"I'm the healer!" said Nema. "I only poke when I have to poke. It's a medical thing. You wouldn't understand."
The energetic healer was a bit surprised to see the young man hopping out of his bed bare naked in the middle of her sentence, in his state. For one moment, she observed his body in the non-clinical way she wasn't used to in her professional environment. His subsequent behavior was enough to dismiss possible further musing on the subject.
"You can indeed put on those scorched remnants of clothes. It makes you look like a goblin sewer-worker -if goblins even have sewers, that is-, but I understand men have other standards when it comes to personal hygiene as well as personal odors. It is interesting to note that men normally die younger, ignoring all unnatural deaths, of course."
She showed her the tip of his tongue, and then gave him a pile of fresh-smelling clothes. "They're on the house. I resisted the urge to wash or throw away the ones you are wearing now, for I thought it was possible you wanted to keep them." The set Nema handed him wasn't only of finer quality, it also smelt like flowers. A welcome variation on the scent of salve that was so very present in the room.
"Normally, I would insist on personally washing the grease, dead skin and sweat from your body before giving these to you. It costed me quite the effort, not to mention money, to obtain some non-religious garnments of reasonable quality here. But considering the fact that you're receiving important company, I'm willing to be flexible once."
She took hold of his chin, turning his face left and then right to face the morning sun. "Nah, your skin will heal fine. I'm superb. It's a bit... red-ish for now, and there's some skin flakes here and there, but you're presentable." She winked, then moved to a bowl to wash her hands.
Aurelian Tutor - Barrett
Moderator: Mods
Aurelian Tutor - Barrett
Last edited by Finodborn on Wed Sep 15, 2004 9:11 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Verum et factum convertuntur.
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"Indeed," the young man laughed in spite of his soreness, "I never feel like I have to poke. Unless you count poking my nose into things. Thean is fond of pointing out my lack of control in that area-"
- of course he will not be able to do so any more.
The playfulness drained rather abruptly from Barrett's voice.
"Men die younger, eh? Well I certainly seem to be bringing death to those around me these days."
Idiot! She deserves cheer for her thoughtfulness, not some sulky lad.
"I- I'm sorry, Nema. The clothes are lovely. Perhaps lovely enough to make up for my own appearance. I am once again in your debt."
The light returned to his face as he caught the scent of the garments.
"Even if you would have me smelling like a flower-seller! Hah! Do I really smell that bad? Don't answer that."
Barrett chuckled, though inwardly he did not entirely feel as free as his words.
He made a show of cleaning himself up a bit and dressed rather quickly. He would like to have continued this playful banter, but already his mind was swimming with questions as to who or what an "Aurelian Tutor" might be.
"Important company. I begin to doubt there is any other kind."
- of course he will not be able to do so any more.
The playfulness drained rather abruptly from Barrett's voice.
"Men die younger, eh? Well I certainly seem to be bringing death to those around me these days."
Idiot! She deserves cheer for her thoughtfulness, not some sulky lad.
"I- I'm sorry, Nema. The clothes are lovely. Perhaps lovely enough to make up for my own appearance. I am once again in your debt."
The light returned to his face as he caught the scent of the garments.
"Even if you would have me smelling like a flower-seller! Hah! Do I really smell that bad? Don't answer that."
Barrett chuckled, though inwardly he did not entirely feel as free as his words.
He made a show of cleaning himself up a bit and dressed rather quickly. He would like to have continued this playful banter, but already his mind was swimming with questions as to who or what an "Aurelian Tutor" might be.
"Important company. I begin to doubt there is any other kind."
Nema gave him no more response than a gentle kiss on his forehead. She had to stand on the tips of her toes. She left Barrett pondering alone in his room.
Only a burn later, somebody who very much resembled a beggar entered the room. His nog hair was grey and only sporadically covering his skull. Not in the neat way of many elder men, but in an outrageous asymmetrical pattern.
In stead of a nice robe of some sort, he was wearing a bag. One could have sworn it was the type they use for potatoes normally. Nema's effort to dispell Barrett's potent odor proved ridiculous too, for this man carried around a stench that was so solid it nearly became heavy to carry.
A guard put his head around the corner of the door. He was clearly a bit embarrassed. "I'm sorry, master, my superiors have ordered to let him enter." The head disappeared again. Apparently Barrett was still under protection of the Order.
The man stood there silently, meticulously keeping an eye on a seemingly unspecific point in the space of one of the corners. He was chewing on a twig, that still carried some leaves.
Only a burn later, somebody who very much resembled a beggar entered the room. His nog hair was grey and only sporadically covering his skull. Not in the neat way of many elder men, but in an outrageous asymmetrical pattern.
In stead of a nice robe of some sort, he was wearing a bag. One could have sworn it was the type they use for potatoes normally. Nema's effort to dispell Barrett's potent odor proved ridiculous too, for this man carried around a stench that was so solid it nearly became heavy to carry.
A guard put his head around the corner of the door. He was clearly a bit embarrassed. "I'm sorry, master, my superiors have ordered to let him enter." The head disappeared again. Apparently Barrett was still under protection of the Order.
The man stood there silently, meticulously keeping an eye on a seemingly unspecific point in the space of one of the corners. He was chewing on a twig, that still carried some leaves.
Verum et factum convertuntur.
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Barrett considered the odd little man for a moment. He had learned as a child not to judge the book by the proverbial cover, but he was used to gaining some information about a person by their appearance.
He judged this person's odd dress and apparent lack of hygeine to be both a message and a mask. It implied that the man did not care how people saw him. Barrett suspected it meant the opposite: this man wished people not to look at him at all.
The tall Dortman shot a disapproving glance to the guard.
Sorry to admit a visitor but no apologies for one of your order trying to kill me. Silly.
Returning his attention to the visitor, Barrett tried to sense more subtle clues. Was the odor pure refuse, pure sweat and dirt? Or was there something else mixed in that spoke of the man's habits or place of origin? Was he wearing shoes? Worn? Road dirt? Was man's clothing soiled or was the bag relatively clean?
Careful, Barrett, you'll next be writing treatises on callused feet and body scent.
A smile crept across his face.
But why is he staring at the corner? And why the silence? Does he prefer not to speak here?
Barrett turned his own gaze in the direction that his visitor was staring for a moment.
"Good tide you. Please make yourself comfortable. I am sure we can get some tea or something more substantial than that twig if you are hungry. Or perhaps you'd rather a walk in the garden?"
He judged this person's odd dress and apparent lack of hygeine to be both a message and a mask. It implied that the man did not care how people saw him. Barrett suspected it meant the opposite: this man wished people not to look at him at all.
The tall Dortman shot a disapproving glance to the guard.
Sorry to admit a visitor but no apologies for one of your order trying to kill me. Silly.
Returning his attention to the visitor, Barrett tried to sense more subtle clues. Was the odor pure refuse, pure sweat and dirt? Or was there something else mixed in that spoke of the man's habits or place of origin? Was he wearing shoes? Worn? Road dirt? Was man's clothing soiled or was the bag relatively clean?
Careful, Barrett, you'll next be writing treatises on callused feet and body scent.
A smile crept across his face.
But why is he staring at the corner? And why the silence? Does he prefer not to speak here?
Barrett turned his own gaze in the direction that his visitor was staring for a moment.
"Good tide you. Please make yourself comfortable. I am sure we can get some tea or something more substantial than that twig if you are hungry. Or perhaps you'd rather a walk in the garden?"
The man was dirty, to put it with an understatement. He smelt of shit, sweat, fungus, and some unmentionable things. His bag was so dirty a good housewife wouldn't ever consider putting her potatoes in there anymore. He went barefooted, but his skin was hardened like leather. There were some pebbles and splinters embedded in it, but that didn't seem to hinder him. He scratched his hair, then his beard, and pulled out a tick.
"Hahahahaaa!" he responded, with a volume that was rare for even the most skilled bards of the College in the Citadel. "by Pan's Hooves, not in a million lifetimes. The thought! Tea! Substantial! Twig! Well what do you know... But I don't need this twig at all, you know." He had been waving it around like some mad conductor, but he put it down on the night table now, not taking great care in removing the threads of saliva that still connected him to it.
"Lots of purple, indeed. Gardens are nice though. But well; time to go. It was nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy it."
He started whistling, and sauntered off.
"Hahahahaaa!" he responded, with a volume that was rare for even the most skilled bards of the College in the Citadel. "by Pan's Hooves, not in a million lifetimes. The thought! Tea! Substantial! Twig! Well what do you know... But I don't need this twig at all, you know." He had been waving it around like some mad conductor, but he put it down on the night table now, not taking great care in removing the threads of saliva that still connected him to it.
"Lots of purple, indeed. Gardens are nice though. But well; time to go. It was nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy it."
He started whistling, and sauntered off.
Verum et factum convertuntur.
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The volume of the man's laughter startled Barrett.
This is surely one strange fellow. He looks as if he's been... somewhere for quite a long time. Why appear now, here, claiming the title of Aurelian Tutor - whatever that may be - and then speak and act so.
Reflexively, the young Querist pick up the twig from the table, unheeding of the strands of spittle that still clung to it. He brought it up to eye level for a closer look and sniff.
Purple? I said nothing about- could he mean the guards? The whole temple? Curious..
Barrett followed the dirty little man off, keeping pace but at slight distance.
"It? What it?"
This is surely one strange fellow. He looks as if he's been... somewhere for quite a long time. Why appear now, here, claiming the title of Aurelian Tutor - whatever that may be - and then speak and act so.
Reflexively, the young Querist pick up the twig from the table, unheeding of the strands of spittle that still clung to it. He brought it up to eye level for a closer look and sniff.
Purple? I said nothing about- could he mean the guards? The whole temple? Curious..
Barrett followed the dirty little man off, keeping pace but at slight distance.
"It? What it?"
"Now now, I want some fun too," he said, turning around and looking Barrett in the eyes for the first time.
Then he increased his pace, and somehow disappeared in the corridors of the temple complex of Illuminatus. It must have been that the man knew this building. And it was very dark, naturally. And he strode even faster than Asran had stridden.
At this point, a drip of the man's saliva fell on Barrett's still bare feet. Apparently Nema hadn't thought about everything after all.
Then he increased his pace, and somehow disappeared in the corridors of the temple complex of Illuminatus. It must have been that the man knew this building. And it was very dark, naturally. And he strode even faster than Asran had stridden.
At this point, a drip of the man's saliva fell on Barrett's still bare feet. Apparently Nema hadn't thought about everything after all.
Verum et factum convertuntur.
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Fun? If he does not intend for me to understand what he says, why say it at all?
Barrett found himself having to speed up in order not to lose his "visitor" completely. Obviously the strange man knew the layout of the temple.
The slap of bare feet on floor marked the tall Dortman's passing.
Where oh where are you taking me,
Aurelian tutor, if tutor you be?
To his surprise, the young thinker found his thoughts taking on the cadence of his footfalls.
Barrett found himself having to speed up in order not to lose his "visitor" completely. Obviously the strange man knew the layout of the temple.
The slap of bare feet on floor marked the tall Dortman's passing.
Where oh where are you taking me,
Aurelian tutor, if tutor you be?
To his surprise, the young thinker found his thoughts taking on the cadence of his footfalls.
"Where do you think you're going, young man?" asked a guard, a hand on Barrett's shoulder abruptly interrupting the meter. "This part of the complex is only accessible for members of the order."
The strange fellow stood right behind the guard and burped. The man didn't seem to notice him. Remarkable, considering the odor. Then, when Barrett blinked, the tutor had vanished completely.
The guard looked at Barrett with the wet stick in his hand, raising one eyebrow.
The strange fellow stood right behind the guard and burped. The man didn't seem to notice him. Remarkable, considering the odor. Then, when Barrett blinked, the tutor had vanished completely.
The guard looked at Barrett with the wet stick in his hand, raising one eyebrow.
Verum et factum convertuntur.
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"Ah. I see. I must apologize then. I was under the impression that there was an important visitor for me and that he was somewhere in this area. Alas, as has all too often been the case where your order is concerned, I must have been given inaccurate information. First you people try to get me killed, then I must wander your halls needlessly to seek something that is not there. I wonder what I may expect next from the hospitality of this order."
And I'll not waste my time chasing some madman when there are plenty of more productive ways to spend it.
And I'll not waste my time chasing some madman when there are plenty of more productive ways to spend it.
Perhaps the guard wasn't acquainted with the basic rules of etiquette. Maybe he hadn't slept too well that night. Or it could be that he had troubles in his love life. In any case, he wasn't in the mood to be taunted by a teenager.
The floor was rather cold to the cheek, as had been the gauntlet that had striked hims down with a remarkable amount of kinetic energy.
"Get out of here, you arrogant twat."
The floor was rather cold to the cheek, as had been the gauntlet that had striked hims down with a remarkable amount of kinetic energy.
"Get out of here, you arrogant twat."
Verum et factum convertuntur.
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Once again, Barrett found himself on the receiving end of violence by a member of Illuminatus's clergy. Clearly this temple was not a safe place. Perhaps that had been the meaning of his strange visitor - if indeed there were any meaning at all.
He returned to his feet and took careful stock of the guard, noting any potential identifying features. There seemed a very real possibility that this guard was not supposed to be in the area himself. If that turned out to be the case, Barrett wanted to be able to recall his features.
"I suppose that quite answers that question."
As he backed away, he regarded his attacker as one might a dangerous, and particularly vile, animal.
Muttering under his breath that he'd had quite enough of the order of Dim-luminatus, the Dortman returned to the recovery room and began packing to leave.
OOC: Teenager?
He returned to his feet and took careful stock of the guard, noting any potential identifying features. There seemed a very real possibility that this guard was not supposed to be in the area himself. If that turned out to be the case, Barrett wanted to be able to recall his features.
"I suppose that quite answers that question."
As he backed away, he regarded his attacker as one might a dangerous, and particularly vile, animal.
Muttering under his breath that he'd had quite enough of the order of Dim-luminatus, the Dortman returned to the recovery room and began packing to leave.
OOC: Teenager?
OOC: In the eyes of a war veteran who wants to insult you, yes.
IC: As he entered his room again, the man was seated on his bed. "Now now, after they'd told me about what a havock-maker you are, I must say I am rather disappointed, Barrett, cartisan of Asran the Strong.
To be repulsed by human saliva, alright, but you should have noticed it also has a dry end left."
The man had an indescribable expression on his face. He was kicking the bed under him with his heels, alternating left and right, his feet dangling over the side. Then, he picked his nose, throwing away his catch in a random direction.
IC: As he entered his room again, the man was seated on his bed. "Now now, after they'd told me about what a havock-maker you are, I must say I am rather disappointed, Barrett, cartisan of Asran the Strong.
To be repulsed by human saliva, alright, but you should have noticed it also has a dry end left."
The man had an indescribable expression on his face. He was kicking the bed under him with his heels, alternating left and right, his feet dangling over the side. Then, he picked his nose, throwing away his catch in a random direction.
Verum et factum convertuntur.
Avatar by the Artist Currently Known as Eira.
Avatar by the Artist Currently Known as Eira.
Barrett was, to say the least, uncertain about how to proceed when the strange little man reappeared. his initial reaction was that this might be some sort of jest or deception. However the man's... condition seemed a bit extreme. Barrett could not imagine someone donning such a disguise solely for his own benefit.
"Havock-maker? I haven’t caused- Why I've merely been thrown into-"
The mention of Asran brought his response to a halt.
The bit about the stick was puzzling.
"So I did notice. But what consequence? I have no knowledge of plants, and the fact that one end was chewed and the other not seemed natural considering your use of it. Or did you mean that I should have a go of munching upon it myself?"
"Why have you come here? What do you mean cartisan of Asran? Do you have news of him, then?"
"Havock-maker? I haven’t caused- Why I've merely been thrown into-"
The mention of Asran brought his response to a halt.
The bit about the stick was puzzling.
"So I did notice. But what consequence? I have no knowledge of plants, and the fact that one end was chewed and the other not seemed natural considering your use of it. Or did you mean that I should have a go of munching upon it myself?"
"Why have you come here? What do you mean cartisan of Asran? Do you have news of him, then?"
The Tutor waited while Barrett was untangling the knots in his own sentences.
"If I chew on it, I chew it for a good reason. Aurelius knows I don't need it anymore, but for the sake of education I am willing to do an awful lot, even speak like a so-called "normal" person again, if that's the only way my narrow-minded student understands me. But you must keep your mind open, Barrett.
Cartisan is merely an old word for a special type of pupil. One that is not only connected to his teacher by the passing of knowledge, but also by a queer kind of personal affinity, a kind of soul brotherhood. You need to learn some languages before you can fully grasp the concept I'm afraid.
Asran's dead, unfortunately. No more news will come from him. A pity. He was a great man, priest and teacher. Hence I do not doubt you have excellent qualities, for he has spoken good about you. But don't be so aggressive, will you. It's a waste."
"If I chew on it, I chew it for a good reason. Aurelius knows I don't need it anymore, but for the sake of education I am willing to do an awful lot, even speak like a so-called "normal" person again, if that's the only way my narrow-minded student understands me. But you must keep your mind open, Barrett.
Cartisan is merely an old word for a special type of pupil. One that is not only connected to his teacher by the passing of knowledge, but also by a queer kind of personal affinity, a kind of soul brotherhood. You need to learn some languages before you can fully grasp the concept I'm afraid.
Asran's dead, unfortunately. No more news will come from him. A pity. He was a great man, priest and teacher. Hence I do not doubt you have excellent qualities, for he has spoken good about you. But don't be so aggressive, will you. It's a waste."
Verum et factum convertuntur.
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"Asran's dead"
There was a moment of ... something. Certainly not the deep feeling that Barrett had associated wtih the passing of a friend. Or perhaps it was the same, only... lighter somehow. Listening to the Tutor's words had calmed the young man somewhat. It was from this center of rational consideration that Barrett currently contemplated the events of the day and the news of Asran's passing.
"So you are a teacher. Not an impostor. I cannot prove this, but for the moment it is unproductive for me to assume otherwise. You challenge me to open my mind in a way that disregards my normal way of looking at things. My normal rules of conversation. And so it is a learning game - for lack of a better term. I shall try to be more receptive."
Despite his words, Barrett still had his doubts about the Tutor. Of course it was in his nature to doubt things. In this instance he would just have to set them aside.
Somewhat hesitantly, he brought the stick up to his mouth and chewed down as he had seen the Tutor do. He chose an unchewed spot, not because the spittle disgusted him (well maybe a little) but because he figured whatever the properties of the twig, they would be stronger in a fresh spot.
There was a moment of ... something. Certainly not the deep feeling that Barrett had associated wtih the passing of a friend. Or perhaps it was the same, only... lighter somehow. Listening to the Tutor's words had calmed the young man somewhat. It was from this center of rational consideration that Barrett currently contemplated the events of the day and the news of Asran's passing.
"So you are a teacher. Not an impostor. I cannot prove this, but for the moment it is unproductive for me to assume otherwise. You challenge me to open my mind in a way that disregards my normal way of looking at things. My normal rules of conversation. And so it is a learning game - for lack of a better term. I shall try to be more receptive."
Despite his words, Barrett still had his doubts about the Tutor. Of course it was in his nature to doubt things. In this instance he would just have to set them aside.
Somewhat hesitantly, he brought the stick up to his mouth and chewed down as he had seen the Tutor do. He chose an unchewed spot, not because the spittle disgusted him (well maybe a little) but because he figured whatever the properties of the twig, they would be stronger in a fresh spot.
"There is questioning, and there is rediculosity. One can stay in doubt and stasis for ever, but as such is not the path of The Thinker. His path precisely consist out of the constant changing of perspectives. It is only like that we can get relatively close to the truth. If you want to call it a game, so be it. It has a pleasant undertone of fun. Though you should realize that the strangeness of reality is not less absurd or playful than I am."
Barrett chewed the twig. It tasted insanely bitter, but the vile sensation lasted only for flickers. Soon, taste, as well as smell, touch, hearing and average vision were gone. They were all replaced by a new form of perception. Around him, Barrett saw all kinds of colors, bundled in strands, some thick and solid, and others rather thin and vague. Many of them were purple. Some were slow, others hot, some kind. His own essence, the core he went back to when in meditation, was clearly visible as a familiar color, with a caring layer around it. To Barrett, it was clear that this layer was provided by Aurelius himself.
Then, it was all gone. After some multi-colored flecks appeared before his eyes, everything returned to normal. "Chewing again will give you a new dose. Mind you, it's expensive stuff. Don't spill it too quickly. Though you'll have to learn to do without."
Barrett chewed the twig. It tasted insanely bitter, but the vile sensation lasted only for flickers. Soon, taste, as well as smell, touch, hearing and average vision were gone. They were all replaced by a new form of perception. Around him, Barrett saw all kinds of colors, bundled in strands, some thick and solid, and others rather thin and vague. Many of them were purple. Some were slow, others hot, some kind. His own essence, the core he went back to when in meditation, was clearly visible as a familiar color, with a caring layer around it. To Barrett, it was clear that this layer was provided by Aurelius himself.
Then, it was all gone. After some multi-colored flecks appeared before his eyes, everything returned to normal. "Chewing again will give you a new dose. Mind you, it's expensive stuff. Don't spill it too quickly. Though you'll have to learn to do without."
Verum et factum convertuntur.
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The vision was confusing at first.
What was he seeing? Had he been transported? Was it something wrong with his eyes? No. It was akin slightly to the vision he had had at the pool somehow. A great pattern of how things moved - except on a smaller scale. Colors and patterns. All superimposed over his normal sight. Perhaps it was closer to what he had seen at the cave - except these colors, these patterns, were not a roiling storm. The Purple he associated with the place - the temple and Illuminatus. And all around Barrett's own person, the peaceful gray of clouds. It had the feel of the Thinker and of Barrett himself to it. Then it was gone.
Disappointment.
That was hardly enough time to make sense of everything!
He readjusted to normal sight, checking his memory of the "color-patterns" with the physical things present in the environment.
He listened to the Tutor's explanation. making more of what was unsaid than what was said.
"The Purple... perhaps we should try this elsewhere to avoid it's interference?"
Barrett tried to bring back that extra perception without using the bitter wood at first. Could his memory of the taste, or of the patterns themselves trigger the shift in vision? He tried concentrating and relaxing and a variety of different mental foci. Then he hit upon the idea of only summoning a part of it, the closest part.
Concentrate first on the cloud-color that you know surrounds you.
After some effort and experimenting, Barrett decided that perhaps another taste of the wood and it's heightened perception would help him pinpoint a way of shifting his senses.
OOC: Sorry about my delay (well, considering our prior "normal" rate it's a delay
) - mod stuff and RL aren't mixing well at the moment.
What was he seeing? Had he been transported? Was it something wrong with his eyes? No. It was akin slightly to the vision he had had at the pool somehow. A great pattern of how things moved - except on a smaller scale. Colors and patterns. All superimposed over his normal sight. Perhaps it was closer to what he had seen at the cave - except these colors, these patterns, were not a roiling storm. The Purple he associated with the place - the temple and Illuminatus. And all around Barrett's own person, the peaceful gray of clouds. It had the feel of the Thinker and of Barrett himself to it. Then it was gone.
Disappointment.
That was hardly enough time to make sense of everything!
He readjusted to normal sight, checking his memory of the "color-patterns" with the physical things present in the environment.
He listened to the Tutor's explanation. making more of what was unsaid than what was said.
"The Purple... perhaps we should try this elsewhere to avoid it's interference?"
Barrett tried to bring back that extra perception without using the bitter wood at first. Could his memory of the taste, or of the patterns themselves trigger the shift in vision? He tried concentrating and relaxing and a variety of different mental foci. Then he hit upon the idea of only summoning a part of it, the closest part.
Concentrate first on the cloud-color that you know surrounds you.
After some effort and experimenting, Barrett decided that perhaps another taste of the wood and it's heightened perception would help him pinpoint a way of shifting his senses.
OOC: Sorry about my delay (well, considering our prior "normal" rate it's a delay
) - mod stuff and RL aren't mixing well at the moment.OOC: Hope you're ok! Don't worry about it.
IC: The patter of colors was in no way related to Barrett's usual perception of the room.
"We could do that. Then again, in another place, a different color will play the lead. Be it that there is indeed a big concentration of purple here."
The man respectfully shut up as he saw Barrett gather his focus. Perceiving energy wasn't a simple thing. The approach the young man used was intelligent, though. His visual memory and his recollection of the taste worked together to bring back the other state.
He managed to attain a small success: at times, he could swear he saw the shades of things changing colors, and little flecks traveled through the air every now and then. But the Thinker knows the power of self-suggestion.
All the greater was the shock when he chewed the wood again, for the experience seemed exaggerated and hyperbolic now. Once he was back again, the Tutor started talking.
"By now you have probably understood that the goal is to see the energies without losing your average sight completely, and without the aid of stimulants. It is a matter of practice; you will find it an easy exercise when in deep meditation. Oh, and one more thing. Whatever you do, don't try to influence the strands yet. It isn't safe yet. I'll see you some time tomorrow."
The man left. There were a few black spots on the bed, which would prove to be fleas upon closer inspection.
IC: The patter of colors was in no way related to Barrett's usual perception of the room.
"We could do that. Then again, in another place, a different color will play the lead. Be it that there is indeed a big concentration of purple here."
The man respectfully shut up as he saw Barrett gather his focus. Perceiving energy wasn't a simple thing. The approach the young man used was intelligent, though. His visual memory and his recollection of the taste worked together to bring back the other state.
He managed to attain a small success: at times, he could swear he saw the shades of things changing colors, and little flecks traveled through the air every now and then. But the Thinker knows the power of self-suggestion.
All the greater was the shock when he chewed the wood again, for the experience seemed exaggerated and hyperbolic now. Once he was back again, the Tutor started talking.
"By now you have probably understood that the goal is to see the energies without losing your average sight completely, and without the aid of stimulants. It is a matter of practice; you will find it an easy exercise when in deep meditation. Oh, and one more thing. Whatever you do, don't try to influence the strands yet. It isn't safe yet. I'll see you some time tomorrow."
The man left. There were a few black spots on the bed, which would prove to be fleas upon closer inspection.
Verum et factum convertuntur.
Avatar by the Artist Currently Known as Eira.
Avatar by the Artist Currently Known as Eira.
(OOC: I've taken the liberty of posting the whole day instead of posting one location and then repeating basically the same process each time. If this runs contrary to your plans/intents, I'll be happy to alter it. And yes, I realize he's gotten too caught up in his studies to purchase shoes. )
So, the colors of energies indicated different sources, that much was clear. And that one should dominate in any given place made sense, although it probably depended upon the place. Which of course led to a day of experimentation. Barrett focused once more on the energies from within his room. He observed the dominant purple, his own grayish energy, the sparkling pattern that to him indicated the Thinker's presence. There were also odd strands here and there which he tried to get a better focus on. Careful only to observe, not influence. A full mark later he took a break to write down his observations for future reference.
Now. Time to experiment a bit.
The young Dortman attempted the tricky task of balancing energy-sight with normal sight and left his room. His goal was to leave the temple and visit the gardens. However, after bumping into a few walls and the odd person or two, he decided to wait until he'd had a bit more practice before attempting to combine the new sense with normal movement.
So Barrett wandered from place to place on the Isle to spend some time meditating in different environments and observing the different types and amounts of energy present in each. The dormitory gardens. The library. The beach. The fields. Even the streets. He spent at least a mark at each site and recorded his observations promptly before moving on to a different location. He considered going out to the Cave, but decided that the potent energies there would prove counter to his goal of sensing subtleties
Next he headed back to his room for a few smaller experiments. A pitcher of water, a lit lantern, a stack of books, a potted plant "borrowed" from elsewhere - all in different areas of the room. Could he pinpoint the energy associated with these things amidst the background energy of the room itself? And could he now identify something of the smaller, more fleeting strands, having exposed himself to a wider variety of energies?
Barrett worked until he could no longer concentrate. Then he carefully returned everything to it’s proper place before settling down to let the day's observations and discoveries sift through his mind.
)
So, the colors of energies indicated different sources, that much was clear. And that one should dominate in any given place made sense, although it probably depended upon the place. Which of course led to a day of experimentation. Barrett focused once more on the energies from within his room. He observed the dominant purple, his own grayish energy, the sparkling pattern that to him indicated the Thinker's presence. There were also odd strands here and there which he tried to get a better focus on. Careful only to observe, not influence. A full mark later he took a break to write down his observations for future reference.
Now. Time to experiment a bit.
The young Dortman attempted the tricky task of balancing energy-sight with normal sight and left his room. His goal was to leave the temple and visit the gardens. However, after bumping into a few walls and the odd person or two, he decided to wait until he'd had a bit more practice before attempting to combine the new sense with normal movement.
So Barrett wandered from place to place on the Isle to spend some time meditating in different environments and observing the different types and amounts of energy present in each. The dormitory gardens. The library. The beach. The fields. Even the streets. He spent at least a mark at each site and recorded his observations promptly before moving on to a different location. He considered going out to the Cave, but decided that the potent energies there would prove counter to his goal of sensing subtleties
Next he headed back to his room for a few smaller experiments. A pitcher of water, a lit lantern, a stack of books, a potted plant "borrowed" from elsewhere - all in different areas of the room. Could he pinpoint the energy associated with these things amidst the background energy of the room itself? And could he now identify something of the smaller, more fleeting strands, having exposed himself to a wider variety of energies?
Barrett worked until he could no longer concentrate. Then he carefully returned everything to it’s proper place before settling down to let the day's observations and discoveries sift through his mind.
Barrett noticed that the threads differed in texture as well as in color. The purple was mellow and fluffy, whereas Barrett's own energy (which indeed had some grey in it, but also lots of light blue and silver and even some yellow) was rather intangible and mist-like.
Soon he began to find his mental "switch" easier, and he indeed managed to shift between the two sights a couple of times, even staying in shared perception for more than a burn once. He found that meditation was, as said, a very good preparation.
The Isle seemed a whole new place. Barrett rediscovered some of its fine landscapes and cozy streets, but the colors gave everything a whole new and spectacular dimension.
But it was a demanding exercise, and after a while, he felt incredibly tired and numb. By the time he arrived in his chamber with his things, he was tired to continue the effort. At this point, didn't have anything like the required skill to perceive the slight influence of a single plant, leave alone a book on the magical energies.
So there he was, a young vigorous man, mentally exhausted but in excellent physical shape. The Isle awaited his new steps.
Soon he began to find his mental "switch" easier, and he indeed managed to shift between the two sights a couple of times, even staying in shared perception for more than a burn once. He found that meditation was, as said, a very good preparation.
The Isle seemed a whole new place. Barrett rediscovered some of its fine landscapes and cozy streets, but the colors gave everything a whole new and spectacular dimension.
But it was a demanding exercise, and after a while, he felt incredibly tired and numb. By the time he arrived in his chamber with his things, he was tired to continue the effort. At this point, didn't have anything like the required skill to perceive the slight influence of a single plant, leave alone a book on the magical energies.
So there he was, a young vigorous man, mentally exhausted but in excellent physical shape. The Isle awaited his new steps.
Verum et factum convertuntur.
Avatar by the Artist Currently Known as Eira.
Avatar by the Artist Currently Known as Eira.
The exercises had made quite a drain on Barrett's mental energies, but he was still quite awake. He spent some time in deep meditation: simply centering himself and his own energies with no attempt to perceive the other energies he had so recently been awakened to. He tried to restore the balance between his mental and physical states.
Next he contemplated what to do. There were writing exercises. Or he could make another attempt at the energy perceptions. Neither option seemed particularly tempting, as his mental concentration was a bit off. His body cried out for a more active pursuit.
Deciding to give his mind a bit of a rest, Barrett decided to take care of some more mundane business. He went out in search of a tailor. He needed some new clothes, particulalry shoes and he wanted to see if he could find some similar to those that Asran had worn. Something quiet and comfortable to move in.
Then perhaps he could seek out the Red temple. It was about time to take the hint and learn some skill with which he could defend himself physically.
Next he contemplated what to do. There were writing exercises. Or he could make another attempt at the energy perceptions. Neither option seemed particularly tempting, as his mental concentration was a bit off. His body cried out for a more active pursuit.
Deciding to give his mind a bit of a rest, Barrett decided to take care of some more mundane business. He went out in search of a tailor. He needed some new clothes, particulalry shoes and he wanted to see if he could find some similar to those that Asran had worn. Something quiet and comfortable to move in.
Then perhaps he could seek out the Red temple. It was about time to take the hint and learn some skill with which he could defend himself physically.
As Nema had warned him, normal tailors weren't common on the Isle. After wandering through some streets Barrett hadn't explored before, he found something that looked like a more or less conventional business. It was an old looking store, mainly dealing in fabrics, but the owner had some clothes and shoes too.
The rather stiff looking old lady behind the counter looked up from a patchwork wen the young man entered her establishment. She had grey curly hair and was rather fat. A pair of glasses, elegant and small, had been on her nose for such a long time that her face had adjusted itself to the tool rather than the other way round. All in all, she looked like the perfect grandma.
"How can I help you dear?" she asked with the tone of one who wasn't used to seeing hordes of customers, but who had the kind tone of a true artisan nonetheless.
She listened with attention to the description of the shoes. "We have no such articles in store. I'm sure, however, that a similar product could be made in our workshop in a reasonable period of time. For a reasonable price. You should just select the type and color of fabric, and I can finish them by this eveningtide, tomorrow at most. Can I help you with anything else, sir?"
The rather stiff looking old lady behind the counter looked up from a patchwork wen the young man entered her establishment. She had grey curly hair and was rather fat. A pair of glasses, elegant and small, had been on her nose for such a long time that her face had adjusted itself to the tool rather than the other way round. All in all, she looked like the perfect grandma.
"How can I help you dear?" she asked with the tone of one who wasn't used to seeing hordes of customers, but who had the kind tone of a true artisan nonetheless.
She listened with attention to the description of the shoes. "We have no such articles in store. I'm sure, however, that a similar product could be made in our workshop in a reasonable period of time. For a reasonable price. You should just select the type and color of fabric, and I can finish them by this eveningtide, tomorrow at most. Can I help you with anything else, sir?"
Verum et factum convertuntur.
Avatar by the Artist Currently Known as Eira.
Avatar by the Artist Currently Known as Eira.
"Yes, perhaps, madame. If you've some sturdy leather or such that would make for good travel on the road. And perhaps something softer and black for normal use. That would be two pairs then. I am also in need of some new casual clothing. Something quiet yet easy to move in, so that I might not disturb others from their prayers or studies whilst reaching high and low for bookshelves. Two pairs of plain brown pants and two natural muslin shirts and one outfit, in a black silk perhaps for nicer occasions? Also a dark woolen cloak with a hood."
"On a more special note, I was wondering if I might be able to purchase a leather vest with pockets for me to keep writing materials close at hand whilst I work?"
Once finished with clothing arrangements, Barrett decided to take a jog along the beach to clear his head.
"On a more special note, I was wondering if I might be able to purchase a leather vest with pockets for me to keep writing materials close at hand whilst I work?"
Once finished with clothing arrangements, Barrett decided to take a jog along the beach to clear his head.
The lady noted his order in a big book with a pencil, chewing on it every now and then while considering the exact formulation she would use to write his instructions down.
"Hrrm... Yeah, I could do this. Could you stand over here for a while, please?" She lifted his arms and pulled his legs at will, while measuring him with a piece of marked string. These measures too landed in the big book.
"May I have your name please?" she asked when she had finished. "even though business has been quiet lately, it will take me at least a day to make all this, so you'll have to come back tomorrow. And I'll need a partial payment in advance. Considering the materials you require... I think a lance and a coronet would be fair.
So, that's it then, master? Which order are you from in fact, if I may be so cheeky to ask? You know... this particular model of shoe... I've made it before."
"Hrrm... Yeah, I could do this. Could you stand over here for a while, please?" She lifted his arms and pulled his legs at will, while measuring him with a piece of marked string. These measures too landed in the big book.
"May I have your name please?" she asked when she had finished. "even though business has been quiet lately, it will take me at least a day to make all this, so you'll have to come back tomorrow. And I'll need a partial payment in advance. Considering the materials you require... I think a lance and a coronet would be fair.
So, that's it then, master? Which order are you from in fact, if I may be so cheeky to ask? You know... this particular model of shoe... I've made it before."
Verum et factum convertuntur.
Avatar by the Artist Currently Known as Eira.
Avatar by the Artist Currently Known as Eira.