Carlisle Longinmouth (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tongueamok) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hadriel_logs2019-04-20 01:36 am
tongueamok) wrote in hadriel_logs2019-04-20 01:36 am
Entry tags:
Surveying
Who: Carlisle Longinmouth (tongueamok), OTA
What: A catch-all for late April/early May in which a skittish clergyman decides that collecting some new plants from the local selection is a good idea
Where: Outskirts of the city
When: Late April - Early May (feel free to either be affected by the events going on or not!)
Warnings: Lots of plants and a guy being pedantic about plants.
For the second time since he'd been spirited away from Bear Den, Carlisle found himself in a jungle. Having spent his entire life in the mountains, he hadn't been ready the first time: no amount of reading could have prepared him for the sweltering heat, no books having accurately described how the atmosphere was so wet and stifling that even the shade of the canopy above brought little respite. Despite that, even he had to admit it was, thus far, better than the camp near the Tranquility, as the river wasn't acidic, the jungle wasn't inhabited by insectoid natives (that he knew of), and the citizens weren't being psychically attacked by a living abomination of a ship every minute of every day.
Of course, being put through the wringer by the gods on a regular basis wasn't that much of an improvement, but Carlisle was willing to take what he could get in this circumstance. He still had his house, and that house had a bath. Unlike the makeshift camp near the wreck of the Tranquility, he could wash away the sweat and grime of the day with ease. The value of that luxury was absolutely immeasurable.
He also still had his garden, and though it no longer needed the magical dome to keep out the chill, he found it still helped regulate the temperature inside, keeping it comfortable for his plants -- and himself when he was in there. As much as he didn't like to venture too far from the familiar safety and relative comfort of his garden, he was curious as to what flora this new world had to offer, particularly when it came to what he could grow for himself. It wasn't that he didn't have plenty to tend to already, certainly not with how fast the coilers grew; however, the colorful leaves and vibrant flowers that dotted the landscape around them were painfully enticing, even to someone as cowardly as him.
And so he took to venturing out on rare occasions, carrying with him his pruning shears and a few supplies in his satchel. Though there was plenty of heat and sun to go around, he stubbornly refused to wear anything less than long sleeves and slacks, his worn-out tabard left behind for a change. Maybe he felt it'd get in the way, or ruined further, or maybe he'd just decided his poor tabard has seen enough of a jungle for one lifetime.
The brush is dense, too overgrown for him to travel far, but anyone wandering might find him scavenging, stooped near some peculiar flowers, collecting bark and branches from nearby trees, rolling leaves in cloth and storing seeds in bottles. Others might stumble upon him trying to encourage a gaudy beetle to walk into a jar, the bug refusing to budge and him frustrated as he nudges it with a twig. Or perhaps they come upon him that time he's stuck high in a tree as what appears to be a large cat, its brown fur peppered with patches of silver and grey, stalks the ground below.
But no matter what finds Carlisle doing, he's sure to be snitty about it. The heat will do that.
tongueamok), OTAWhat: A catch-all for late April/early May in which a skittish clergyman decides that collecting some new plants from the local selection is a good idea
Where: Outskirts of the city
When: Late April - Early May (feel free to either be affected by the events going on or not!)
Warnings: Lots of plants and a guy being pedantic about plants.
For the second time since he'd been spirited away from Bear Den, Carlisle found himself in a jungle. Having spent his entire life in the mountains, he hadn't been ready the first time: no amount of reading could have prepared him for the sweltering heat, no books having accurately described how the atmosphere was so wet and stifling that even the shade of the canopy above brought little respite. Despite that, even he had to admit it was, thus far, better than the camp near the Tranquility, as the river wasn't acidic, the jungle wasn't inhabited by insectoid natives (that he knew of), and the citizens weren't being psychically attacked by a living abomination of a ship every minute of every day.
Of course, being put through the wringer by the gods on a regular basis wasn't that much of an improvement, but Carlisle was willing to take what he could get in this circumstance. He still had his house, and that house had a bath. Unlike the makeshift camp near the wreck of the Tranquility, he could wash away the sweat and grime of the day with ease. The value of that luxury was absolutely immeasurable.
He also still had his garden, and though it no longer needed the magical dome to keep out the chill, he found it still helped regulate the temperature inside, keeping it comfortable for his plants -- and himself when he was in there. As much as he didn't like to venture too far from the familiar safety and relative comfort of his garden, he was curious as to what flora this new world had to offer, particularly when it came to what he could grow for himself. It wasn't that he didn't have plenty to tend to already, certainly not with how fast the coilers grew; however, the colorful leaves and vibrant flowers that dotted the landscape around them were painfully enticing, even to someone as cowardly as him.
And so he took to venturing out on rare occasions, carrying with him his pruning shears and a few supplies in his satchel. Though there was plenty of heat and sun to go around, he stubbornly refused to wear anything less than long sleeves and slacks, his worn-out tabard left behind for a change. Maybe he felt it'd get in the way, or ruined further, or maybe he'd just decided his poor tabard has seen enough of a jungle for one lifetime.
The brush is dense, too overgrown for him to travel far, but anyone wandering might find him scavenging, stooped near some peculiar flowers, collecting bark and branches from nearby trees, rolling leaves in cloth and storing seeds in bottles. Others might stumble upon him trying to encourage a gaudy beetle to walk into a jar, the bug refusing to budge and him frustrated as he nudges it with a twig. Or perhaps they come upon him that time he's stuck high in a tree as what appears to be a large cat, its brown fur peppered with patches of silver and grey, stalks the ground below.
But no matter what finds Carlisle doing, he's sure to be snitty about it. The heat will do that.
no subject
Eugh. He makes a disgusted face, looking away, "She's awful. You have demons like her where you come from?"
That sounds terrible. He has awful demonic people who are goddamn monsters, but they're ultimately still people. Maybe that's worse, that someone capable of empathy and compassion would still act like that. But at least they're mortal and don't have magic to attack others with.
"Thanks, that's... thank you."
no subject
Or so he says, despite having little experience in dealing with demons head-on; he's never repelled ones so strong until Hadriel. Still, he knows his deity would smile upon such vigilance against those invading the mortal plane, and so he holds himself to it, despite the unadulterated terror he feels at the very thought of facing the aforementioned demon again. Were it not for certain circumstances -- his bond with his partner providing him with an abundant source of energy, as well as his awareness and fortitude having been unhindered by the false gods at the time -- she surely could have cracked his barrier and torn them both limb from limb.
He forces himself to swallow that thought, his hand shaking as he continues to write down notes about the spindle-legged deer. He can fret in his paranoia later.
"Where I come from, demons are uncommon," he explains, "and those that do cross into our realm need a conduit to do so, as well as a vessel to house them. They are not of our plane of existence, and are constantly drawn back to where they came from as their energies dwindle. A vessel helps them contain those energies, but it can also be their weakness, should one exorcise and seal away their demonic taint."
no subject
"By a vessel you mean they possess someone? So that might just be the body of some random person she's using to walk around?" He shudders, that's a little horrifying. Briefly he wonders if someone who's possessed is just trapped helplessly in their body watching everything or if they're unconscious. For the first time he's a little glad he normally blacks out while being forced to commit atrocities.
"How do you exorcise them? Could we do that to her?"