Elephantom
Chicken Broth Paragon
The councilmen started arguing as immediately as they — the witnesses, including him — gave their respective accounts. In all seriousness, Erik expected this to happen; few believed in the supernatural. Of course, he himself was rather sceptical too, but the incident, and the ones following it, shook up this very practicality. Erik listened briefly to the continuous conversation between the councilmen, to and fro from one point to another; trying to digest the information that passed around. It proved to be quite useless, as they were oblivious to both his lingering gaze of utter disappointment, and his attempts to listen properly. Erik thought, if one really couldn't render the men calm, one might as well join it. He prepared himself to jump into the argument, possibly rambling like a rabid bat, that was, until he felt a sudden gust of air behind; minor, but chilly. The breeze slowly increased, and increased, and yet again, increased. From what was once just some lacklustre air, it turned into a forceful gale. The weary old man was almost bought to his equally weary old butt, although his hands — which were also equally weary and old — were still reactive enough to save the day, which diligently held on to the door like any good pair of hands. Parchments, dust, trinkets; all of them, flew around helplessly — manipulated by the sudden rush of air. 'Tis was shame that Erik's couldn't properly process the situation, for he was, ultimately, stunned.
Yet, soon afterwards, as the wind came with so great a gusto, so did it go with an equally baffling disappearance; sudden in nature. He opened his eyes, removing his hands — held in a subconsciously defensive manner, so as to protect his face from the light debris — from his face, only for said eyes to be greeted by the sudden appearance of a man — to be certain, it wasn't all that much of a sudden appearance, it was just that he was there. Quite obviously, he came with the wind. He said something, or perhaps mumbled something; something that Erik couldn't possibly make out without added assistance, as his mind was running out of any plausible explanation for all these events that advocated pure, unfiltered madness. Erik was, more or less, thoroughly dumbstruck. It shouldn't have been a surprise that he should be unsurprised, however it was a surprise that he was surprised, surprisingly. Unsurprisingly, he was left unable to speak. The way the councilmen were acting in front of the stranger — was all questionable and stuff — struck Erik as somewhat odd. Did that really mean that they knew this guy? Erik, however, decided that he should best remain mentally inert, and avoid a psychological overload. Despite this certain resolution, his attempts to remain neutral were hindered by the man, the stranger, — Erik decided to aptly give him the title of 'windrunner' — who decided to start speaking. Words that belong only to the mouths of a lunatic; words that weren't enough to satisfy his mind - which, at the moment, was trying its best to remain inert. Who the hell is Ivros? Exactly why is he the protector?
Of course, nothing made sense to Erik, and probably never will.
One question, one answer. Limitless possibilities; some painfully odd, others delightfully shimmering with boredom. It was a tall promise, in only the most boisterous manner. That was the only thing that struck a fair chord in Erik's confused mind. Nevertheless, his retreat to neutrality was further obstructed by the man, when he started touching the others around, who were similarly speechless, and whom upon being touched, responded with shock and utter surprise, as if they were bestowed with a great revelation. Something was definitely going on. Something that Erik himself was oblivious about. Still, he couldn't have possibly done anything as his turn came. He was, after all, dumbfounded. He brushed his head, taking off a loose piece of parchment in the process — it was the only physical action he could do at that precise moment.
In an instance — so quick it was that he couldn't react properly, although he was still very sluggish — he was touched by Ivros, who of course, had telepathic abilities too. Why wouldn't he? Erik acknowledged his disembodied mind-voice — which spoke in a most cryptic manner — diligently standing there although slightly taken aback by the act of telepathy, his face twisting into one of confusion, rather than the previous nothingness. As the last words echoed through his head, a sudden burst of newfound energy rushed into his body; filling it with what he could into describe as a certain lightness, as if all his burdens were lifted out in almost an instance, the mental ones at the very least. It was a subtle yet powerful moment, that Erik could feel, as if he was only momentarily floating in the air; so light, too light. Still, he was pushed back — not by mere physical force, but by the mental pressure it gave him — his face shifting from an expression of confusion, to that of simple shock. His heart was racing, and so was his pulse. Despite the cool weather, he was sweating; his mind being filled to the brim with an uneasy combination of surprise, excitement and anxiety. His breathing was sporadic, and brief in nature, but he could strongly feel his anxiety going away with each respective acts of breathing. Negativity suddenly became wholly non-existent to him, however, the pain remained. Nostalgia still remained, but in the form of disdain, hate and strife. He still remembered everything, and yet it was all still coming back to him again. It was just really strange.
He was given a gift all right, and he even got bare gist of it; however, only one question remained: what was he going to do with it? What purpose was it to serve in his weary life? He was a simple farmer, and a simple, humble farmer was what he wanted to be. Yet, the days of his career as a warrior repeatedly came back to him; haunting him like a forgotten ghost waiting to be recognized. He waited — mumbling some inaudible curses in the meantime. He was thinking; thinking really carefully of exactly how he was going to cash in those questions. Everything became a blur; only the thoughts remained.
After much thinking, Erik finally came to a conclusion. He regained his focus, shifting it towards the stranger, Ivros, before proceeding to speak.
"Two paths lie before me. That I know well; that you descri-"
He was interrupted by a girl; he didn't see her beforehand. He cashed in her respective question in only the most reasonable. It made Erik snap back into his senses.
"Girl's talking all right. Gods don't answer questions. Gods give questions. Are you a grifter?" Erik reverted back to his old self, as he questioned the so-called Ivros.
@Huey
Yet, soon afterwards, as the wind came with so great a gusto, so did it go with an equally baffling disappearance; sudden in nature. He opened his eyes, removing his hands — held in a subconsciously defensive manner, so as to protect his face from the light debris — from his face, only for said eyes to be greeted by the sudden appearance of a man — to be certain, it wasn't all that much of a sudden appearance, it was just that he was there. Quite obviously, he came with the wind. He said something, or perhaps mumbled something; something that Erik couldn't possibly make out without added assistance, as his mind was running out of any plausible explanation for all these events that advocated pure, unfiltered madness. Erik was, more or less, thoroughly dumbstruck. It shouldn't have been a surprise that he should be unsurprised, however it was a surprise that he was surprised, surprisingly. Unsurprisingly, he was left unable to speak. The way the councilmen were acting in front of the stranger — was all questionable and stuff — struck Erik as somewhat odd. Did that really mean that they knew this guy? Erik, however, decided that he should best remain mentally inert, and avoid a psychological overload. Despite this certain resolution, his attempts to remain neutral were hindered by the man, the stranger, — Erik decided to aptly give him the title of 'windrunner' — who decided to start speaking. Words that belong only to the mouths of a lunatic; words that weren't enough to satisfy his mind - which, at the moment, was trying its best to remain inert. Who the hell is Ivros? Exactly why is he the protector?
Of course, nothing made sense to Erik, and probably never will.
One question, one answer. Limitless possibilities; some painfully odd, others delightfully shimmering with boredom. It was a tall promise, in only the most boisterous manner. That was the only thing that struck a fair chord in Erik's confused mind. Nevertheless, his retreat to neutrality was further obstructed by the man, when he started touching the others around, who were similarly speechless, and whom upon being touched, responded with shock and utter surprise, as if they were bestowed with a great revelation. Something was definitely going on. Something that Erik himself was oblivious about. Still, he couldn't have possibly done anything as his turn came. He was, after all, dumbfounded. He brushed his head, taking off a loose piece of parchment in the process — it was the only physical action he could do at that precise moment.
In an instance — so quick it was that he couldn't react properly, although he was still very sluggish — he was touched by Ivros, who of course, had telepathic abilities too. Why wouldn't he? Erik acknowledged his disembodied mind-voice — which spoke in a most cryptic manner — diligently standing there although slightly taken aback by the act of telepathy, his face twisting into one of confusion, rather than the previous nothingness. As the last words echoed through his head, a sudden burst of newfound energy rushed into his body; filling it with what he could into describe as a certain lightness, as if all his burdens were lifted out in almost an instance, the mental ones at the very least. It was a subtle yet powerful moment, that Erik could feel, as if he was only momentarily floating in the air; so light, too light. Still, he was pushed back — not by mere physical force, but by the mental pressure it gave him — his face shifting from an expression of confusion, to that of simple shock. His heart was racing, and so was his pulse. Despite the cool weather, he was sweating; his mind being filled to the brim with an uneasy combination of surprise, excitement and anxiety. His breathing was sporadic, and brief in nature, but he could strongly feel his anxiety going away with each respective acts of breathing. Negativity suddenly became wholly non-existent to him, however, the pain remained. Nostalgia still remained, but in the form of disdain, hate and strife. He still remembered everything, and yet it was all still coming back to him again. It was just really strange.
He was given a gift all right, and he even got bare gist of it; however, only one question remained: what was he going to do with it? What purpose was it to serve in his weary life? He was a simple farmer, and a simple, humble farmer was what he wanted to be. Yet, the days of his career as a warrior repeatedly came back to him; haunting him like a forgotten ghost waiting to be recognized. He waited — mumbling some inaudible curses in the meantime. He was thinking; thinking really carefully of exactly how he was going to cash in those questions. Everything became a blur; only the thoughts remained.
After much thinking, Erik finally came to a conclusion. He regained his focus, shifting it towards the stranger, Ivros, before proceeding to speak.
"Two paths lie before me. That I know well; that you descri-"
He was interrupted by a girl; he didn't see her beforehand. He cashed in her respective question in only the most reasonable. It made Erik snap back into his senses.
"Girl's talking all right. Gods don't answer questions. Gods give questions. Are you a grifter?" Erik reverted back to his old self, as he questioned the so-called Ivros.
@Huey
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