Summer & Spellbooks

[Cross]

Charcoal stained the dainty pink paw pads with black dust as it was tapped against the journal. The little white mouse read and reread her half-finished incantation, stuck on the second stanza. Though she would probably never try the spell, anyway (she was too scared to work magic on her own), she wanted to finish it, just so she could feel like she'd done something productive today.

Victiore Fawn sat in a tranquil grove, perched on a tree stump. Her long blue scarf was wrapped thrice around her thin shoulders, despite the warm sunshine filtering through the trees. Crossing out the word 'pansy', she decided to change it to a different flower; her vibrant green eyes swept the grove with a glance, searching for inspiration. Poppy? No, that had few rhyming partners. Periwinkle? No, that was worse. . . Perhaps it was best to stop and come back to the spell a little later.

Shutting the journal with a light thump, the witch stuffed it and the charcoal stick into her bag, wiping her blackened paw on her short breeches. Just then, a butterfly fluttered past, and Victiore froze. She watched as the pretty insect alighted in a patch of daisies nearby. It was a green swallowtail, just like the one tattooed on her left thigh. The mouse scrambled to get her sketchbook and another charcoal stick out as quietly as possible.

Glancing furtively at the fluttering thing, the mouse produced an exquisite sketch, lovingly adding the fine details to the wings. She loved butterflies almost as much as she loved flowers. In her tiny, flowing script, Victiore wrote a little impromptu butterfly spell next to the sketch, murmuring the words aloud.

"To flit, to fly, to flutter by,
To float into the sky so high,
'Tis bliss, dear butterfly, you see,
To dream of me with wings like thee."

The mouse's small smile faded as she realized she would probably have to use a real butterfly to make that spell work, if she ever tried it. Since she couldn't imagine hurting such a beautiful little creature, this spell would remain a sweet little poem. Glancing up, she saw the butterfly float her way, and her smile returned. She held her breath as the flying insect flitted around her many flower tattoos. Deeming the painted flora devoid of nectar, it fluttered off in search of real flowers.

Victiore sqeaked quietly with glee, her thin pink tail wrapping around her slender legs as she hugged her sketchpad. She simply adored it when smaller creatures worked up the courage to come near her. Slipping her sketchbook into her bag along with the charcoal, she wiped her paws again, murmuring the butterfly poem to herself again.

Lowering herself off the tree trunk, she decided to settle down for lunch, leaning up against the gnarled roots of the long-gone tree. She took out a pawful of roots from one of the compartments of her sack and munched on them happily, snuggling up into her big beloved scarf.

((Please note that I am not saying my character can use real magic. She is merely good with plants and the like. If you want to know more information about her, go read her bio. But, again, I DO NOT own a character who has real magical powers.))

[Promatera]

Bon Vaygan arose from his hollow feeling in a better mood than he had in almost two weeks. The apathy that cursed him and kept him confined had finally disappeared. Instead, Bon Vaygan felt giddy as the sun filtered down from above. He was eager to resume his treacherous line of work.

Though he had tried living as an honest beast, after his crops had failed him, Bon Vaygan decided to return to his thieving lifestyle. Several weeks ago, he had managed to steal, plunder, coerce, and pilfer enough food to last him nearly a season. However, after a run in with a tough Guosim shrew, his weeks of work amounted to little more than a new (though untrustworthy) ally.

This time was going to be different. Bon Vaygan could feel his confidence surging once more and it showed. He stood proud, displaying his heroic poise to an imaginary audience. However, just at that moment, he heard snickering.

Did somebeast find him funny? Was it his cursed red nose? He would soon find out! With a murderous look in his eyes he tread slowly through the forest underbrush. He did not have to move very far. Not far from his home, a white-furred mouse with various tattoos on her body, was leaning against a stump for a small lunch. Tucked away in her gaudy scarf, the mouse seemed content, but not for long.

Containing a giggle as he thought of how to deal with the small mouse, he hid himself behind a stout ash tree.

In a low, booming voice, he then bellowed, "What beast dares to eat in MY territory!"

Bon Vaygan judged the mouse to be of a more timid nature and hoped to frighten the little beast into running off. Leaving all her food to him as payment for her foolish behavior. This would teach the beast to laugh at Bon Vaygan!

[Cross]

In a low, booming voice, he then bellowed, "What beast dares to eat in MY territory!"

Victiore was about to finish off another root when the voice rang out. Her green eyes went wide as saucers, and her ears flattened against her skull in fear. Letting out a squeal of terror, the little mouse grabbed her bag and held it close, curling up into her scarf as much as possible. Her tail curled tightly around her legs as her wide eyes searched the grove for the source of the voice.

She saw no beast around, which only heightened her fear. With trembling paws, she searched for the little silver knife she kept in her sack. Wielding the small blade out before her, still shaking, she tried to find her voice. "Who-who-who goes there?" she whimpered, still trying to find the owner of the big scary voice.

[Promatera]

Peering around the ash tree, Bon Vaygan had to cover his mouth to prevent him from laughing aloud. The mouse's reaction was priceless. She was shaking all over after being spooked like that. At this rate, it would not be long before he would be enjoying an easy meal.

"Who-who-who goes there?" she whimpered, still trying to find the owner of the big scary voice.

"'Tis I!" he proclaimed, "The Spirit of Mossflower Wood manifested!" He paused to allow his statement to sink in. His mind moving as quickly as it could, Bon Vaygan thought of how to proceed from there.

"I have watched as you have traveled through my domain, mouse!" he projected. "Because of ME you have been safe so far!"

"However," he added, "I cannot allow anybeast to come and go as they please without tribute!"

His stomach rumbled and Bon Vaygan decided it was best to cut to the chase. "I command you to leave your lunch upon that stump just beside you! Do so and I shall continue to protect you!"

[Cross]

"'Tis I!" he proclaimed, "The Spirit of Mossflower Wood manifested!"

Despite her fear, Victiore became a bit puzzled and the slightest bit indignant with the projected statement. The Spirit of Mossflower? The mouse's mother, a well-versed seer, had been in contact with numerous spirits over the course of Victiore's life, and she had never mentioned any Spirit of Mossflower Wood. Nor had Lily, the witch who had trained the mouse, said anything about this Spirit, even though she had mentored Victiore in learning about the magic of the forest. This had to be some kind of wicked trick.

"I command you to leave your lunch upon that stump just beside you! Do so and I shall continue to protect you!"

That cinched it. Spirits, no matter where they hailed from, had no use for food. Victiore knew that much. The little witch furrowed her brow behind her scarf, scanning the edges of the grove for the speaker. She noticed the slightest hint of movement beyond an ash tree and marked the spot, still looking from side to side as if still searching. "It's-it's not nice to tell a lie, mister," she replied in her quiet voice. "Every beast knows that, um, spirits--spirits don't need food!" She blurted out the last part before she lost her nerve.

"Oh, but, um, if you're hungry, I only have one root left," she added. Even though she knew this was no spirit, it could very well be some beast much bigger and stronger than she was. She would not hesitate to comply with his demands if it meant he wouldn't hurt her.

[Promatera]

"It's-it's not nice to tell a lie, mister," she replied in her quiet voice. "Every beast knows that, um, spirits--spirits don't need food!"

Bon Vaygan cackled. The mouse saw through his ruse, but it did not matter.

"Oh, but, um, if you're hungry, I only have one root left," she added

One root left? Was the mouse holding out on him? Ah well some food was better than none. "Very well," he chuckled, "you've seen right through me." Sliding out from the ash tree he gave her a toothy grin.

"I believe I will take you up on your offer," he added slinking closer to the mouse. "It's the least you could do for your rudeness..." he spoke with a poisonous undertone. As he came closer he allowed his cape to fall back, revealing the shrew rapier tied around his belt. This creature revealed she could be intimidated and Bon Vaygan would use that to his advantage.

He stopped in front of her. Bowing low he introduced himself, "I am...Nik." He had to think fast for an alias and remembered the shrew he had met in the barn several weeks prior.

[Cross]

"Very well," he chuckled, "you've seen right through me."

Victiore shrank back as the weasel appeared from behind the tree, clutching her bag and her little knife closely. If there was a spirit of Mossflower, she sincerely hoped it didn't look as intimidating as this creature did.

"I believe I will take you up on your offer," he added slinking closer to the mouse. "It's the least you could do for your rudeness..." he spoke with a poisonous undertone.

As the weasel came closer, Victiore noticed his bright red nose. If she wasn't so terrified, she would have giggled at the sight. Instead, she dug out the last root from her bag and tossed it in his direction, scooting further away from him. She didn't think she could make a run for it, especially not when he was already so close.

Bowing low he introduced himself, "I am...Nik."

Now why would a vagabond choose to introduce himself to his victim? Spite? Sadism? Whatever the reason, Victiore was not entirely sure if she wanted to reply. As the weasel stood there with his billowing cloak and lethal-looking rapier, the witch had to suppress another whimper of terror. Deciding it might be best to give her name after all, she felt the weasel might not think she was entirely helpless if she at least introduced herself back.

"Victiore," the tattooed mouse mumbled from behind her scarf, placing a distinct French accent on the last syllable of her name. "Victiore Fawn."

[Promatera]

"Victiore," the tattooed mouse mumbled from behind her scarf, placing a distinct French accent on the last syllable of her name. "Victiore Fawn."

"Pleasure to meet you," he responded rising to his full height. "What brings you to this side of Mossflower?" he added circling around the small stump she laid on.

What was a small mouse doing all alone anyway? He wondered how she managed to survive. Perhaps Victoire knew secrets of the forest and could live off the land all by herself? He chuckled at the thought.

[Cross]

"Pleasure to meet you," he responded rising to his full height. "What brings you to this side of Mossflower?" he added circling around the small stump she laid on.

Victiore tried her very hardest to keep her composure, but with the weasel circling her like this, it was getting rather difficult. "Oh, uh, the pleasure is all yours--I mean, mine," she stammered, keeping her eyes down. "I was just . . . doodling for a little while. I was about to leave . . . right after I was done eating."

Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me, she prayed silently. The witch would have loved nothing more than to disappear into the tree stump right then and there. Nik was so tall! He towered over her like a giant. She guessed that even if she stood up on the stump, he would still reach a few inches higher than she did. Okay, maybe that was exaggerating a bit, but Victiore knew how small she was.

"I--I'm sorry if I was trespassing," she added, finally looking up a bit. He was just passing in front of her on his way around the stump, and their gaze locked for a moment. His glare was so intimidating that it terrified her even more. "Eep!" she cried, turning away and shrinking further down. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

((By the way, if you want to see a pic of Victiore in my own drawing style, here she is: wildstudios.webs.com/apps/photos/photo?photoid=134183421 ))

[Promatera]

"I was just . . . doodling for a little while. I was about to leave . . . right after I was done eating."

Bon Vaygan could tell the mouse was still on alert. He gave her a good scare, but Bon Vaygan was not satisfied with this. What he wanted was a proper apology. His red nose was no laughing matter and no beast would ever get away with it.

"I--I'm sorry if I was trespassing," she added, finally looking up a bit.

This caught Bon Vaygan off guard. Her gaze stirred pity within his selfish heart. He turned away from Victiore, if he felt pity now it would ruin the persona he had created. Masking his pity, Bon Vaygan glared at her. The mouse fell for his mock cruelty and immediately cried out.

"Eep!" she cried, turning away and shrinking further down. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

That was what he wanted to hear. A proper apology. Satisfied he grinned.

"Apology accepted, " 'Nik' replied kneeling down in front of the mouse, "however, if you ever so much as say a word about my nose I can add scars to your collection of tattoos."

Still smiling he laid back on the grass and sighed. "So you are an artist?" The fact that Victiore drew meant perhaps some artistic skill and art was something Bon Vaygan enjoyed, being something of a rarity in Mossflower.

[Cross]

"Apology accepted, " 'Nik' replied kneeling down in front of the mouse, "however, if you ever so much as say a word about my nose I can add scars to your collection of tattoos."

Victiore peeked out from behind her bag and scarf. "I don't want any scars," she murmured obediently. His grin was even worse than his glare. But she resisted the urge to shriek again. She mustered as much courage as she could and finally lowered her bag. Perhaps she could kindly ask for permission to leave . . .

Still smiling he laid back on the grass and sighed. "So you are an artist?"

A bright red blush flared up upon the white mouse's cheeks. She bit her lip, her vibrant green eyes dropping to the side. "Oh, it's nothing," she said dismissively. "Just a hobby. I'm not very good . . ."

[Promatera]

"I don't want any scars," she murmured obediently.

The mouse was very compliant. Usually other beasts were not so kind. It was a shame she did not have more food he could take, but there were always other beasts. However, her artistic ability had his curiosity piqued. How did this artist survive in the culturally barren Mossflower?

"Oh, it's nothing," she said dismissively. "Just a hobby. I'm not very good . . ."

"Now don't sell yourself short!" he replied chuckling. Even though Victiore hid her drawings in her bag he had noticed her practicing. "If that is the case though," he added, "what else is it that you do?"

[Cross]

"Now don't sell yourself short!" he replied chuckling. Even though Victiore hid her drawings in her bag he had noticed her practicing. "If that is the case though," he added, "what else is it that you do?"

Victiore blushed deeper. Rubbing the back of her neck, she wondered how she should respond. She never liked to call herself a witch, since she had never handled real magic. Besides, he wouldn't believe her, anyway. She was a helpless, fragile little mouse who had given up the rest of her food just because she got spooked. From his point of view, most likely.

"I, um . . . like to write poems," she replied softly. Her incantations could hardly be called that in her mind. Without magic, and the proper ingredients, they would never be more than silly poems. "But, I'm really not very good. It's just something . . . to pass the time." The mouse avoided eye contact with the weasel at all costs. She feared being scared out of her wits again if she caught his eye. Not that she wasn't still scared out of her wits . . .

[Promatera]

"I, um . . . like to write poems," she replied softly.

"Ah a poet!" he exclaimed. Though he had never been much for poetry, he loved to recite it. When he was younger he could recall training his dramatic elocution by reciting poetry.

"Would you mind if I read some aloud?" he asked eyeing her with interest. He had now forgotten the mouse was still weary of the him. Excitement overwhelmed his sense and after a week or so of living without it, he would not deny his impulse.

"I used to always recite poetry when I was younger," he mused rubbing his chin.

[Cross]

"Ah a poet!" he exclaimed.

Victiore nodded, offering a ghost of a smile. Her face was still beet red, but she was at least glad the weasel wasn't threatening her anymore.

"Would you mind if I read some aloud?" he asked eyeing her with interest. "I used to always recite poetry when I was younger."

The mouse's face could not have been redder. "R-read it aloud?" she repeated, her eyes widening. Her grip tightened on her bag for a moment. There were a few she was proud of, like one that went into a detailed description of a rose, and another that could almost be called a ballad about a ladybug. But they were just silly little poems. Biting her lip, she rubbed her neck again.

If she allowed the weasel to read her incantations, what would happen? They were meant to be spells, after all. Maybe she ought to experiment a little. A witch had to be bold sometimes! Taking a deep breath, Victiore came to a decision. "It-it would be my honor," she murmured, fishing her journal out of her bag. Flipping through the pages, she found one of her personal favorites and handed the worn book to the weasel. "I'm a little fond of this one," she said shyly, blushing again.

Effortless speed gives grace to my wings,
As quick as a flash, can you see how I dash?
All o'er the mirror I dance and I sing,
What's a day to a dragonfly?

Strength in my limbs is my purest delight,
From flat leaf to shore, no, I don't quite soar,
All o'er the mirror, a hop is my flight,
What's a day to a little green toad?

Buoyant 'neath crystalline waves I do skim,
Never really all still, can you feel the same thrill?
All thru the mirror I float and I swim,
What's a day to a tiny blue fish?

((You can pretend Bon Vaygen reads that. Sorry it's not all that great. Had to come up with it on the fly.))

[Promatera]

"R-read it aloud?" she repeated, her eyes widening.

The mouse seemed quite surprised that Bon Vaygan expressed interest in her poetry. Must just be shy to share her own material. He had been like that too in his younger days, but he quickly fixed that.

"It-it would be my honor," she murmured, fishing her journal out of her bag.

Her decision seemed to have been hard to come to as she looked somewhat conflicted. Then again he was a stranger that had just scared her and was now trying to read her poetry; perhaps that would explain the averted gaze.

"I'm a little fond of this one," she said shyly, blushing again.

"Excellent!" he snapped gracefully taking Victiore's tome of poems. After clearing his throat, Bon Vaygan began.


"Effortless speed gives grace to my wings,
As quick as a flash, can you see how I dash?
All o'er the mirror I dance and I sing,
What's a day to a dragonfly?

Strength in my limbs is my purest delight,
From flat leaf to shore, no, I don't quite soar,
All o'er the mirror, a hop is my flight,
What's a day to a little green toad?

Buoyant 'neath crystalline waves I do skim,
Never really all still, can you feel the same thrill?
All thru the mirror I float and I swim,
What's a day to a tiny blue fish?"

Like the ham Bon Vaygan was he, enunciated every line with a dramatic flair. He enjoyed himself and when he had finished he slammed the book shut and returned it to the mouse.

"It was a nice piece," he replied, "the meter was smooth and the rhyme scheme was quite fun!" "I almost felt a magical quality to it," he laughed. He enjoyed critiquing this mouse's work. Not only did he get to show off his vocabulary, but it reminded him of simpler days with his father.

((OOC: That was a pretty good poem!))

[Cross]

Victiore sat riveted as her work was read aloud. Nik seemed to know just when to add emphasis, and just when to back off. Give him a female voice, and the poem sounded exactly as it had in her head when she first wrote it. Bold, fun, and a little whimsical.

"It was a nice piece," he replied, "the meter was smooth and the rhyme scheme was quite fun!"

"Oh, th-thank you," the mouse murmured, gently taking her book back. "I had a lot of fun writing it . . ."

"I almost felt a magical quality to it," he laughed.

Victiore's eyes grew wide again, but not with fear. Had he said . . . magic? Her ears flicked forward expectantly. Real magic? He had to be joking. She couldn't know if it was a genuine spark of magic, or just that he liked the poem. She always felt something tug at her heartstrings whenever she read her finished incantations. But that was just because she enjoyed writing them.

He'd felt a magical quality to it . . . That meant something. Maybe it meant nothing to him, but not to her. If it was real magic, then why had nothing happened? She had written that incantation for the purpose of turning the surface of a pond into a real mirror, at least for a moment. The addition of the creatures, the dragonfly, the frog, and the fish, into the spell was to better create a connection to the pond. So why hadn't it worked?

Maybe she just wasn't close enough to a pond, and perhaps she needed those three creatures near at paw to make the connection work. It was a long shot, but maybe she just needed to try again. Glancing down at the stump, she remembered another spell she'd written to give life back to dead trees. This was her perfect opportunity!

"Um, Mister Nik," she began nervously, drumming her fingers on the spine of her journal. "You read my poem so well . . . would you do me the honor of . . . r-reading another one for me? Please?" Her blush had returned with a vengeance as she turned to the poem of the tree stump with trembling paws. "You-your voice was wonderful . . . I-I just hope my poems are good enough for you to read." Now her helplessness was more of an act than how she really felt. She wasn't completely tricking him, just gaining his services through . . . obscure means. It couldn't hurt to try.

As she offered him the journal again, she made sure her bare paw was touching the worn tree stump. It would only work if her bare fur made contact. That was how she wrote the spell to work.

((OOC: Here's the poem for him to read. It took me a long time to come up with XD ))

Thou once held thy hands
To yonder the sky,
Thou once shared a place
With each bird soaring by.
Thou knew lofty heights,
Midst thy tall, proud friends,
Now thou hast lost thy pride,
Sorrow knows not its end.
Rise again, mighty fellow!
Find thy place up above!
Once again, be thou mighty!
Share thy place with the doves!
Grow again to yon sky,
Hold thine arms high and proud,
Make yon eagles feel envy
As thee rises past clouds!

((OOC: I'm glad you liked the other one!))

[Promatera]

The mouse thanked him and seemed quite amazed. Bon Vaygan just figured she never thought someone would actually enjoy her poetry.

"Um, Mister Nik," she began nervously, drumming her fingers on the spine of her journal. "You read my poem so well . . . would you do me the honor of . . . r-reading another one for me? Please?" Her blush had returned with a vengeance as she turned to the poem of the tree stump with trembling paws. "You-your voice was wonderful . . . I-I just hope my poems are good enough for you to read."

"Well you certainly know how to flatter someone," 'Nik' laughed. "I'd be more than happy to read another work, it's not often you find the opportunity to do this in Mossflower," he remarked as he gently grabbed the poetry book from Victiore's trembling hands.

Before beginning, Bon Vaygan cleared his throat again and did a quick cursory glance of the poem.

"Thou once held thy hands
To yonder the sky,
Thou once shared a place
With each bird soaring by.
Thou knew lofty heights,
Midst thy tall, proud friends,
Now thou hast lost thy pride,
Sorrow knows not its end.
Rise again, mighty fellow!
Find thy place up above!
Once again, be thou mighty!
Share thy place with the doves!
Grow again to yon sky,
Hold thine arms high and proud,
Make yon eagles feel envy
As thee rises past clouds!"

As Bon Vaygan finished he paused to let the silence sink in. He turned to Victiore who seemed to be expecting something to happen, though what exactly he was not sure.

"Marvelous," he commented handing back the poetry book, "feel free to pick another poem!"

((OOC: Nice job with this one too, though you don't have to pick another one if you don't want to XD))

[Cross]

"Well you certainly know how to flatter someone," 'Nik' laughed. "I'd be more than happy to read another work, it's not often you find the opportunity to do this in Mossflower,"

Victiore recoiled shyly, offering the tiniest smile. She was once again captivated as he read, but she remembered to keep her paws in contact with the stump. As the weasel read, she felt a thrill rush through her, right down to her paw tips. Was this magic?

"Marvelous," he commented handing back the poetry book, "feel free to pick another poem!"

Victiore accepted the journal back, glancing down at the tree trunk. She held back a squeal of excitement as she saw a new leaf uncurling beside her paw. Was it luck? Or magic? She would have to look into getting Nik to read her spells more often. But how to propose an endeavor like that to a weasel was beyond her. He did act more than willing to read for her, so that might not be such a huge issue.

But if she wanted to form a more permanent arrangement, she would probably have to offer some kind of service in return. However, first things first. She had to tell him she was a witch. Well, he would begin to wonder why on earth she was having him read her every "poem," and she couldn't just keep using the excuse that she liked his voice. As a witch, she was constantly on the move, anyway, so for him to come with her would have to be a comfortable situation.

"Um, Mister Nik," she began hesitantly. "Did you . . . Do you really believe in magic?" It was the simplest way to start. His answer to this question would put it over for her, really.

[Promatera]

Victiore steadily seemed to be growing more and more excited. Her thin smile slowly gave way to hard to conceal euphoria, which greatly confused Bon Vaygan. He never knew he was such a great speaker. She calmed herself and then looked at him with a stern gaze.

"Um, Mister Nik," she began hesitantly. "Did you . . . Do you really believe in magic?"

Bon Vaygan sat for a moment in complete silence. What did she mean by that? Did she mean she was some sort of seer? Bon Vaygan was familiar with seers and remembered the horde he had joined many years ago had one, but he always assumed their predictions were pure rubbish. Honestly the only magic he believed in was stage magic, but that was all illusion. Maybe she was just plain crazy?

However, Bon Vaygan knew better than to spurn his gracious host. Besides if he played along who knew what he'd gain. At least some proper vittles he hoped.

"Why of course!" 'Nik' lied, "I have yet to meet anyone who can use it, however."