83 Ymiden, 724
.
Where mountains rose and the sun met the ashan skies, there was always something to look at and spend hours admiring.
Kotton was long past simply admiring the scenic visage he often met during his time walking or running throughout the expanse of the city. He wanted to feel something, anything, that forced him to think twice about the decisions he made. He had become quite blasé about the dangers of trekking through Almund. He was always cautious, ever prepared for the unexpected, but nevertheless often left with feelings of boredom due to the lack of adventure. Since there seemed to be no current existence of challenge, he decided to practice his magic. He had only been initiated into one magic: Glamour, but that was all he needed to feel a modicum of uniqueness what with magic considered rare in Idalos.
In his own home Kotton wanted to tear apart the messiness and untidiness that had accumulated since he had taken one step forward and two steps back regarding his drinking problem. There were cans of ale and bottles of liquor that had rested for weeks, maybe even seasons that needed to be disposed of, and there were stains on the couch and the linoleum just in front of where the kitchen basin met carpet. Hell, there were even stains on the carpet to which he wondered if he would ever be able to work out. Every visible reminder of who he had been shocked him with feelings of grief and irresponsibility. Had he really drunk that much in order to feel somewhat happy? Had he really let that one plant die from lack of watering? Had he really made this mess trying to feed Imogen and Spirit before pawning off the duty to Twig? Was this the kind of person he wanted to be? If addiction wasn’t a part of the question, there would be a quick and obvious answer, but since it was, there was something called irresolution and vacillation that kept an otherwise healthy individual from performing healthy tasks. Addiction was a bitch, that much was obvious.
He spent a few hours cleaning things up to the best of his ability. He collected all the cans and bottles and glass containers; he righted the couch cushions and adjusted the coffee table so it was more centered with the couch; he lighted a few candles in an attempt to rid the house of such an unpleasant smell; and he managed to scrub a few stains from the linoleum flooring. Everything else would require another trial.
Kotton tried his best to forget about all those extra duties and chose to instead concentrate on becoming more proficient in his ability of using Glamour. Only two metres to his left was his feline companion Imogen. She was surly without warning as to his purpose, which meant she was the best thing to employ his freshly constructed knowledge of a magic technique. He crossed his heart and mind before he continued, hoping she wouldn’t hate him for using her as a piece of his experiment.
Imogen drew near him, such as she always did when she wanted food or attention. As soon as she took her first step, Kotton initiated his ability to cloak himself, amending his sensory being to the likes of the floor. As his cat went to prod against where his foot had once been, she was met with the tactile feeling of the kitchen floor. She mewed, obviously confused as to why she couldn’t touch the leg of her master, but Kotton kept on concentrating as she moved to where his other side had been only moments before. He altered his physical aspects so that when she brushed her side against his other leg, all she felt was air. There was nothing there for her to brush her body against.
She mewed again, but louder, not only perplexed but immensely frustrated.
Kotton quickly felt guilt rise like bile inside his throat. He ceased his magic and looked down at his feline companion with an expression of empathy. Then, he swiftly picked her up from her spot on the floor before giving her the pets she rightfully needed.
“I’m sowwy gal, but you did gweat,” he whispered to her as she purred in his hold. After a time, he lowered her back to the ground and watched her scamper off. This led Kotton to wonder what else he could do with his ability in terms of cloaking himself or casting his aura into whatever he liked.
As quickly as Imogen exited the room, Spirit entered and she seemed more than eager to be a part of whatever exercise her master was doing. Her tail flicked from left to right with the speed and strength of an anorexic bodybuilder. But what was more was her smile. She panted as per usual as she trotted closer into the centre of the kitchen, her jowls raised by the side muscles of her mouth. Spittle flew every now and again as she licked what little lips she had before she positioned herself directly in front of where Kotton stood and sat.
“Do you want to see some magic?” the young man asked, gleaning pride and hope. Without waiting for a response, which he believed he wouldn’t get with the training Spirit had, he went forth and attempted another trick with his Glamour.
He swallowed the phlegm that constricted his breathing before inhaling a deep breath. His eyes closed tightly, but his smile still remained, as he brought forth the residual ether inside him to release another bout of magical intention. With the knowledge of his audience being so close to his person, he unrolled with as much strength as he could an aroma of the likes of juicy, beefy spices. He had explored these scents the last time he had waltzed past the local meat vendor. Whilst he had almost gagged, he noticed now that Spirit’s eyes had widen. Her tail had also began to wag uncontrollably as soon as he had re-opened his eyes.
Her expression of delight was infectious. He would no doubt give her a treat once he was done with his bit, but that would be later; he was on a streak of magical performance.
Now that he had brought her into his perspective via unrolling, he began to reinvigorate his usage of cloak and aura casting to deliver a unique, yet unappealing take on proportion. His range was limited now, so it was fortunate for him that Spirit had situated herself so close. He concentrated on his left arm, more specifically his left hand, where he visualised its size growing. Bolstering its dimensions so that it exceeded five times its usual size, the young man witnessed his appendage form into the likes of a massive log. His fingers were akin to the bulk of sausages, his wrist similar to the circumference of the base of a lamp post. And the rest of his arm could easily be mistaken for a forest log had it not been for its fleshy texture and colour. He was as amazed as his canine companion at what he had just managed to do.
This was so much better than taking a walk or a run throughout town, he thought with a smirk.
Now, had he not hold the control he did over his ability to manifest such incredible feats, he would have easily be torn down with panic and terror and so, so much repent at what he had just done, but since he knew what he was doing and that it was all in the face of practise, it was simple enough for him to revert his body back to its original sense.
This was apparently the best thing he could have done given Spirit’s expression. She had been out of sorts, barking, howling, fearful of the large and busty accessories of skin Kotton had displayed to her. But now, she was only confused, slightly fearful, but more so in a fit of ‘I want nothing to do with this’ as she bounded away towards the couch and its cushions the young man had just fluffed and placed organizationally.
He wanted to do more, but his energy had depleted and its local cousin, lethargy, took no time at all before sweeping in to take what once held the space of energetics. This meant he had no issue finding his own way to the couch and the very cushions he had rearranged only moments before.
Comfortable, satiated and with the gradually dampening feelings of success and affirmation, Kotton slouched down against the back of the living room couch until his lingering gaze located his open journal and the pencil lying between its pages.
He reached for it with what little effort he had left to pull it closer to his body. Whilst the rest of him was derelict in momentum, his mind still galloped with full speed. Fortunately, the arm, wrist and hand he hadn’t adjudicated magic to was still able to operate to his command and they worked together to help formulate the words his brain had began to think:
“I held on tight to a dimming flame,
I held tightly to a losing game
built my world on a fragile frame
let loose by it's lack of being tame
Fingers cold from frostbite
I can't feel or think right...”
Maybe his brain wasn’t as ready to create sensible words as he had thought it to be, for his inspiration vanished as soon as the second rhyme had left his mind.
“I put my soul into an empty well
but there were no reciprocating echoes
just a silent spell.
My hopes of chasing shadows
my efforts are in vain,
they dissipate
as does my will to invade
every and anything made to satiate.”
Whilst Kotton had initially meant to continue a rhythmic process, his subconscious had taken hold and simply went with whatever thoughts and feelings that were pervading his brain at the time. Still, he made markings on the side of his passage to acknowledge other ideas, additional rhymes, and extra branches for him to continue with once he had more time to contemplate and think. He knew the likelihood of him making sense was low, but he wasn't about to shut down this creative process of his, so he pressed on circling back to the original idea he had started with.
“Holding tight to a fleeting flame,
a fragile speck of a losing game
My heart's grown as cold as stone
Yet my potential has yet been shown
With heartbreak, I drown in shame.”
Kotton was long past simply admiring the scenic visage he often met during his time walking or running throughout the expanse of the city. He wanted to feel something, anything, that forced him to think twice about the decisions he made. He had become quite blasé about the dangers of trekking through Almund. He was always cautious, ever prepared for the unexpected, but nevertheless often left with feelings of boredom due to the lack of adventure. Since there seemed to be no current existence of challenge, he decided to practice his magic. He had only been initiated into one magic: Glamour, but that was all he needed to feel a modicum of uniqueness what with magic considered rare in Idalos.
In his own home Kotton wanted to tear apart the messiness and untidiness that had accumulated since he had taken one step forward and two steps back regarding his drinking problem. There were cans of ale and bottles of liquor that had rested for weeks, maybe even seasons that needed to be disposed of, and there were stains on the couch and the linoleum just in front of where the kitchen basin met carpet. Hell, there were even stains on the carpet to which he wondered if he would ever be able to work out. Every visible reminder of who he had been shocked him with feelings of grief and irresponsibility. Had he really drunk that much in order to feel somewhat happy? Had he really let that one plant die from lack of watering? Had he really made this mess trying to feed Imogen and Spirit before pawning off the duty to Twig? Was this the kind of person he wanted to be? If addiction wasn’t a part of the question, there would be a quick and obvious answer, but since it was, there was something called irresolution and vacillation that kept an otherwise healthy individual from performing healthy tasks. Addiction was a bitch, that much was obvious.
He spent a few hours cleaning things up to the best of his ability. He collected all the cans and bottles and glass containers; he righted the couch cushions and adjusted the coffee table so it was more centered with the couch; he lighted a few candles in an attempt to rid the house of such an unpleasant smell; and he managed to scrub a few stains from the linoleum flooring. Everything else would require another trial.
Kotton tried his best to forget about all those extra duties and chose to instead concentrate on becoming more proficient in his ability of using Glamour. Only two metres to his left was his feline companion Imogen. She was surly without warning as to his purpose, which meant she was the best thing to employ his freshly constructed knowledge of a magic technique. He crossed his heart and mind before he continued, hoping she wouldn’t hate him for using her as a piece of his experiment.
Imogen drew near him, such as she always did when she wanted food or attention. As soon as she took her first step, Kotton initiated his ability to cloak himself, amending his sensory being to the likes of the floor. As his cat went to prod against where his foot had once been, she was met with the tactile feeling of the kitchen floor. She mewed, obviously confused as to why she couldn’t touch the leg of her master, but Kotton kept on concentrating as she moved to where his other side had been only moments before. He altered his physical aspects so that when she brushed her side against his other leg, all she felt was air. There was nothing there for her to brush her body against.
She mewed again, but louder, not only perplexed but immensely frustrated.
Kotton quickly felt guilt rise like bile inside his throat. He ceased his magic and looked down at his feline companion with an expression of empathy. Then, he swiftly picked her up from her spot on the floor before giving her the pets she rightfully needed.
“I’m sowwy gal, but you did gweat,” he whispered to her as she purred in his hold. After a time, he lowered her back to the ground and watched her scamper off. This led Kotton to wonder what else he could do with his ability in terms of cloaking himself or casting his aura into whatever he liked.
As quickly as Imogen exited the room, Spirit entered and she seemed more than eager to be a part of whatever exercise her master was doing. Her tail flicked from left to right with the speed and strength of an anorexic bodybuilder. But what was more was her smile. She panted as per usual as she trotted closer into the centre of the kitchen, her jowls raised by the side muscles of her mouth. Spittle flew every now and again as she licked what little lips she had before she positioned herself directly in front of where Kotton stood and sat.
“Do you want to see some magic?” the young man asked, gleaning pride and hope. Without waiting for a response, which he believed he wouldn’t get with the training Spirit had, he went forth and attempted another trick with his Glamour.
He swallowed the phlegm that constricted his breathing before inhaling a deep breath. His eyes closed tightly, but his smile still remained, as he brought forth the residual ether inside him to release another bout of magical intention. With the knowledge of his audience being so close to his person, he unrolled with as much strength as he could an aroma of the likes of juicy, beefy spices. He had explored these scents the last time he had waltzed past the local meat vendor. Whilst he had almost gagged, he noticed now that Spirit’s eyes had widen. Her tail had also began to wag uncontrollably as soon as he had re-opened his eyes.
Her expression of delight was infectious. He would no doubt give her a treat once he was done with his bit, but that would be later; he was on a streak of magical performance.
Now that he had brought her into his perspective via unrolling, he began to reinvigorate his usage of cloak and aura casting to deliver a unique, yet unappealing take on proportion. His range was limited now, so it was fortunate for him that Spirit had situated herself so close. He concentrated on his left arm, more specifically his left hand, where he visualised its size growing. Bolstering its dimensions so that it exceeded five times its usual size, the young man witnessed his appendage form into the likes of a massive log. His fingers were akin to the bulk of sausages, his wrist similar to the circumference of the base of a lamp post. And the rest of his arm could easily be mistaken for a forest log had it not been for its fleshy texture and colour. He was as amazed as his canine companion at what he had just managed to do.
This was so much better than taking a walk or a run throughout town, he thought with a smirk.
Now, had he not hold the control he did over his ability to manifest such incredible feats, he would have easily be torn down with panic and terror and so, so much repent at what he had just done, but since he knew what he was doing and that it was all in the face of practise, it was simple enough for him to revert his body back to its original sense.
This was apparently the best thing he could have done given Spirit’s expression. She had been out of sorts, barking, howling, fearful of the large and busty accessories of skin Kotton had displayed to her. But now, she was only confused, slightly fearful, but more so in a fit of ‘I want nothing to do with this’ as she bounded away towards the couch and its cushions the young man had just fluffed and placed organizationally.
He wanted to do more, but his energy had depleted and its local cousin, lethargy, took no time at all before sweeping in to take what once held the space of energetics. This meant he had no issue finding his own way to the couch and the very cushions he had rearranged only moments before.
Comfortable, satiated and with the gradually dampening feelings of success and affirmation, Kotton slouched down against the back of the living room couch until his lingering gaze located his open journal and the pencil lying between its pages.
He reached for it with what little effort he had left to pull it closer to his body. Whilst the rest of him was derelict in momentum, his mind still galloped with full speed. Fortunately, the arm, wrist and hand he hadn’t adjudicated magic to was still able to operate to his command and they worked together to help formulate the words his brain had began to think:
“I held on tight to a dimming flame,
I held tightly to a losing game
built my world on a fragile frame
let loose by it's lack of being tame
Fingers cold from frostbite
I can't feel or think right...”
Maybe his brain wasn’t as ready to create sensible words as he had thought it to be, for his inspiration vanished as soon as the second rhyme had left his mind.
“I put my soul into an empty well
but there were no reciprocating echoes
just a silent spell.
My hopes of chasing shadows
my efforts are in vain,
they dissipate
as does my will to invade
every and anything made to satiate.”
Whilst Kotton had initially meant to continue a rhythmic process, his subconscious had taken hold and simply went with whatever thoughts and feelings that were pervading his brain at the time. Still, he made markings on the side of his passage to acknowledge other ideas, additional rhymes, and extra branches for him to continue with once he had more time to contemplate and think. He knew the likelihood of him making sense was low, but he wasn't about to shut down this creative process of his, so he pressed on circling back to the original idea he had started with.
“Holding tight to a fleeting flame,
a fragile speck of a losing game
My heart's grown as cold as stone
Yet my potential has yet been shown
With heartbreak, I drown in shame.”
