THE MONK

her head was quirked to the side, eyes wide with curiosity, as she observed him with a soft smile. there had been many days that she heard her own voice echoing back off of the cave walls and pretending that it was her people harmonizing with her. she was so lonely that even figments of her imagination were welcome company. now, this tall strange man stood before her and told her that she had not been alone all that while. she reached her hand out to him, usually the motion would be to hold gently to the shoulder but he was far too tall for that option so instead she merely took his hand in hers and said, “then we were destined to meet. what is your name, friend?”

       the  warm  light  of  the  distant  fire  fell  upon  her  as  a  halo  descending  through  a  fine  mist,  something  about  his  mind’s  eye  he  supposed  he  may  never  escape ;  visions  of  her  watery  if  he  stared  too  long,  mind  fading  back  to  memory  of  intangible  ghosts  in  the  wood.  his  chest  tightened  for  fear  that  perhaps  he  may  still  yet  be  there  amongst  the  trees,  everything  he’d  experienced  thus  far  no  more  than  some  deceitfully  elaborate,  waking  dream.  his  brows  drew  together,  a  frown  marring  his  features  at  the  thought.  but  when  she  takes  his  hand,  his  mind’s  brought  back,  sliding  into  focus,  a  sense  of  clarity  he’d  not  felt  since  he  moved  the  earth  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  as  he  truly  sees  her.    ❛  i –––  ❜    he  stops,  unsure  of  what  to  say  to  destiny,  the  idols  in  his  pouch  feeling  as  if  they  were  burning  a  hole  through  his  pocket.  he  draws  a  shaky  breath,  hand  squeezing  hers  as  if  to  anchor  himself  before  he  dips  to  one  knee,  better  lowering  himself  to  her  height  so  that  he  might  not  lose  her  in  the  ever  creeping  fog  of  his  mind.    ❛   my  name  is  silas,  ❜    he  speaks  quietly,  as  if  this  is  an  admittance.    ❛   i  have  long  asked  a  ghost  for  your  name.  ❜    

@silvanvs

“where have you been all this long while that you could possibly have heard my singing? i have explored these mines through and through it seems unlikely that i would have missed you.”

        there  was  still  something  so  surreal  about  it,  the  way  the  air  carried  her  voice  to  fall  upon  his  pointed  ears  like  trumpet  sound  ––  stronger  now  that  she  stood  before  him,  but  not  abrasive,  not  for  the  way  he  adored  her.  her  songs  kept  him  company  in  the  mist  on  more  than  one  occasion,  visions  of  her  swimming  in  his  mind,  always  out  of  reach.  but  here  she  was,  tangible  and  close  enough  to  touch.    ❛  i  live  amongst  the  forest  in  the  entlands,  though  the  ents  are  long  lost.  the  mist  carried  your  songs  to  me,  ❜    silas  explains,  green  eyes  watching  her  carefully,  gaze  sweeping  the  floor  before  flickering  back  up  to  her  eyes.

@silvanvs

“do you hear something? is it more goblins?” 

          the  damp  walls  of  the  dark  cave  twisted  in  his  mind’s  eye,  the  black  of  them  almost  tangible ;  as  if,  if  he  were  to  reach  out,  he  could  press  the  pads  of  his  fingers  into  their  depths.  and  he  does  so,  only  for  the  darkness  to  harden  under  his  touch,  solid,  wet  stone.  but  there’s  a  distant  echo,  a  tinge  of  melancholy  soaked  into  the  rock  itself.    ❛  i  hear  something,  ❜    silas  reassures  the  younger  elf  beside  him,  the  worry  in  her  voice  ––  in  all  of  their  voices  as  they  bounce  around  the  walls  in  frantic  whispers  ––  ever  drawing  him  back.  there  is  a  curious  furrow  to  his  brow,  his  fingertips  never  leaving  the  wall  as  they  walk.    ❛  but  it  is  not  goblins.  ❜    

[   &&. closed starter ! @silvanvs   ]

            her eyesight is as good as gone. wistria has relied on sound to guide her through the forest after the thick fog settled, grateful of the fox’s highly honed ears. still, that does not make up for the disorientation she feels being fixed upon her. this is not her first time entering the lost entlands, but back then, the beacon was still lit. the state of the forest was not as asphyxiating as it is now– the chances of survival were greater.

     she comes to a standstill atop thick roots, sharp ears shifting to the source of sound coming from her right… no, they are coming from her front. she closes her eyes and lifts her head to sniff the air, attempting to pinpoint the scent mark of the lingering figure. she does not recognize anything– the screen of fog makes it difficult for scents to carry over, and the nebulous inkling at the top of her nose is of someone, or something, unfamiliar.

        of  all  the  things  silas  had  found  in  the  forest  over  the  past  seven  centuries  ––  visions  of  lost  loves  long  passed,  songs  carried  on  the  billowing  winds  of  the  mist  from  a  lovely  voice  far,  far  away  ––  he  had  never  happened  upon  something  quite  like  this.  a  fox  in  their  midst  ––  cunning  indeed,  crafty  as  her  chosen  form,  truly  a  trickster  to  have  all  the  lost  souls  in  the  forest  fooled  ––  like  a  riddle  to  be  spoken  and  unraveled  under  their  very  noses,  and  yet.  and  yet.  

         the  winding  wood  twisted  and  turned  beneath  the  soles  of  his  feet,  mossy  ground  soft  as  he  stepped  lightly.  body  moving  through  towering  oak  with  ease,  it  was  as  if  he  was  one  of  many  among  them ;  branches  brushing  the  curve  of  his  shoulders  as  he  went,  whispers  of    lost,  lost,  lost    and    found,  found,  found    pressing  ever-in  on  his  mind.  the  voices  grow  louder  as  he  nears,  he  knows,  and  they’re  nearly  disorienting  by  the  time  he  stumbles  across  the  path  of  someone  rather –––  small.

         there  was  a  stirring  in  the  trees,  whispers  echoing  through  the  shadow  of  the  forest  in  such  a  way  that  silas  had  not  heard  in  many,  many  years.  the  forest  was  alight,  excited,  and  branches  beckoned  him  onward  as  he  ducked  and  weaved ;  steps  quick  and  light  over  the  mossy  forest  floor,  the  rustling  sound  of  the  wood  a  comfort  as  twigs  snagged  and  caught  on  the  elf’s  cowl,  playful  as  the  trees  murmured,  rumors  flying  fast  between  them.  the  spirits  of  the  wood  were  restless,  and  so  felt  silas.

01. AESTHETICS / CLOTHING

❛  Instead of traditional shoes, Silas wears wrappings around his feet and calves. It is a traditional style of footwear no longer in practice, but he hasn’t been in touch with the rest of the world to get that memo. His style in general is more suited for practicality than for fashion, unlike his days in Vivelle of old, when the heights of his cheeks would be painted gold for all sorts of grand parties. Besides, the trees never cared whether he looked like a vagabond one way or another.

when silas first set out from vivelle, he shirked the decadent dressings of his origins in favor of more comfortable, practical dress. thick wools, soft cotton, wraps cut from sturdy cloth –– he abandoned ostentatious golden silks for austerity. still, there is a thread of the elves of old woven in every fiber of the fabric he adorns if one were to look closely; if one knew much, if anything, of what the ancient elves wore over seven hundred years ago –– in particular, the supple leather wrappings that weave their way from around his feet, up his calves, and often even further still.

it is a style no longer in use; suited particularly to nomadic elves, or elven hunters, it has long since been abandoned for plain boots, as humans wear. but silas, having spent centuries in the entlands, never caught on to this trend. the archaic style of foot and/or leg-wear, never covering his feet entirely, allows him to feel the earth beneath him in a way that has always felt entirely natural, and the very idea of not being able to curl his bare toes in the grass, or feel the grooves of the trees beneath his feet is baffling to him.