Gellert Grindelwald (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
greatestgood) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
genessia2018-09-03 09:54 pm
greatestgood) wrote in genessia2018-09-03 09:54 pm
[V i d e o]
[A potion is brewing in a large cauldron, filling the room with questionable scents. Gellert has opened a window to help matters, but this is a price all potion brewers must pay. Sometimes you are forced to work with unpleasant ingredients.]
I've shared one fairy-tale from my world with some of you, so I thought why not share another?
[And thus Gellert recites, from memory, The Wizard and The Hopping Pot.]
"There was once a kindly old wizard who used his magic generously and wisely for the benefit of his neighbors. Rather than reveal the true source of his power, he pretended that his potions, charms and antidotes sprang ready-made from the little cauldron he called his lucky cooking pot. From miles around people came to him with their troubles, and the wizard was pleased to give his pot a stir and put things right.
This well-beloved wizard lived to a goodly age, then died, leaving all his chatells to his only son. This son was of a very different disposition to his gentle father. Those who could not work magic were, to the son’s mind, worthless, and he had often quarreled with his father’s habit of dispensing magical aid to their neighbours.
Upon the father’s death, the son found hidden inside the old cooking pot a small package bearing his name. He opened it, hoping for gold, but found instead a soft, thick slipper, much to small to wear, and with no pair. A fragment of parchment within the slipper bore the words “In the fond hope, my son, that you will never need it.”
The son cursed his father’s age-softened mind, then threw the slipper back into the cauldron resolving to use it henceforth as a rubbish pail. That very night a peasant woman knocked on the front door.
“My granddaughter is afflicted by a crop of warts, sir,” she told him. “Your father used to mix a special poultice in that old cooking pot -”
“Begone!” cried the son. “What care I for you brat’s warts?”
And he slammed the door in the old woman’s face.
At once there came a loud clanging and banging from his kitchen. The wizard lit his wand and opened the door, and there, to his amazement, he saw his father’s old cooking pot: it had sprouted a single foot of brass, and was hopping on the spot, in the middle of the floor, making a fearful noise upon the flagstones. The wizard approached it in wonder, but fell back hurriedly when he saw that the whole of the pot’s surface was covered in warts.
“Disgusting object!” he cried, and he tried firstly to Vanish the pot, then to clean it by magic, and finally to force it out of the house. None of his spells worked, however, and he was unable to prevent the pot hopping after him out of the kitchen, and then following him up to bed, clanging and banging loudly on every wooden stair.
The wizard could not sleep all night for the banging of the warty old pot by his bedside, and next morning the pot insisted upon hopping after him to the breakfast table. Clang, clang, clang, went the brass-footed pot, and the wizard had not even started his porridge when there came another knock on the door. An old man stood on the doorstep.
” ‘Tis my old donkey, sir,” he explained. “Lost she is, or stolen and without her I cannot take my wares to market, and my family will go hungry tonight.”
“And I am hungry now!” roared the wizard, and slammed the door upon the old man.
Clang, clang, clang, went the cooking pot’s single brass foot upon the floor, but now its clamour was mixed with the brays of a donkey and human groans of hunger, echoing from the depths of the pot.
“Be still. Be silent!” shrieked the wizard, but not all his magical powers could quieten the warty pot, which hopped at his heels all day, braying and groaning and clanging, no matter where he went or what he did.
That evening there came a third knock upon the door, and there on the threshold sood a young woman sobbing as though her heart would break.
“My baby is grievously ill,” she said. “Won’t you help us? Your father bade me come if troubled-”
But the wizard slammed the door on her. And now the tormenting pot filled to the brim with salt water, and slopped tears all over the floor as it hopped, and brayed, and groaned, and sprouted more warts. Though no more villagers came to seek help at the wizard’s cottage for the rest of the week, the pot kept him informed of their many ills. Within a few days, it was not only braying and groaning and slopping and hopping and sprouting warts, it was also choking and retching, crying like a baby, whining like a dog, and spewing out bad cheese and sour milk and a plague of hungry slugs.
The wizard could not sleep or eat with the pot beside him, but the pot refused to leave and he could not silence it or force it to be still.
At last the wizard could bear it no more. “Bring me all your problems, all your troubles and your woes!” he screamed, fleeing into the night, with the pot hopping behind him along the road into the village. “Come! Let me cure you, mend you and comfort you! I have my father’s cooking pot, and I shall make you well!”
And with the foul pot still bounding along behind him, he ran up the street, casting spells in every direction.
Inside one house the little girl’s warts vanished as she slept; the lost donkey was Summoned from a distant briar patch and set down softly in its stable; the sick baby was doused in dittany and woke, well and rosy. At every house of sickness and sorrow, the wizard did his best, and gradually the cooking pot beside him stopped groaning and retching, and became quiet, shiny and clean.
“Well, Pot?” asked the trembling wizard, as the sun began to rise.
The pot burped out the single slipper he had thrown to it, and permitted him to fit it on to the brass foot. Together, they set off back to the wizard’s house, the pot’s footstep muffled at last. But from that day forward, the wizard helped the villagers like his father before him, lest the pot cast off its slipper, and begin to hop once more."
What do you think of it? Should Magic be available for all who could benefit from it? Or should the one so gifted be the one to choose who they aid and who goes wanting? Obviously one Witch or Wizard cannot save the world, so that leaves the question: should they still try?
I've shared one fairy-tale from my world with some of you, so I thought why not share another?
[And thus Gellert recites, from memory, The Wizard and The Hopping Pot.]
"There was once a kindly old wizard who used his magic generously and wisely for the benefit of his neighbors. Rather than reveal the true source of his power, he pretended that his potions, charms and antidotes sprang ready-made from the little cauldron he called his lucky cooking pot. From miles around people came to him with their troubles, and the wizard was pleased to give his pot a stir and put things right.
This well-beloved wizard lived to a goodly age, then died, leaving all his chatells to his only son. This son was of a very different disposition to his gentle father. Those who could not work magic were, to the son’s mind, worthless, and he had often quarreled with his father’s habit of dispensing magical aid to their neighbours.
Upon the father’s death, the son found hidden inside the old cooking pot a small package bearing his name. He opened it, hoping for gold, but found instead a soft, thick slipper, much to small to wear, and with no pair. A fragment of parchment within the slipper bore the words “In the fond hope, my son, that you will never need it.”
The son cursed his father’s age-softened mind, then threw the slipper back into the cauldron resolving to use it henceforth as a rubbish pail. That very night a peasant woman knocked on the front door.
“My granddaughter is afflicted by a crop of warts, sir,” she told him. “Your father used to mix a special poultice in that old cooking pot -”
“Begone!” cried the son. “What care I for you brat’s warts?”
And he slammed the door in the old woman’s face.
At once there came a loud clanging and banging from his kitchen. The wizard lit his wand and opened the door, and there, to his amazement, he saw his father’s old cooking pot: it had sprouted a single foot of brass, and was hopping on the spot, in the middle of the floor, making a fearful noise upon the flagstones. The wizard approached it in wonder, but fell back hurriedly when he saw that the whole of the pot’s surface was covered in warts.
“Disgusting object!” he cried, and he tried firstly to Vanish the pot, then to clean it by magic, and finally to force it out of the house. None of his spells worked, however, and he was unable to prevent the pot hopping after him out of the kitchen, and then following him up to bed, clanging and banging loudly on every wooden stair.
The wizard could not sleep all night for the banging of the warty old pot by his bedside, and next morning the pot insisted upon hopping after him to the breakfast table. Clang, clang, clang, went the brass-footed pot, and the wizard had not even started his porridge when there came another knock on the door. An old man stood on the doorstep.
” ‘Tis my old donkey, sir,” he explained. “Lost she is, or stolen and without her I cannot take my wares to market, and my family will go hungry tonight.”
“And I am hungry now!” roared the wizard, and slammed the door upon the old man.
Clang, clang, clang, went the cooking pot’s single brass foot upon the floor, but now its clamour was mixed with the brays of a donkey and human groans of hunger, echoing from the depths of the pot.
“Be still. Be silent!” shrieked the wizard, but not all his magical powers could quieten the warty pot, which hopped at his heels all day, braying and groaning and clanging, no matter where he went or what he did.
That evening there came a third knock upon the door, and there on the threshold sood a young woman sobbing as though her heart would break.
“My baby is grievously ill,” she said. “Won’t you help us? Your father bade me come if troubled-”
But the wizard slammed the door on her. And now the tormenting pot filled to the brim with salt water, and slopped tears all over the floor as it hopped, and brayed, and groaned, and sprouted more warts. Though no more villagers came to seek help at the wizard’s cottage for the rest of the week, the pot kept him informed of their many ills. Within a few days, it was not only braying and groaning and slopping and hopping and sprouting warts, it was also choking and retching, crying like a baby, whining like a dog, and spewing out bad cheese and sour milk and a plague of hungry slugs.
The wizard could not sleep or eat with the pot beside him, but the pot refused to leave and he could not silence it or force it to be still.
At last the wizard could bear it no more. “Bring me all your problems, all your troubles and your woes!” he screamed, fleeing into the night, with the pot hopping behind him along the road into the village. “Come! Let me cure you, mend you and comfort you! I have my father’s cooking pot, and I shall make you well!”
And with the foul pot still bounding along behind him, he ran up the street, casting spells in every direction.
Inside one house the little girl’s warts vanished as she slept; the lost donkey was Summoned from a distant briar patch and set down softly in its stable; the sick baby was doused in dittany and woke, well and rosy. At every house of sickness and sorrow, the wizard did his best, and gradually the cooking pot beside him stopped groaning and retching, and became quiet, shiny and clean.
“Well, Pot?” asked the trembling wizard, as the sun began to rise.
The pot burped out the single slipper he had thrown to it, and permitted him to fit it on to the brass foot. Together, they set off back to the wizard’s house, the pot’s footstep muffled at last. But from that day forward, the wizard helped the villagers like his father before him, lest the pot cast off its slipper, and begin to hop once more."
What do you think of it? Should Magic be available for all who could benefit from it? Or should the one so gifted be the one to choose who they aid and who goes wanting? Obviously one Witch or Wizard cannot save the world, so that leaves the question: should they still try?
[Video]
I am in agreement with you. Fate must be considered too. I'm not sure I buy into it, but others might. If a Wizard swoops in like a hero and makes everything right - in their perspective - how is that being thoughtful or empathetic?
Re: [Video]
It's different if people are asking you for the help though, obviously.
[Like she begrudgingly is.]
Otherwise, you'll try to 'help' and possibly make things worse without realize just what the hell you're really helping with. Always get the details first. They're important.
[Video]
[She's different.]
That's true. But I've never pretended to be a hero. I'm intelligent, talented and powerful, yet I lack the personality to be in that role.
Re: [Video]
[She pauses for a moment then nods slightly.]
Yeah, I am. I'd rather be here than in some human settlement.
[Li's different from a lot of things.]
Heroes are over rated anyway and usually brutally dull. I think I'd rather the people like you. At least you make sense to me.
[Video]
I'm honored you think so. [He is and his expression softens slightly.] You make sense to me too. That's why I want to help you.
[She could be a nice ally, but really he does like her for her.]
Re: [Video]
...Could be a little warmer.
[She nods slightly. At least they understand each other as well as can be.]
Well, good.
[And considering how rare someone liking a kelpie for what they are is, she's... not opposed to liking him either.]
[Video]
I've been wondering about your name.
Re: [Video]
That's fine. I'm not exactly going anywhere, now am I.
[Though once he mentioned her name, Li tensed and glanced at him sharply. If she had been herself, her ears would have been forward and trained on him.]
...What about it.
[Video]
[Not that he would have minded.
He is outwardly casual about his questioning, but he notices every small change in her.]
Names are intimate connections to our memories and our very beings. If your name was used in your curse, that could explain its strength.
Re: [Video]
He was right of course. Li just couldn't tell him because of the fucking curse.]
Fuck it, I might go for a walk anyway.
[Video]
You deserve to have it returned to you.
Re: [Video]
Have you figured anything out to break this fucking thing yet.
[Video]
Re: [Video]
He was right about needing to break it into parts and that her name was part of it. That much, she knew and couldn't say. But, what order.. or how to go about doing that? She didn't have the faintest idea. That.. was why she needed someone like him.]
Just.. figure it out and let me touch water again. Soon. I'm going fucking mad the longer I'm like this and I fucking hate it.
[Video]
yetand her plight bothers him almost as much as it bothers her. The Witch responsible would pay dearly if they crossed paths.]The curse concerns me more than your form. It's easy to focus on what we see - the solid parts of you - but your experience and emotions matter much more. Some curses can be like a disease and I would rather target the disease than the after-effects.
Re: [Video]
As relieved as she was to hear that, her anger was rearing its head again with a snarl.]
Then break the fucking curse already! Give my my form back and Let me be in my element. I'm not going to die like this. Not like the others.
[ This time she was nearly throwing her device before she stopped herself, already she was breathing a little heavier in her anger. The closer he was getting, the more agitated she was getting... because she was fighting the curse. ]
[Video]
You're such a taskmaster. [Come on, Li. Bite back at him and stop tormenting yourself.] I'm barely taking time to sleep and eat, I promise. This potion is for you, I hope, if it comes out right.
Re: [Video]
She growled and again nodded, settling back against the wall again and glancing at him slightly this time. There's a lot she wish she could tell him about this fucking thing. But, she can't and she only understands pieces. Otherwise, she'd be helping more then just be demanding he fix things.]
Fine. Then hopefully my pushing will get the best results out of you and what the hell is the potion supposed to do anyway.
[Video]
Re: [Video]
....Then meet me by the water when that's done. If it works..I want to be in the water as soon as possible.
[Video]
Re: [Video]
I can never forget. If you think I'm going to accidentally drown myself then go swimming with me.
[Or stay on the shore, whatever he wants. Li just wants to be in the water again.]
[Video]
Re: [Video]
And you'll probably see me naked before I even hit the water.
[She has no shame so why would it even bother her?]
Fine,I promise not to drown you or eat you this round.
[Video]
[He gets up to pack a bag, readying some vials while he's at it.]
Your curse never accounted for me, so I expect this to work.
Re: [Video]
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