nevermeant-explorer

[nevermeant-explorer]

The previous uncertainty fades from the consultant's smile. They close their eyes for a moment or two with a slightly amused, short hum.

"As you wish, Magister... Albeit in return I request you satisfy my curiosity and elaborate on the previous topic of conversation you seem to have been torn out of. Do we have a deal?"

Vasyl' arches a brow, almost with a challenge to it, and tilts their head in a way that their pince-nez reflects the light that comes from somewhere above... below? It's relative here anyway. One thing that is certain are the spots of light that traverse the ground - green and blue, reflections from their colour-correcting spectacles.

"It's not that I won't show you the way otherwise - but it would only be fair if I at least asked for something in return wouldn't it."

They hum softly with a breathy, slightly ruff chuckle. It catches on their throat slightly, as though even the sound doesn't have enough strength to leave their lips.

"--and knowledge about the rituals would be rather... ...what in Dura's name is this?!"

*Cyran simply walked into the clearing without realizing, in the middle of a conversation with someone else. His staff is summoned instantly and he reassures himself to be alone and elsewhere. Then he focuses on the person nearby. He bows lightly but his eyes remain fixated upon them.*

"Greetings. It appears I have wandered into your domain unintentionally, I hope I am not intruding upon you. May I enquire where I am and whether you would be able to assist me in returning to where I came from?"

"Salutations! Long time no see, eh? Answer where you are, I'm afraid, I can only by saying that it's someplace in-between that you usually wander into on accident. It's not a separate dimension, unfortunately."

Vasyl' stands up slowly, stretching their arms above their head briefly. It's more of a habitual gesture than anything. It doesn't hold any significance - not vulnerability, not comfort, not trust.

"Pardon my familiar tone. I'm afraid I'm in no condition for particularly courteous, prim-and-proper mannerisms. I'll assist you, gladly, but I'm afraid it'll be easier if I joined you to show you the way. Of course, I can give you a direction too - the options are open and the choice is yours, @magister-cyran ."

They smile a little. The smile is tired, almost strained. Almost apologetic. But it's genuine. It holds no hostility, or fear, or dismay. Perhaps only a glimmer of curiosity behind their pince-nez's mismatched lenses.

[nevermeant-explorer]

"Oh! I was just exploring the forests near the castle and seemed to have made a wrong turn...or a very strange one! I don't recognize these trees, and the snow is all gone...and you don't look like anyone I know in Cedartown. I'm Princess Yolena, of Whiteridge" (she does a small curtsy) - @princess-yolena

@princess-yolena

Vasyl' freezes for a moment, eyes widened slightly. How?... When?... it takes a moment before they shake off the thought. Deep inside, they shame themself for forgetting that timelines can intertwine too, so of course it was possible that in a semi-parallel dimension the princess would still be alive. Have they been here for so long they'd forgotten something as simple as that?..

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness. I am Vasyl' Kour, former consultant on interdimensional affairs."

Vasyl' bows their head, flower crown rustling in the mild wind. The movement feels automatic, like a rusty machine that's being forced to work still.

"It's not uncommon to stumble upon this place, it's... quite fickle, really. If you so wish - I could guide you back to your respective whereabouts. As but a humble mortal, I am at your service."

Vasyl' smiles with tiredness, but speaks with an almost... nostalgic theatrical tone - clearly, not being extremely serious about the last sentence. Almost as though returning to a habit that the consultant has almost lost to time.

[nevermeant-explorer]

“Dimensional interloper, you bear a great soul in the once empty vessel of your body, though I cannot say that you bear it well. Still, you have followed The Path to best of your ability, and I am bound to honour that. Perhaps in what remains, we might find some reprieve from your frayed edges.” - @dura-anon

Vasyl' stares at the letter. Tears - empty, enraged, helpless, - well beneath their spectacles. Gloved fingertips crumble the divine parchment.

Somewhere too far away to be quite tangible, a thunder rolls ominously, yet almost tentatively, as though mourning something that has not yet died.

They have thought about it. A lot. About everything surrounding this world. Of course they did.

How they were forced to act, forced to speak, forced into opinions as though those were a righteous, golden corset that was - unbeknownst to the public, - breaking the wearer's ribs. Then - forced to preach for what they never believed in. And all that - for what? For the consultant to be told that they followed "The Path" - whatever THAT may be - to the best of their ability? Yeah they did. They didn't have a choice. Never given a warning.

The magister closes their eyes, a hand reaching underneath the colourful lenses to rub away the glassy exhaust of barely formed tears. 'My only respite,' they think to themself, 'would be to rid my body and mind of this unneeded weight. And then - never return to Esperia.'

But they only write back:

"Your concern - truthful or not - is flattering. Perhaps, to someone. Not to me. The world is a stage, but the play is badly cast - a great yet flawed man once said. I agree - the play is cast badly. Terribly, in fact, since the lead actor never auditioned for a role. Truth be toldb- they're not an actor at all. Yet everyday it's the premiere, and they're expected to give their best.

It's not me that doesn't bear the soul well. Really, if anything it's the soul that bears me terribly, and wears me down like a pair of army boots that have not been repaired for a century.

- Not yours,

V. S. Kour."

They don't care if they've written too much. They don't care if their writing is confusing. In fact - they fail to care at all. If anything - they'd be happy if their writing was confusing.

It's only now to be noticed - there's little fear left in the consultant. No fear before Dura. No fear before death. Neither of those absences they quite acknowledge. Not yet. Not before it's too late.

Ooc: I'm gonna be attaching little vibe-pictures here too, not only for smoke. To salvage the emptiness a little :3

[nevermeant-explorer]

(Linnie stumbles into the meadow, instinctively raising his hands over his head at the sound of the rain, ultimately stopping to stare up at the sky, hands out, palms up trying to feel for the non-existent downpour. He starts to look at his surroundings, turning around, taking a few steps backwards as he realises that he is somewhere entirely unfamiliar. He finally spots Vasyl' and startles himself)

"I'm- I'm sorry...I don't mean to intrude in to, what I can only assume is, your space."

(His voice is quiet and sheepish as he readjusts his monocle and the bangs of his white streaked hair. He is not so subtly averting his gaze as he tentatively walks closer to The Consultant, slowly sitting cross-legged a small distance away, not too close but far away enough as if he wanted to keep them at arms length)

"You don't mind if I stay here for a while, I fear I may be lost, yet again... Ah forgive me, I haven't introduced myself yet, Magister Linnie Von Ryeham, at your service,"

(He fidgets with the edge of his sleeve cuff, hoping that he won't have to wait too long to be able to go home)

[-Magister Linnie/@themiscellaneousarchive]

@themiscellaneousarchive

"Ah! You have a surname prefix I'm familiar with. A pleasure to meet you, Magister Linnie. I'm Vasyl' Kour, a pleasure, again."

Vasyl' tries to smile politely, but they fail. Miserably. Their exhaustion from after the Snowspire Festival and its... events is still very heavily present, looming over them like an unnecessary shadow. Oddly enough, it's only now that they themself notice that they are reluctant about eye contact as well.

"You may stay here as long as you wish. Although I might be a little jealous of you - you can leave this dimension, after all. I - can't. But I'm glad that at least you possess this capability."

Vasyl' shakes off their sudden melancholy. Quite literally - they look like a dog shaking itself off after a heavy downpour.

"But, regardless of the circumstances, I... hope you enjoy however long you may stay here. I could fetch you tea, if you want any - this place is hypothetical enough for me to do that."

[nevermeant-explorer]

. . .

A bouquet of lavender and forget-me-not flowers wrapped neatly with lavender colour ribbon appears from a blue portal and gently lands on Magister Vasyl' 's lap. A small, lavender letter attached to it.

"Good Day, Magister Vasyl' ! I hope you are in good health ! Here-- Magister Kafka had made a bouquet of flowers for you and wishes you to have a wonderful day and good rest !"

"PS: Nice glasses, Magister Vasyl' ! I wish I had one like yours ! Ahahahaa"

~ Sincerely, The caretaker of Magister Kafka

"!"

Vasyl' stares at the bouquet with empty, yet somehow surprised eyes, adjusting their pince-nez to inspect the gift closer. A faint smile curls at the edges of their lips, as with a freshly created pencil, they scribble on the back of the letter:

"Your concerns are appreciated! My health is not fairing terribly - the wounds from physical injuries are healing up quickly, yet I fear my mind might shatter too soon for my liking. I hope you are fairing well too! - both of you.

I have received your gift. I thank you - Magister - and your caretaker for it. Lavender is actually my favourite flower, so it brightened up my day two times over. I'll try my very best to keep it alive."

They waver a little. Vasyl' probably shouldn't mention that they need the pretty glasses for colour correction, as their biological is lacking, should they now?..

"(P.S. Thank you for the compliment! Though I believe that nothing stops you from having a pair even fancier than mine ;))

- Best wishes, heartfully,

Consultant. Mag. V. S. Kour."

The consultant imprints their magical signature onto the parchment and in a flicker of orange light and flame - the letter is returned to the sender.

[nevermeant-explorer]

how did you find that place ?

"Like people find most things - by accident. I've been wandering a lot during the scarce time of freedom I had between finishing up the matters in the Remnant Peaks and the Warsong festival ordeal. And, well, one day I quite literally stumbled upon this little weirdo of a place. A much bigger issue was to map out the entrance and exit points for it - but it's nothing I can't manage. Besides, that kind of exploratory freedom is... Nice. Especially now that I have so little of it."

"It's a great question though! Thank you for asking. :)"

[nevermeant-explorer]

"--and knowledge about the rituals would be rather... ...what in Dura's name is this?!"

*Cyran simply walked into the clearing without realizing, in the middle of a conversation with someone else. His staff is summoned instantly and he reassures himself to be alone and elsewhere. Then he focuses on the person nearby. He bows lightly but his eyes remain fixated upon them.*

"Greetings. It appears I have wandered into your domain unintentionally, I hope I am not intruding upon you. May I enquire where I am and whether you would be able to assist me in returning to where I came from?"

"Salutations! Long time no see, eh? Answer where you are, I'm afraid, I can only by saying that it's someplace in-between that you usually wander into on accident. It's not a separate dimension, unfortunately."

Vasyl' stands up slowly, stretching their arms above their head briefly. It's more of a habitual gesture than anything. It doesn't hold any significance - not vulnerability, not comfort, not trust.

"Pardon my familiar tone. I'm afraid I'm in no condition for particularly courteous, prim-and-proper mannerisms. I'll assist you, gladly, but I'm afraid it'll be easier if I joined you to show you the way. Of course, I can give you a direction too - the options are open and the choice is yours, @magister-cyran ."

They smile a little. The smile is tired, almost strained. Almost apologetic. But it's genuine. It holds no hostility, or fear, or dismay. Perhaps only a glimmer of curiosity behind their pince-nez's mismatched lenses.

[nevermeant-explorer]

Vasyl's cracked attempt at a grin fades slowly, they shake their head as though trying to push away some demon pestering their mind. Their expression returns to sincere yet cautious neutrality.

"I do? Oh well... Seems my gut feeling of something impending is showing on my skin."

They murmur, almost bashfully. Whatever semblance of a smile returns - it's now fully there. Shy, oddly enough, yet full. Genuine. Making the small moustache twist upwards in a similar fashion.

"But, alas, only time will show. If I may introduce myself, I'm Vasyl'. Magister Vasyl', if you please. Pardon me for such melancholic words of a first impression."

Now their lips are graced by a curve of politeness, but there's still a bitter aftertaste on the corners.

"If you'll allow me the boldness - you seem like someone who either understands deeply or wants to understand. Do correct me if I'm wrong. I find it admirable - to find compassion even towards the people that circumstances forced you to find. After all, you were not intending to find me, were you now?"

A whiff of self-irony flees with a huff.

When the distant sound of rain patters over the greenhouse, Verdant pauses. It is too early for the watering--but then, no, this is not *their* summoning. The litany of drops rings out from the in-between that exists outside their forest.

Perhaps this was the sign that Dolly had wanted it to look for. The quiet understanding that there were other Merlins, just to the left of the spaces they walked , now made loud. "Merl--*Verdant.* Please, you need to speak to someone other than me. Or Hammie and Chippy...you can't hide in your garden forever."

They sigh. The dark in the vast between places is as deep as it is wide. The nothingness is too much like the unmade for their liking. But it is at least manageable, from the meager reading they did for the Lyceum's exams.

It trips on its way out. Their heart snags on the ransom of safety and their mind's eye loses sight of the distant rains. They stumble, fall, and pour through a crack into a wet grove.

"This is not one of Ulmus's dreams, is it..." It sounds almost wistful, as it mutters to itself. //I would have liked to remember sunlight in the boughs with him again...//

But the surroundings are far too dour for one of that treant's wishes for eternal Summer. Those were more evergreen, ever filled with light and the skittering creatures between branchs and under root.

These trees, the willows--they don't hold their ground. They waver when Verdant looks too closely. It strikes them as hesitant--a strange reaction for a tree that simply should be.

But at least they're not alone. Something that looks like a lightbearer sits in a nearby clearing.

"Hello. Does this rain belong to you?"

- Magister Verdant (p.s. further replies from me will not be so long, I swear haha)

Said 'something' looks up solemnly, as if awakened from a slumber of thoughts and senseless hopes. There's still an odds haze fogging their hazel eyes, as they turn to the newcomer.

The question startles the assumed Lightbearer a little, their eyebrows arching to indicate it. However, it was but a second before their gaze faltered and an odd, crooked smile found their lips.

"Oh, that highly depends on how one defines 'belonging'... Or rather, it would, had the situation been any different than it is."

The mage hums, shifting to sit differently first... But soon deciding to stand up after all, coming onto eye level with the other.

"To answer your question - no, the rain doesn't belong to me. If anything - it's I who belongs to the rain, without much of a saying in the matter. In this world - to me belongs nothing, if not only my sanity. And every new raindrop is but a new fibre of a new strand in the ropes that bind me to this place until I can cut them..."

Vasyl' cut themself off before they could get in too deep into their... Well, not soul - the soul residing in their body was never theirs - but into their mind. Perhaps that's why the willows are so uncertain? Because this source of magic's mind is not fairing well?..

"But you could say that I'm a part of this dimension, yes. Your essence doesn't appear to be of this world, thus the conclusion that you must be not from around here."

@magister-verdant

[nevermeant-explorer]

When the distant sound of rain patters over the greenhouse, Verdant pauses. It is too early for the watering--but then, no, this is not *their* summoning. The litany of drops rings out from the in-between that exists outside their forest.

Perhaps this was the sign that Dolly had wanted it to look for. The quiet understanding that there were other Merlins, just to the left of the spaces they walked , now made loud. "Merl--*Verdant.* Please, you need to speak to someone other than me. Or Hammie and Chippy...you can't hide in your garden forever."

They sigh. The dark in the vast between places is as deep as it is wide. The nothingness is too much like the unmade for their liking. But it is at least manageable, from the meager reading they did for the Lyceum's exams.

It trips on its way out. Their heart snags on the ransom of safety and their mind's eye loses sight of the distant rains. They stumble, fall, and pour through a crack into a wet grove.

"This is not one of Ulmus's dreams, is it..." It sounds almost wistful, as it mutters to itself. //I would have liked to remember sunlight in the boughs with him again...//

But the surroundings are far too dour for one of that treant's wishes for eternal Summer. Those were more evergreen, ever filled with light and the skittering creatures between branchs and under root.

These trees, the willows--they don't hold their ground. They waver when Verdant looks too closely. It strikes them as hesitant--a strange reaction for a tree that simply should be.

But at least they're not alone. Something that looks like a lightbearer sits in a nearby clearing.

"Hello. Does this rain belong to you?"

- Magister Verdant (p.s. further replies from me will not be so long, I swear haha)

Said 'something' looks up solemnly, as if awakened from a slumber of thoughts and senseless hopes. There's still an odds haze fogging their hazel eyes, as they turn to the newcomer.

The question startles the assumed Lightbearer a little, their eyebrows arching to indicate it. However, it was but a second before their gaze faltered and an odd, crooked smile found their lips.

"Oh, that highly depends on how one defines 'belonging'... Or rather, it would, had the situation been any different than it is."

The mage hums, shifting to sit differently first... But soon deciding to stand up after all, coming onto eye level with the other.

"To answer your question - no, the rain doesn't belong to me. If anything - it's I who belongs to the rain, without much of a saying in the matter. In this world - to me belongs nothing, if not only my sanity. And every new raindrop is but a new fibre of a new strand in the ropes that bind me to this place until I can cut them..."

Vasyl' cut themself off before they could get in too deep into their... Well, not soul - the soul residing in their body was never theirs - but into their mind. Perhaps that's why the willows are so uncertain? Because this source of magic's mind is not fairing well?..

"But you could say that I'm a part of this dimension, yes. Your essence doesn't appear to be of this world, thus the conclusion that you must be not from around here."

@magister-verdant

[nevermeant-explorer]

Hello Magister Vasyl ! How is your day ?

Vasyl' blinks once... Or twice. But a smile soon finds its way onto their lips. Oddly vulnerable. Oddly sweet.

"Oh, it feels like ages since I've been asked something as simple as that."

They hum, pure mirth in their voice that unfortunately cracks soon under the weight of honesty.

"I'm... Not doing too well, unfortunately. I've just returned from Whiteridge, and while I did find one person who might be an ally to me in the future - it does not cancel out the emotional devastation of it all... And, unfortunately, to heighten my discontent - my studies on soul matter are yet to be successful and-" sigh "but I'm still hopeful that I'll be able to sever mine from my mind and body... Without harming myself or anyone else."

[nevermeant-explorer]

I didn't really mean to come here. So... uh, since you seem to know this place, how DID I end up here? Wasn't I just on my way to the bakery down the lane? I am confused...

"Ah, I see. Well it might have been something like a reverse draft effect - instead of getting somewhere quicker than supposed - there's, in fact, some space between that was not supposed to be there..."

Vasyl' hums slowly, leaning back, gaze drifting. Subtle discomfort of a memory? Wistfulness? It's an uncertain kind of look in their eyes...

"I haven't had much... time or strength to figure out why exactly this place exists and how exactly one gets here..."

They add in a rather.. exhausted murmur, before shaking their head.

"But, regardless, if you just go in that general direction,"

Vasyl' points westward.

", you should be good to go... Wherever it was you were going. But I'd much rather you not mention this place. I'm not ready to give up this serenity to the public yet. Not even to the charming folks at someplace like Erin's bakery, heh."

[nevermeant-explorer]

***

Rain. Or rather, the sourceless sound of it. It's what you hear in this ephemeral place, where both space and time are relative. The former, however, is not as obvious as the latter, since the scenery very firmly resembles a meadow with a willow or two scattered across it... No... There are many, many more, but they are further away, obstructing the horizon. It seems almost foggy... sunny yet not at the same time. Somewhere in the abstract northwest seems to be a river or lake of sorts, though upon closer inspection - it resembles a swamp more. It's neither night, nor day. It's simply... sometime.

Back to the meadow. Amidst a clearing amongst willows sits Vasyl'. The Consultant.

Upon acknowledging the new presence, they seem a little surprised.

"Hm? Ah, hello there. Looks like you've found this strange place, too."

They sigh softly.

"It seems like a good idea to explain first and foremost - this place is, as said, abstract. A forgotten fifth corner in the room that is Esperia. Whenever I need rest - I come here. For all other questions - I am open."

Vasyl' adds, adjusting their pince-nez.

***

(ooc: here is the starter post for this ask! Vasya is open to all questions/RP requests as long as they fit into the community guidelines of Tumblr! Some answers will include doodles, but some might remain unaccompanied by visuals if the mun is busy. Toodles! Don't forget to return them once you're done~)

[nevermeant-explorer]

Magister Vasyl': Merlin OC

"The memories I am to regain? The ones you keep talking about? They were never mine to begin with. I'm not 'regaining them', unfortunately. More like: they're being shoved down my throat unceremoniously and implemented into my being. Without my consent."

© Magister Vasyl', about their fate as a Merlin.

Magister Vasyl' - The Strange Omen.

They never wanted to be Merlin. They were never supposed to. It was by accident that their newly opened portal led them to a world, where the soul of Merlin was seeking a new vessel. It was by accident, yet now they're bound to this role. Ever-changing, versatile... Right after they finished being mentored by the former Silver Diplomat.

They've learnt much more than mere dimensional travel from their ancient mentor. Much more than they were supposed to. They learnt how to think. Carrying an almost eerie resemblance of Kyrié themself - inwardly and outwardly... However they don't tread the fickle path of the facades that Kyrié, their former mentor, took. They're very honest. Sure, they might lie here and there, but ultimately - they're honest. Sometimes blunt, even, about their opinions and views. Much more blunt than the one they looked up to. If Kyrié could be confusing and strange in their own eyes - Vasyl' is ten times that. Always thinking. Often failing to find the right words to say. Always being worn out by their duty. Fluctuating constantly while trying to figure out where their heart truly lies. "Merlin... What kind of title is that? So odd..".

Odd indeed.