(Galadriel is fairly used to getting mail but she'll be a bit shocked to receive any in Thedas. For any notes, missives, letters, or other communications.)
[For one moment--after she's said your eyes--his heart contracts with despair and self-recrimination. (With a demon in a friend's shape tempting him with an offer of sight; he couldn't watch anyone's back now or ever again and what kind of knight-enchanter was he?) --And then it's gone, dismissed as the childish foolishness it is even before she's explained in full.]
Gladly, lady. And all's forgiven.
[He listens to the sound of water, oddly comforted by this point of similarity between magical rituals. A font and water were often for summoning--or stepping into the Fade--and one could gain knowledge thereby. He leans forward in the chair, linking his hands before him, and tries to focus on that sound--and calm so necessary to a disciplined mage--instead of his yammering fears.]
[Once the basin is filled she sets the pitcher aside. The water calms, in time, and there is a silence to them. Galadriel bend over the table, looming as only she can truly manage, and the fall of her hair is like a curtain around them. Myr cannot see this, nor can he see the way she stares into the shining reflection of the silver surface below the water.
It is not a simple spell, summoning the Mirror, connecting to the threads of the world. Galadriel has walked though Eluvians and they feel similarly to the Mirror, but only in that two fabrics might behave similarly when sewn into clothing. Walking through the threads of time and fate and peering across the length of them are very different acts and feel very different in practice--and her arts, the magic native to Arda, has a very different feel than that of Thedas. The spell almost pours out from her, from the basin, permeating the space, and at once she feels how her time is limited.
This will tax her greatly.]
Whom do I seek, Myrobalan? Name them and the Mirror shall show us.
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Gladly, lady. And all's forgiven.
[He listens to the sound of water, oddly comforted by this point of similarity between magical rituals. A font and water were often for summoning--or stepping into the Fade--and one could gain knowledge thereby. He leans forward in the chair, linking his hands before him, and tries to focus on that sound--and calm so necessary to a disciplined mage--instead of his yammering fears.]
no subject
It is not a simple spell, summoning the Mirror, connecting to the threads of the world. Galadriel has walked though Eluvians and they feel similarly to the Mirror, but only in that two fabrics might behave similarly when sewn into clothing. Walking through the threads of time and fate and peering across the length of them are very different acts and feel very different in practice--and her arts, the magic native to Arda, has a very different feel than that of Thedas. The spell almost pours out from her, from the basin, permeating the space, and at once she feels how her time is limited.
This will tax her greatly.]
Whom do I seek, Myrobalan? Name them and the Mirror shall show us.