( getian’s mien of cool, cautious observation cracks open into open fascination when fleki conjures the familiar out of thin air. in his mind, this makes her an arcanist—he has seen several with arcane skills that allow them to create or animate familiars, though he is used to them being something like jiu niangzi and her wooden puppets. it has always seemed more common for arcanists to find or create objects with which they imbued their skill, giving them movement and limited thought. to create something from nothing… it is not unheard of, but it is certainly far rarer (and, to him, more impressive) than what he’s seen before.
though… even after she makes it—a large, black bird which he assumed was a raven—it doesn’t move from where it perches on her arm. strange. is that the consequence for conjuring a familiar from nothing? that one crafted can move, but one created cannot? surely not… there wouldn’t be much use for them, if that were the case…
consternation crosses over getian’s face like clouds across the sun at her reply. he would bristle at being called a “monster,” though it wouldn’t be the first (and certainly not the last) time that a mortal would hurl such a word at one of his kind.
all in all, her assumptions are completely off. this, he’s gotten used to. when he’d left his mountain, there had been some who knew stories of miemeng birds, but since being removed from his time, that recognition has dwindled to nothing at all. he is accustomed to being a unique oddity among strangers. but he will set the record straight. )
If you would call me a “monster,” that would be your own prerogative. But I was not created by arcane skill the same way that bird on your arm was, and I have no “Master.”
You can call me Getian, and that is what I am. Though, humans have called us “miemeng birds.”
( the moniker does not bother him. it is like a word in another language—different sounds, yet they create the same musical note, the same meaning. still, “getian” is the surname by which all of his people referred to themselves, and it is how he prefers most call him. it makes him feel close to them still, even if he knows where all their bones were interred (assuming it had not been washed away in the “Storm”). )
You can leave if you wish. ( he lifts his wings towards his face; with the rounded peaks of his “wrists” held near his face, the gesture looks rather shy. ) I have no desire to harm you.
no subject
though… even after she makes it—a large, black bird which he assumed was a raven—it doesn’t move from where it perches on her arm. strange. is that the consequence for conjuring a familiar from nothing? that one crafted can move, but one created cannot? surely not… there wouldn’t be much use for them, if that were the case…
consternation crosses over getian’s face like clouds across the sun at her reply. he would bristle at being called a “monster,” though it wouldn’t be the first (and certainly not the last) time that a mortal would hurl such a word at one of his kind.
all in all, her assumptions are completely off. this, he’s gotten used to. when he’d left his mountain, there had been some who knew stories of miemeng birds, but since being removed from his time, that recognition has dwindled to nothing at all. he is accustomed to being a unique oddity among strangers. but he will set the record straight. )
If you would call me a “monster,” that would be your own prerogative. But I was not created by arcane skill the same way that bird on your arm was, and I have no “Master.”
You can call me Getian, and that is what I am. Though, humans have called us “miemeng birds.”
( the moniker does not bother him. it is like a word in another language—different sounds, yet they create the same musical note, the same meaning. still, “getian” is the surname by which all of his people referred to themselves, and it is how he prefers most call him. it makes him feel close to them still, even if he knows where all their bones were interred (assuming it had not been washed away in the “Storm”). )
You can leave if you wish. ( he lifts his wings towards his face; with the rounded peaks of his “wrists” held near his face, the gesture looks rather shy. ) I have no desire to harm you.