Soren

Soren would often dream of worlds far beyond the prospects of reality. He would rise with the birds and, without pause, shuffle himself to his writing nook and pour over his works. Groggy gaze cast down at the words with a humble, half-awake nod of his head. He felt his tongue push against his teeth as he reached for his quill, dunking the nib into the thick ink and tapping it against the side of the glass pot. Splotches long left to stain and fade a rather embarrassing reminder of the often sleep-addled heavy handedness applied to the gentle inkwell, tipping it to its side. Many a miserable purchase of a new inkwell would follow, much to the dismay of his reclusive nature.

But when began to write, it was as if the very deities themselves could not stop his movement. The adopted offspring of a pair dealing in all manners of deity-related duties, Soren found his interests pertaining far more often to the skies, and what could be floating around in it. He watched from the comfort of his window as the exalted left to join the gods in battle and aid, and breathed a new life into them with each enthusiastic scribble upon his parchment.

His eyes would widen, filled with childlike curiosity. He would tilt his head and gasp in surprise at knocking over a wall lantern with his antler, clutching to restore it back to its safe position. Though comments were often made of Soren’s lack of self awareness as being endearing, he could not see as they did.

He constructed worlds of nothing. Lands of trees that stood and walked, of birds the size of mountains and of long-clawed sea creatures with spines that glimmered to lure in seaborne travellers. His nook was filled with paperwork, strewn about the desk and carefully left in a state of organised chaos. He had worn through too many a nib, but having grown far too attached to them, would collect them into a small wooden box.

Soren fell in love with his work. At night when his body could simply no longer stand to be awake, he allowed his dreams to consume him. Exciting adventures in a land passing any expectation of reality, mounting a great beast to gallop through the harsh terrain, he felt every emotion, every gust of wind through his silks and every sound shuddering through his ears. He became his works. And as he woke, he felt his heart pull and shatter. He loathed to sleep, for it brought him little more than an aching longing to delve into his creation. His passion brought him on the verge of tears, stroking the pages of a world he knew did not exist beyond his mind. Soren swallowed back the pitiful sniff at the thought. He would continue to give his work the justice of being scribed, knowing it would be far more painful to have no recollection of its existence at all. He hoped some day he would inspire similar feelings in others. Though, a shy creature, he knew such a fate would lie far beyond him.

So he scrawled, in the petty, miniscule hours of the morning, and spilled his heart like fine ink into parchment. And with each word scribbled hastily by the light of a dying candle, another small passing of his soul was taken into it.

Lore by PunchingSolas

Art by Renepolumorfous

Art by Helbram