memoriam-spiritu

[memoriam-spiritu]

Alright, I managed to reply to all my saved drafts on @a-sanguine, @vnconcy, @memoriam-spiritu and @vivere-mendacium. If you are waiting on a reply on any of these and I haven’t posted them until now, chances are, I lost the reply. Just hmu with the link and I’ll put it in my drafts, for the next day, I got time to work on them.

Now it’s past midnight however and when I wake up, everyone will be in Valentine’s Day hype. Which mean, I will likely be offline, or lurking passively the entire day. Because that whole holiday is a massive trigger for me.

That being said, I still wish you all a good time today and tomorrow! Until Friday, I guess!

[memoriam-spiritu]

eritvita‌:

Roland brightly laughs and answers, “I am a Nature Study. I am Roland. Art thou in the high seating of the canopy?” asks he; ne’er removed, spoken like a satyric statue in his crouch.

“How long hast thou been Spotting? Hath I asked thus, already? Dost thou need help in walking?” he asks, too, his brow furrowing in this concern, and the promise of bruises.

The Scholar was obviously still too much caught up in his excitement about having company now. So, after Roland’s barrage of questions, he blinked at him for a moment with the slightly worried expression trademark to every forgetful person plastered to his face. When his mind finally caught up to the moment of this conversation again, he shook his head, looked himself down and made to finally stand up again.

“Oh no, no! Please don’t bother yourself! I’m-”, he began, pausing for a moment, as he stretched his back accompanied by a series of painful sounding cracks coming from his spine, “fairly durable, so to speak.” He gave his new companion a slightly wincing grin, before retrieving his notebook from the ground and making sure it was safely stored in his pockets again. “I’ve been studying all species found in nature - not just the winged ones - and I’ve been doing that for-... Oof, well certainly for a while, I’d say. I’m a scholar hailing from the temple of-.... Now where did I put my pencil?”

Finally wondering about the whereabouts of his precious drawing tool again, the Scholar did an awkward dance of turning this way and that multiple times, as he searched the ground for the pencil still safely held in Roland’s hand.

[memoriam-spiritu]

The Scholar stopped and blinked, momentarily perplexed. “Killed?”, he asked with a hint of worry in his voice. It was not the kind of worry, one would expect to stem from such a menacing statement, however. It felt more like the kind of worry, someone experiences when realising, he might have forgotten about someone’s birthday.

Looking down on himself, he carefully patted his upper body for - well for signs of being dead. When he couldn’t find any, he shook his head and announced with honest confusion written all over his features: “No, I am afraid, you must be mistaken. I’m a reasonably sure to still be very much alive... Is that a problem?”

@memoriam-spiritu​

It was a cold night, where one could see their own breath in the air in front of their nostrils.

In front of her was a bowl of half eaten radish stew now gone cold, her weapon, and a whetstone she scavenged from a trampled village down in the south. Shut Hell sharpened her sickle with and tugged the wolfskin to cover her small shoulders, ignoring the looks she received from the others in the building. Long locks of hair hid her profile, as she bent over her work at the wooden table, with only her ears’ helix peeking through. 

There were footsteps behind her.

“Well, well, well…,” She said, attention now drawn elsewhere from her small task. Her items were abandoned next to the stew with a heavy thunk. “Did I not kill you, back then?”

[memoriam-spiritu]

IMPERIAL ASKS / WRITING EXERCISES

commodus - what is your muse’s weapon of choice?

nero - what is your muse’s favourite work of art? ( any art: written, dance, music, sculpture, etc. )

tiberius - does your muse believe in any superstitions?

hannibal - what is a seemingly random memory your muse carries from childhood / youth?

k'inich janaab’ pakal - write about a time your muse was afraid of themselves.

constantine - what are your muse’s bad religious / moral habits?

qin shi huang - when your muse daydreams, where does their mind go?

cyrus - describe your muse’s ideal afternoon.

ivan the terrible - if your muse had a title ( like “the terrible” ) what would it be?

xerxes - what film soundtrack best describes your muse?

wu zetian - everyone feels like they should have been born in a different era, whether it is in the past or future. where on the timeline does your muse feel like they would have fit in better?

ptolemy - how does your muse feel about change?

genghis khan - does your muse consider themself a good person? how does this alter from reality?

michael viii palaiologos - does your muse believe that love is a feeling or a choice?

napoleon bonaparte - write an aesthetic paragraph / prose from your muse’s point of view, using first person and all.

[memoriam-spiritu]

eritvita‌:

He winces fantastically at e’ery crack of branch and misplaced joint, and feels the shadow-pain of the ache in the Morning. He squats down to face the Artist directly, looking at them in the face; concerned and bright from amiability, the strands of his hair frame’d in gold sunlight.

He offers to aide them with upturned hands, and but find ‘tis for naught. He places them back on his knees, and cocks his head; squinting at the drawings of eggs, the bespeckled symmetry and enormous reflectability, the exact Shape. “Thou art indeed an artist,” comments Roland, and art his eyes pretty and innocent in Pan’s Listening.

“Perhaps ‘tis a magick’d bird, too,” murmurs Roland, his brow furrowing and mouth pursing, becoming astute. “A fraught of new Life in mutated genes. The cosmic click of chromosomes,” reiterates he, and asks also: “Naught hast thou seen the mother? Wouldst thou wish to have company?” asks he.

“A magic...d bird? Yo you mean, it’s bespelled? Oh but that would be such a fascinationg find!” His eyes shown with excitement, at the prospect. It was, as if his mind was running a mile a minute, as soon, as it latched onto a new thought, he instantly began scribbling down theories as to waht kind of spells could’ve caused such possible mutations, muttering to himself as he ran several speculations through a quick series of reality tests.

That’s why it took him a moment to register, that the other man had spoken again. Looking back up at him, he stared blankly for a brief second, as his mind sifted through the last records, his ears had sent to remember what had been said. Then his face broke out into an eager smile.

“Oh. Oh! I didn’t have company in a long while, good Ser. I would certainly welcome it. Four eyes see more than two, after all. Say, have you ever done any mature studies yourself?

[memoriam-spiritu]

" You know, you really shouldn't be here... Do you know? " - the question comes as a feminine silhouette steps out from the darkness. Tall but not too tall, dressed in a dark elegant dress. Her colours seem faded, all but her eyes - seemingly the one bright thing about her. Yet even their tone remains uncertain. Blue? Turquoise? Cayan? Purple? Red?.... They seem to change depending on the light or perhaps the point of view of the perceiving party... Or rather their expectations.

The scholar blinked surprised at the person approaching him. He had been busy admiring the architecture of this temple and completely forgotten his surroundings over this. Bowing his head clumsily, he laughed a littel self-reproaching.

“Ah my apologies, I did not mean to cause any stir in this places routine. I was merely drawn by the beauty of this building... oh and their inhabitants, of course.”

Suddenly thinking of something, he fumbled at his belt, until he had freed a tattered notebook. “Why, just all these beautiful cats alone! I have never before seen such a wide array of patterns in one place”, flipping through the pages, he held the book up for the lady to see various sketches, he has presumably made of all the cats, he had found in the temple, “And the shadowes”, he added with a high pitch of excitement, as he flipped to a page, that mostly contained various dark swirls, drawn with graphite, “Oh the shadows here are truly fascinating, woudln’t you agree?”

[memoriam-spiritu]

“I have always thirsted for knowledge, I have always been full of questions.”

— Herman Hesse, Siddhartha (via the-book-diaries)

[memoriam-spiritu]

eritvita‌:

He feels certain Presences, as always, of large forms and small forms and skittered creatures run through the brush and through the Good trees and throughout the Wood Entire, and Roland still starts when a little piece of pen falls on the ground inches from his feet; and he hops in his surprise, blessedly preventing himself a good squawk!

“Heaven Sent!” starts he, and cranes his neck as if the sky would fall. “Oh! Good morrow! Blessed morning and Good e’ening!” He bends and picks up the little pen and looks On again, and offers it for sight-seeing. “Thus is thine? Art thou an artist?”

“Ah, yes. That’s indeed my-”, he said, bending down to retrieve his pen, thus inevitably overturning his point of gravity. In an almost comical display, he slipped from the branch and fell head first to the ground, landing with a surprisingly unimpressive THUD on his back - his notebook held aloft in both hands, to protect it from getting dirtied.

Looking up at the wanderer, whom he now saw upside down, he offered him an apologetic smile. “I would not call myself an artist, good man. I’m just your common scholar doing nature studies. Just now, for example, I have been sketching the eggs of a species of bird, that I‘ve never seen around here and-” For a moment, he kept rolling around like an upturned beetle, until he remembered that he needed at least one of his arms to get back up. As soon, as he rose himself into a sitting position, he flipped through the pages of his notebook, to show the wanderer the half finished sketch of a nest full of spotted eggs. The issue of the pen, apparently, was long forgotten.

“Would you look at this!? Isn’t it fascinating? Maybe it’s a migrating species, that decided to settle here on their pass-through. Or it’s an entire new species! Oh how I hope to catch a glimpse of the mother bird soon!”

[memoriam-spiritu]

@eritvita liked this for a starter

One should be careful when walking under trees. It isn’t unheard of, that the occasional nut, or bird dropping landed right on the head of an unassuming wanderer. What is rather unlikely, though, is that a graphite pen drops from the leafy canopy. Yet, that is exactly what happened to our surprised wanderer and a voice from above called apologetically: “Ah! My apologies, but could you please pick that up for me? That happens to be my last pen.”

Up there among the leaves sat a seemingly young man, with a chagrined expression, a tattered notebook perched on his knee. From the looks of it, he might have been busy sketching the bird eggs, that might be lying in the nest right infront of him.

[memoriam-spiritu]

Starter Call

Like for a starter of varying length with Scholar. If you are a multimuse-roleplayer, please reply with the url and/or name of the muse, you want this starter for.

[memoriam-spiritu]

I’m having way too much fun with this dollmaker. And since this muse is fresh and new, have a tiny Scholar. X,D

tagging @pcrseverance again. Because they unknowingly enabled this... now they gotta deal with it. XP

(feel free to steal the meme)

[memoriam-spiritu]

There once was a man, who forgot to die...

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