What's In A Name?

[grantuseyes]

Micolash sits cross-legged on a table. Strewn all around him are ink pots (some overturned and spilled), parchment paper (in stacks and scattered alike), pens and nibs and a few sticks of charcoal. His fingers are stained with ink and there are a few splotches somehow on his face and on his pinstripe trousers, along with a dark handprint on the metal collar of his cage. The side of his left hand, the one he's currently holding a pen with, is smudged even worse with black.

There are discarded drawings all around him, some that look like false starts on some manner of monsters. Some are just pages crammed with drawings of eyes, or scrawls repeating phrases or rambling prose. Some are crumpled up into paper wads or have half-hearted attempts at scratching out or erasing the contents.

The parchment Micolash currently has in front of him is being scrutinized by the scholar. Looking over his handiwork and trying to determine if it passes whatever muster he's going for. It's certainly a drawing of SOMETHING.

Whatever verdict he's pondering, it doesn't prevent Micolash from looking up and addressing whatever person is wandering close to his work station.

"What does your name mean? Do you know? Do you care?"

Comments

[grantuseyes]

"Your aunt? Akin to Mother Kos, some say Kosm; beloved of the deep sea, matron of the fishing hamlet. Some. Theorize that She too is a parallel to another, perhaps like your kind and your nightmares and new moons, and the other with the full and the Dream. Conjecture, of course; I believe all Great Ones stand as individuals and do not populate a...pantheon in the traditional sense. But how poetic, were it to be. Kos, some say Kosm, presiding over the moon when it is white and gleaming like Her. And to dear Forgotten Flora, the darkness that makes the clouds go red..." Micolash sighs dreamily (appropriately so) to ponder it all.

"What are your Nightmares like? How can one visit?"