Post by Fogwalker of the Walking Stone on May 22, 2022 23:28:58 GMT
He wanders into the room he's calling home in Fort Ettin, the bed so tidily made it barely looks like it's ever been slept in. Fog softly closes the door behind him before taking the glass like ring off his hand and placing it on the bedside table, the black and grey mist captured inside swirling in reaction to the movement.
"I only heard snippets of information today, but it all sounded so interesting, even the sparse details. Do tell me the stories Fogwalker."
Fog smiles then and touches the ring, his form turning to dark mist that seeps into it, leaving behind an empty room.
Inside the ring Fog blinks a few times to adjust to the darker space, but eventually he moves to its centre and sits. The low circular centre table of darkened wood is quickly illuminated by a grey fire nestled within the teapot burner on top of it. Fog adjusts himself on the large ornate grey cushions as he waits for Mist. Eventually they extract themselves from the thick fog that surrounds the room beyond the bookcases and tapestries hanging on nothing. Their glowing white eyes focus on Fog as they draw closer, their incoperal form hovering over the other large cushion on the floor.
“So. Fogwalker. I have many questions. The lady Granny Gunk, she sounded like an interesting character, was her social club just as interesting as her?”
Fog chuckles slightly before he answers, “Yes, yes it was. An confusing building of many winding corridors and the main room we met in was brightly decorated with an array of knitted covers and blankets. All made by Boosya as well, I hear she also lives in New Hillborrow like my sister. I must thank her for that cake again...”
“Yes yes lovely. And the portal she led you all to, what did that look like? I heard the concerned musings from Vicros before you stepped through.”
“Ah yes, I didn’t think it looked that bad really. The construction it was cast on was certainly made from salvaged materials in not the most elegant way, but I’m more impressed by the resourcefulness of it. And it did work, somewhat…”
Mist seems to nod, or at least the incorporeal form moves up and down slightly in response.
“But without its inaccuracy you wouldn’t have encountered the strange corpse of that human that was excommunicated from the village of Blackpool. Old and young looking at the same time, how curious! Though you never figured out why they were like that, I can only assume it was the water. It managed to control that whole town after all, I’m surprised you fought the ‘big fish’ of the lake in the end really.”
At this point the kettle has boiled, its steam immediately blown away by Mist’s presence, and Fog pours out some for himself in a glass cup painted with swirling silver patterns. Though he doesn’t pour one for Mist, he still moves an empty cup in front of their occupied cushion.
“Well it felt wrong to just let it continue with whatever it was doing to those townsfolk, it didn’t seem like they had agreed to whatever it had planned and retaliating just felt right in the moment. The only warning were those nightmares they talked of, and even those warnings were eroded away with time. Just innocents trying to get on with things. I’m sure you heard the wolves it had taken control of too, they all had inky black water for eyes. I’m not happy about the way it’s corrupting nature, and to what end? I’m worried it might not be satisfied and soon the balance will be tipped.”
“Indeed, this story might not be concluded yet. But on the subject of stories, it seems I’m not the only one you’ve been telling them to recently. Giants seemed to be today’s top topic no? Ana with her want of understanding and Dámian with his own history. You had quite the stories to exchange. Interesting, interesting.”
Fog looks like they want to say something, but hesitates and instead frowns as they think on something.
“Do not worry. I know others have shown concern on finding out I may know things that you hear. But remember what I’ve said before, these stories are my treasure and I do not share my precious treasures.
Fog nods before looking up to the ever changing form floating next to him.
“I know, it’s just that a lot has changed recently and seeing people’s reactions has got me thinking. But it’s nice to hear your reassurance in this, it puts my mind at ease.”
There’s a whistling sound, like a sudden low wind in a barren forest, an acknowledgment of Fog’s feelings. The fog beyond the bookcases ripples out briefly in reaction to the sound as it spreads through the usual quiet of the space.
“I cannot tell you how to approach your friends on the subject, you would know best how they would react. But you must accept that perhaps not all of them would take it well. Now don’t let me keep you, get some rest after today Fogwalker.”
Fog takes the last sip of his tea and smiles at Mist before standing up straight, in doing so their form also turns to dark mist which leeches out of the space and subsequently out of the ring. Mist’s white glowing eyes are the last thing Fog sees before reforming back in their room at the Fort.
"I only heard snippets of information today, but it all sounded so interesting, even the sparse details. Do tell me the stories Fogwalker."
Fog smiles then and touches the ring, his form turning to dark mist that seeps into it, leaving behind an empty room.
Inside the ring Fog blinks a few times to adjust to the darker space, but eventually he moves to its centre and sits. The low circular centre table of darkened wood is quickly illuminated by a grey fire nestled within the teapot burner on top of it. Fog adjusts himself on the large ornate grey cushions as he waits for Mist. Eventually they extract themselves from the thick fog that surrounds the room beyond the bookcases and tapestries hanging on nothing. Their glowing white eyes focus on Fog as they draw closer, their incoperal form hovering over the other large cushion on the floor.
“So. Fogwalker. I have many questions. The lady Granny Gunk, she sounded like an interesting character, was her social club just as interesting as her?”
Fog chuckles slightly before he answers, “Yes, yes it was. An confusing building of many winding corridors and the main room we met in was brightly decorated with an array of knitted covers and blankets. All made by Boosya as well, I hear she also lives in New Hillborrow like my sister. I must thank her for that cake again...”
“Yes yes lovely. And the portal she led you all to, what did that look like? I heard the concerned musings from Vicros before you stepped through.”
“Ah yes, I didn’t think it looked that bad really. The construction it was cast on was certainly made from salvaged materials in not the most elegant way, but I’m more impressed by the resourcefulness of it. And it did work, somewhat…”
Mist seems to nod, or at least the incorporeal form moves up and down slightly in response.
“But without its inaccuracy you wouldn’t have encountered the strange corpse of that human that was excommunicated from the village of Blackpool. Old and young looking at the same time, how curious! Though you never figured out why they were like that, I can only assume it was the water. It managed to control that whole town after all, I’m surprised you fought the ‘big fish’ of the lake in the end really.”
At this point the kettle has boiled, its steam immediately blown away by Mist’s presence, and Fog pours out some for himself in a glass cup painted with swirling silver patterns. Though he doesn’t pour one for Mist, he still moves an empty cup in front of their occupied cushion.
“Well it felt wrong to just let it continue with whatever it was doing to those townsfolk, it didn’t seem like they had agreed to whatever it had planned and retaliating just felt right in the moment. The only warning were those nightmares they talked of, and even those warnings were eroded away with time. Just innocents trying to get on with things. I’m sure you heard the wolves it had taken control of too, they all had inky black water for eyes. I’m not happy about the way it’s corrupting nature, and to what end? I’m worried it might not be satisfied and soon the balance will be tipped.”
“Indeed, this story might not be concluded yet. But on the subject of stories, it seems I’m not the only one you’ve been telling them to recently. Giants seemed to be today’s top topic no? Ana with her want of understanding and Dámian with his own history. You had quite the stories to exchange. Interesting, interesting.”
Fog looks like they want to say something, but hesitates and instead frowns as they think on something.
“Do not worry. I know others have shown concern on finding out I may know things that you hear. But remember what I’ve said before, these stories are my treasure and I do not share my precious treasures.
Fog nods before looking up to the ever changing form floating next to him.
“I know, it’s just that a lot has changed recently and seeing people’s reactions has got me thinking. But it’s nice to hear your reassurance in this, it puts my mind at ease.”
There’s a whistling sound, like a sudden low wind in a barren forest, an acknowledgment of Fog’s feelings. The fog beyond the bookcases ripples out briefly in reaction to the sound as it spreads through the usual quiet of the space.
“I cannot tell you how to approach your friends on the subject, you would know best how they would react. But you must accept that perhaps not all of them would take it well. Now don’t let me keep you, get some rest after today Fogwalker.”
Fog takes the last sip of his tea and smiles at Mist before standing up straight, in doing so their form also turns to dark mist which leeches out of the space and subsequently out of the ring. Mist’s white glowing eyes are the last thing Fog sees before reforming back in their room at the Fort.