| Outcast atk: 4.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 :: 12 HP: 62.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
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Talbot :: Common Hellhound :: Acid
& Name? :: Caracal :: None
Dingo |
10-05-2013, 08:56 PM
(This post was last modified: 10-05-2013, 08:58 PM by Crowley.)
for the pain and the sorrow caused by my mistakes
won't repent to a mortal whom is all to blame
With the sun shining high in the sky on this Tallsun afternoon, the Weaver was in a particularly good mood, and while he would have normally opted to spend it entirely with his daughter, he knew that there was much to be done now that magic had been restored. There were recruits to be led home, hornless to terrorize, a quest to finish, apprentices to be trained...
"Farenjer!" The brindle's voice rang out, cutting through the still chilly air of their tundra home like a knife. Today would be the day that Crowley finally took it upon himself to show the young, lightning streaked stallion the ways of crafting. He was well aware of Farenjer's eagerness to learn, and while Crowley admired such attributes, his time had been consumed by any and everything else until now. After Elizabeth's death, he'd been left to rear Rhiannon alone, forced to manage while even in the grips of the Moon Goddess' curse and in a time of ultimate darkness across the lands. What else could possibly happen now?
Crowley waited patiently, one back leg cocked as he awaited Farenjer's appearance. Wisping about his backside were thin tendrils of misty shadow, twisting and turning about the brindle's legs as he stood in silence - a strange comfort that had long since left the Weaver when the sun fizzled out, for it was not quite the same as the unending dark that had taken over. Laying at his feet were several bushels of cotton, still nestled within their protective bolls. In a recent trip to the Thistle Meadow, the Weaver had brought all that he and Talbot could manage to carry. Today, the white balls of fluff would serve as a learning material for his apprentice, and even if the end result was somewhat pitiful, certainly somebody could put their creation to use.
"blather blather blather"
[ooc - I need to apologize for this horrendous post. I know you've been wanting this for a while Loulou, and I felt awful making you wait any longer!
@[Farenjer] and anyone else is welcome to come and creep if they would like to become an apprentice <3]
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| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16 hands :: 5 Buff: NOVICE |
| Loulou |
farenjer
hope is the dream of a waking man
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The feeling of light again had drained away all that sorrow he had built up in the darkness. The apprentice felt good. He felt the confidence to become something more than the sad hermit he was. As the sun had arisen back into the skies, he had withdrew from his little cavern to come and stand outside more often, to listen to the sounds that life called out, to feel the emotions he felt little of. He had began to develop... curiosity.
And just as the start of his awakening, he stood rigid and aloof at the bank of the lake. His head leaned towards the clear surface, his gaze drifted to the quivering reflection below. An icy gaze stared back.
He had let himself become distant for these times thinking of how he would ever get a title here in The Basin. There was no question that Deimos didn't have any respect towards him or possibly would ever. Farenjer couldn't get the thought of that icy stare that bore into his soul. "Perhaps if I were to become something more than an apprentice..." He breathed softly, in an absent mind. It had been a while since he had accepted the mentoring of Crowley and all he knew of weaving. Though he hadn't gotten his training yet. He knew he must be patient and let the training commence when it was time to do it. But for then on, he would remain under the title as an apprentice.
Arah... what does she think of this... Suddenly the question had appeared into his thoughts. He blinked and a sigh escaped his lips. What does she think of me just being an apprentice... A while back he had finally gave up that he considered Arah only a friend. He admitted then, he had a crush on her. A little crush that was hopeless of growing into something more, although. His ears flattened, and he thought, What if she doesn't like me because I'm just that.
Suddenly the summonings wavered into the air. He lifted his head up and his ears rotated to where the sounds of his name had come from. His eyes widened in surprise, no one ever called his name. Was he in trouble? He couldn't think of anything that he had done recently for that. Twisting around, he strode through the icy earth to his caller. He halted and appeared in front of The Weaver. His teacher Crowley stood, cotton lied by his hooves. He politely nodded before speaking
"Greetings Crowley."
Was he going to teach him? Was the apprentice about to begin a lesson with his mentor? It somewhat surprised Farenjer, but also excited him. He stood patiently awaiting for his mentor's unspoken words.
"Thinking. Speaking . Acting."
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Table Credits to Baylee (cammyandbaylee.deaviantart.com)
| Outcast atk: 4.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 :: 12 HP: 62.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Talbot :: Common Hellhound :: Acid
& Name? :: Caracal :: None
Dingo |
for the pain and the sorrow caused by my mistakes
won't repent to a mortal whom is all to blame
He came at once, wasting not a single second to place himself in front of the Weaver and greet him. No fiery words came from him, no demanding as to why he had been called(as if it wasn't a little obvious already), no exasperated looks were cast to him, and best of all... a blue-tipped horn stood proudly upon his brow.
Crowley already liked him.
Returning a dip of his own head, Crowley exhaled a steady breath. The poor lad standing before him deserved some sorry form of an apology for his lateness in teaching him, but he had never really been too great with words, and would only sound like a fool trying to come up with something. The brindle was good at yelling and concocting vicious plans with his Plague brothers, but in his eyes, apologizing like a suckling colt was far beneath him. And so he wouldn't.
Instead, the Weaver cast his gaze back to the waiting fibers and gave a flick of his nose, the power of his craft willing the cotton out of their bolls. "Today, I'll be giving you your first lesson in weaving," he began, flickering golden eyes from the cotton to the young stud, then back again. Even as he spoke, the fibers of the plant kept up off of the ground, and with the use of eye movement and a great deal of practiced concentration, the fibers began to stretch and meld together, growing finer and finer with every little tug, yet never breaking.
"But first, tell me," the Weaver spoke up again after he'd gotten a good start on his project, "Why does the art of crafting interest you? There are plenty of other ranks to choose from, and yet you, the only one, has chosen to follow me. It's perplexing, and I only wish to understand why."
"blather blather blather"
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| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16 hands :: 5 Buff: NOVICE |
| Loulou |
10-07-2013, 06:30 PM
(This post was last modified: 10-07-2013, 07:11 PM by Farenjer.)
farenjer
hope is the dream of a waking man
|
Silently he gazed with a polite gesture on his face. Crowley returned the greeting with a dip of his crown. It was too obvious at the balls of cotton that stood by his feet, and the summonings that his mentor was now going to teach his apprentice how to weave. Farenjer was appealed by it, not only now he had something to do, but he could keep moving forward with his ambitious thoughts. And Crowley was a high ranking brother in The Basin, having respects from all the others below and above himself. Farenjer knew he would not only get something of how to sew and weave out of his time training, but about political things as well.
He fixated his gaze onto the clumps of cotton below. The weaver began to take the material out of it's past state, beginning another project of his. Farenjer watched carefully in observation. Little thoughts were contained inside.
Farenjer watched carefully in observation. "Today, I'll be giving you your first lesson in weaving," He inquired. Farenjer felt warming inside as he configured that this was indeed a teaching to be taught towards him. Icy orbs flicked back onto a held gaze over the cotton that stretched and wove into each other. The threads of soft and fuzzy material becoming finer and finer as the Weaver worked. It was perplexing to watch, he had never seen his mentor in action before.
Crowley spoke, questioning him why he had decided to pick such a path. Farenjer could understand why though, the majority of The Basin herd-landers were apart of the soldier rank. Few were sorted into the stealth, intelligence, and healing in the herd. But there was only two, to be exact, herd-landers that trailed on the path of the crafter. That was Crowley, The Basin's Weaver and adviser to Lord and Lady. And then, there was Farenjer, the apprentice to be soon taught. He spoke
"I decided that nothing would fit better for me then to become an artisan... To make something beautiful, whether it be passive, or destructive. I also decided on it because I want to help others the best I can. And I can't do that by breaking limbs and harming our enemies all the time." He added with a little humor mixed into his tone. "And I'm sure if I tried to give someone medicine I'd of mixed things up and give them something poisonous instead."
Farenjer wanted to add in how he would of felt too under pressure to learn everything there is and speak of it right on time. Being a scholar was something he had felt he wanted to do as well... but he didn't want something that made him stressed. The path of the artisan was the way he wanted to go on. He could acknowledge how others felt the job to be patient and craft their luxuries was far from exciting. He would only have swept his tail and kept on doing whatever he had been doing.
"Thinking. Speaking. Acting."
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Table Credits to Baylee (cammyandbaylee.deaviantart.com)
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HP: 45
