Perhaps that fact in and of itself isn't unusual; there are plenty of mages that call the Gallows their home, whether temporary or permanent residents. There are plenty others who tend to and enjoy the herb garden, as well. But if the unsighted could have seen even a glance at the stone bench to his back, he would have spotted a lofty, thin, sunlessly pale figure glued to a seat in front of that intangible rose bush.
That very same figure is gently swaying and undulating his fingers as if conducting an invisible orchestra. His brow knots firmly in concentration, though he allows his attentions to wander and focus on Myr in both incredulity and annoyance.
"Vadiya rusha ilikad tuhi," he hums crisply, roundly enunciating each letter. At last, with more delay than that wizard would have wanted, the bush oh-so-perfectly--too perfectly--bends and gives way beneath Myr, a delayed (mimicked) response to invisible touch. The man on the bench releases a frustrated, supremely irritated huff, and abruptly releases the stream of magic. The rose bush, along with its dewy, intoxicating perfume, dissolves at once.
Even a blind man should be able to surmise there is a connection between the man murmuring and grumbling behind him and the sweet-smelling illusion he chose to examine.
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Perhaps that fact in and of itself isn't unusual; there are plenty of mages that call the Gallows their home, whether temporary or permanent residents. There are plenty others who tend to and enjoy the herb garden, as well. But if the unsighted could have seen even a glance at the stone bench to his back, he would have spotted a lofty, thin, sunlessly pale figure glued to a seat in front of that intangible rose bush.
That very same figure is gently swaying and undulating his fingers as if conducting an invisible orchestra. His brow knots firmly in concentration, though he allows his attentions to wander and focus on Myr in both incredulity and annoyance.
"Vadiya rusha ilikad tuhi," he hums crisply, roundly enunciating each letter. At last, with more delay than that wizard would have wanted, the bush oh-so-perfectly--too perfectly--bends and gives way beneath Myr, a delayed (mimicked) response to invisible touch. The man on the bench releases a frustrated, supremely irritated huff, and abruptly releases the stream of magic. The rose bush, along with its dewy, intoxicating perfume, dissolves at once.
Even a blind man should be able to surmise there is a connection between the man murmuring and grumbling behind him and the sweet-smelling illusion he chose to examine.