispute with the man, but the man was wise and powerful and- of all things, the most important- belonged in this library. For he was contextual, a mage where mages ought to be, and she was displaced. So with the greatest of respect for thematic consistency, he threw her out the window!"

And with that, Gideon's staff finding the floor with an audible and appropriately loud 'crack,' the shadow Imp is flung out of the scene. A somewhat premature conclusion, but nonetheless of satisfactory climax.

You have emoted: "This storyteller clearly is unschooled in Imps," Moirean objects. "You can't just FLING one. They get all...graspy. Limbs and tails and wings and whatnot. It's quite a mess." She lifts her chin and refuses to applaud. No, instead, she crosses her arms over her chest and begins a rather impressive bout of sulking, apparently to protest your lack of Impish knowledge.

You illusioned: 

From behind the bookshelf, the shadow-Imp's shadow-tail returns for a curtain call, rudely twisting into an obscene gesture, apparently also objecting to the tale's abrupt ending.

Gideon frowns at this unexpected turn, his large forehead creasing many times over. His wide nostrils flare, and pouty lips droop. "Well," he begins to excuse himself, "I don't know everything of course but those are minor details." He handwaves the errors with his free hand. "You know there's a lot out there and I can't be expected to have seen it all. I did try my best."

Gideon drops the tip of his staff to point in your direction as he adds in an accusatory voice, "And it's not like you did your part, don't think I didn't see those shadows." His own shadow stretches a hand across the bookshelf to point at the tail.

You illusioned: 

The shadow-tail squiggles and frantically wriggles out of sight.

You have emoted: Moirean's gaze slide sideways, and she considers you from the corner of her vision. "No idea what you mean," she baldly lies. She leans her head back to rest against the chair's other arm and rolls her eyes sideways as she yawns. Continuing: "That story was too short." She shifts her weight onto one hip, now facing you directly.

Gideon strokes back his hair, fighting the tide of his fringe as he begins to pace. He catches your eyes out of the corner of his own and sighs, "Oh alright." He stops pacing in the center of the room, back to the wall again, facing you. The early morning light provides just the right amount of negative space between books and black, shadows and null. They begin to churn as Gideon thinks quietly.

You have emoted: Moirean wriggles a bit deeper into the chair, wedging herself between two cushions. She nods eagerly and watches you, wide-eyed, as the shadows begin to undulate.

Mountains form and sink on the canvas behind Gideon quicker than they ought, quicker than anything ought. A castle rises and falls. An entire Kingdom is painted in black, then dies. Everything seems in media res with this stream of projections, this cross-section of Gideon's mind, and it churns for awhile in silence.

You have emoted: Moirean watches in silence, her heatlit eyes a smouldering amber glint as the illusions cast the rest of her form into darkness and gloom. Glowing in the shifting shadows, they study you and the dancing scenes, drinking in the images.

And then suddenly, like a golden feather plucked from an Atavian virgin, the right scene is decided upon. Gideon smiles tightly to himself as a small cot is painted, black on black with remarkable definition, though still quite splotchy. "Once upon a time I was born," he says in a soft voice, "I'm a girl in this story and my name is Buttercup, because I was born in a field. I had one brother, who was scrawny and useless, and two parents- the sort of parents who romp in fields- that were never quite...around."

Gideon casts an eye over his shoulder and frowns at the stunning imagery, the scene panning over the cot to show a little baby-face, all shadow-cheeks and shadow-snot. It's popping shadow-bubbles that blow from its nose. He frowns, and doesn't laugh, as he continues in a slightly feminized voice, "I'm young here and I don't really know myself. I'm terribly good at doing that, but really, not much else. I suppose this is all rather boring for a few years, for many years, until I'm six. I guess then it gets interesting."

You have emoted: There is something almost unnatural about Moirean's silence. Not a peep, squawk, squeak or even snort is emitted. There is only intense concentration and her eyes on you, staring, watching, listening.

"Six or seven," Gideon rectifies with slight chagrin, turning back to his audience. The scene does its own thing, hopping along to the story beats, first a slightly little girl and then one slightly bigger. She wears a black-petticoat, holds a black-umbrella and stands in a black-forest of tall, dark trees. They cast shadows on the shadows. "I'm not afraid, I swear. I come here all of the time. I ask my brother to come, but he's always busy. He's going to grow up to be really clever, you know."

You have emoted: Moirean nods, though it wasn't really a question, as her eyes follow the shadow-girl's growth.

Gideon closes his eyes and continues to speak, as if spitting words he'd rather not eat, "He's going to be a mage. But enough about him, like I said, he's /useless/ and today I'm a princess and this is my Kingdom." The forest shifts, trees going horizontal, and rocks passing along like turtles in a stream. The entire image shifts to follow the girl, walking along, and if trees could have buttresses, and you swear they couldn't, but if they -could- then these would. "Over there, the baker. He's really rather sweet but don't mind him while he's baking." A brown bear catches fish in its mouth, sorry- the Baker catches fish in its mouth, standing on all fours.

You have emoted: Moirean's stare widens as the forest unfolds and you hear a slight rustling as she burrows down deeper into the cushions, enraptured. Still no sound. Just a mute appreciation of the story so far. Or a very silent plotting of your demise. Either or.

Refusing to open his eyes, Gideon continues, "Oh! And over there is Henry. He's the Kingdom's most diligent scout. He'll never let anything happen to anyone that shouldn't." Up in the trees above, a shadow-owl turns an eye to the audience, then down at the little girl- who now, with an abundance of glee, appears to be skipping. Gideon never once seems to double-guess the oddity of his telling, the out-of-body narration, the unconventional fantasy-in-fantasy. But he does pause, this once, before deciding the rest needs telling.

You have emoted: Moirean's gaze shifts up to you, tearing away from the images to blink at you as you pause.

"And then it kind of goes pear-shaped," Gideon he speaks, voice drawling in half-speed, opening his eyes to stare at the pear in his hand. "I mean, I'm not going to blame him, he was /busy/ and you know he's not that useless. I guess he's going to be important one day, and I swear I shouldn't have gone in there." A dark hole appears on the bookshelf. A cave, you surmise, but from a down-low perspective. It stretches above with no hope of light. At first, appealing in its mystery, and then menacing in its totality. "But I did, you know, I did go in there. And who knows whose fault it was, but that's that and that's where it ends. He- he found me, a day later..."

Gideon's knuckles are white around the staff. He wipes winter-coat, fur meant for wiping, over his eyes and blinks away the shadows. The entire scene falls to normality, just ordinary, run-of-the-mill shadows within a heartbeat. "Sorry," he grunts and forces a chuckle, bright eyes looking up to stare at you, "Guess I'm a terrible storyteller after all."

You have emoted: A slow, languid blink. Eyes remain shut for a heartbeat. Moirean stays silent, her gaze still trained on you. Her tail curls inquisitively, twisting into a shape remarkably akin to a question mark, but the Imp herself seems to follow the story's implications well enough.

Gideon forces a smile around the false-laughter, taking a bear sized bite out of the pear. And around the pear he says, "You know it's all about practice, I'm sure I'll get it down one day."

You have emoted: Moirean wriggles sideways to sit a bit more upright. "I heard once," she finally says. "That there are musicians, and then there are bards."

Gideon blinks away the last dregs of not-tears, picking at the corner of his eye with his free hand as if slaying the crumbs of sleep. He blinks again, and stares at you. "Oh? And what's the difference?"

You have emoted: "Musicians perform songs. And sometimes that is what you want - a song, with all its notes and artistry, a composition to appreciate." Moirean coughs, her voice slightly hoarse, and continues. "But bards...bards transport the listener. When a real bard sings, you are there, in the song."

You have emoted: Moirean shrugs, wings a leathery rustle against the armchair's cushion. "Each have their place," she allows. "Sometimes, you want the art, the craft, the clean consideration of the composition. And sometimes you want the raw power of the story, and the emotions inherent in it. Sometimes you want to be swept away and lost in the music. In the story. The art itself can stifle that, while the emotion can distract from the art."

"I think you're thinking about it too hard," Gideon replies with a simple smile, growing broader as he adds, "But I like that. I'd rather be there, in the stories. Maybe not all of them, but the good ones, the ones where explorers roam and great battles of wit and intrigue occur in ancient temples." Having grown weary of standing, Gideon rests his rear on a chair-arm, staff horizontal on his knees.

Gideon takes another bite of the pear, cheeks full like a chipmunk's as his eyes idly take in the bookshelf.

You have emoted: Moirean shrugs again, twisting fitfully to flop back on her butt, legs swinging back over the chair's arms. "I'm an IMP," she retorts. "I think precisely as hard as I need to think." She kicks one foot and mutters, "You just mentioned practising. That's all. Like you want to practise out the story and make it just about the art."

Generously, you say, "But it was quite pretty. So. You're doing well with that."

Gideon grins at the imp across from him and dips his generous chin at your generosity, pear juice slicking the skin before being caught by an arm. "Thank you. You know, your voice is awful familiar but on the off-chance..." He releases the staff, hoping for balance as he extends a hand vaguely in your direction--he doesn't trust to you hand being in the same position when his hand finishes its journey. "Gideon. Gideon Butterfield Wayke."

You have emoted: Moirean grasps your hand and gives it a formal, polite little shake. "I know," she replies. "Gideon-of-the-Waykes or something like that. We've spoken before. I'm Moirean." There is no elaboration beyond that. The greeting complete, she releases her grip. Her tail now takes up your hand and begins to give it a second shake, apparently intent on introducing itself as well.

After your, Gideon's eyes flash with glee as he shakes you tail's hand. "Ahhh. Pleasure, Moirean. I would have bet on us having spoken, but you never can be quite so sure." He grins at the appendage, and in a voice one might reserve for little babies of pets, he murmurs, "And hello there, you."

You have emoted: And now, after a scant few seconds, the tail uncurls from around your fingers and bats at your hand, unmistakably shooing it away. Moirean shifts her weight again, rolling onto her side - the tail is abruptly dragged backwards - to face you. "It was a good story, though," she repeats. "Quite pretty. You should tell me another one, sometime."

Gideon wobbles as his staff finally decides that it's rather top-heavy, pulling the hand back without slight at the tail's abrupt rejection. Uncoordinated as he is, it's a few seconds before he's staring back at you in a position to respond, "Ahhh. Sometime. Yes, of course. I'd be delighted to. If I might have a favor in return, however? Just a small one. Insy."

You have emoted: Moirean raises an eyebrow and tilts her head. "Maybe," she evasively replies. Her ears flick towards you as she listens.

Gideon rests the pear in his lap and makes an inch between thumb and forefinger, displaying the size to you, backdropped by his over-enthusiastic smile. "I want an adventure, proper exploration--not just a story, but living a story. Somewhere with /history/, a living story."

You have emoted: Moirean scoots upright, leveraging her arms against the back of the chair to get herself into a proper seat in the large chair. Sitting properly, she is dwarfed by the cushions, nearly engulfed by the single piece of furniture, but she straightens her back and flares her wings, doing her best to present an imposing, strong image. "Go on," she says, inclining her head.

Gideon picks up the pear again, ignorant or dismissive of the pear-stain now on the crotch of his trousers, tosses it up , catches, and tears a bite from its hide. "Somewhere exciting!" he sort of says, but kind-of mumbles, showing teeth and the crushed pear between. "It'll be all kinds of daring. Ahhhh, where though? You'll have to decide. I'm like to pick- oh, there's lepers on this island, and a dragon. I'm not exactly a dragon slayer but- you? What about you?" He sizes you up in short-order, lips pouting thoughtfully. "Or there's this cave, where the dead walk, and shadows linger."

You have emoted: Moirean's chest puffs up and her shoulders square. "I've seen it ALL," she brags. "I can take you anywhere."

Gideon's foot taps on the floor, and his head shakes. "No, no, no. If you can take me anywhere, you can take me somewhere I haven't heard of. You can take me into the unknown, right? Come on Moirean. Impress me." He finishes, eyes back on you, but out of the corner--sizing you up once more. He wears the sly grin of a self-aware charlatan, one who knows how terrible of a liar he is.

You have emoted: Moirean's brow furrows as she ponders the riddle. "A real adventure?" she asks, frowning as she thinks. "Somewhere dangerous and deadly and unknown? Somewhere nobody has gone?"

Gideon shrugs a shoulder, eyebrows raised. He clarifies idly, "Or somewhere nobody goes often, I suppose."

You have emoted: Moirean accuses, "Someone told you about my plan." She lifts her chin and crosses her arms over her chest. The pout from earlier returns.

Gideon laughs softly. "What? Your plans? Gracious, no. I just wanted an adventure, cross my heart." He does this, with a finger, and then for some reason locks it and throws away the key--perhaps in confusion, though it comes off with confidence. "I swear it. What're your plans anyway? Juicy? I love a good secret."

Gideon leans forward to hear more, ear slightly turned to you. He chews on the last of his pear, quiet as can be.

Gideon eats a prickly pear.

You have emoted: "The Underha-" Moirean begins and then scowls, cutting herself off. "It's a SECRET," she stresses, eyes narrowing at you. "I can't just go gossiping about it." She rolls her eyes and mimics your own heart crossing, stubbornly triple-locking her own.

Gideon nods his head several times as he leans back, patting the arm of his chair for no apparent reason--perhaps fluffing it, but that makes no great deal of sense. "Alright! Say no more, I've got the idea. Mum's the word. But when you /are/ in the mood for a bit of gossip, I happen to love that too." He solemnly nods his head, swallowing the last of the pear and tossing the stem over his shoulder.

You have emoted: Moirean watches the gesture warily, her eyes tracing the trash's trajectory. "Maybe..." she allows. "Maybe I could bring you along. To not-saying-where. When the time comes. If you are about. As a, a, a consultant. Historian or something. If you promised not to touch anything. Or tell anyone. Maybe." That's a lot of caveats, and her tone is skeptical, but, hey, she did say maybe.

Gideon claps with glee, leaping to his feet and catching his staff as it's flung of its perch. He makes a noise of loud excitement before turning to you, "Ohhhh it'll be brilliant. You just wait, I'm a certified consultant. So, no choice there. And a historian too, in training, sort-of...weeeell more of a fledgling scribe, but it's all the same. You just wait." He takes a breath or two, and looks to you properly. "So when do we leave?"

You have emoted: Moirean blinks at the reaction and shakes her head. "Not today," she squeaks, lifting her hands as if to shield herself from your enthusiasm. "You need to uhhh...pack...and get books and...uh..." She frowns, and extemporizes. "Write a will. You know. Prepare."

Gideon leans back from you, a little unaware of ever leaning forward in the first place. But such is the nature of his ebbing enthusiasm. And as he stares over the top of his staff, he considers thoughtfully, "Books. Right. All the preparation for a proper expedition. You know," he glances aside back to you, "this would- ah, I mean, this'll be just like the others. So I'll get all that sorted. In fact, I should probably get right on that. A lot to do."

You have emoted: Moirean nods firmly. "And write a will," she repeats. She rises, stretching with a clank of armor and adds, "I should probably leave, now, before they toss you in a labyrinth or banish you to the Shadow Plane or rip your arms off or whatever they do to mages who fall asleep and let Imps break into their library."

Gideon continues to nod, his thoughts retreating inward as he picks up a book whose spine suspiciously seems to read 'Expeditions 101: Your Guide to Staying Safe and Having Fun' from one of the bookshelves. He doesn't appear to hear much of your ghastly outcomes at all as, with little to no formality, he says, "Mmm. Yes. All of that. Safe travels, Moirean. Speak soon..." His words trail off as he, too, trails up the stairs.

 

Gideon leaves to the up.

You tell Gideon, "Be prepared, though. I mean it. Even I don't know what we might find."

Meyvitch

WOW that was awesome you two. Not a big fan of the emotes that sound like invisible narrators when it's more than 2 people, but for theatrical encounters like this it's fun to read. I want to meet gildeon now.

 

Edit: Yeah, that was kinda dumb misspelling.

Arbre

Gideon.  You want to meet -Gideon-.

Haven

That was utterly brilliant. I love how well it all meshed together like it were one piece. It really felt like I was reading an exerpt from a novel or something.

*makes a note to bump into Moirean sometime.*