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Who: Adrasteius; perhaps you
When: 3/5 - 3/15
Where: Throughout Caissa
What: Working hard for the money; inciting the youth; picking pretty flowers
Rating: None
meet & greet; a
[ Sadly, Adrasteius is not the one with the arms. He does have a cascade of thick, lovely hair, though, and the children of this particular school cluster around him, petting him as though he's some kind of cat. But because they're nearly half his already meager height, and because they literally do not know any better, Adra doesn't feel his usual threatened agitation. He's not exactly enjoying himself, but he'll tolerate it. So long as their stubby fingers keep away from his ears. ]
--my people live in a city full of magic, just like yours. There are grand, cream and gold spires everywhere, decorated with enormous rubies that reflect so well it'll dazzle your eyes right out of your head if you look at them directly. Animated brooms sweep our streets, and the lanes of the city are dotted with huge, potted ferns that float. You can find anything you like in the central bazaar--not just armor and weapons, but food spiced with spells, rare books, and potions that'll turn you into things you can't even imagine. We cast magic with every breath. It's as much a part of our bodies as, say, our eyes.
[ He gestures to his own--glowing bright, pupils barely visible. ]
Or yours.
[ It's a rosy picture he's painting. Many things about Silvermoon are not so enchanting as he's describing. He doesn't mention the constructs that patrol the city, barking propaganda ('Happiness is mandatory, citizen.'). The guards who drag people from their beds to harass them on the street. The dens of demonic magic. The brainwashing, done out in the open, sanctioned by their absent prince. Adra's wise enough to know that such things are not for children's ears. So he smiles as he talks, genuine, but undercut with sorrow.
Not that he has time to dwell. The kids just keep piling on, fascinated by his unique physiology, and he might be starting to panic. ]
Not the ears, please!
meet & greet; b
[ Of course, he can't resist deviating from the script just a bit. When it comes time to talk about the pseudo-mana potion, Adra segues into it as best he knows how. ]
--now, not everything in my world is perfect. We do have some bad men running around, doing all kinds of bad things. And they get away with it! Can you imagine?
[ He taps his right earlobe. ]
Now, I hear you have a similar problem, children. Bad men trying to sell you a lie. You can't let them. You have to question everything put to you, okay? It doesn't matter if it's an adult, or what kind of title that adult claims to have. You have the right to think. You have the right to decide for yourself--and you should never bow to outside pressure. Not from a shady salesman, not from us 'heroes', not even your teachers. Understand?
[ A tiny chorus of 'yeahs!' comes in response. The supervising teacher might look a little worried. Maybe someone should step in and soften up the rhetoric? ]
herbing;
[ You'd best believe that Adrasteius spent some of his colle on gardening tools. Just a few things: a small hand spade, a little knife for cutting stems, as well as twine and burlap for carrying specimens. True, he lives in a cramped room with a bunch of other people and an obvious zero-lot line, but he's hoping he can claim a patch of earth for himself, someday. In the meantime, he's happy for the opportunity to familiarize himself with the local flora. He'd spent yesterday reading, observing, and making drawings; now, this morning, he's ready to go.
Back in Azeroth, Adrasteius collected herbs of every kind, and then milled them to make brilliant inks. Twilight purple, carmine, shimmering emerald. Colors infused with actual magic, pressed into the pages of handcrafted spellbooks.
Potions were a secondary concern, but in either case, he understands the importance of a properly handled plant. Gathering itself wasn't the problem. The problem is that Adrasteius remains hilariously frail of constitution, and he simply doesn't have the stamina to carry back what he's digging up.
He realizes this as he sits among a particular patch of herbs, his hair already damp with sweat from digging, his hands dark with soil. ]
Damn it. I'm going to have to start lifting things while standing in place like an idiot.
[ He paws at the soil, agitated. ]
Eating protein. Running.
[ Life is terrible. ]
When: 3/5 - 3/15
Where: Throughout Caissa
What: Working hard for the money; inciting the youth; picking pretty flowers
Rating: None
meet & greet; a
[ Sadly, Adrasteius is not the one with the arms. He does have a cascade of thick, lovely hair, though, and the children of this particular school cluster around him, petting him as though he's some kind of cat. But because they're nearly half his already meager height, and because they literally do not know any better, Adra doesn't feel his usual threatened agitation. He's not exactly enjoying himself, but he'll tolerate it. So long as their stubby fingers keep away from his ears. ]
--my people live in a city full of magic, just like yours. There are grand, cream and gold spires everywhere, decorated with enormous rubies that reflect so well it'll dazzle your eyes right out of your head if you look at them directly. Animated brooms sweep our streets, and the lanes of the city are dotted with huge, potted ferns that float. You can find anything you like in the central bazaar--not just armor and weapons, but food spiced with spells, rare books, and potions that'll turn you into things you can't even imagine. We cast magic with every breath. It's as much a part of our bodies as, say, our eyes.
[ He gestures to his own--glowing bright, pupils barely visible. ]
Or yours.
[ It's a rosy picture he's painting. Many things about Silvermoon are not so enchanting as he's describing. He doesn't mention the constructs that patrol the city, barking propaganda ('Happiness is mandatory, citizen.'). The guards who drag people from their beds to harass them on the street. The dens of demonic magic. The brainwashing, done out in the open, sanctioned by their absent prince. Adra's wise enough to know that such things are not for children's ears. So he smiles as he talks, genuine, but undercut with sorrow.
Not that he has time to dwell. The kids just keep piling on, fascinated by his unique physiology, and he might be starting to panic. ]
Not the ears, please!
meet & greet; b
[ Of course, he can't resist deviating from the script just a bit. When it comes time to talk about the pseudo-mana potion, Adra segues into it as best he knows how. ]
--now, not everything in my world is perfect. We do have some bad men running around, doing all kinds of bad things. And they get away with it! Can you imagine?
[ He taps his right earlobe. ]
Now, I hear you have a similar problem, children. Bad men trying to sell you a lie. You can't let them. You have to question everything put to you, okay? It doesn't matter if it's an adult, or what kind of title that adult claims to have. You have the right to think. You have the right to decide for yourself--and you should never bow to outside pressure. Not from a shady salesman, not from us 'heroes', not even your teachers. Understand?
[ A tiny chorus of 'yeahs!' comes in response. The supervising teacher might look a little worried. Maybe someone should step in and soften up the rhetoric? ]
herbing;
[ You'd best believe that Adrasteius spent some of his colle on gardening tools. Just a few things: a small hand spade, a little knife for cutting stems, as well as twine and burlap for carrying specimens. True, he lives in a cramped room with a bunch of other people and an obvious zero-lot line, but he's hoping he can claim a patch of earth for himself, someday. In the meantime, he's happy for the opportunity to familiarize himself with the local flora. He'd spent yesterday reading, observing, and making drawings; now, this morning, he's ready to go.
Back in Azeroth, Adrasteius collected herbs of every kind, and then milled them to make brilliant inks. Twilight purple, carmine, shimmering emerald. Colors infused with actual magic, pressed into the pages of handcrafted spellbooks.
Potions were a secondary concern, but in either case, he understands the importance of a properly handled plant. Gathering itself wasn't the problem. The problem is that Adrasteius remains hilariously frail of constitution, and he simply doesn't have the stamina to carry back what he's digging up.
He realizes this as he sits among a particular patch of herbs, his hair already damp with sweat from digging, his hands dark with soil. ]
Damn it. I'm going to have to start lifting things while standing in place like an idiot.
[ He paws at the soil, agitated. ]
Eating protein. Running.
[ Life is terrible. ]
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