Post by Podjroot on Apr 1, 2008 20:56:09 GMT -5
One would think a wraith stalked about as the ethereal creature cast his form through the halls. It was late by now, the students well on their way to dreaming, so Soren felt little need to cast a perfect illusion of himself. He was extremely transparent, like a cobweb clinging to reality. He didn't even bother to add the details of a coat and glasses to his half hearted magic. By all means, he seemed nothing more than a ghost out of the 1800s. He wore a white loose shirt with a dark brown vest over the top of it. There was a ruffled scarf about his neck, and his dark brown pinstriped pants flared out over his black boots. The sockets of his eyes were empty, devoid of true life, and his movements, not unlike some vampires, seemed like an act, a smile coming too late, a chest that never breathed, a heart that never pulsed.
Of course, there was no one about to trick, no one to make believe in his substance, and so left alone with only himself and the truth of his immaterialness, the sentient magic neglected his form. He passed by the door to the faculty lounge, and as he concentrated on it, his illusion waned until he was almost invisible.
"No one home,
And left alone,
The secrets here
Shall soon be known.
No door can bind
The eager mind
From seeking what
it soon will find."
It was one of Soren's numerous illusions, a audible trick used by mortals to fool or con their fellow man, but his primary use of it was to speak in general. There was no need to use it here, but talking in this way to himself settled his thoughts. Just as he said in his rhyme, his form passed fluidly through the grains of the door and into the darkness of the faculty lounge.
"Too dark for my liking," and with that said, he seemed, by all intents and purposes to flick on the lights. The truth of the matter is, Soren couldn't manipulate anything in the real world. Everything about him was all trickery and magic. The now "lit" room was simply a projection of his memory cast onto the real darkness. Everything from the intricate weave of the furniture's cushions to the dust settling on the sills was his work. However realistic he made it appear, he still neglected himself, and continued to sulk like a shadow.
Walking over to a chair, he took a seat and lowered his head pensively. There was a moment of silence before he muttered to himself, "You'd tell me I was childish for being afraid of the dark, wouldn't you? What would little meat sacks know about about what hides in the spirit of darkness?"
Of course, there was no one about to trick, no one to make believe in his substance, and so left alone with only himself and the truth of his immaterialness, the sentient magic neglected his form. He passed by the door to the faculty lounge, and as he concentrated on it, his illusion waned until he was almost invisible.
"No one home,
And left alone,
The secrets here
Shall soon be known.
No door can bind
The eager mind
From seeking what
it soon will find."
It was one of Soren's numerous illusions, a audible trick used by mortals to fool or con their fellow man, but his primary use of it was to speak in general. There was no need to use it here, but talking in this way to himself settled his thoughts. Just as he said in his rhyme, his form passed fluidly through the grains of the door and into the darkness of the faculty lounge.
"Too dark for my liking," and with that said, he seemed, by all intents and purposes to flick on the lights. The truth of the matter is, Soren couldn't manipulate anything in the real world. Everything about him was all trickery and magic. The now "lit" room was simply a projection of his memory cast onto the real darkness. Everything from the intricate weave of the furniture's cushions to the dust settling on the sills was his work. However realistic he made it appear, he still neglected himself, and continued to sulk like a shadow.
Walking over to a chair, he took a seat and lowered his head pensively. There was a moment of silence before he muttered to himself, "You'd tell me I was childish for being afraid of the dark, wouldn't you? What would little meat sacks know about about what hides in the spirit of darkness?"