( for hundreds of years, the number of mortals he had seen had been negligible. occasionally, they came to his mountain, drawn there by stories of creatures that might be considered xiángruì—guardian beasts that could see the future, change fates, and grant wishes. he and his people were not Goumang, however; they were merely a different species of arcanists, albeit one with their own allotments of strange power. decades had passed, and getian had watched his people depart from their mountain, one by one. it was a sacred yet depressing procession. any among them were free to decide, but to descend to the world of men and help them to build their civilization and thrive was to give up what made them immortal. eventually, they would die, and one of the miemeng remaining on the mountain would depart to gather their bones and bring them home.
the first time getian himself had left it, it was together the bones of the last collector. his last friend—the only other remaining miemeng bird. he is all who remains of his people now, and while he might have thought that would only make him more resolute to never venture in the world of men… he had, regardless. he had heard a rumor of mystery and trouble in pei city, and he had responded to it—the following events resulted in his mountain being lost to him forever, and now he finds himself fully immersed in a world of mortals he doesn’t really understand.
as overwhelming as it can be, it is also fascinating. his people had also studied man from afar, learning their methods of art, music, and literature (even if it was largely only mimicry). he is not immune to the longing in his heart which draws him, like a siren’s song, to that which would eventually end his life. he could choose to hide indefinitely, but there is still something which draws him out to help, even when he only knows marginally more about their situations than the other.
indicators of age, race, and species are still things that getian struggles to quantify and qualify for humans. he wouldn’t even be able to identify that fleki wasn’t human at all, having never met an elf before. he also wouldn’t have been able to anticipate her reaction to seeing him, though it’s not as though all humans treated miemeng birds as good omens. they have been feared in the past, blamed and chased and killed for calamities they came to warn about. those had always been sad, troubling stories to read from their broken bones.
as fleki startles and stumbles in her attempt to get away, getian lowers in altitude until he alights on a nearby fallen tree. he folds his wings to his side, tilting his head with curiosity and just a tad of confusion wrinkling his brow. one innate arcane ability of all miemeng birds is communication, understanding. it’s not that he speaks and knows all languages, but all language is music, and that is the language he knows perfectly.
this word… he doesn’t understand it. strange. that almost never happens.
he’s aware she’s afraid, but he’s hoping that his non-threatening presence will reassure her more than his clumsy attempts at comforting her might. ) That word… ( he blinks, shifting where his talons grip into the bark of the log, ) I have never heard it before. What does it mean?
no subject
the first time getian himself had left it, it was together the bones of the last collector. his last friend—the only other remaining miemeng bird. he is all who remains of his people now, and while he might have thought that would only make him more resolute to never venture in the world of men… he had, regardless. he had heard a rumor of mystery and trouble in pei city, and he had responded to it—the following events resulted in his mountain being lost to him forever, and now he finds himself fully immersed in a world of mortals he doesn’t really understand.
as overwhelming as it can be, it is also fascinating. his people had also studied man from afar, learning their methods of art, music, and literature (even if it was largely only mimicry). he is not immune to the longing in his heart which draws him, like a siren’s song, to that which would eventually end his life. he could choose to hide indefinitely, but there is still something which draws him out to help, even when he only knows marginally more about their situations than the other.
indicators of age, race, and species are still things that getian struggles to quantify and qualify for humans. he wouldn’t even be able to identify that fleki wasn’t human at all, having never met an elf before. he also wouldn’t have been able to anticipate her reaction to seeing him, though it’s not as though all humans treated miemeng birds as good omens. they have been feared in the past, blamed and chased and killed for calamities they came to warn about. those had always been sad, troubling stories to read from their broken bones.
as fleki startles and stumbles in her attempt to get away, getian lowers in altitude until he alights on a nearby fallen tree. he folds his wings to his side, tilting his head with curiosity and just a tad of confusion wrinkling his brow. one innate arcane ability of all miemeng birds is communication, understanding. it’s not that he speaks and knows all languages, but all language is music, and that is the language he knows perfectly.
this word… he doesn’t understand it. strange. that almost never happens.
he’s aware she’s afraid, but he’s hoping that his non-threatening presence will reassure her more than his clumsy attempts at comforting her might. ) That word… ( he blinks, shifting where his talons grip into the bark of the log, ) I have never heard it before. What does it mean?