10-08-2013, 12:26 PM
Táltos poured clear fire (liquid) from a flask onto the ground when he first arrived. Táltos brought some bread: crusty sourdough, gold as coins, white as milk, Amish Friendship Bread, but he dropped it off in the kitchen when Sera gave him a tour. Táltos is loud. He doesn't sneak up on people. His boots clomp, his bracelets and cling, the fabric of his jacket swishes and the zippers of the same tink. His voice carries. So when Táltos is there, there is no surprise.
Táltos: a man in his mid-to-late twenties or early thirties or heck forties isn't it hard to tell sometime? And the discerning reader of fantasy might already know his name. Táltos: deep-set expressive eyes, straight eye-lashes, vaguely aristocratic arches to the eyebrows, large hooked and sharply delineated nose, cared-for mustache thick the points waxed up, sallow-pale skin, a face comprised of expressions, of mobile-mobile-mobile expressions, thick mane o' dark brown hair, kept down by a felt fedora. He is not shy, and curiousity is alive in his eyes when he meets any Magi he hasn't already met (most of them), lives in his eyes like something glinting off the sinuous back of a re-surfacing eel, lives in his eyes like poking a stick in a bed of coals and finding a live one, lives in his eyes like some more woodsy metaphor might help with. Seated, knees poking up - this gangling thing - he rubs his long fingers occasionally, kneading around the knuckles, and also drinks something from a travel cannister which smells sharp and herbal, stinging nettles and other green things.
He's not very secretive. He introduces himself to whoever he talks with, but doesn't make a general announcement. He has no idea how many Awakened individuals are in the city or connected to the House like spokes on a wheel. "Táltos Horváth." If they've given him their Tradition or he overheard them giving somebody else their tradition, they're given a phrase in Hungarian, which is followed by the more courteous: "Dreamspeaker."
More specifically:
He swings by to say hello to Grace and is chased neatly away by science talk. He doesn't remember Sid, though probably in part because - as he broods/complains/scoffs to Sera earlier, "I don't know what saint or god sneezed on me this morning, but their phlegm has given me a cold of feeling," and promises himself he's going to figure out which saint or god did the sneezing, and then get rid of this mild headache and an inability to distinguish resonance, feeling it only as a bruise when he feels it at all: like knowing there's fire at the center of a stone, but only holding the stone.
And Shoshannah, as another Dreamspeaker, gets an enthusiastic hello and an interested it's always fascinating to meet another shaman; we should speak later.
--
I decided to roll his awareness n' see what he made of all these new resonances. The answer: NOTHING. Bad dice. *grin* He has a "cold of feeling," instead.
Dice
[Táltos' Awareness.]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 5, 5) ( fail )
Dice
[Boo, botch.]
Howl
[witnessed!]
Táltos: a man in his mid-to-late twenties or early thirties or heck forties isn't it hard to tell sometime? And the discerning reader of fantasy might already know his name. Táltos: deep-set expressive eyes, straight eye-lashes, vaguely aristocratic arches to the eyebrows, large hooked and sharply delineated nose, cared-for mustache thick the points waxed up, sallow-pale skin, a face comprised of expressions, of mobile-mobile-mobile expressions, thick mane o' dark brown hair, kept down by a felt fedora. He is not shy, and curiousity is alive in his eyes when he meets any Magi he hasn't already met (most of them), lives in his eyes like something glinting off the sinuous back of a re-surfacing eel, lives in his eyes like poking a stick in a bed of coals and finding a live one, lives in his eyes like some more woodsy metaphor might help with. Seated, knees poking up - this gangling thing - he rubs his long fingers occasionally, kneading around the knuckles, and also drinks something from a travel cannister which smells sharp and herbal, stinging nettles and other green things.
He's not very secretive. He introduces himself to whoever he talks with, but doesn't make a general announcement. He has no idea how many Awakened individuals are in the city or connected to the House like spokes on a wheel. "Táltos Horváth." If they've given him their Tradition or he overheard them giving somebody else their tradition, they're given a phrase in Hungarian, which is followed by the more courteous: "Dreamspeaker."
More specifically:
He swings by to say hello to Grace and is chased neatly away by science talk. He doesn't remember Sid, though probably in part because - as he broods/complains/scoffs to Sera earlier, "I don't know what saint or god sneezed on me this morning, but their phlegm has given me a cold of feeling," and promises himself he's going to figure out which saint or god did the sneezing, and then get rid of this mild headache and an inability to distinguish resonance, feeling it only as a bruise when he feels it at all: like knowing there's fire at the center of a stone, but only holding the stone.
And Shoshannah, as another Dreamspeaker, gets an enthusiastic hello and an interested it's always fascinating to meet another shaman; we should speak later.
--
I decided to roll his awareness n' see what he made of all these new resonances. The answer: NOTHING. Bad dice. *grin* He has a "cold of feeling," instead.
Dice
[Táltos' Awareness.]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 5, 5) ( fail )
Dice
[Boo, botch.]
Howl
[witnessed!]