"Religious allegory? Oh, you mean like burning bushes and frog plagues, or blue-skinned destroyers, or what have you? No. The Traveler is real. I should really carry around sketches or--oh good grief, I'm an idiot," Mac mutters to himself, sighing softly and patting around on his person before tugging a thick leather-bound book from a satchel at his side. Dropping it onto the table with a heavy thump he pats the tome, drumming a fingertip on the gold embossed designs decorating the cover.
"My personal grimoire. Haven't written anything of consequence in it since I got here. Too busy sucking up new things to bother with the old. Just a few scribbled notes, but..." he sniffs, parting the pages and flipping through until he found his old sketches of the Traveler, different diagrams and notes on measurements. The sketches aren't dramatically artistic, but they're crisp and utilitarian, and stress accuracy, according to the surrounding notes. Quite literally a giant lifeform hovering over a city (also sketched) and casting it's shadow against a backdrop of mountains.
"That's The Last City," Mac explains, tapping the sketch and indicating the space below the large orb. "And that's the Traveler. It died there. Or went silent and inert, at any rate. Hard to tell what alive and dead really means anymore," the Guardian mused with a small shrug. The formerly dead, like himself, didn't really have a qualified opinion.
"I don't know why I look like this, miss. Just speculating, really. Based on what other people and the books tell me, people in the Fade are dreaming, and not necessarily physically there. So maybe when you come out of the Fade on the other side, is has to fabricate a body for you, and it's just using the blueprints it's familiar with. Frankly I'm just glad I didn't come out looking more like a demon. At least this way people think I'm reasonably local," he smirks, leaning to tap a finger against one horn.
"It's definitely been tedious learning how to function with these, though. Get them caught in everything and sleeping with them? Not exactly easy. They look neat, so there's that." He pauses, arching a brow at Hermione before leaning his head down a little more and reaching up to pat the horns with both hands.
"Check 'em out. On there pretty good," he chuckles, glancing up with a crooked grin. "I'm to take it that you find my appearance a positive thing? Ooh, flattery. Be still, my beating heart," the warlock drawls with a fluttery sigh before laying his head on the table, pushing his grimoire towards her as he does. He's merely teasing for the sake of it, but his offer for perusal is genuine, including the invitation to test his horns.
"Dunno what exactly happened to wizards and witches, though. Assuming we come from the same universe and not just extremely close parallels, they have to have gone somewhere, right? And they wouldn't just let life end, I assume? So maybe they went off and when they came back the Awoken were the result. They're pretty canny with their records, though, so I don't know much, myself. I would have asked, but I never had the time. Wish I did."
no subject
"My personal grimoire. Haven't written anything of consequence in it since I got here. Too busy sucking up new things to bother with the old. Just a few scribbled notes, but..." he sniffs, parting the pages and flipping through until he found his old sketches of the Traveler, different diagrams and notes on measurements. The sketches aren't dramatically artistic, but they're crisp and utilitarian, and stress accuracy, according to the surrounding notes. Quite literally a giant lifeform hovering over a city (also sketched) and casting it's shadow against a backdrop of mountains.
"That's The Last City," Mac explains, tapping the sketch and indicating the space below the large orb. "And that's the Traveler. It died there. Or went silent and inert, at any rate. Hard to tell what alive and dead really means anymore," the Guardian mused with a small shrug. The formerly dead, like himself, didn't really have a qualified opinion.
"I don't know why I look like this, miss. Just speculating, really. Based on what other people and the books tell me, people in the Fade are dreaming, and not necessarily physically there. So maybe when you come out of the Fade on the other side, is has to fabricate a body for you, and it's just using the blueprints it's familiar with. Frankly I'm just glad I didn't come out looking more like a demon. At least this way people think I'm reasonably local," he smirks, leaning to tap a finger against one horn.
"It's definitely been tedious learning how to function with these, though. Get them caught in everything and sleeping with them? Not exactly easy. They look neat, so there's that." He pauses, arching a brow at Hermione before leaning his head down a little more and reaching up to pat the horns with both hands.
"Check 'em out. On there pretty good," he chuckles, glancing up with a crooked grin. "I'm to take it that you find my appearance a positive thing? Ooh, flattery. Be still, my beating heart," the warlock drawls with a fluttery sigh before laying his head on the table, pushing his grimoire towards her as he does. He's merely teasing for the sake of it, but his offer for perusal is genuine, including the invitation to test his horns.
"Dunno what exactly happened to wizards and witches, though. Assuming we come from the same universe and not just extremely close parallels, they have to have gone somewhere, right? And they wouldn't just let life end, I assume? So maybe they went off and when they came back the Awoken were the result. They're pretty canny with their records, though, so I don't know much, myself. I would have asked, but I never had the time. Wish I did."