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10-06-2013, 10:50 PM
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" |
The Weaver's Workshop
HP: 45
