05-30-2020, 03:30 PM
Admittedly, Jaxen didn’t know what he was looking for specifically. As best he could tell, he hoped that something mundane would sing beacons upon probes of the Ancient Power. Aiden’s illusion amused him. He did a decent job, though the flows were stitched together differently than Jaxen would have created. Early on, Jaxen learned that an illusion may drop if moved, probed by human hands or otherwise disturbed. Like a mist that would dissipate at the slightest provocation. Obviously, Jaxen’s held throughout the duration of the cabaret, with all the dancing, mingling, and body sliding involved. Shit but that was a fun night.
Other than Aiden’s shimmering mask that made it hard for Jaxen to look directly at his face without studying the pulsating web, there were no other reactions to the ancient power. None that Jaxen could find. Likewise, he was keen to remain aware of other Ancients mingling among the tourists. Another early lesson: channelers were more frequently encountered and in the worst possible circumstances imagined.
The parkour enthusiast within him wound his way through the basalt step-stones like they were his very own obstacle course, woven by the gods and dug by giants merely for Jaxen Marveet’s entertainment. In short order, he was hopping and leaping playfully. For the female companion that pretended not to watch him but most certainly was, he took off on a sprint so nimble that it seemed his toes barely grazed the tricky surface. He came to an edge and with barely a push, clawed his way to the top some ten feet above. From up there, he sat with his feet dangling over and leaned his hands back to catch his breath and enjoy the horizon.
That was when something pinched him on the hand. He gasped and snatched his hand back to his chest, twisting around on instinct to escape whatever caused the painful bite. A skinny brown and black adder hissed at him then squeezed escape into a small hole wedged between the hexagonal columns on which Jaxen presently sat.
The American girl, having climbed to the perch by more normal means (stairs), was concerned.
“Was that a snake?” she asked.
Jaxen nodded, examining his hand. It was red and angry. He was going to be pissed if it was venomous. A hospital trip was not on his agenda.
She went on. “They’re not supposed to be in Ireland. It’s said that Saint Patrick banished all the snakes from the island in the fifth century.”
Jaxen, still examining the bite, frowned.
“How does a man banish snakes?” His intimate of the Ancient Ones and the Naga clearly influenced the tone of his question. He shivered with fear.
She knelt down, peering into the hole in which the snake disappeared. It seemed as if nothing could squeeze in there, but Jaxen knew snakes better than some. He had the bones of their skeleton inked permanent in his skin, after all.
“Therefore he, the most excellent pastor, bore on his shoulder the staff of Jesus, and aided by the angelic aid … gathered together from all parts of the island all the poisonous creatures into one place; then compelled he them all unto a very high promontory … and by the power of his word he drove the whole pestilent swarm from the precipice of the mountain headlong into the ocean.” There was the air of ancient in her quote, but also something emotional.
“Do you know a lot about snakes or a lot about saints?”
She looked at him, teasing apart the question a moment. The sun gleamed faintly on her skin in such a way that she seemed to sparkle. He’d not realized that she was more beautiful than his initial assessment deemed.
“Both actually. I am a zoology student and Catholic. Seriously, snakes aren’t endemic to Ireland. There’s only been one venomous bite known to history. Hospitals don’t even stock antivenom. It has to be sourced from a zoo or abroad. Of course, that doesn’t mean snakes aren’t here, even if they’ve never been seen,” she smiled proudly before looking at his hand.
“Maybe you should get that checked out?”
Jaxen shook his head, getting up quickly, suddenly worried he was squatting over a bed of snakes living beneath the rocks. He took hold of the Ancient Power and wrapped the wound with some guess that the weave will do something good.
Finally, he tucked the hand in his pocket as if ignoring the problem would make it go away.
That was when he wondered something different. Maybe rather than chasing the tales of the Tuatha de’Danaan, maybe they should delve more into the lore of Saints. This girl seemed to know a lot about both. A snake expert on hand may come in useful.
“I’m Jaxen,” he introduced.
“Ethelinda, but everyone calls me Lindy.”
Other than Aiden’s shimmering mask that made it hard for Jaxen to look directly at his face without studying the pulsating web, there were no other reactions to the ancient power. None that Jaxen could find. Likewise, he was keen to remain aware of other Ancients mingling among the tourists. Another early lesson: channelers were more frequently encountered and in the worst possible circumstances imagined.
The parkour enthusiast within him wound his way through the basalt step-stones like they were his very own obstacle course, woven by the gods and dug by giants merely for Jaxen Marveet’s entertainment. In short order, he was hopping and leaping playfully. For the female companion that pretended not to watch him but most certainly was, he took off on a sprint so nimble that it seemed his toes barely grazed the tricky surface. He came to an edge and with barely a push, clawed his way to the top some ten feet above. From up there, he sat with his feet dangling over and leaned his hands back to catch his breath and enjoy the horizon.
That was when something pinched him on the hand. He gasped and snatched his hand back to his chest, twisting around on instinct to escape whatever caused the painful bite. A skinny brown and black adder hissed at him then squeezed escape into a small hole wedged between the hexagonal columns on which Jaxen presently sat.
The American girl, having climbed to the perch by more normal means (stairs), was concerned.
“Was that a snake?” she asked.
Jaxen nodded, examining his hand. It was red and angry. He was going to be pissed if it was venomous. A hospital trip was not on his agenda.
She went on. “They’re not supposed to be in Ireland. It’s said that Saint Patrick banished all the snakes from the island in the fifth century.”
Jaxen, still examining the bite, frowned.
“How does a man banish snakes?” His intimate of the Ancient Ones and the Naga clearly influenced the tone of his question. He shivered with fear.
She knelt down, peering into the hole in which the snake disappeared. It seemed as if nothing could squeeze in there, but Jaxen knew snakes better than some. He had the bones of their skeleton inked permanent in his skin, after all.
“Therefore he, the most excellent pastor, bore on his shoulder the staff of Jesus, and aided by the angelic aid … gathered together from all parts of the island all the poisonous creatures into one place; then compelled he them all unto a very high promontory … and by the power of his word he drove the whole pestilent swarm from the precipice of the mountain headlong into the ocean.” There was the air of ancient in her quote, but also something emotional.
“Do you know a lot about snakes or a lot about saints?”
She looked at him, teasing apart the question a moment. The sun gleamed faintly on her skin in such a way that she seemed to sparkle. He’d not realized that she was more beautiful than his initial assessment deemed.
“Both actually. I am a zoology student and Catholic. Seriously, snakes aren’t endemic to Ireland. There’s only been one venomous bite known to history. Hospitals don’t even stock antivenom. It has to be sourced from a zoo or abroad. Of course, that doesn’t mean snakes aren’t here, even if they’ve never been seen,” she smiled proudly before looking at his hand.
“Maybe you should get that checked out?”
Jaxen shook his head, getting up quickly, suddenly worried he was squatting over a bed of snakes living beneath the rocks. He took hold of the Ancient Power and wrapped the wound with some guess that the weave will do something good.
Finally, he tucked the hand in his pocket as if ignoring the problem would make it go away.
That was when he wondered something different. Maybe rather than chasing the tales of the Tuatha de’Danaan, maybe they should delve more into the lore of Saints. This girl seemed to know a lot about both. A snake expert on hand may come in useful.
“I’m Jaxen,” he introduced.
“Ethelinda, but everyone calls me Lindy.”