Es War Einmal In Character

Characters: Curufin, Kori
Open?: If anyone's about
Where: Castle library
When: 6/RH in the afternoon
Warnings: Retconned

( I have a few questions. )

[Any unfortunate castle servant tasked with cleaning up the new elf wizard's room will find today a scattered mess of papers and ink and spidery notes in an unfamiliar script, various scorch marks, evidence of headdesking and headwalling when the room's occupant ran into difficulties with his reading, and general chaos and mess in all corners. He also appears to have left his hat.

It's evident that he's been studying hard today. One of the arcane texts, Spells, lies open one page from the end of the first chapter, Cantrips. Anyone looking in might conclude that whoever was here decided to skip a portion of the theory, although the other books are littered with improvised bookmarks as Curufin has dived into the chapters that interested him most. There are also several candles burnt out, some empty drinking vessels and a few muffin cases scattered around the work table.

It's not until the evening when Curufin finally emerges from the castle, having spent the night and most of the day engrossed in the books he borrowed from Kori. Normal people would perhaps choose to break up the study of a new and challenging discipline into sensible-sized chunks, giving the knowledge time to settle and distil, or at least take rest breaks or eat something other than sugar.

Curufin has never been a particularly normal person. At sunset he wanders out, robes askew and hair dishevelled (and he's missing at least part of an eyebrow). He goes to seek out relaxation, following the dim hubbub of people going about their evening business in the town. From the wittering of his Orb he's dimly aware of some adventure or other to some place called West Haven, but that probably isn't too important - not compared to his new hobby. Curufin takes a seat on the outside terrace of the Drunk Duck and idly begins playing with magic again as he waits for his pint, making a weak and inconsistent flame curl in the palm of his hand, flickering up against his fingertips. The warmth feels good, although it saps his energy even as it tugs in power from the surrounding aether.

He likes this world, he decides. He could get used to it.

[The dark-haired man in robes just stares, giving the impression he's more fascinated with the craftsmanship of the Orb than anything he sees beyond it. They're just mortals, two-a-penny in this world as they are in his own.  The world in which he finds himself looks pleasant enough; this isn't the Halls of Waiting, unless Mandos recently installed castles with gleaming spires, white fluffy clouds and a soundtrack of cheerful birdsong. Apparently, he thinks, fallen heroes have a fate apart, and curses are meaningless.

He doesn't see any of his own kind. Perhaps, given recent events in his life, that's not a bad thing. He picks someone at random and decides to make his presence known. After all, it wouldn't do to appear unfriendly.]

Well, hello there!