2004-02-04 - 12:25 a.m.
Standing among the dancing lights scattered by the leafy branches of an elm tree caught in the wind, a man appears in different places to be transparent or even mottled with holes. Where the sun is strongest on him, he seems most solid, if not opaque, yet in those places covered with shadow the trunk of the tree can be seen behind. Those standing near him now, his friends, do not seem disturbed by his ethereal state, for he is a Muse, and it is only natural for him to exist in this way. In broad daylight, he would seem human at a glance though it would not take more than the briefest of scrutiny to reveal that something was off about his appearance. With an expression betraying no emotion, with such androgynous a face and figure, and with those simple white robes, Gelandel seems too plain, yet also too perfect. On him no blemish or scar can be found. From head to toe, his body is unerring symmetry and in proportions pleasing to the view of all who survey him. Through this perfection, nothing stands out remarkable save one thing: his eyes. They present a contradiction, containing all the knowledge of a man who has learned many difficult lessons from a long and trying life, yet also holding the impression of a child, innocent, as if that same man had one day awoken with amnesia, freed from his memories of hardship while somehow still retaining the wisdom those experiences had paid for. Though it is Gelandel’s body that is translucent, it is his gaze that seems to look through a person, seeing not their physical features or bragged virtues but the strength of their will and the limits of their potential. It is with this divine perception that a Muse selects those it will join with in order to fulfill its existence through creation; however, even surrounded by the most remarkable people that Fulgerus has to offer, Gelandel has yet to form a single bond with any of them.
