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[Recurring RP Entries] Silas' Tome of Poesy


Balmakka
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OOC: This Tome is a collection of poetry written by Silas Astasel, located with an irp book.

Often, these entries will involve some background as he writes it, which onlookers/those reasonably around may emote in response to within this post.

If you wish to do this, simply begin a reply, select the entry and hit "quote selection," then add your response emote.

Direct confrontation between characters should be avoided most times, as to not metagame or make the post a confusing web.

This being said, the contents written within this tome are located behind closed pages, and should not be metagamed unless Silas shows you IRP the content within.

I will reply to this post as I edit it to provide an area to respond. Enjoy!

 

Borders Closed

 

 

Entry 1:

Spoiler

Silas Astasel sits upon an armchair, an ankle over his knee before the grand fireplace of the Esbec tavern, his cherry wine ever-present beside him. "Annil" he calls softly, a silvery falcon sweeping across the room and onto the table beside him. Silas reaches behind her, running his hand over her feathers before plucking a loose one and producing a portable inkwell from his robes. He looks into the blaze for a moment, pondering something far behind his crystalline blue eyes. He somberly dips his quill into the dark red ink of his make, and takes to the paper. 

He writes:


My love is a contrite one.

I am endlessly perplexed by its mysticality and wonder, yet it's divine glory bars me miles upon emotional miles away.

And still yet, I see its radiance from atop the hills, locked in the valleys, gliding upon the depths, and within my soul.

It bears me everforth, borne against the current that is reluctance, sails filled with naught but passion in its purest entity.

 

Upon circling in the last period, Silas takes a deep sigh, looking back to the flame. It's brilliance cascades across only one side of his face, illuminating every ridge upon his features, leaving the other side in naught but dark. He purses his lips a moment, before crumbling the paper and throwing it into the fire. He takes up his wine and has a deep sip before closing his eyes, leaning his head against the head of the chair and bathing before the inferno.

 

 

About - Creekside

 

Entry 2:

Spoiler

Silence is Weightless.

Despite this, we feel it's burden upon our shoulder and it's encumbrance upon our brow.

It's crushing.

Like the depths of the ocean itself, the serenity of silence can lure us deeper yet deeper.

Don't sink.

It will strand you upon it's current, destined to forever-drift upon it's endless wake.

Arid waters.

A suffocation in a sea of sand, silence causes one to wonder if they will ever again hear the soft, smooth nectar of a tonic voice.

Silence metastasizes.

In preparing for this trial by timesand, one can manage only to pull themselves further inward, a curse in it's very antithesis.

light?

Perhaps we are to stay within ourselves in these times; An ordeal by mental flame's emblazoned brilliance.

Society is cloaked in such intangible darkness, one can light a lantern of mindfulness and bathe in the forever-shadow it casts upon the world.

 

 

About - Creekside

 

Entry 3:

Spoiler

After landing upon Almaris and settling into his new home, Silas thought of his past. The old lands, his previous friends. He thought of Decay, his treant sister of wood.

Silas wondered if she made it to Almaris. "Regardless, she can fend for herself" he said to himself with a chest laugh, thinking on old times. He decided to go on a walk.

As it turns out, the great woods of Almaris have no shortage of colors, and Silas took to a paper, writing in accordance.

A scrap of paper could be found torn from his journal, lying among the grass of a clearing near Oren. Whether this was accidental or intentional is anyone's guess.

 

As the leaves crisp and falter in the wintry air,

my emotion reveals it’s blossoms to be only fuller yet.

I think upon them, each aspect of my very humanity casting itself upon the world around me.

It casts upon the trees

 

Cherrywood pinks of passion,

Padauk reds of fervor, and

Bright Osage oranges of imagination,

Ever-presently accompanied by the

Mahoe blues of contemplation,

Beech beiges of tranquility, and

Great fox oak grays of solemnity.

 

The paper has an initial in the bottom right, written in cherry-red ink. "-S"

 

 

About - Creekside

 

Entry 4:

Spoiler

Silas comes home after a long day of gathering for New Esbec and sits before his tent. A flame burns brilliantly before him, casting darkness away in a radius of cozy warmth.

He pauses a moment, his stare vacant in either thought or boredom. Regardless, he turns and is shortly lost within the tent, noises of rummaging clangs and slides echoing in the quiet night. 

Eventually, Silas emerges carrying a large and scratched leather-bound tome. He sits with a sigh, resting it upon his knee as he slowly opens it, cracks and pops shifting from the hard leather binding.

He flips among the pages. It contains his sketches, letters, and miscellaneous thoughts; pieces of word only a mad-man or a poet could form together, similar as they are.

He stops upon a certain page,  taking a moment to look into the starry sky. Looking back down once more, he writes a note upon a scrap paper "Stars," before looking back to the passage at hand.

It reads:

 

Secrets.

The most hushed of the three great equalizers of man,

just next to love and death alike.

Sniping streams of contempt

from a bow of the somber night,

they can just as easily bring a man to his knees

as an arrow of steel to his heart.

 

 

About - Creekside

 

Entry 5:

Spoiler

After a recent expedition to the desert with some newfound friends, Silas takes up Avalor's suggestion to write on it. 

He arrives home, brushing off piles of warm sand from his robes. He walks inside and upstairs, to the top floor.

Here, he takes a seat at his desk, striking a match and alighting his oil lantern, revealing a hefty tome at the center of the wooden table.

Silas runs a finger lightly over it's binding, collecting his thoughts before cracking it open. With a quill and his red ink, he begins to write.
 

Dripping Desert.

Sands of time endlessly streaming, fluid-like through the hazed warmth.

Not a drop to be had, and yet it flows from me.

A wooden ark stranded upon a wave of land, catching naught but sediment in it's sails.

Among the contrast...A spire?

A beacon in the sand floor of an invisible ocean,

Accompanied only by a sea dried serpent overlooking it all.

 

 

About - Creekside

 

Entry 6:

Spoiler

Silas comes back home at....midday? He seems troubled, walking quickly through the house and upstairs to his dwelling.

He falls into his seat by the desk, unsheathing a quill and sliding an inkwell of red aside his ever-present tome. 

He cracks the beastial book open to a fresh page, hastily dipping the quill into the ink and bringing his hand to the paper.

But then....nothing. He pauses for a long while, thinking something over in his mind. He sees cold purple eyes. Judgemental and foreign.

They seem to cast him out. The calligraphic quill drips a single bloody streak onto the paper. Silas runs his free hand through his hair, meeting his long ear.

Something seems to cross his mind. The purple eyes cast upon his ears and he notices the stream of red upon the parchment.

Swiping it aside with a gradient brushstroke of crimson, he begins to write:

 

Purple Eyes

Of dark and intrigue

Lure one in, stark yet mystique.

Through indigos and violets

All can be seen

But only through a jade,

Or so it would seem.

 

Penchants for contact

May all but yet be,

Through zealous attempts

However naive.

 

Gazes of curses

Bid progress stop,

But tension and passion

Shall only be swapped.

Thus bids this

Stricken,

Humble,

Aesop.

 

After completing his writing, Silas puts a hand to the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. 

Given a moment, he sets the quill within it's holder and walks to his bed, rubbing his neck.

He lays in it for a long while, pondering the visage of purple eyes, sparkling with resent; 

The dually contrite emotions they cast upon the beholder.

He lies there in bed, contemplating this until it grows dark outside.

But...rather than sleeping, he somberly stands, taking up his robes and walking beyond his brother's room to the door.

Alit by lantern-light, he begins to weave his path among the eery night.

 

 

 

 

About - Creekside

 

Entry 7:

Spoiler

Silas quickly jots something, his hands shaking from excitement.

He had just been in a poetry (rap) battle with a new acquaintance of his, Fritz.

This battle of rhyme was spurred on within the grand opening of the Providence tavern.

He had hoped to go against the arch-chancellor who had gone just before him, but found no such luck.

In his quivering post rush excitement, he writes the freestyle verses he construed:

 

To challenge an Astasel,

That won’t go swell.

I’ll smack you with words

And knock your ass out as well.

I dont enjoy 

Spitting against a fresh face

But when it comes to it,

You couldn’t handle my weight

 

-Fritz Verse-

 

Listen closely sir, 

And I do hope you hear it

My poesy is unreal...

Intangible spirit.

Now get your powdered ass off

My stage before you smear it.

 

-Fritz Verse-

 

When Silas returns home, he pastes it within the tome, on the latest page;

This was a new experience. One that he had enjoyed very much.

 

About - Creekside

 

Entry 7:

Spoiler

Silas returns home after a long walk in an apple orchard.

Today has struck hard upon him. He comes upstairs, opening his tome.

He writes in dying red ink:

 

I will be here, whether you see me or not.

A silver falcon bequeathed in sunlight."

 

A single teardrop hits the page and he flips it closed, 

it's full weight collapsing upon itself with a loud thud.

 

 

About - Creekside

 

Entry 8:

Spoiler

Silas returns home with a bittersweet mix of emotions within himself.

His quill and inkwell were left out from his sudden departure of the previous entry.

He takes them up, scraping the top dried layer of cherry ink in a sticky glob, tossing it from the window

Now ready to write, Silas takes a seat and looks at the tome. 

Emotions swirl through his mind. Thoughts of love. Thoughts of departure. Thoughts of freedom.

But alas...writer's block keeps it's foot upon his wrist.

Silas then decides to flip through his previous entries, stopping upon one page in particular, as it gives him a vision of remembrance.

He thinks a moment, flipping back to the page at hand and beginning to write:

 

Blue Eyes.

An icy den of solace in a world of blistering hail.

Within, an exhibitry of bliss and unspeakable avail.

Within my heart, they certainly doth trail, 

Yet dare I not step once again to the gale.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A separate thought is enclosed, toward the bottom of the page:

 

Still yet, what of emotion?

As ice melts under the hazing of reality,

what comes of the ocean?

 

 

 

About - Creekside

 

Entry 9:

Spoiler

Silas walks up the stairs to his room, eyes exhausted, appearance drained.

Oddly enough, he has a tired smile upon his face. Long has he taken away from his tome,

and long shall he peer into it. He cracks the large book open, taking a small letter from his pocket and reading over it.

It reads:

"To my mari with the fierce blue eyes and heart of gold:
Love that is rooted deep,

Quiet as friendship seeming,

Secure as a quiet sleep,

How many years' redeeming

Your harvests keep.

 

Tears not in anguish shed,

The pulse's gentler motion,

Words spoken, phrases read,

The careful hand's devotion

Above the dreaming head...

 

Guard now the sleeping child

Whose nightly fantasy

With golden leafage piled

Plunders the fruited tree,

With golden fruit beguiled.

 

And guard the restless heart;

Visit with peace, discerning-

O love more wise than art-

How at late day returning

Those meet who need not part.

 

~Ellanore Astasel"

 

Silas smiles fondly as he places it upon the newest page of the book, 

closing it gently upon it.

 

 

About - Creekside

 

Entry 10:

Spoiler

Silas presents a bouquet of flowers to his wife with a note attached.

The note reads:

“To my ay’ilu with the soft-skied eyes and heart of ruby:

 

Love that flows like river-mist,

Loud as a boldened cry,

Awake as a harkened vigilist,

Ne’er to be passed by.

Lust naught for a wish

For love is upon his eye.

 

Tears in passion bled,

A tremor of blue,

Naught of deep red,

Naught of crimson hue.

But of my eyes,

Gazing solely upon you.

 

Such vision,

steeped in passion,

Loving precision,

Through the eyes of a falcon.

 

To you,

Only you,

I shall stay true,

everlasting,

From bonjour, to adieu.”

 

 

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