Merlyn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
knittingbackwards) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2015-05-28 01:57 am
knittingbackwards) wrote in thearena2015-05-28 01:57 am
Entry tags:
cogi qui potest [OPEN]
Who| Merlyn and OPEN
What| Merlyn accustoms himself to the Arena and sets things on fire
Where| The castle, main hall
When| The first night
Warnings/Notes| TBD
Merlyn had to say that, so far, he was not taken with this place. The village stank quite hideously of rot and decay, and the whole place was bitterly draughty. At least his outfit wasn't too bad. It was heavy, of course, but to a man used to weighty robes, it wasn't too bad at all. He did resent that they had taken his hat away again, though. Was it so much to ask that he be left with a skullcap, at least?
But all that was purely cosmetic. The real problem, of course, was that he was here at all. He had no intention of participating in their barbaric Games, no matter how they might browbeat him. At the Cornucopia, the moment he had felt his powers kick back into gear, he had abandoned his plans of running; squatting down and making himself small, as he'd once taught the Wart, he had turned himself into a blackbird and flown for the rooftops. He'd been mobbed by crows on the way, but he was a deft flier, and they had lost interest around the time he darted in through one of the castle's arrowslits.
When the sun started setting, he was settled in the rafters above the Great Hall, an old man again. He had taken off his heavy gloves, tucking them into the pocket of his leather apron, and was sitting with his skinny legs dangling over twenty feet of nothingness, considering the fire flickering over his head.
"A queer kind of trick," he announced at last, to whoever might happen to be watching. "You might have put less thought into firelight and more into better architecture. Why, even the Castle Sauvage is less draughty! I should give a great deal for less fire over my head, and more in the grate!"
He got his wish a few moments later, when he grew bored with contemplating his surroundings and attempted to conjure up some knitting to keep him occupied. No sooner had he stuck out his hand and said "Knitting!" than the rafter he was sitting on burst, rather unexpectedly, into flames. Yelping in a very unwizardly manner, Merlyn dropped the yarn and needles that had just appeared in his hand. They clattered to the floor far below as he scrambled back and beat at the flames with his apron. Echoing around the chamber, along with the flapping of leather, the occasional ..."by-our-lady..." sounded out.
When he finally managed to smother the fire, he looked down at the hall below. More specifically, at the bright blue yarn in the middle of the floor. "Drat it!" he snapped, and started to shuffle along the rafter. It was going to be a long climb down, for an old man.
What| Merlyn accustoms himself to the Arena and sets things on fire
Where| The castle, main hall
When| The first night
Warnings/Notes| TBD
Merlyn had to say that, so far, he was not taken with this place. The village stank quite hideously of rot and decay, and the whole place was bitterly draughty. At least his outfit wasn't too bad. It was heavy, of course, but to a man used to weighty robes, it wasn't too bad at all. He did resent that they had taken his hat away again, though. Was it so much to ask that he be left with a skullcap, at least?
But all that was purely cosmetic. The real problem, of course, was that he was here at all. He had no intention of participating in their barbaric Games, no matter how they might browbeat him. At the Cornucopia, the moment he had felt his powers kick back into gear, he had abandoned his plans of running; squatting down and making himself small, as he'd once taught the Wart, he had turned himself into a blackbird and flown for the rooftops. He'd been mobbed by crows on the way, but he was a deft flier, and they had lost interest around the time he darted in through one of the castle's arrowslits.
When the sun started setting, he was settled in the rafters above the Great Hall, an old man again. He had taken off his heavy gloves, tucking them into the pocket of his leather apron, and was sitting with his skinny legs dangling over twenty feet of nothingness, considering the fire flickering over his head.
"A queer kind of trick," he announced at last, to whoever might happen to be watching. "You might have put less thought into firelight and more into better architecture. Why, even the Castle Sauvage is less draughty! I should give a great deal for less fire over my head, and more in the grate!"
He got his wish a few moments later, when he grew bored with contemplating his surroundings and attempted to conjure up some knitting to keep him occupied. No sooner had he stuck out his hand and said "Knitting!" than the rafter he was sitting on burst, rather unexpectedly, into flames. Yelping in a very unwizardly manner, Merlyn dropped the yarn and needles that had just appeared in his hand. They clattered to the floor far below as he scrambled back and beat at the flames with his apron. Echoing around the chamber, along with the flapping of leather, the occasional ..."by-our-lady..." sounded out.
When he finally managed to smother the fire, he looked down at the hall below. More specifically, at the bright blue yarn in the middle of the floor. "Drat it!" he snapped, and started to shuffle along the rafter. It was going to be a long climb down, for an old man.
no subject
From where he'd been standing in the middle of the hall, Pietro vanished as he dashed across the hall and up the side of the wall, turning at the roof so he could run onto the beam and across to the old guy, all in the span of less than a second.
When he stopped, he was tossing the ball from hand to hand, careful to avoid the needles. Before he could even open his mouth to speak, there were two loud cracks as lightning harshly struck the roof and a bolt even smashed into the front entrance way. That damn lightning trying to get him again. Although....now that he thought about it, every time he tried to run either lightning or stupid forest animals came after him and this guy just said the beam had caught on fire when he'd done whatever, so maybe something didn't like them using their fancy tricks. It was something to think about...and likely ignore.
"So, what, are you a mutant?"
no subject
"A mutant? Why, no. At least, no more than any member of a species can be said to be a mutant; I am quite sure my genes show some variation from my parents', whoever those good people may have been." He holds his hand out for the wool, looking up at the damage the lightning had done to the roof. "I am a wizard, young man. Merlyn, by name."
no subject
He was about to toss the ball of yarn over but thought better. Merlyn was old as heck, if he fumbled the yarn and dropped it, Pietro would have to go get it and that would be a pain with this place trying to zap him. He placed it in the old-timer's hand instead.
"Like the wizard Merlin?" He was fairly certain he was ready to not believe the guy, but he had to make sure first.
no subject
no subject
"I don'tsitstill that long. You have fun growing roots and collecting dust though! I'm sure no one'll spot a relic in this place, so you're good."
He gave a wave saturated in false cheer and zipped back down the way he'd come and out into the castle, his last sentence vaguely echoing like the words had been dropped and then left behind so fast they didn't know where to go.
"Seyagramps!"
He just had to have the last word.
no subject