Could you consider magi as an ethnicity?
I mean you could market it as a sub-culture according to Zero Materials.
Could you consider magi as an ethnicity?
I mean you could market it as a sub-culture according to Zero Materials.
There's also the nobility angle to work with as well in terms of sub-cultures. Seeing as Lorelei falls under both and has a massive superiority complex, ethnocentrism can definitely be in this fic.Originally Posted by You
Spoiler:
What Fate/Stay Night character are you?
Kotomine Kirei
You are Kirei. You've always been a little different from the rest. You probably have low social skills. Whatever, it's not like what they think matters anyway. Ever searching for something missing within you, you probably don't experience the same happiness as everyone else. Good and evil are just labels, you are who you are.
Oh cool. Those two are basically my central motifs.
It's as if you're writing this story with those ideas in mind. It's a wonder how you're able to figure out such details concerning this story.
Spoiler:
What Fate/Stay Night character are you?
Kotomine Kirei
You are Kirei. You've always been a little different from the rest. You probably have low social skills. Whatever, it's not like what they think matters anyway. Ever searching for something missing within you, you probably don't experience the same happiness as everyone else. Good and evil are just labels, you are who you are.
That's true, however I still consider it a victory since you are understanding my intention. There are times when the audience is like "this character is a mary sue," and the author is like "this character is not a mary sue." That means the author's intentions aren't getting through the audience, and since writing is a form of communication it's like mishearing someone speaking. So then if it's obvious to you that I'm writing this story with those ideas in mind, and I'm saying yes I am writing it with those ideas in mind, welp, I think that's a good thing.
***********
There's going to be a lot of infodumps, please bear with it. Rather it's best to ask yourself why there are so many infodumps. People shouldn't infodump for the sake of infodumping.
***********
2.
The snow glows white on the North Mountain tonight. There is not a footprint to be seen. Framed by mountains whose only spotlight is the moon, this place can only be called a kingdom of isolation. And?The QueenThe Supreme Magus of The Current Era
With wind howling abaft, she tears over the mountain's face blowing aside any type of storm, swirling or not. Her feet do not brush the snow nor do her naked hands tremble in trying to keep her upright. Just as well because her dress still flutters in the wind she, herself, created. To a passerby this scene is reminiscent of one of the many ships on the fjord that slice through the water. A lone magus should not be capable of such nature interference. Rather than the speed, it is the sustained velocity which seemingly breaks whatever laws magi have set up for themselves. Even if she is, the holy maiden who matches the 27 Dead Apostle Ancestors themselves, seemingly free falling up a mountain without support is still something beyond even her.The QueenThe Supreme Magus of The Current Era
So then how is it possible?
"No wonder the old fools wanted this place," Barthomeloi speaks out of turn to no one in particular. An unnecessary action or rather an imperfect one. "Yes, it is not unfit for a Phantasmal Species."
The quality of Arendelle as a spiritual land is truly first class, in fact, almost beyond first class, so even if she is not the owner of the land or rather, since the land has no owner who understands its potential Barthomeloi can easily do the impossible and streak up a mountain as if she is a jet.
Leyline surfing.
The colloquial term Barthomeloi never uses attached to a common magecraft technique. Magi derive their magical energy from two sources, the Lesser, Od, and the Greater, Mana. The Lesser comes from the life force of the magus herself while the Greater is known as the blessing of the Earth. It is through leylines which the life force, mana, of the entire region circulates. With the support of the land it is even possible to blow away the processed abdominal fat of a god.
Using the leyline itself as a supply of magical energy, a magus is able to perform miracles that would require an entire team as long as the brain can withstand such a current. However, the term leyline surfing is also a misnomer. Rather than a technique it is more of an application. Regardless of the spell used, it will be sustained as long as the magus is willing. For example, all Barthomeloi cast was a floating spell, a miracle easily replicated with a broom. Then she applied a vector and added an acceleration attribute onto that vector. In short, the Jet Propulsion Method coupled with an attribute. The only short-coming of such an application lies in the first word of the name. The user is solely reliant on the leyline so then sustained travel can only be actualized above the arteries of the Earth. In the decadent terms of this era's degenerate hobby known as video games it can be described as a very limited form of "fast travel."
After reassuring herself that as long as she follows the leyline she would find the Queen of Arendelle Barthomleoi frowns but it is not because of the abundance of snow around her. She had cast a barrier beforehand to keep herself warm and more importantly alive. She frowns because she remembers what happened when she stepped outside into what was supposed to be midsummer's night dream.
***********
The source seemed to be a fountain that had been frozen mid-flow with its bowl half-filled with ice. Yet it was not an isolated case as the white carpet framing the castle’s entrance crept onto the earth and now the little green that was left was trying to peak out wishing for a moon that it did not know had already gone to bed, under the cover of the clouds. The people in their party dresses and summer outfits shivered, hurrying back to the palace fireplace that was no longer Barthomeloi’s. Trying her best to ignore the rabble, Barthomeloi took her time looking around. Many shrieked about their queen having cursed the land into an eternal winter and out in the distance a foolishly optimistic princess mounted a horse ready to chase after her sister who had run across a now frozen fjord.
"A Reality Marble, Milady?" A slight voice peeped up next to Barthomeloi. Murmuring in hushed tones, her familiars slowly gathered around her.
"Not even close." Barthomeloi almost snorted scornfully, but a Barthomeloi does not snort. "Not everything abnormal is a Reality Marble. You've seen too many human leeches if you think that a Reality Marble is the cause of any situation."
"You mean you've been fighting too many human leeches, Ma’am." Ironically the leopard was the one who leapt to the stag’s defense. “After all, you’re only here because you left your post at Aylesbury to chance at a one, are you not?”
Looking away, Barthomeloi feigned disinterest. Her familiars were right; the moment she stepped outside the palace she also assumed that this was some sort of Reality Marble, the blueprint of the soul of the caster, the Queen of Arendelle, projected onto the world. From what Barthomeloi could gather a world of ice might be something close to the shape of that girl's soul. That is to say, Barthomeloi had no idea what was in the girl’s heart, only that she remembered the ice in the ballroom. That row of icicles was made to pierce. As far as she could remember the queen had said "Enough," while casting the spell. It would mean it was a one count spell.
While everyone else was rushing after the queen, Barthomeloi just stood there, shocked. It was the recreation of a miracle, anyone could see that; however, there was no change in the mana in the air, neither did the ice contain the usual magical energy. The form, the process, it was infinitely close to magecraft however infinitely close meant that it was evidently not. So when she saw the scene outside, what was at least a Ritual Class Magecraft produced and propagated so quickly she came to an answer.
.Frozen FractalRandom Ice Creation
A common sorcery trait that often appeared in Nordic magi lineages. It was so common that even Freelancers would question the sanity of the Association if there was ever a target because of this attribute. The power itself wasn’t that impressive either. Just by adding a simple attribute like “slowing,” a magus with water as an alignment could easily cool her drink and make that new-fangled iced tea while those who could use attributes like “freezing,” could emulate such an effect regardless of elemental alignment. The simplest way was to take one's own magical energy and add the “freezing” attribute onto it to make ice. It was a process that worked on most things in the world. Specialists were supposed to be able to freeze magical energy taken physical form, for instance, incredibly dense curses. But
was what its name stated. Simple ice creation. Rather than creation through freezing, magical energy itself when expelled was turned to ice. There was no attribute, no mechanism. It was a simple, clean, average sorcery trait.Frozen FractalRandom Ice Creation
So while standing outside in the biting cold, Barthomeloi could only conclude that this was a Bounded Field rather than a Reality Marble. Disappointing, considering a Reality Marble would only last, maximum, the night. She had heard of a similar Bounded Field before, however she could not be sure if the information was accurate or not. Rather than a true Bounded Field it was a Dream Barrier and the owner was the familiar of the former Number Seven’s killer. If she remembered correctly it was dubbed "Midsummer Snowfield." In that respect it could be a mirror to this Bounded Field which infinitely produced snow. Quality-wise though the Bounded Field the Queen of Arendelle put up was superior. She converted what was summer into winter-like conditions. “Midsummer Snowfield," would be considered closer to a Reality Marbles as a Reality Marble was made to do something impossible under the World's rules. Any team of magi, coming together, could change summer into winter if they tried hard enough. However, there were only few who could make it snow in summer. In that respect, even if this Bounded Field’s effect was more pronounced, "Midsummer Snowfield," was a greater deviation in nature, the greater mystery. More importantly “Midsummer Snowfield” was basically the actualization of an internal world. The queen’s bounded field, no matter how complexly it interfered with nature, could not come close to that. Following that agonizingly thorough and extraneous, yet quite obsessive line of thought, Barthomeloi graded her accordingly.
She was not just a magus who revealed magecraft to the public, but a dangerous heretic unsure of her own power. That is why the moment that Barthomeleoi catches sight of a cloaked figure struggling against the wind she takes to the skies and, snapping her fingers, sends three bullets of unprocessed magical energy at the shade.
With a muted thud and then a sizzle, three holes mark the white carpet. Did the great queen of the Clock Tower just fire warning shots? No, from the beginning the killing intent was clear; anyone experienced enough could feel it through the icy wind. One to the leg, one at the head, and one final one to the heart. So then, is it possible that Barthomeloi missed? To assume for a second that thecan miss is more laughable than her firing warning shots. So then the reason why the bullets never reached their target is clearly because of the wind.The QueenSupreme Magus of The Current Era
"What?" Sweeping up the snow with her cloak the Queen of Arendelle turns, trying to find her attacker.
However, Barthomeloi has already given up the advantage of being in the air; she will not allow herself to be attacked from all directions. Her first attack was to kill. In Barthomeloi's mind that surprise attack is the only one allowed for her. Considering the terrain and weather conditions any other action will lead to an incredibly drawn out duel and without her whip or gauntlet it will be a lot more troublesome than Barthomeloi will tolerate. More importantly, she is still wearing the same dress from the party. There had been no time to change and she likes this dress. She will not have it marred in some foolish magecraft tussle in an undeveloped backwater.
"You're-" the queen is surprised anyone came after her. Her voice has lost most the stifled regality bound to it during the coronation reception. Just like ice it is a façade that shatters when struck with the harsh reality of the world. This fragility leads Barthomeloi to quickly crush a wandering thought about what would happen when the queen’s sister finally reaches her destination. "I met you at the coronation. You’re Lor-"
“-Lady Barthomeloi,” she interrupts, trying to move the process along or does she merely not want that insult spoken? “I’m here to negotiate a treaty.”
The queen shakes her head vehemently, “Arendelle doesn't have any enemies.”
“No...” a pause. “It didn't, did it?”
Insensitive considering the queen just ran away from her coronation reception with screams of monster and sorceress trailing behind her like ravenous wolves edging her to this very mountainside. The kingdom’s memory of this queen could be wiped, the other princess installed and then manipulated into giving Barthomeloi the rights to the land. If that is the case, what is this talk supposed to achieve?
The queen does a double take at Barthomeloi’s words before replying with, "I'm going to stay far away. Why do you care?" Stewing with rage, the queen doesn’t even consider how out of place Barthomeloi looks or how she traveled so far away without a mount, but it is that question which slaps Barthomeloi.
Why do you care?
The first thing that Barthomeloi did after seeing the magecraft was not hypnotize the party-goers like a normal magus; rather, she ran after this minx. It was not a mistake as Barthomelois do not make mistakes. At least they didn’t before she did.
Why do you care?
There was a line of logic and a clear decision that was made. So then what was that thought that led to this decision?
The Queen of Arendelle is indeed a heretic. She exposed magecraft to the public; that is for certain, but Barthomeloi has dealt with heretics before or rather she has allowed others to deal with heretics. They are to be killed, not followed. The hunt, the burning sensation that Barthomeloi feels during a Dead Apostle siege doesn’t exist here. Her blood does not yearn, yet Barthomeloi, abandoning the principles drilled into her since birth, still chased this girl .
Then is it because she is a queen as well? She has the same authority as Barthomeloi does and Barthomeloi respects that.
Laughable, truly laughable. Barthomeloi has met more than her share of queens. Those who were born queens, became queens, or convinced themselves they were queens. Boring, all of them were boring. Just like this boring queen who is boring.
So then...
Only the snowflakes descent marks the time that seems to have stopped due to the prolonged silence between the two queens. The two queens who can use magecraft. Perhaps the only two queens in existence who can use magecraft.
Only one week ago Barthomeloi had tasted defeat. First against a mediocre Dead Apostle Ancestor and then against something she did not even catch a glimpse of. One week ago Barthomeloi learned what it meant to fail, what it meant to be human.
So then a mirror of ice with one glove in a backwater country is the closest thing that Barthomeloi has to herself. One week ago that would not have mattered to Barthomeloi, but that was a week ago. During that span of time Barthomeloi fell and cracked. The most fundamental part of herself splintered and no matter how much she tries she cannot conceal it. So then has Barthomeloi merely regressed to the point of a chick deciding to imitate the first thing it saw?
But that line, what is that line? That infinitesimally insignificant line that ties Barthomeloi to L- It is the shiver on the back of her neck, the oblivion recording of a syllable, and the phrase that lies on the tip of one’s tongue which simply cannot be shaken off with mere regret.
But Barthomeloi immediately dismisses that thought. Her iron-clad reason being that if it is truly insignificant it should mean nothing at all, a cyclic redundancy.
"You're a queen, shouldn't you be with?" Barthomeloi finally answers.
"They don't want me to be their queen. I’m sure you have heard what they have to say about me.”
Barthomeloi whole-heartedly expected an indignant yell rather than that dejected response. If it had been a shout, perhaps Barthomeloi would have forged on. Even with Barthomeloi’s “special” childhood, she understands the queen wants to be left alone. Perhaps Barthomeloi will come back in the morning. Maybe after a good night’s sleep the queen will even look fondly on the treaty. However Barthomeloi decidedly will not tell her about the circumstances surrounding her kingdom. Instead a sigh and a direction is all she will offer.
"Yes?"
"The top of the mountain, it's that way, not the way you are going. That is where you were going, correct?"
The former queen opens her mouth and then closes it without uttering a word. Fabric flurries as she draws her cloak tighter to her body and leaves in the direction Barthomeloi points to.
The top of the mountain, the zenith of the world, and the peak of isolation, all phrases which cloud the queen’s thoughts. She will be free, never to hurt, never to be hurt so in her delusions she never questions the peak as a peak. She never realizes the higher one is the more likely and the further there is to fall.
Lowering her finger and with a small crease on her brow, Barthomeloi's face is stony as always. Yet, if one listens closely she would hear a regular rough grinding sound as if Barthomeloi is lingering on some half-formed though. Barthomeloi stays that way watching the hooded figure move further away until,
"Advice." she finally barks, letting the wind take her words. "Let it go."
Last edited by You; April 21st, 2016 at 12:46 AM.
I never stated it was a bad thing. I was simply jesting about the fact of the author knowing all about his written work as some sort of great insight on the author's part since many fanfic authors go into writing a something without understanding where that work will take them. You probably already understood that, but I'm leaving my intentions bare for the sake of posterity.
Looks like someone is referencing a certain fanfic.
In this case, Barthomeloi and her familiars are acting like investigators. They're going through the facts that they know to better understand the situation. This also serves to broaden the understanding of the reader so that they can be on an even footing as the focus character when making their own conclusions concerning this fic. While it was probably meant to be rhetorical, I've answered it anyway.
But onto the fic itself, it seems interesting that Barthomeloi is acting rather sentimental to someone she considers inferior to her. I would think that she would act more rabid due to how she was acting when some random killer stole her prey. Then again, there could be multiple interpretations to how someone as dignified as Lorelei biting through her gloves so hard as to make her fingers bleed would feel about a given situation given some time. Perhaps this forgotten land could serve as a place of healing for the Queen of the Clock Tower as strange as it may sound?
As for the narration, I'm really liking how Barthomeloi is being portrayed as some sort of perfect, dignified person despite whatever may happen to her. It's sort of like reading a toned-down Gilgamesh going through his motions. Anyways, keep up the good work.
Spoiler:
What Fate/Stay Night character are you?
Kotomine Kirei
You are Kirei. You've always been a little different from the rest. You probably have low social skills. Whatever, it's not like what they think matters anyway. Ever searching for something missing within you, you probably don't experience the same happiness as everyone else. Good and evil are just labels, you are who you are.
Main text, edited for grammar.
It took me a second to link "Let it go." with "♪ Let It Go ♪"
I was too occupied with what she was talking about.
Okay, so no musical numbers. Good, have too much of those as is.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=moSFlvxnbgkThe snow glowed white on the North Mountain tonightthat night[I]. There was not a footprint to be seen. Framed by mountains whose only spotlight was the moon, this place could only be called a kingdom of isolation. And[/IThe Queen] The Supreme Magus of The Current Era?(Swirling or not is an unnecessary fragment.)
I made that change before then changed it back. For a reference like this I think it's more important to keep the words than the grammar.
That is why she is speaking out of turn. That was on purpose on my part.(Since she isn't in a conversation, there is no need to suggest that she is speaking out of turn.)
(Strange grammar. After a second of trying to understand this in context, I predict that a magus who owned this land would exhaust the leyline, but I don't see why the fact that she does not own the land should prevent her from abusing the leyline.)Mahoyo
So because Arendelle doesn't have a Second Owner with a bounded field up, Lorelei can use it as much as she wants without getting throttled or anyone knowing.
Yeah, the whole point of the first chapter was that Lorelei was sitting next to a fireplace in summer alone.(I don't understand the context. Was she sitting by the fireplace?)
Thank you very much for the other stuff though.
Last edited by You; October 5th, 2014 at 07:37 PM.
Cough.
Oh god, the familiars are gonna do one, aren't they?
More like Lorelei will sing about how vindicated she feels about letting go of all her pent-up stress and learning to live with vampires peacefully.
Spoiler:
What Fate/Stay Night character are you?
Kotomine Kirei
You are Kirei. You've always been a little different from the rest. You probably have low social skills. Whatever, it's not like what they think matters anyway. Ever searching for something missing within you, you probably don't experience the same happiness as everyone else. Good and evil are just labels, you are who you are.
Hahahaha, NO.
I see. Tonight isn't a word that should be used in past tense narration, but the reference is fine.
That's strange though. It's much more simple to say that she was just talking to herself.That is why she is speaking out of turn. That was on purpose on my part.
No such thing as Leyline neutrality, noted.Mahoyo
So because Arendelle doesn't have a Second Owner with a bounded field up, Lorelei can use it as much as she wants without getting throttled or anyone knowing.
You're welcome. I'm glad to be doing this kind of thing for a story I actually want to read.Yeah, the whole point of the first chapter was that Lorelei was sitting next to a fireplace in summer alone.
Thank you very much for the other stuff though.
I'm really glad that you thought that it was strange because it was meant to be strange. In all of Prelude Lorelei never truly talks to herself; even her last line is meant for somebody else even if he is not there to hear it. So then isn't it a really big thing if Lorelei is talking to herself here? So to emphasize that the narrator says that Lorelei "spoke out of turn," she said something when she was not supposed to say anything at all and for Lorelei to do that when she was raised to be perfect is a big thing, right? So right now Lorelei is "talking to herself," but by talking to herself she is "speaking out of turn."
And while we're on this topic same with the further vs farther:
http://www.oxforddictionaries.com/us...her-or-furtherShe never realized the higher one was, the more likely and the furtherfartherthere is to fall.
So further is used for abstract language and farther is used for distances. While yes, grammatically farther is correct because it's the distance of the fall. I used further because it highlighted the metaphorical nature of this fall. It's wrong sure, but because it's wrong, it adds that much more depth if people like you are willing to nitpick.
So yeah I really like nitpickers and nitpicking. I think that it's really great people take the time to nitpick things because that shows that they really care about the work. So I always leave stuff like this for nitpickers, things that you wouldn't find if you were glancing over it, but if you stop and really think about the reason why it's being used that way they are really big hints and clues.
I hope more people nitpick now.
Stop you're making me blush.
3.
When Barthomeloi wakes up it is still dark but the night sky is clear of falling snow. Years of hunting human leeches made her more or less nocturnal. Members of the battalion even joke that they are eternally on night shifts but never in her presence of course. She shakes the sleep away from her eyes and pats down the hay she calls her pillow. It should be degrading for a queen to sleep in a stable, but Barthomeloi is a magus as well. She has made it so the bundles of hay on which she slept are as equally as comfortable as her bed back in London. Her only annoyance that night was the ridiculous man singing in the stable next to hers.
As if reindeer are better than people, truly.
After her conference with the now former queen of Arendelle, Barthomeloi extended her senses and found this incredibly shabby but still quaint little shack also known as Wandering Oaken's Trading Post and Sauna. It was disgusting. The store itself was all cramped and humid. Barthomeloi was relieved after learning there were actually two stables behind the trading post. One was visible but the other needed to be dug out.
Before she let out one final yawn, Barthomeloi checks her gown in case there is anything distasteful that needs to be magically swept off. Last night the owner, Oaken, had asked her if she needed warmer clothes. At first, Barthomeloi was not against such an idea until she saw the selection. One word, atrocious. There was even an outfit with a magenta hat and a royal blue skirt that belonged in the eighteen forties. As if genuine people still wore outfits like that. If others are worried about her outfit she can always just cast an illusion and with that in mind and the sun starting to peek across the mountain, Barthomeloi set off to secure a spiritual ground.
***********
“At the beginning I was like ‘Whaaaaaaa? Why is everything so small, did I become some kind of giant?’ You know. Then everything started moving so I was like, ‘No way, I must be flying!’”
Barthomeloi just nods, disinterested, but at the same time there are the beginnings of a frown eroding her stony face.
“But then I started falling so I tried to flap my wings, but then I realized…. I didn’t have any wings! So then how was I flying? And then I noticed that I didn’t have my body. And then I was like ‘No way, you’re flying and you don’t have a body or a wings, you must be a bird head.’”
She is a hairs breadth, or rather a snowflake, away from telling him off, but a Barthomeloi must show restraint even in the most frustrating of situations especially when facing a talking snowman.
Making her way to the top of the mountain once more, as if racing the sun, Barthomeloi was almost at the peak when, "Hi, my name is Olaf and I like warm hugs."
Something as preposterous as that that stopped her in her tracks.
Of course, like any ordinary person, the first thing that Barthomeloi did was kick its head off. Just the fact she did should demonstrate how far Barthomeloi had degenerated.
"Hey, why is everything.. wow~... I can see everything from up-," as the head sailed down the mountain Barthomeloi could clearly hear this Olaf's voice and see the pathetic, bloated body running after it before tumbling and amassing into one giant snowball rolling down a mountain. Not even spending a moment to ponder, she ran after the body. The sun wasn't even up.
Barthomeloi didn’t doubt that the snowman was some sort of familiar like her stag and leopard. She had seen this type of familiar, or rather puppet; there used to be a Director who used Ether Clumps as Slimes but that wasn’t the point. In many Northern countries like this where the days were short and the land was white, many magi preferred to create familiars who could handle the conditions. Eventually, after creating cumbersome chimeras and freaks of nature, many turned the environment itself into a being, creating snow puppets and ice golems. However those were merely puppets, more like automatons, forcing what should not be able to move to move with magical energy. However, the main differences in this snowman was that he did not leak magical energy. He did not have a magic circuit implanted into him nor was there a spirit used in the process as far as Barthomeloi could tell. Yet here he was, 'alive.' Barthomeloi didn’t even need to light a fire in her Mystic Eyes to see that and therefore could only define him as a type of Phantasmal Species. If that was truly the case what magical theory could even begin to explain how this Olaf was put together? Was there even a magus alive who could create a Phantasmal Species that wasn't just a chimera?
So she followed his body down the mountain, found the head perched in the fork of some branches, and watched the body eagerly trying to scramble up the tree in an attempt to retrieve one of the thirds which made it up. The body tried to clamber up, reaching a quarter of the way by smacking its snow against the trunk until it ran out of strength, falling back down only to try again. Something like a dog trying to pursue a cat stuck in a tree. To Barthomeloi it seemed like he should have stopped after the first time. After waiting four or five cycles of this, Barthomeloi sent a gust of wind, blowing the head out of the tree.
Landing at the base of the tree, the head rolled a few meters as the chubby white body hurried, trying to reach its complement. It took long enough that Barthomeloi started rolling her eyes and needlessly inspected a frozen waterfall that she guessed would start glittering in about twenty minutes or so. Not solely because the sculpture-esque way the waterfall had frozen, but also because the jewel-like fish that had just started to scuttle about underneath the ice.
When it finally reached the head, the body promptly took it with its stick arms and ploinked it right onto the cavity. Then after clearing its imaginary throat turned to her and said, "Seems we got off to the wrong foot so how about one more time? Hi, I'm Olaf and I like warm hugs," as if it expected her to say something in the instant between his switching of topics to his description of "what it felt like being a flying head."
Barthomeloi kept her silence and decided to go with it, that is the silence as well as the snowman. She did not know what to say. After all, small talk was not part of her education and even if it seems like this snowman is made up of more small talk than snow Barthomeloi hadn’t even introduced herself.
"...Why is it so white?" Until he asks something as ridiculous as that.
"Because it's winter," Barthomeloi says feeling like a father trying to answer why the sky is blue. That is, immediately regretting even saying a word.
"What's winter?"
Once bitten twice shy. Somethings are not limited to human leeches.
"What's winter?"
There is no way Barthomeloi is going to answer, she is going to look forward and wait for this ridiculous snowman who calls himself Olaf to change the subject.
"Ohhhhh, winteeeer~ Whaaat art thooou?" Until he starts singing.
"It's a season," comes a displeased reply. Just like a father to whom the novelty of answering his child's question has lost its charm, because he knew,
"What's a season?"
His answer will just lead to more questions.
Nevertheless a parent is a parent and even if Barthomeloi is in no way a parent and even detests that that though, because of her pride or so she leads herself to believe, she feels obliged to answer.
"The year is split into four seasons, summer, autumn, winter, spring," it feels like talking to the child that Bathomeloi wishes she will never have. "Each one lasts for three months," and then she pauses, "You know what a year and a month are right?"
Olaf quickly nods his head twice, "Pshaw, that’s obvious, everyone knows what they are, why?"
Barthomeloi just gives up then and there. She can stand idiotic humans because there are billions of them; however, as a magus, she can not stand an idiotic Phantasmal Species. It is probably a failed product.
"Anyway, if it's so white because it's winter, I wonder what it's like during all the other seasons? I bet one of them is yellow, and the other is chartreuse, and... and... there has to be a rainbow one."
So it knows what chartreuse is but not a season?
"Autumn is primarily red; spring, green, and summer is hot."
Olaf bursts out laughing, slapping his protruding belly. "Oh you're funny, hot isn't a colour!"
"No," Barthomeloi keeps her face as much as a line as possible as a slow grinding sound makes its rounds once more, "It's not."
And then all of a sudden the grating, incessant laughter ceases as if he looks at some sort of monster behind Barthomeloi.
"What?" she asks.
"What's hot?"
"Hot is what happens when it's summer," replies Barthomeloi trying to keep the level of her frustration as cryptic as possible. Maybe if she stupidly argues around in a circle the snowman will understand that it is futile to continue prodding her like this.
"I see, makes sense," the snowman murmurs to himself as he starts to pat Barthomeloi's waist. Because of the shimmering fabric, it feels like someone dragging a rake across her skin, but a Barthomeloi doesn't cringe. It doesn't affect Barthomeloi because this the first time that someone has done something like this to her. In fact, it is so sudden that she momentarily lets her shields drop. "So when it's summer it is hot and when it's hot it is summer. I guess that's the only way to tell if it's summer then,” he finishes, clapping his hands together in delight.
"No..." even Barthomeloi is surprised her voice piques up. "Well, you see all this snow here now, in summer it's not there. Instead, everyone goes to find a different kind of snow, called sand."
"Ohh, sand, it sounds positively, absolutely..." he tries to twitch his non-existent nose in thought, "like snow! I bet it falls out of the sky and I absolutely bet it's black, after all it's like the opposite of snow right?"
During the snowman's exclamation Barthomeloi closes her eyelids. She knows the answer, of course, but it wasn't out of experience. No,, Barthomeloi, has never been to a place with sand before. The scope of Barthomeloi's life betrays her.The QueenThe Supreme Magus of the Current Era
"It is already on the ground," opening her eyes again only a wry voice is left. "Many people go and tan in places with a lot of sand and even if it can be black sometimes, it's usually yellow."
"So then summer is yellow? Hey, hey, hey. What's up with that? Wasn't summer hot, not yellow?"
"Summer's a variety of colours. It is not as simple as you think. You see this gloom in the sky? Well in summer its blue with just tufts of whiteness that you spot from underneath that tree you visit every day after your lessons, and here,” she points to a patch of white, “it's a deep, prickly green that curls around your toes as you walk through it, like a carpet, but just one that no one complains about." Uncharacteristically Barthomeloi allows herself to be swept into a full reverie. "And then you hear the bees and run away but never get that far because the dandelion seeds just trail behind you as if showing the bees the very path that you ran." She speaks of a naive time, one a lifetime away from the human leeches she now enjoys hunting. When did that happen? For the first time in forever she asks herself what changed that to this and more importantly was this always that?
Olaf just keeps nodding at what comes out of Barthomeloi's mind and more importantly her mouth, and when she draws for breath...
"Summer sounds positively gleeful, ahhhh, how I wish it was summer already. But winter… winter… Snow here, ice there, white, white, white everywhere, there's not much to make a snowman happy."
Barthomeloi snorts, "You say that.”
"I really don't see what so great about..."
Barthomeloi cuts him off with the beginning of an incantation that at first rustles before sweeping through the clearing they eventually arrived at.
"Wow~. How is it so pretty now? How did you do that?! You gotta tell me how you did that." Both sticks hands are on the snow he calls his cheeks.
Barthomeloi drops her clasped hands and examines her handiwork. The spindly trees that created the barrier known as the clearing now gleam, as if winking at the sun still trudging across the sky. Even if it seems a contradiction, ice crystallizes into drops that hang from limpid clotheslines of frost linking tree to tree as if ornaments heralding that jolly old-timer, Christmas, himself. Only rather than a single tree the entire clearing has frozen over, yet it is not the season’s prisoner. Instead it relishes in winter so that the morning, twists, sings, and even dances to a song of ice and forest.
"Secret," she leaves him with that.
Olaf sits himself down and crosses his arms dumbfounded. "Well, we've talked a lot about what happens in summer haven't we? Enough that I absolutely bet you I could sing a song about it."
Barthomeloi nods. It's something she'd rather forget.
"But then what happens to solid water like me in summer?"
What a self-centered question but something like that is to be expected, no?
"It melts." A short, sharp answer that has to be expected as well.
"Is melting a good thing?"
Absentmindedly, Barthomeloi looks at the sun before nodding to herself as she moves away from the clearing. This snowman, no matter what he is, doesn't know what he is so then she has to meet the one who created him. Barthomeloi has a good idea who that is at least.
"Is melting is a bad thing?"
“Neither.” Perhaps she says it a little too quickly. Making up for that Barthomeloi's brow crinkles for a while before, "Some things are worth melting for." Even if her distaste is visible, she will admit that much.
The snowman's eyes bulge for a moment. "Things... things... So then people as well?"
Finally, flippantly, "Yeah, sure, I guess there are some people out there worth melting for."
Last edited by You; December 30th, 2014 at 10:59 PM.
It's interesting that you chose to say that she "called" the hay her pillow, rather saying "that was her pillow." It creates the impression that Barthomeloi is very accustomed to defining the conditions of her world, and can't accept hay as "a pillow" but instead only as a substitute for a pillow's function.
The last sentence might require a bit of revision. In its current structure, it suggests that she finds the man an annoyance, instead of highlighting the fact that he was singing in a ridiculous manner. I suggest a revision to: "The only annoyance she had that night was the ridiculous singing from the man in the stable next to hers."It shouldbehave been degrading for a queen to sleep in a stable, but Barthomeloi was a magus as well. She had made it so the bundles of hay on which she had slepton(Same preposition twice, not needed.) was equally as comfortable as her bed back in London. The only annoyance she had that night was the ridiculous man singing in the stable next to hers.
Probably a reference to the song. I haven't watched Frozen, so I don't know the lyrics.As if reindeer are better than people, truly.
I'm just assuming that it's buried under snow, but it seems reasonable to rephrase it to that.After her conference with the now former queen of Arendelle, Barthomeloi extended her senses and found this incredibly shabby but still quaint little shack also known as Wandering Oaken's Trading Post and Sauna. It was disgusting. The store itself was all cramped and humid. Barthomeloi was actually relieved after learning there were actually (Double use of "actually." I suggest that you remove this one.) two stables behind the trading post. One was visible, but the other was buried in snow.
Before she let out one final yawn, Barthomeloi checked her gown in case there was anything distasteful that needed to be swept off. Last night the owner, Oaken, had asked her if she needed warmer clothes. At first, Barthomeloi was not against such an idea until she saw the selection. One word, atrocious. There was even an outfit with a magenta hat and a royal blue skirt that belonged in the eighteen forties. As if genuine people still wore outfits like that.
If others were worried about her outfit she could always just cast an illusion. With that in mind and the sun starting to peak across (A bit confusing. "Peek over the mountain" seems like a better fit.) the mountain, Barthomeloi set off to secure a spiritual ground.***********
It's actually very funny that Barthomeloi visualizes herself as a father instead of a mother.“At the beginning I was like ‘Whaaaaaaa?' Why is everything so small, did I become some kind of giant?’ You know. Then everything started moving so I was like, ‘no way, I must be flying!’”
Barthomeloi just nodded, disinterested, but at the same time there were the beginnings of a frown crumpling her stony face.
“But then I started falling so I tried to flap my wings, but then I realized…. I didn’t have any wings! So then how was I flying? And then I noticed that I didn’t have my body. And then I was like ‘no way, you’re flying and you don’t have a body or a wings, you must be a bird head.’”
She was a hairs breadth, or rather a snowflake, away from telling him off, but a Barthomeloi must show restraint even in the most frustrating of situations especially facing a talking snowman.
Making her way to the top of the mountain once more, as if racing the sun, Barthomeloi was almost at the peak when, "Hi, my name is Olaf and I like warm hugs."
Something as preposterous as that that stopped her in her tracks.
Of course, like any ordinary person, the first thing that Barthomeloi did was kick its head off. Just the fact she did should demonstrate how far Barthomeloi had degenerated.
"Hey, why is everything.. wow~... I can see everything from up-," as the head sailed down the mountain Barthomeloi could clearly hear this Olaf's voice and see the pathetic, bloated body running after it before tumbling and amassing into one giant snowball rolling down a mountain. Not even spending a moment to ponder, she ran after the body. The sun wasn't even up.
Barthomeloi didn't have a doubt that the snowman was some sort of familiar like her stag and leopard. She had seen this type of familiar, or rather puppet; there used to be a Director who used Ether Clumps as Slimes but that wasn’t the point. In many Northern countries like this where the days are short and the land is white, many magi prefer to create familiars who can handle the conditions. Eventually, after creating cumbersome chimera and freaks of nature, many turned the environment itself into a being creating snow puppets and ice golems. However those are merely puppets, more like automatons, forcing what should not be able to move to move with magical energy. However, the main differences in this snowman was that he did not leak magical energy. He did not have a magic circuit implanted into himand neithernor was there a spirit used in the process as far as Barthomeloi could tell. But there he was, 'alive.' Barthomeloi didn’t even need to light a fire in her Mystic Eyes to see that and therefore could only define him as a type of Phantasmal Species. (Run-on.) Iftherethat was truly the case what magical theory could even begin to explain how this Olaf was put together? Was there even a magus alive who could create a Phantasmal Species that wasn't just a chimera?
So she followed his body down the mountain and found the head perched in the fork of some branches and watched the body eagerly trying to scramble up the tree in an attempt to retrieve one of the thirds which made it up. The body tried to clamber up, reaching a quarter of the way by smacking its snow against the trunk until it ran out of strength, falling back down only to try again. Something like a dog trying to pursue a cat stuck in a tree. To Barthomeloi it seemed like he should have stopped after the first time. After waiting four or five cycles of this, Barthomeloi sent a gust of wind, blowing the head out of the tree.
Landing at the base of the tree, the head rolled a few meters as the chubby white body hurried, trying to reach its complement. It took long enough that Barthomeloi started rolling her eyes and needlessly inspecting a frozen waterfall that she guessed would start glittering in about twenty minutes or so. Not solely because the sculpture-esque way the waterfall had frozen, but also because the jewel-like fish that had just started to scuttle about underneath the ice.
When it finally reached the head, the body promptly took it with its stick arms and ploinked it right onto the cavity, and then after clearing its imaginary throat turned to her and said, "Seems we got off to the wrong foot so how about one more time? Hi, I'm Olaf and I like warm hugs," as if it expected her to say something in the instant between his switching of topics to his description of "what it felt like being a flying head."
Barthomeloi kept her silence and decided to go with it, that is, the silence as well as the snowman. She did not know what to say. After all, small talk was not part of her education and even if it seemed this snowman was made up of more small talk than snow Barthomeloi hadn’t even introduced herself.
"...Why is it so white?" Until he asked something as ridiculous as that.
"Because it's winter." Barthomeloi said feeling like a father trying to answer why the sky was blue. That is, immediately regretting even saying a word.
"What's winter?"
Once bitten twice shy. It wasn’t something that was limited to human leeches. lol
"What's winter?"
There was no way Barthomeloi was going to answer that question now, she was going to look forward and wait for this ridiculous snowman who called himself Olaf to change the subject.
"Ohhhhh, winteeeer~ Whaaat art thooou?" Until he started singing.
"It's a season," came a displeased reply. Just like a fatherwhoto whom the novelty of answering his child's question had lost its charm, because he knew-
"What's a season?"
His answer would just lead to more questions.
Nevertheless a parent is a parent and even if Barthomeloi was in no way a parent and even detested that thought at this point, because of her pride or so she led herself to believe, she felt obliged to answer.
I assume that she expects her child to be extremely quiet and dedicated to Magecraft. Well, it isn't like she is obligated to marry anybody, being the Queen. Still, I want to assume that she's going to have a child just for the sake of passing down the Circuits."The year is split into four seasons, summer, autumn, winter, spring," it felt like talking to the child that Bathomeloi wished she would never have.
Correction: chartreuse."Each one lasts for three months," and then she paused, "You know what a year and a month are right?"
Olaf quickly nodded his head twice, "Pshaw, that’s obvious, everyone knows what they are, why?"
Barthomeloi just gave up then and there. She could stand idiotic humans because there were billions of them; however, as a magus, she could not stand an idiotic Phantasmal Species. It was probably a failed product.
"Anyway, if it's so white because it's winter, I wonder what it's like during all the other seasons? I bet one of them is yellow, and the other is charteruse, and... and... there has to be a rainbow one."
So it knew what charteruse was but not a season?
Gosh this is the most introspection I've ever seen Barthomeloi entertain."Autumn is primarily red; spring, green, and summer is hot."
Olaf burst out laughing, slapping his protruding belly. "Oh you're funny, hot isn't a colour!"
"No," Barthomeloi kept her face as much as a line as possible, "It's not."
And then all of a sudden the grating, incessant laughter ceased as if he was looking at some sort of monster behind Barthomeloi.
"What?" she asked.
"What's hot?"
"Hot is what happens when it's summer," replied Barthomeloi trying to keep the level of her frustration as cryptic as possible. Maybe if she stupidly argued around in a circle the snowman would understand that it was futile continue prodding her like this.
"I see, makes sense," the snowman murmured to himself as he started to pat Barthomeloi's waist. Because of the shimmering fabric, it felt like someone dragging a rake across her skin, but a Barthomeloi doesn't cringe. Something like this doesn't affect Barthomeloi because this the first time that someone has done something like this to her. In fact, it was so sudden that she momentarily let her shields drop. "So when it's summer it is hot and when it's hot it is summer. I guess that's the only way to tell if it's summer then,” he finished, clapping his hands together in delight.
"No..." even Barthomeloi is surprised her voice piqued up. "Well, you see all this snow here now, in summer it's not there. Instead, everyone goes to find a different kind of snow, called sand."
"Ohh, sand, it sounds positively, absolutely..." he tried to twitch his non-existent nose in thought, "like snow! I bet it falls out of the sky and I absolutely bet it's black, after all it's like the opposite of snow right?"
During the snowman's exclamation Barthomeloi closed her eyelids. She knew the answer, of course, but it wasn't out of experience. No,, Barthomeloi, hadn't ever been to a place with sand before. The scope of Barthomeloi's life betrayed her.The QueenThe Supreme Magus of the Current Era
"No, it's already on the ground," opening her eyes again only a wry voice was left, "many people go and tan in places with a lot of sand and even if it can be black sometimes, it's usually yellow."
"So then summer is yellow? Hey, hey, hey. What's up with that? Wasn't summer hot, not yellow?"
"Summer's a variety of colours. It's not as simple as you think. You see this gloom in the sky? Well in summer its blue with just tuffs of whiteness that you spot from underneath that tree you visit every day after your lessons, and here,” she points to a patch of white, “It's a deep, prickly green that curls around your toes as you walk through it, like a carpet, but just one that no one complains about." Uncharacteristically Barthomeloi allows herself to be swept into a full reverie. "And then you hear the bees and run away but never get that far because the dandelion seeds just trail behind you as if showing the bees the very path that you ran." She speaks of a naive time, one a lifetime away from the human leeches she now enjoys hunting. When did that happen? For the first time in forever she asks herself what changed that to this and more importantly was this always that?
You should pay a bit more attention to the tense. You slip out of past into present fairly often. I think that you're trying to imitate VN or LN narration, but you should just be consistent.Olaf just kept nodding at whatcomescame out of Barthomeloi's mind and more importantly her mouth, and when she drew for breath...
What a fun chapter. It's like Nanako-chan SOS."Summer sounds positively gleeful, ahhhh, how I wish it was summer already. But winter… winter… Snow here, snow there, ice here, ice here, white, white, white everywhere, there's not much to make a snowman happy."
Barthomeloi snorts, "You say that.”
"I really don't see what so great about..."
Barthomeloi cut him off with the beginning of an incantation that at first rustles before sweeping through the clearing they eventually arrived at.
"Wow~. How is it so pretty now? How did you do that?! You gotta tell me how you did that." Both sticks hands are on the snow he calls his cheeks.
Barthomeloi dropped her clasped hands and examined her handiwork. The spindly trees that created the barrier known as the clearing now gleamed, as if winking, at the sun was still trudging its way across the sky. Even if it seemed a contradiction ice crystallized into drops that hung from limpid clotheslines of frost linking tree to tree as if ornaments heralding that jolly old-timer, Christmas, himself. Only rather than a single tree the entire clearing had frozen over, yet it was not the season’s prisoner. Instead it relished in winter so that the morning, twisted, sang, even danced to a song of forest and ice.
"Secret," she leaves him with that.
Olaf sits himself down and crosses his arms dumbfounded. "Well, we've talked a lot about what happens in summer haven't we? Enough that I absolutely bet you I could sing a song about it."
Barthomeloi nods. It's something she'd rather forget.
"But then what happens to solid water like me in summer?"
What a self-centered question but something like that is to be expected, no?
"It melts." A short, sharp answer that had to be expected as well.
"Is melting a good thing?"
Absentmindedly, Barthomeloi looked at the sun before nodding to herself as she moved away from the clearing. This snowman, no matter what he is, doesn't know what he is so then she has to meet the one who created him. Barthomeloi has a good idea who that is at least.
"Is melting is a bad thing?"
“Neither.” Perhaps she said it a little too quickly. Making up for that Barthomeloi's brow crinkles for a while before, "Some things... are worth melting for." Even if her distaste is visible, she will admit that much.
The snowman's eyes bulge for a moment. "Things... things... So then people as well?"
Finally, flippantly, "Yeah, sure,I’mI guess there are some people out there worth melting for."
Last edited by Frostyvale; October 12th, 2014 at 06:30 PM.
D'aww, Barthomeloi's like a teddy bear made of barbed wire.
You don't want to touch it because it's terrifying but then if you peel back the wire somehow and see how adorable it is on the inside... you still don't want to touch it because it can make your eyes evaporate with it's mind.
Spoiler:
The last time I saw this in FFN it got almost no reviews.....
edit: I retract my statement. This is awesome!
The incorporation of the song's lyrics makes me cringe though.
Last edited by Renko; October 13th, 2014 at 06:42 AM.
"......"
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