pipin: workshopping a prince

[21:35] Amidst the underbrush, skittering past foliage and bushes arrives the distant breeze of an evening night's williwaw. The somber silence of nature, only contrasted by distant crickets and the occasional toad reflects a canvas a serenity as a soft song begins to play amidst the surroundings.

A mellow tune. Nostalgic in an unexplainable way. As if to any that listens to such an arrangement was akin to remembering a song from one's youth.

Illusory tricks or mayhaps it knew more than it seemed?

"Hey there, Isbrand." From the canopies descends a carnation figure no larger than the balled up fist of a normal human man. Streaks of butterfly wings flap with a faint buzz as the creature seems to fade into existence.

As promised, its presence becomes more vivid the more silent things are apart from the song that it seems to droll along.

"Baggage. Weight. You carry a lot of that, I've realized," it hums. "Well, notphysically I mean. I think if it were physical you'd have an easier time to be perfectly honest."

"I meant here." Its miniscule finger shifts, tapping upon its chest with a soft vibrato. "And here." Its hands move, an index now tapping upon the side of its forehead, scrapping past its rosy bangs.
(Pipin)
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[21:54] The distant imagery of her face, the Grimmore he once knew. To wipe it from his mind an unfeasible feat. Often he found himself reminiscing of times before her descent.

Her spiral into madness, one he was supportive of. Seemingly complacent whilst helplessness mounted within. Try as he may, she seemed to be well and truly gone from the start.

The rest? A mere façade upheld to fool them all. Yet, he was unable to let go. Chained to an act that'd nearly cost him everything.

Westward, the subtle melody graced the Prince's ears. Sensations of nostalgia flushed through his bodies, reminding him of simpler times. Where he was free of worry; flushed with the fortune of his heritage. Living a happy, lavish life whilst indulging in everything their heart's desired.

Music, a passion of his sister; his twin. The tunes she often sang to played throughout without concern for anyone else.

The arguments that they caused, the momentsthat made him want to tear her braids from her scalp.

Good times.

"You're.. a fae."

Lifted afloat by the ephemeral flap of fragile wings. It was an indication that he hadn't truly lost his mind. There was a bearer of that voice, a method of telepathy. One that she had employed to speak to him. On many occasion.

"Yeah, and? Everyone.. loses people. What makes me special?"
(Isbrand Dayndros)
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[22:11] "Faiyah! That is a good observation." A chide of an overly enthusiastic to the utterance of one of its kind's labels.

The twirl it envelops allows pollen and dust to swirl upon its visage, almost as if it were showing off its form to accentuate the mentioned statement, only to Segway further into the next.

"Well. That is the question really," it hums. An ample shift as it zooms and slides upon the air like butter as it inches further closer. "Why you."

It swivels, almost as if its drifting form were dancing to the rhythm of the Rhoynish tune.

"I can sense many things. Yet you, you in particular have a song in you that beats louder than most hearts I hear; magi and non-magi alike!" A revelation of its senses, clear and vivid in its wording as it flutters ever closer.

By now, its appearance were clear. The presence of archaic and alien fabric that seems more akin to leave than cloth formulates before its figure as the sleeves of its torqued arm slides to gesture before the Rhoynish Prince. "Your song beats louder than others. It's somber. Sorrowful."

"Is that really a way to live, you feel?"
(Pipin)
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[22:30] Inhalation occurs simultaneous to the demonstrative whirl. Dust invades his nostrils, causing them to flare.

Culminating in a loud and unrestrained sneeze.

"Never actually talked to one of you before. Not since a village chockfull of ya' tried to kill me."

Stumbled upon through an expedition through foreign woods, apparent that something was amiss. The presence of cultists sent them awry, a ritual concepted threatened the livelihood of Eternia as a whole.

Fortunately, the arrival of Ilian prevented such. Around his arm, a gilded band which glistened beneath the starlight. A token earnt from those treacherous days.

Before him, Pipin's form became fully discernible. A tiny stature draped in an arrangement of leaf, plain yet unusual.

"Heh, I find that hard to believe. I barely knew her; couldn't help her because of it. In fact, I should probably be happy she's dead! I practically fuckin' caused it!"

Shattering the once serene silence of the forest, whilst quieting its lively inhabitants. A splintered tone that varied erratically, spurred not by intention.
(Isbrand Dayndros)
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[22:39] "Well, like people, some of us are different," it chatters. "Some choose to fall to darkness, others reign over a city as one of its pious Keepers, while some prefer the silence of the woods."

A stark contrast of personalities. Ever different with each bundle of magic expunged from the mass of Yggdrasil's root.

A swerve settles its figure to hover a mere few feet away from the rhoynish, scarlet hues pressed to gaze upon their figure from top to bottom with added interest.

Only then does its song beam louder. Not loud enough to drown voices, but moreso as to clarify each treble and strum.

From it, the antennas upon its figure strikes. A rose embedded deeply upon the side of its head shifts in coloration. Red, blue, golds, blacks. It alters as an odd sensation befalls Isbrand. Much akin to a fae's natural capabilities, its peer into the Prince's heart deepens. A gaze upon emotions made much more obvious.

"I come here concerned. There's no need to be snippy, friend," it reminds. "I've come because I offer a chance to remove this baggage. To clear your head. To rid yourself of unwanted thought."
(Pipin)
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[22:59] "I ain't going to pin their actions on you. There used to be a band of Rhoynish that worshipped Nyx."

Evident by the prior outburst, emotions were high. It wasn't often he had his thoughts invaded and his psyche assessed. No, it was far easier to drown them out beneath the drums of war.

"But that begs the question. Which one are you? Five minutes ago, you were just a voice in my head."

The last tangible person that spoke directly to his mind nearly enslaved him. Revoked control over his own body.

There's difficulty as golden orbs trail Pipin's whimsical motions. The transitioning rose that rests upon its head evokes a response. Calloused digits rise to meet it, curling beneath its form as its fiddled with.

Subconsciously perceiving their actions as a means to taunt him. To usher forth a challenge despite a lacking intent.

"To be frank, I expected to get jumped out here. I.. don't evenknow why I bothered to come."

Desperation was the truth. The baggage he'd held onto for the years since her death. The turmoil that she brought beforehand, it only worsened with time. It was unbearable.

"So tell me. How the fuck do you plan on doing that?"
(Isbrand Dayndros)
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[23:21] "One who worships a dead god?" It chuckles, befalling into a fit of laughter before it reverts to idle bounciness, all in the span of three seconds. "That's funny actually. Real funny."

"But no. By no means do I care about that god. No, I serve nothing but the forces of Yggdrasil itself," it responds. A flutter of lights trickles from its figure as an arm extends to a fitting gesture.

"I come in service to mold and soothe the tree itself. Whilst large steps like corruption are leeches against its figure, my specific kind focuses on more... mundane things." Memories and trouble thoughts. Such were surely beyond mundane to one who's life is trapped to merely a single century. And yet to a wizen creature capable of living past such boundaries, perhaps it held normalcy at some point to them.

"The well being of people often proves quite good to it. Hence my proposition!" Finally, its confluence and forward drifting sets a slipstream of distant lights; coalescing upon its trail. "My line had been experts at molding motes of memories. Call it an ancient secret, passed down from generations upon generations."

"Without boring you to death: With your permission, I can provide you a life without the need to remembering a past you would not wish to have. Of course, I understand some people are unsure about that at first! So I'll give you a test run to experience it only for but a short period of time."

"See what its like to be at peace. Hmmm?"
(Pipin)
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[23:37] There came a point where he began to avoid her. Since her true self surfaced. They drifted apart, a void in that distance between them. All while he clung onto the memory of what she pretended to be.

"I don't think I can take you up on that. It ain't like.. I want to forget her."

There was no place for guilt or regret if he hadn't cared. The tremendous burden onset by her death simply wouldn't exist if that were the case.

An exasperated sigh escapes his lips. The Dayndros slowly sinks to a seated position, slumped at the lakeside.

From afar, the perception of lunacy was quite plausible. There he was, by the bridge of the temple of rubble and ruin. Features tilted to the sky as he conversed with nothing more than a mere bulb of light.

Visibly disturbed as digits wrack at his umber bed of locks, scratching them in search for a modicum of comfort.

"I got the better of it. I'm not the one that died 'cause of what I failed to do. What kind of man would I be if I hid from the consequences? I deserve to be haunted by her memory, at least she lives there.

'cause once I hit the hay? Nobody will care. Not the historians of Osrona, not Aurella."
(Isbrand Dayndros)
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[23:45] "And what if, I offer, something that soothes the memory instead of plucking it clean?" It interjects, its index flung forth as if in the gesture akin to a moment of clarity. A 'eureka' of sorts. "To preserve the memory for you, but snips the pieces that might still haunt you."

"In other words, a curation!"

It drifts, the appendage that sought the hearts of humans thrummed in its sonar study of the Rhoynish's figure. Their state, their mood, their disposition.

A vibe check as some might call it.

"She sounded like a problem child. Or, mayhaps, she had a problem bigger than you expected? Either or, to strip those memories of what is ill and allow you to keep only the ones that make her... her and you... you," it chimes. "Lest you wish to face all this at full force until the end of your days, at the very least I can attempt to make it happier, hm?"
(Pipin)
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[00:07] Isbrand's features scrunch as the curation is pondered. Drawn out and elongated across dozens of seconds whilst his thoughts churned away.

It couldn't be right to tamper with her memory. To prune away that which was undesirable to him alone. Moulding her image to his idealistic form of her, not troubled manic she truly was.

"I knew she had problems. I added onto them by going along with her thinkin' that it'd somehow help. She was hidin' something, that much was obvious to me.

It was just tiring to watch her have to put on that smile and fake her way through life just 'cause it was expected of her.

But.. yeah, it ended up becoming bigger than I thought it'd be. Found out it was much more deliberate than she let on."

Yet, he was strung along by a promise spontaneously accepted in contentment and an array of drinks. Quite the potent cocktail.

"Give me some time to think about it. I need toget back home to my folks. Can't keep 'em waiting too long, else they'll think I'm dead.

Where do ya' usually stay? 'Forest' ain't much of an address.

I gotta be truthful to myself, I'll.. probably take you up on it."

She was dead. At a certain point, a line needed to be drawn. No longer could he surrender his will to hers.
(Isbrand Dayndros)
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[00:15] "It's a hard choice. I understand." One who seemed to have bore through this exact song and dance prior, the empathy that prevailed from its presence seems to radiate the further such a conversation expounded itself. "Not everyone can accept it all too swiftly."

"However, as someone who's seen the effects before, I can assure you that it is simply better to let go of some memories at times," it assures.

To abscond and shed what was best kept in the shadows, and bring only what was for the best in one's life. Mayhaps the sentimentality, at times, was just not worth the effort.

"I've seen people you know. At the end of their days, dwindling memories lost to them one by one," it hums. "The more they forget, the more at peace they become. Those deaths are often the most peaceful."

No baggage to carry, no problems to remember. Only pure bliss remained.

"If you change your mind, simply write aa message upon a leaf and set it to the wind," it suggests. "Tell it to seek out Pipin and it will know how to find me."

"Yet you can see me best away from the noise of noisy hubs." It turns, gesturing toward the small hills to the north west of where they stood. "There. I am at peace the most there I've discovered."

In a form of release, the winds shift, feigning the occurrence of its descent into nothingness. The song it played fades. Present enough for parting words, yet slowly disappearing. A signal of the fae's disappearance.

A chance to muse upon what could be. A wish granted.
(Pipin)
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[00:15] * You have been awarded 5 Roleplay Points! *
[00:32] "Can't know if that's peace. The way I see it, they were already dead long before their body gave out.

Ain't got any memory of themselves, or what they went through. Just an empty, breathing husk waiting 'til Njorun finally claims 'em.

Losing it all's out the question. Don't try convincing me."

What was the point of living if at the end, you were going to forget it all? The accomplishments you've achieved, the legacy you left behind. None of it would matter if you yourself forgot it.

The words of those closest to you would devolve to murmurs of mere strangers. Uncertainty would plague you, whose words were you meant to trust?

"I'll consider the rest.. If it's purely out of concern, I appreciate you reachin' out to me. Extending the option.

Just ain't sure if it's for me. That's all. I don't mean anything by it."

Words returned in their preparations for departure. The actions reciprocated the best a land-dweller could.

Heavy, steel-cladded boots implant themselves into the mulch of nature. The Rhoynur soon paces away, headed towards the auric desert in the horizon.
(Isbrand Dayndros)
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[00:33] Pipin says, "Muse over it. Sometimes sentiments aren't as lived up as people believe they are."
[00:33] Pipin shifts as the music fades. So too does its form.
(Pipin)