Thank you for your Yule gifts! It was awfully charming that you'd gotten Harry something to match. Of course I'd be more than happy to teach you all I can. Only tell me what night might be best to meet you to begin, and of course, where I should meet you.
Don't call it regrettable. Someone must have control and power. Even if you keep your bad temper (and you know, for my part I wouldn't mind that) you'll do alright, I think.
Ah, the control and power don't bother me, though I'm out of the habit of paperwork. I'd be a lying dog to suggest I don't enjoy the responsibility. But you already know I am a compulsive fault-finder.
The 27th, if you're free. There's a spot in the woods midway between my tower and Caer Scima, on the banks of the Criostal; I'd come to the fortress or invite you to the encampment, but I've no particular wish to embarrass myself in front of too many of the people I'm supposed to either give orders to or receive orders from.
Thank you,
The Brucolac.
[He's attached a scrap of map with the exact location marked.]
She was late, arriving in the same bird-form in which they'd first met, glossy black feathers gleaming in what light filtered through the canopy of the trees. Landed at first on the weathered shoulder of a moss-covered boulder, head tilting, blinking at him with a beady black eye.
Ruffled her feathers and hopped along the apex of the curved stone. There were a few moments of in between as she became a girl again, a soft schiking sound as feathers became skin and hair, a crack and grind as bones shifted and grew. Her hair was as blue-black as the feathers had been, wound through with small braids, thin color-shifting ribbons, and spiderweb-thin silver chains set here and there with small bleached bird skulls and silver charms. Her red Yule cloak was so heavily brocaded with hand-stitched runes that the red winked out only here and there beneath the black, and more charms and skulls were stitched into its raised collar. Enough to chime lightly against each other as she stepped off the boulder.
His moon charm was one of them. And she grinned, hard enough that a dimple winked out, though the expression itself was utterly, girlishly bashful.
"I could take any, if I studied it long enough!" Her enthusiasm was electric. "I could even mirror you, if you let me try. And... oh, really? You don't think it's too... messy?" The compliment had her looking over her own shoulder to thoughtfully inspect the garment as if trying to see it through his eyes. Like most artists, she focused immediately on what could use improvement.
And then shook her head, which set off another musical chiming, grinning and offering her hand for his. "To the water, then. In this... in my world, water catches light better than anything else, and most of those wanting to catch or work with it on a regular basis keep fountains, or great reflecting pools. The Tower of the Oracle, which is guarded with old sun-magics, has great pipes which gather water from the sea, and the tidal pressure brings it allll the long way to its very peak, where it's let to just soundlessly trickle down carven paths along its sides and join the river. Makes it wink and gleam like a fish even from the coast."
He started at that, looking at her with a kind of admiring alarm; "Hells, girl, you're a shapetaker as well as everything else? It's wonderful. Sailors, traditionally, are token-keepers, and fond of all the charms they can grab. Reminds me of something I'd see at home."
He caught her hand and came with her to the edge of the water. Had they been living their breath would have puffed out as clouds of steam into the air, but they hadn't the warmth for it. Before them, the Criostal was high with snowmelt. "Makes sense to me. Most of the moon magic I did before coming here was on the sea. I could tack and sail on lunar tides, above the sea's surface but still beholden to her, finding the point at which moon and water rolled in tandem."
"Not as well as! It's just.. a part of the same whole. Another sort of magic. No different than wanting to learn two different styles of dance, all told." She nodded enthusiastically at his description of sailors as token-keepers. "Only seems like good sense! What good does a little thing of power do anyone, left set on a shelf or tucked in a drawer?"
She led, and had a long, purposeful stride that had more to do with enthusiasm than impertinence. "Above the sea's surface," she murmured, tilting her head at him. "On lunar currents. I... you'll have to tell me more, when we finish here." One of her hands went to unclasp her cloak.
"We'll be going in, at least a little. If... you want to take off your boots or roll up your hems. There are generally two goals, with local ritual: either to organise and focus one's magic and spellwork, amplify its power by that organisation, or to appeal to and attract specific... other parties, often with the goal of using their strengths or skills to accomplish the goal. Like elemental-summoning. Now: do you have any sort of goal in mind, or are you just wanting to learn the rules to experiment by?"
He shook his head. "If I could explain to you, I would," he said, unclipping his own black cloak and tossing it up into the branches of a bare tree to hang there. "But I don't know how it worked, only that it worked—it made more sense when I was actually sailing."
Crouching to unbuckle his boots, he continues, "The former. I'll summon if I have to, but." Flashing a fang in a grin. "So much of my ritual-work is a talent for bullshit, Linn, you can't imagine. Best to organise my own power; easier to guess the rules there, less likely to commit some interdimensional faux pas. Before, I knew the ground rules, or I'd been around long enough to make educated guesses; seen things flower and go down in flames; pure trial and error. Here..." He shook his head. "Give me the basics. And I'll see what I can pull from them. Anything more specific than that and I'm liable to overthink it."
She held her own cloak up, hooked it on nothing, and it vanished like a shadow into more shadows. She caught his grin while bending and pulling up the hems of her leggings, and muffled a giggle.
"It's not much more complex than that, really! One treats magic... whether your own, that of the world, that of a specific domain... like a living entity. Some argue that it is one. In their most basic form, rituals all make sacrifice of bood, flesh, or bone... and at the highest peak, all three together in staggering quantity. Common rituals are all simply patterns of... of doing a thing that are more effective than other combinations. Everyone is... is bullshitting it, to use your phrase, to some degree. But it's very difficult to feel the moment of lost momentum or lost power in a ritual, the little places where something could be made better. That talent, coupled with a penchant I suppose for perfectionism, a hunger and eagerness for it, is often what distinguishes the great from the mediocre."
She stepped down the rocky bank while she spoke, and set her pale feet into the water. "We'll steal the water's light-nets, to start."
"I knew it," he said, wryly triumphant, as he slipped down the bank and came to stand by her in the icy water, though his humour covered genuine fascination—real pleasure in the idea that all that fucking around with circuitry, thaumic batteries, arcane diagrams and intense mathematics—was perhaps not as necessary as the scientist-thaumaturges of New Crobuzon or its exports insisted.
"At it's most basic, a ritual has three parts: Weave, Sacrifice, Unwind. Some people may call those different things, depending on their instruction, or may argue that there's more, but..." She smiled, slim shoulders lifting. "Basics."
She gestured at the water with spread fingertips, picking her way without splashing, moving with great care. Under the water, pale skin and sallow flesh flaked away under the strong current. The bones of her toes gripped at the worn-smooth rocks. She didn't heed it, but found the peak of a larger, wet mossy rock to fold to sit on, patting the space beside her. "We're going to magic the water around us smooth, and press droplets of our blood where we want to make the intersections of the net. The spell's a swift one— nothing pins flowing water very long— so we must move pretty quick, but without disturbing the water, where we can. A game young witches play together, but it's... it's good for learning on."
"Weave." The Brucolac waded forward, keeping pace with her. "Sacrifice...Unwind. Seems sensible enough." He noted with a sharp shock how the water ate at her skin, bones scratching at rock, but didn't mention it. Hadn't realised she was so literally dead, though he felt no disgust.
Sitting beside her, he studied the surface of the water critically, and nodded. "I'll try to keep up."
"Alright. Runes to make the water still." She touched the tip of her tongue to the point of a slender forefinger. Leaned down to the water's surface, gliding her fingertip along it slowly, so that he could see the shapes she made. They hung suspended in the water, a bluish light that shimmered and flickered like a candleflame. "I use 'mirror' and 'still', but there are dozens of other rune combinations that would accomplish the same thing. 'halt'. I attach 'mirror' to my halt-motion rune so that I get the best surface to work from, one that'll reflect light far better than something with any ripples." While she spoke, her other hand was pulling a short, thin knife from the sash 'round her waist that served in lieu of a belt. "Weave is the set-up, doing everything you must do and have ready before the moment of sacrifice. Sacrifice is where you pour all your magic in, think hard on your goals, will them to be. The critical moment."
As soon as the runes were complete, the water around them flattened and was still as a mirror. Moonlight made it radiantly silver. Quick as a cat, eyes faintly unfocused, she slashed two deep lines into the same hand which had made the runes, and then scraped the fine blade along the skin of her palm, collecting the blackish blood on the blade.
With an air of focus, and a flick of her wrist, she flung droplets of blood from the edge of the knife. They hung suspended in the still water, like ink, slowly curling; and immediately, the silver glow on the water began to dissipate, the moonlight tugging into radiant threads where the blood had landed. She flicked it several more times, unbreathing, her hands quick and clever to the work. It was only a matter of seconds before the stillness of the water began to break into ripples, the frozen-time sense of magic breaking around the edges and unraveling into motion. The strengthening current started tugging her net downstream. She caught it at the last moment with her toes, and stretched to pull it into her uncut hand with a grin.
It was an uneven little net of moonlight, fine as a spiderweb, radiantly glowing between her hands and making her pale skin shimmer. "When you're playing it as a game, you can't use a knife," she elaborated cheerily, looking over her creation.
"But... but back to teaching: your intent with the sacrifice is very important. You've got to focus on your goal, and of course you're feeding it to your own magic to help it accomplish your will, but in my experience, never give the minimum. Thing's likely to get unreliable then, and if you appeal to the other elements of the magic you're doing with, you'll always get... get a little better. For example, don't just give it to the magic you're working, but a little to the water, a thank-you for catching the light, a thank-you to the moon for letting you touch her hem."
He exhaled slowly, almost a low whistle, as she caught the net. Staring at how it hung like gossamer from her fingers.
"I understand," he said. "A little like the difference between payment and free-exchanged gifts." Magic didn't like to work for a wage; spiritual penny-pinching got one nowhere.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Thank you for your Yule gifts! It was awfully charming that you'd gotten Harry something to match. Of course I'd be more than happy to teach you all I can. Only tell me what night might be best to meet you to begin, and of course, where I should meet you.
Don't call it regrettable. Someone must have control and power. Even if you keep your bad temper (and you know, for my part I wouldn't mind that) you'll do alright, I think.
Linnaea Réultbhuíon
no subject
Ah, the control and power don't bother me, though I'm out of the habit of paperwork. I'd be a lying dog to suggest I don't enjoy the responsibility. But you already know I am a compulsive fault-finder.
The 27th, if you're free. There's a spot in the woods midway between my tower and Caer Scima, on the banks of the Criostal; I'd come to the fortress or invite you to the encampment, but I've no particular wish to embarrass myself in front of too many of the people I'm supposed to either give orders to or receive orders from.
Thank you,
The Brucolac.
[He's attached a scrap of map with the exact location marked.]
action // woods near the croistal // jan. 27
Ruffled her feathers and hopped along the apex of the curved stone. There were a few moments of in between as she became a girl again, a soft schiking sound as feathers became skin and hair, a crack and grind as bones shifted and grew. Her hair was as blue-black as the feathers had been, wound through with small braids, thin color-shifting ribbons, and spiderweb-thin silver chains set here and there with small bleached bird skulls and silver charms. Her red Yule cloak was so heavily brocaded with hand-stitched runes that the red winked out only here and there beneath the black, and more charms and skulls were stitched into its raised collar. Enough to chime lightly against each other as she stepped off the boulder.
His moon charm was one of them. And she grinned, hard enough that a dimple winked out, though the expression itself was utterly, girlishly bashful.
"Are you ready?"
no subject
"I didn't know you could still take that form."
He stepped closer, grin smoothing to a more sedate smile, indicating her cloak. "This is beautiful. Yes, I'm ready."
no subject
And then shook her head, which set off another musical chiming, grinning and offering her hand for his. "To the water, then. In this... in my world, water catches light better than anything else, and most of those wanting to catch or work with it on a regular basis keep fountains, or great reflecting pools. The Tower of the Oracle, which is guarded with old sun-magics, has great pipes which gather water from the sea, and the tidal pressure brings it allll the long way to its very peak, where it's let to just soundlessly trickle down carven paths along its sides and join the river. Makes it wink and gleam like a fish even from the coast."
no subject
He caught her hand and came with her to the edge of the water. Had they been living their breath would have puffed out as clouds of steam into the air, but they hadn't the warmth for it. Before them, the Criostal was high with snowmelt. "Makes sense to me. Most of the moon magic I did before coming here was on the sea. I could tack and sail on lunar tides, above the sea's surface but still beholden to her, finding the point at which moon and water rolled in tandem."
no subject
She led, and had a long, purposeful stride that had more to do with enthusiasm than impertinence. "Above the sea's surface," she murmured, tilting her head at him. "On lunar currents. I... you'll have to tell me more, when we finish here." One of her hands went to unclasp her cloak.
"We'll be going in, at least a little. If... you want to take off your boots or roll up your hems. There are generally two goals, with local ritual: either to organise and focus one's magic and spellwork, amplify its power by that organisation, or to appeal to and attract specific... other parties, often with the goal of using their strengths or skills to accomplish the goal. Like elemental-summoning. Now: do you have any sort of goal in mind, or are you just wanting to learn the rules to experiment by?"
no subject
Crouching to unbuckle his boots, he continues, "The former. I'll summon if I have to, but." Flashing a fang in a grin. "So much of my ritual-work is a talent for bullshit, Linn, you can't imagine. Best to organise my own power; easier to guess the rules there, less likely to commit some interdimensional faux pas. Before, I knew the ground rules, or I'd been around long enough to make educated guesses; seen things flower and go down in flames; pure trial and error. Here..." He shook his head. "Give me the basics. And I'll see what I can pull from them. Anything more specific than that and I'm liable to overthink it."
no subject
"It's not much more complex than that, really! One treats magic... whether your own, that of the world, that of a specific domain... like a living entity. Some argue that it is one. In their most basic form, rituals all make sacrifice of bood, flesh, or bone... and at the highest peak, all three together in staggering quantity. Common rituals are all simply patterns of... of doing a thing that are more effective than other combinations. Everyone is... is bullshitting it, to use your phrase, to some degree. But it's very difficult to feel the moment of lost momentum or lost power in a ritual, the little places where something could be made better. That talent, coupled with a penchant I suppose for perfectionism, a hunger and eagerness for it, is often what distinguishes the great from the mediocre."
She stepped down the rocky bank while she spoke, and set her pale feet into the water. "We'll steal the water's light-nets, to start."
no subject
"Good. How?"
no subject
She gestured at the water with spread fingertips, picking her way without splashing, moving with great care. Under the water, pale skin and sallow flesh flaked away under the strong current. The bones of her toes gripped at the worn-smooth rocks. She didn't heed it, but found the peak of a larger, wet mossy rock to fold to sit on, patting the space beside her. "We're going to magic the water around us smooth, and press droplets of our blood where we want to make the intersections of the net. The spell's a swift one— nothing pins flowing water very long— so we must move pretty quick, but without disturbing the water, where we can. A game young witches play together, but it's... it's good for learning on."
no subject
Sitting beside her, he studied the surface of the water critically, and nodded. "I'll try to keep up."
no subject
As soon as the runes were complete, the water around them flattened and was still as a mirror. Moonlight made it radiantly silver. Quick as a cat, eyes faintly unfocused, she slashed two deep lines into the same hand which had made the runes, and then scraped the fine blade along the skin of her palm, collecting the blackish blood on the blade.
With an air of focus, and a flick of her wrist, she flung droplets of blood from the edge of the knife. They hung suspended in the still water, like ink, slowly curling; and immediately, the silver glow on the water began to dissipate, the moonlight tugging into radiant threads where the blood had landed. She flicked it several more times, unbreathing, her hands quick and clever to the work. It was only a matter of seconds before the stillness of the water began to break into ripples, the frozen-time sense of magic breaking around the edges and unraveling into motion. The strengthening current started tugging her net downstream. She caught it at the last moment with her toes, and stretched to pull it into her uncut hand with a grin.
It was an uneven little net of moonlight, fine as a spiderweb, radiantly glowing between her hands and making her pale skin shimmer. "When you're playing it as a game, you can't use a knife," she elaborated cheerily, looking over her creation.
"But... but back to teaching: your intent with the sacrifice is very important. You've got to focus on your goal, and of course you're feeding it to your own magic to help it accomplish your will, but in my experience, never give the minimum. Thing's likely to get unreliable then, and if you appeal to the other elements of the magic you're doing with, you'll always get... get a little better. For example, don't just give it to the magic you're working, but a little to the water, a thank-you for catching the light, a thank-you to the moon for letting you touch her hem."
no subject
"I understand," he said. "A little like the difference between payment and free-exchanged gifts." Magic didn't like to work for a wage; spiritual penny-pinching got one nowhere.