2024-07-26 - We're gonna be legends - Touching Pt 1

There is something different about today. There are more people about than usual, more minds that lack the duet chords of those already Bonded. A word is repeated over and over again, aloud and internally.

Touching.

This is something new, something special and different. Ilrioth knows what touch is, though his own experiences with it are limited. But this seems to be more than just about a physical sensation. As the solo minds, the Candidates, move amongst the clutch, there are connections that form, brief and tenuous now, but promising a future something more.

The Magician:

At first, the young woman's mind is bold and focused, a cymbal crash at the opening of the march. Under this, however, there is a drumroll of desperation, the potential for a triumphant crescendo verses an anticlimactic decrescendo rolling away into despairing silence. The jarring wanting of it all has Ilrioth shying away. Such knife's edge intensity is not for them.

The High Priestess

Drums, drums and fire in the deep. That is the impression the almost-dragonet gets from this one. Lilting, flute-like melodies masking something far more caustic. This is someone, it imagines, that would not make a good Weyrleader - too much tension and -snap-, gone are the flutes, bared are the fangs. There is room for grow, the potential for more, but this is not what he seeks, and his thoughts for her are merely hopeful she will find what she needs, and nothing more.

The Empress

When first their minds meet, Ilrioth thinks first of Mother. Guardian and protector, a shining light for others to look to in times of need. The same sweet sorrow notes of longing are there, as well, that while she is proud of her burden she wishes it could be lessened by another. It is there the songs diverge, for Mother has others to look to - Shayled, Issrodeth, Pertemarth while this young woman has none of that. Could they be that to her? The thought rings true, like a well tuned string.

But there are many other minds still to meet. Ilrioth leaves the woman with sensations of warm, homey tunes strummed around a fire as she moves away.

The Emperor

If young lady before had reminded Ilrioth of Mother, the boy reminds him of Father. Loud and brassy, were this boy a dragon, he would be bronze in attitude, if not color. This song does not spark joy - its blaring trumpet fanfare eliciting an almost physical wince. As sure as Ilrioth was that there would someday be a dragon to match with this young mind, they were equally sure they were not that dragon.

The Hierophant

A deep swell of wondering, aching tones denotes this new mind. It is fascinating, too, that the mind is focused less on this current moment, and more on future moments and philosophical ideals concerning those future moments. A flower on a field of snow. It is unknown if Ilrioth will remember this come Hatching, unknown if this precocious youth will be picked from the crowd as a footnote or a headline. They wonder on the future, together yet separate, as their minds drift apart.