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 Posted: Tue Mar 27, 2007 2:00 am
 Quiet ThinkingDiarmad begins to notice a few odd details!-- Diarmad had decided he was going to be strong. In the face of the unknown he had to persevere, no matter what strange little ideas and problems that popped up. Confused sure, but he was a prince, no matter what anyone said and that meant that he had certain appearances to uphold. No matter that he’d forgotten how to write and that reading was currently exceptionally difficult. He could barely read the simplest of words. He had spent a lot of time thinking about this little face, pondering and mulling over it for hours on end. Since he was a prince, he knew how to read and write. Very well in fact. At least he had known until he’d turned up here, which opened up possibilities. Selior and the others had been spurting that actor nonsense. There were certain points to that Diarmad refused to even consider, but then there were other things that made sense. That could make a little sense of his current problem. Apparently, Mr. Actor was illiterate. Diarmad felt kind of odd knowing that he was being 'played' by someone no better than a peasant. Not that there was anything wrong with peasants. They had their uses and were pleasant enough when they were being treated right. But well, he was a prince who lived in a castle (which he could only remember three rooms of because of some weird memory lapse, most likely due to this overwhelming situation) and should thus have someone more important playing out his existence. It was all too bizarre. Obviously Diarmad needed something to keep his mind occupied. Like decorating his room. Perfect! With a small grin, the prince rolled off his bed and began to get to work.
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Posted: Tue Mar 27, 2007 2:06 am
The Art Of Redecoration - Part 1
Quest Reply
--
"It's perfect!"
Just be a prince. Self confident and... princely. Tell them what you want and then get out of there. Don't look at whatever that is. No, stop looking!
Diarmad's rather muddled thoughts didn't ruin the bright smile on his face, though if one looked close enough they might notice a slight look of strain and perhaps a light twitch at the corner of his eyes. But only if they looked really close. Diarmad was remarkably good at acting.
"Well, how much is that one?" He asked the boy next to him who was currently looking like he didn't know what the hell he was doing with an obviously insane man buying curtains.
The prince had picked the kid up sometime during his walk through the streets. When Selior had kindly given him some money to decorate, Diarmad had thought nothing of going out and buying whatever he wanted, price was no object (since he couldn't currently read it anyway). But he hadn't counted on the utter insanity of the place and the fact it made him want to curl up into a tight ball and cry.
Right now he was only moving about by sheer force of will. It was a bit like walking around with blinkers on. What was that large, shiny object? Oh, it didn't matter. I can't really see it anyway! Black spot, not there! Eheh.
"This one... and I like this. Time for the next shop I think."
After this Diarmad was going to need some serious thinking time.
Maybe he had gone mad? It certainly made a lot of sense. If that were so than he may as well enjoy it.
"Be careful with that!"
"Yes your majesty." The shop clerk said, the sarcasm clearly lost on Diarmad as he moved to the next object of interest.
"Is there a jeweller around here?"
"Yep." The kid beside him answered, counting out money for the blue clad prince, taking ten for himself here and there. "Down the street. Yo, what's that thing on your back for? Looks stupid."
"... Yo? What thing?" Finding a mirror Diarmad took a minute or two to stare at his reflection. "Oh..." He said finally, crossing his arms over his chest. "Take me to the jeweller now."
"Riiight."
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Posted: Tue Mar 27, 2007 2:06 am
The Art of Redecoration - Part 2
Quest Reply
--
The room was done. Within the space of a five hours it had been completely transformed into an abode fit for a prince. Walking you would find yourself in a lush and rich room with blues and purples of every shade. On the floor a large fluffy, white rug had been placed to keep bare feet warm. Heavy dark purple drapes had been placed across the windows and the glass doors leading towards the balcony. Various paintings, and an elaborate tapestry, were placed randomly on the walls.
The huge king sized bed on the left wall of the room now sported a blue canopy, blue silk sheets and a pile of red, blue, purple and white pillows. On the other side of the room a round, glass table surrounded by chairs had been placed, a plant plopped in the middle.
It was obvious that when decorating the room, Diarmad had gone all out. But right now he wasn't admiring it. Instead he was staring at himself in the large mirror he had bought, a frown marring his features. His gaze was focused on the prop upon his back, unnoticed until that morning. Why had it taken him so long? And what was it? What it mean?
Diarmad reached for it gently, touching the folds of cloth. A... a wing? That's what it looked like. A wing. A dragons wing. The words came unbidden to his mind, and with it, the memories.
'Look at me papa! Look how fast I can ride!'
'Haha! Wonderful Diarmad, but careful not to fall off!'
They were riding, a young prince and his father, followed by a contingent of watchful soldiers keeping a respectful distance. Desert sand kicked blew up from under the horses' hooves, while the sun beat down with burning intensity.
Father and son pulled on the reigns, coming to halt beside each other. In silence they stared out across their home and kingdom. At length, the king began to speak, his voice deep and strong.
'It is said that in times of immense danger, when the kingdom is nearly ready to fall, one of the line of dragons will be able to call on the power of his ancestors. With the power of the dragons his people will be saved.
'Diarmad, I want you to remember that. Remember that, no matter what doubts fill your heart, you will always have the strength you need.'
'Yes... papa.'
Back amongst reality Diarmad began to laugh.
"Of course, of course!"
--
Hours later he was in front of the mirror again, but he had changed his clothes. Gone was his top. He only wore pants of royal blue, held up by a black belt and black boots. While he had been out, the prince had also obtained a few extra items for himself. Jewellery mostly, rings on his fingers and a gold circlet across his brow.
The most notable difference was the lack of the wing prop on his back. It was discarded on the floor behind him.
"There... now... now what?"
Diarmad sighed, retreating to his rather large bed and falling onto it unceremoniously. If that prop had been a wing like he thought it had been, something should obviously appear to take its place. Like, a real dragon wing. A symbol of his heritage.
What was the likeliness of that happening? Probably not very good.
In any case, memories were returning to him now. Slowly filtering in. That was one good point.
"Mother... I remember your name now." He whispered softly before rolling over, curling his legs up against his chest. It was hard, so very hard. But in the end he was a prince, no matter what anyone else said. And he had to act like one. He had to persevere over this insanity.
Be strong. Make your ancestors proud.
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Posted: Tue Mar 27, 2007 2:07 am
Meditation
Self explanatory really xD
The animals would not approach him. The plants would not speak to him. The spirits would not answer his call.
This form certainly had its disadvantages. Yet all those things Gwydion could deal with. This was a trial after all. It was expected that he would be sent into without the use of his powers. What was more unsettling was the lack of memory.
Deep within the mansion gardens, Gwydion was ensconced in thought. Cross-legged he meditated amongst the towering plants, staff clutched in one of his hands. Eyes closed, his breaths came deep and easy. This was a position he had assumed many a time.
The mask he had been wearing earlier was placed in front of him. An object of interest, but not something he needed to wear at this moment in time.
Ah, this would be an interesting test. Already Gwydion had discovered many things. Perhaps the lack of memory was a blessing? With a mind filled with knowledge gathered over many years, there wasn't enough room for new information. Now his mind wouldn't be clouded by past ideas.
Yes, the gods were wise.
The druid let out a deep sigh, carefully sifting through his memories. There were things here to be explored. Hundreds of possibilities and people to be guided. Gwydion smiled enigmatically. Time to begin.
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Posted: Tue Mar 27, 2007 2:08 am
Changes
Wings? No way, f00!
Apparently he wouldn't be wearing any shirts for a while.
That was Diarmad's first thought, and a rather silly one mind you, when he woke up to find that he had gained two new growths upon his back. Last night had been a bit of a revelation for him. For the first time since he had reached this insane place he'd felt strangely content with himself. As if he was beginning to understand who he really was. Back home, would that have happened?
It didn't matter. He was here now, decked out in jewellery, with a strange eye colour change... not to mention the thingos on his back that were obviously wings. Not fully grown wings. They were curled tightly against his back, waiting.
Yawning and shielding his eyes from the light that escaped through a crack in the heavy violet curtains, Diarmad sat on the edge of the edge of the bed and stared at his feet. Completely normal feet. Why that seemed important was anyone's guess. Slipping to the ground he padded towards the mirror and examined himself, perfectly calm about the situation and rather liking what he saw.
It was different. But not so much that he was unrecognisable. Would his father be proud? Of course. Though to tell the truth, Diarmad had always thought it would be his father who would display this fabulous gift. But then, he had fallen sick and his son had to take charge. And here Diar was, away from the kingdom he was supposed to be ruling and growing dragon wings.
It was insane. But it felt right.
Diarmad lifted his arms into the air and stretched, watching the muscles ripple across his chest with a satisfied grin. Had they been there before? Of course he knew how to use a sword, and a bow to certain extent, he was an excellent horseman and he knew the basics with a glaive, but he'd been somewhat neglecting their use these last few years.
Yep. He was definitely more toned. Perhaps it was time to start working out some more. Find a weapon, practice and all that. Diarmad made a mental note to do that sometime in the near future.
Hilarity struck him. Once again his laughter echoed around the room. Diarmad felt light, ecstatic.
"Oh, this is wonderful."
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Posted: Tue Mar 27, 2007 2:10 am
A Return Of Lore
Quest Reply
--
There was a brown clad man wandering through the overgrown garden, finding his way instinctively beneath the trees and past the flowering bushes with near silent footsteps. Gwydion paused, leant on his staff and took a moment to catch his breath. Things were changing. He could feel it in his body. Not his appearance overly much, but deep sinide.
An intricately patterned green and brown satchel to carry books and various herbs he procured here and there was now draped across his shoulder. He was covered in various twigs and leaves, a product of his raids upon the garden. The wig was gone, now he only the short brown hair (now with a sprinkling of white) of whoever this body had been. The wrinkles hadn't come yet, but Gwydion was sure they would appear in due time.
Then there were the memories; the information that entered his head in a steady stream.
The lore was returning. The plants and world around held a newer, brighter meaning. The ground beneath his bare feet felt softer, more apart of who he was. The rebirth, filled with mystery and learning was coming to an end; the next stage was approaching.
With a satisfied 'hmm' sound, Gwydion bent over to pluck a piece of the herb Bloodroot that had nearly been hidden beneath a bush. Useful, very useful. Chuckling, he placed it carefully in the satchel, absently noting the deeper tone of his voice. Quite satisfying.
There was an enigmatic smile on his face as he reached his destination and settled down cross-legged beneath an old oak tree. The smile remained as the wind blew through the branches, drifting down to ruffle his loose clothing. A voice in his ears, beyond normal human comprehension.
Welcome back Gwydion ab Gynn ab Nudd
--
Ruri's Notes:
Clothing wise Gwy hasn't changed much, though in the third stage he's going to go full on druid robes. But he definitely has a more mystical feel about him now, interpret that how you want. Yes, the staff is still there! Wicked, wicked Gwy!
For the hair, just normal short brown hair that is starting to turn white. Or it can be all white if you like, but it's generally still in the same shape as the actor. For the last stage I'll give you a reference for his hair. (I'm still searching for one xD)
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Posted: Tue Mar 27, 2007 2:11 am
Decisons And Plans
Quest Reply
---
Life here had changed him in many ways. The inside changes even more so than the outward ones. For the first time in his life he had actually made friends, people he really wanted to be around. Ok, so there wasn't that many of them yet. Maybe even just two (though there were a few other promising aquaintances). But that was pretty good for someone whose privileged ranking hadn't allowed him the freedom of something as simple as friendship.
That said Diarmad realized that this world, this strange still new place, was where he wanted to stay. It had taken a lot of soul searching to come to that answer. Standing on his balcony and staring up towards the sky, where perhaps one day he would be able to soar, he tried to put everything into perspective.
There was a strange burning feeling in his chest, and lightness in his head that spoke of changes. Diarmad kneaded his temple gently, trying to reduce the strain he was feeling. It shouldn't be this way. He had come to a decision. Of course... that didn't stop images of home from assaulting him; the deserts, the forests, the blue skies. It was where he belonged. Not here, no matter how much he wanted it to be.
Nothing was ever easy.
Diarmad felt a growl escape as he leant across the balcony railing, burying his face in his hands, feeling helpless.
I want to stay here. I want to be happy here. But back home. The thought of it stabs at my heart. Father... are you even alive anymore? Is my kingdom still standing? Will I ever be able to return?
It wasn't until he had come here had Diarmad thought his life could hold anything more. He had come to terms with his one day being king, the same things everyday... dealing with courtiers and nobles, creating alliances and sending his troops into battle. It would be simple, at times boring, everything he would expect it to be. Everything he had been trained for.
In that world, the dragon's abilities had been merely an idea, an old tale from long ago. When he came here, those dreams had become reality. He had felt complete.
A new world that clashed with his old.
With all these possibilities... he was torn.
Ideas swirled through his mind; a shrewd mind that carefully selected what information was relevant, creating a plan. Diarmad tended to miss things and seem slightly arrogant, but when something interesting popped up, he was always listening.
That was how Rinter and his so-called 'jumping room' reached the forefront of his plan. Perhaps there could be a way that Diarmad would be able to enjoy both of the worlds. No that wasn't right, this particular prince was going to make a way whether the universe liked it or not.
Diarmad was used to being subtle, working his way carefully through the situations. Unfortunately ever since he'd sprouted wings, things hadn't been that way. The best plan he could come up with was go find Rinter, pick him up by the neck and shake him around while demanding answers. Not very smooth.
Then again... No, no. That wasn't going to work. Diarmad wasn't strong enough yet for that. His transformation wasn't yet complete. This was going to have to be worked on. Carefully.
Work brain, work! Kill Rinter later, after we get the info.
Rinter was rather cocky. He enjoyed his illusions of superiority. Diarmad could play on that. Needing to get back home meant that the prince was willing to suck up a little bit... but no begging, definitely no begging.
Find a weakness. Hmm. Perhaps he could ask Lady Muse along. She seemed capable of getting her way and if he asked her nicely... Diarmad chuckled, feeling the tension leaving his shoulders now that he had a game plan. It would need a bit more thinking on of course.
And then, everything would go his way, as it should. Even if it meant bringing along a certain dangerous staff wielding maniac.
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