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 Posted: Thu Jan 03, 2013 9:57 pm
The Wardwood was practically Ilmarinen's second home. Well, no, that wasn't exact; his second home was with the Cox's. But the woods were his third home, where his mum had taken him to teach him how to respect the spirits that supposedly inhabited each and every rock, tree, and root. Bare branches stretched out, like vast skeletons maintaining the forests. The roots were probably veins, pulling water wherever it needed to go. Leaves were... were...
Ilmarinen frowned at the dead leaves, trying to find an appropriate anatomy for them. Humans didn't have anything like leaves. Sadly, the bard's knowledge of anatomy ran out after d**k jokes. No one in a tavern ever laughed at puns involving, say, spleens. What did a spleen even do?
For once, it was a bright and sunny winter's day. It hadn't snowed for almost three whole days and it was clear blue skies all around. Sunlight filtered down through the trees, dappling the forest floor. All around was the busy-ness of the forest. Squirrels rooted for caches. Birds sang loudly, proclaiming their desirability for a mate. Far off yelps indicated the presence of foxes getting into a fight. In fact, it wasn't much different from a tavern, Ilmarinen found. Only the animals were much less likely to carry knives.
He leaned back against the tree trunk, bark scraping his back. The root didn't make the most comfortable place to sit, but at least it was dry. There was no way he'd go back to the city with wet pants. Absentmindedly, he waved a hand a few times, listening to the music only he could hear.
"No, no, it's got to be haunting," he said to himself. His voice caused the bird chatter to briefly cease. "It's got to be the sort of music that creeps into the mind and stays there. The sort of music that grabs a man by the heartstrings and dangles off of 'em. It takes root and won't leave until it's repeated." He unrolled the paper on his knee as best he could and dabbed down a few notes.
It would never play in a tavern, he knew. People there liked songs they could hum along with, preferably ones packed with as many humorous double entendres as possible (not that there was anything wrong with that, of course; Ilmar loved horrible jokes.). It was just... sometimes, there had to be art for art's sake.
Plus, with the news hanging over everything... well, Ilmarinen always wrote about what he knew and he certainly felt haunted now. The weight of the rumors was growing, steadily pressing down on people.
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Posted: Tue Jan 08, 2013 2:28 pm
The weather was looking absolutely lovely today in the early morning that the author can’t spend it at home. He was in fact for the warming comforts with the fire roaring through the cold nights. But it wouldn’t be well for Iapetus to stay inside constantly for he is a growing guardian even though it’s far safer hearing the rumors in the city. They were only rumors but the man doesn’t want to risk it. However, he didn’t miss the outdoors when he has a new little friend who sang such lovely songs for them. It is a darling little red Fairy Wren which are so incredibly rare that Calvin named him Aden; such a fiery bird as he sings. Calvin was bundled up well to protect himself from the cold and even wrapped a small, cream color scarf around the yearling to keep him warm as they stood just outside of the door. “Stay close to my side, okay?” The male instructed him although that won’t be much of a trouble since the yearling rarely travels far from him.
Aden perched on the yearling’s head, between his growing horns, during most of the trip but once they have gone closer to Wardwood he must fly away to zoom through the branches. Iapetus followed behind in graceful manner through the snow in leaps up from the ground. And they play while the author is dragging behind in the snow with a bag draped over his shoulder. However, he stayed quiet and watched them play with a smile on his face.
As they delved deeper into the woods, Calvin was searching for a spot to sit and jot down his notes amongst the trees. The other two continued with their game of chase just until Aden found a comfortable spot on a branch and puffed up his feathers just before he sang his song. It was a song that sends chills down a person’s spine even at this cold season with its gentle singing yet it can warm a person’s heart with so much of sheer intrigue. Calvin loved his singing and ever so curious to what his song mean. The young Yearling went after to find him only to find a human instead who seemed to be busy writing something. The Guardian froze in place as he stared at him sternly just before he ran off to get Calvin as he bit on his frock coat. “Ia, what’s the matter?” Calvin finds himself now being dragged over to see a young man, busy at his work which made his bright green eyes widen. “Oh! I’m terribly sorry to interrupt you. I never thought anyone would be here at this time.” The author felt awful to interrupt him and yet his young companions had made such a ruckus in the woods now.
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Posted: Tue Jan 08, 2013 6:36 pm
A person should never be off-guard in the woods. That was how early man became late, on account of being detained by cave lions or something. It was a good lesson to learn, especially considering the rumors of Wolves roaming the woods once more.
But Ilmarinen didn't particularly learn well. Besides, he was confident in his ability to hear any approacher long before they approached enough to, say, bite him. That was, he supposed, the nice thing about wolves. They really only had the one weapon and that was right by their face. So any attack by wolves brought their face within convenient punching distance or at least eye-poking distance. An... ohh. Now there was a song.
Ilmarinen wasn't sure from what recesses of the mind it came, but it was beautiful. Gloom and doom absolutely loomed throughout the notes, but it was tinged with such a hint of burning hope that it demanded to be pinned to a page, before it could flutter away like.. like...
A bird.
...
Waitasecond...
A new word needed to be coined for the moment of disappointment when an artist (writer, musician, whatever) realizes that the inspiration they took from the world around them was less inspiration and more of the result of something else entirely. Also, there needed to be a word for what happened when a deer was suddenly RIGHT THERE.
Ilmarinen, word smith that he was, settled for a yelped, "******** AND BALLS! Give a man a bit of a warning before suddenly existing like that! Man. Can only take so much surprise, you know."
So much for hoping that his superior senses would absolutely keep him safe... the coppery-haired bard sighed and shook himself slightly, bringing himself back to the present. Right. Well. This was a thing, now wasn't it? He glanced at the bundle of papers in the other man's hand and grinned. "Come out here for a bit of writing too, huh? It's a nice day for it," he said conversationally, quietly sidling away from the fact that he had absolutely yelped.
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