Pepsionne
oi oi
the apprentice
Björn
✧ THE INHERITANCE
“And off treks Björn, to find a doll! A magical doll, the best of them all,” Björn chorused, parading through the snow. His form was home to a cacophony of jingles and sounds, the excessive accessories lining his person sent into a storm of movement with each step. He was a blight on the oppressively gloomy landscape. A splatter of rich maroons, purples and reflective golds that bared teeth at the blanket of snow that wished to oppress their splendor.
The apprentice stopped, chin tilting up at the sky. “Although I hope it’s a magical doll,” He said to himself. His words were swallowed promptly in the silence of the forest around him. “They didn’t list that did they,” He fished the crumpled paper clipping from his pocket, eyes scanning over the advertisement once more. “Osluga,” He tested the name in his own voice. For a moment, everything became impossibly still. Even the falling snow far too timid to make a sound in its descent.
Björn’s shoulders raised into the air in a lazy shrug, the action breaking through the tense silence from the bells and clinking metals strewn about his person. “Oh well, I guess I’ll find out.” The wizard resumed his boisterous stride, this time tuning, “Osluga Osluga, the perfect excuse-ah, to go on an adventure, for something I can use-ah.”
A crow calls in the distance, its grating cry much more fitting in the macabre atmosphere. An omen, perhaps, or simply just a warning as to Björn’s approach. Animals would often shrink back under his gaze, despite the apprentice’s cooing enthusiasm. Something sinister waded in the pool of his shadow. Its stench was far more potent than any bright smile he could offer. The wizard continued onwards regardless, a heavy coating of snow reclaiming any presence he dared leave behind.
✧✧✧
It didn’t occur to Björn that the footsteps he had been hopping from step to step within could only have come into existence given the arrival of another. It was the weight of his body thumping on a harder, sturdier ground that lifted his gaze up to take in the estate, and the three figures that stood on its doorstep. “Oh, how fun,” He said, a broad smile breaking out across his face. “The more the merrier.”
Quite a ways away from the entrance to the grand building, the wizard adjusted his stride into something more akin to a jog. Cold wind wrapped greedy fingers around the wide brim of his hat and lifted insistently. White blonde strands were given but a moment of apperance before Björn clamped a hand down to secure the cap to his head, his stride never faltering.
Any insects or small mammals who had gathered within the foliage of the estate’s foreground were rooted from their warm respite, jetting out in a panic the moment Björn’s figure passed by. Like oil scattering in water, the yard became a chaos of movement.
“Oh--I’m just in time!” The wizard called, voice struggling against his body’s fight for limited air. He stopped several paces behind where the small group had gathered, hand pressed to his chest as if pressure alone could restore the air to his lungs.
Björn’s eyes drifted to the hazy shadow whose presence stamped a weak mark within the doorway. “The great Osluga!”
Such a cheery disposition had an eerie effect when placed upon the stoic background. A judgment of tone was sadly lacking in the vast wheelhouse of the wizard’s skills. “Pardon my intrusion. Have we already made our introductions?”
The apprentice's eyes shifted from one form to the other, drinking in features with an eager thirst. Stiffened postures only melted by the warmest of smiles. The three seemed noble and well put together, although certainly not a group.
The woman closer to him, her shock of white hair blending into the haze of snow that hovered steadily around them, she seemed detached from the other two. Perhaps having arrived a beat too late if her distance from the door told any story.
The two further from Björn had an intricate intimacy to their movements. Their stances, the push and pull of one gaze giving way to the other--an understanding one could only expect from oneself. The wizard blinked, wondering if Madame Ania had punished him with some kind of illusionary magic once more.
“And off treks Björn, to find a doll! A magical doll, the best of them all,” Björn chorused, parading through the snow. His form was home to a cacophony of jingles and sounds, the excessive accessories lining his person sent into a storm of movement with each step. He was a blight on the oppressively gloomy landscape. A splatter of rich maroons, purples and reflective golds that bared teeth at the blanket of snow that wished to oppress their splendor.
The apprentice stopped, chin tilting up at the sky. “Although I hope it’s a magical doll,” He said to himself. His words were swallowed promptly in the silence of the forest around him. “They didn’t list that did they,” He fished the crumpled paper clipping from his pocket, eyes scanning over the advertisement once more. “Osluga,” He tested the name in his own voice. For a moment, everything became impossibly still. Even the falling snow far too timid to make a sound in its descent.
Björn’s shoulders raised into the air in a lazy shrug, the action breaking through the tense silence from the bells and clinking metals strewn about his person. “Oh well, I guess I’ll find out.” The wizard resumed his boisterous stride, this time tuning, “Osluga Osluga, the perfect excuse-ah, to go on an adventure, for something I can use-ah.”
A crow calls in the distance, its grating cry much more fitting in the macabre atmosphere. An omen, perhaps, or simply just a warning as to Björn’s approach. Animals would often shrink back under his gaze, despite the apprentice’s cooing enthusiasm. Something sinister waded in the pool of his shadow. Its stench was far more potent than any bright smile he could offer. The wizard continued onwards regardless, a heavy coating of snow reclaiming any presence he dared leave behind.
✧✧✧
It didn’t occur to Björn that the footsteps he had been hopping from step to step within could only have come into existence given the arrival of another. It was the weight of his body thumping on a harder, sturdier ground that lifted his gaze up to take in the estate, and the three figures that stood on its doorstep. “Oh, how fun,” He said, a broad smile breaking out across his face. “The more the merrier.”
Quite a ways away from the entrance to the grand building, the wizard adjusted his stride into something more akin to a jog. Cold wind wrapped greedy fingers around the wide brim of his hat and lifted insistently. White blonde strands were given but a moment of apperance before Björn clamped a hand down to secure the cap to his head, his stride never faltering.
Any insects or small mammals who had gathered within the foliage of the estate’s foreground were rooted from their warm respite, jetting out in a panic the moment Björn’s figure passed by. Like oil scattering in water, the yard became a chaos of movement.
“Oh--I’m just in time!” The wizard called, voice struggling against his body’s fight for limited air. He stopped several paces behind where the small group had gathered, hand pressed to his chest as if pressure alone could restore the air to his lungs.
Björn’s eyes drifted to the hazy shadow whose presence stamped a weak mark within the doorway. “The great Osluga!”
Such a cheery disposition had an eerie effect when placed upon the stoic background. A judgment of tone was sadly lacking in the vast wheelhouse of the wizard’s skills. “Pardon my intrusion. Have we already made our introductions?”
The apprentice's eyes shifted from one form to the other, drinking in features with an eager thirst. Stiffened postures only melted by the warmest of smiles. The three seemed noble and well put together, although certainly not a group.
The woman closer to him, her shock of white hair blending into the haze of snow that hovered steadily around them, she seemed detached from the other two. Perhaps having arrived a beat too late if her distance from the door told any story.
The two further from Björn had an intricate intimacy to their movements. Their stances, the push and pull of one gaze giving way to the other--an understanding one could only expect from oneself. The wizard blinked, wondering if Madame Ania had punished him with some kind of illusionary magic once more.
coded by reveriee.