Micolash 'helps' with the book clean-up effort by finally sticking a leg out. In order to, using one untied shoe, shove aside another stack to make room for the one being remade. He's not normally THIS careless with books, but he can get so swept up in discussion re: his field of study. He hasn't even paused in talking to give that pile the boot.
"Oh yes! It is as if-..." His eyes briefly lose focus as he thinks. How to phrase this. "Say you were to understand a single, profound word in every sense. You know it in all its implications, in all its metaphysical potential, its universal impact, its meaning, its raw and basic power. You have taken a single word, a lone concept, and meditated upon it for a decade. Without. Ceasing.
"Now take that, all of that. All that time and vast understanding, that unlocked potential! To achieve and perceive all of that is to hear a rune."
Goodness, but that description got Micolash all wound up. He does hope it makes sense, as he's been known to blather on long since he's lost his audience. But he has no time to dwell on it, because an even more compelling question has been asked.
"You ask if they are good..." the scholar begins slowly, bringing his hands together at the fingertips. "...Mine is not to say if They still...perceive such mundane, arbitrary concepts as good and evil.
"But. I have never seen a single one act in malice. I have never known one to reach out with anything worse than curiosity. If They cause us harm, it is only because our minds our young; our bodies weak. Our eyes, too few and yet to open. Their desire for offspring, borne only from each one losing Their own and yearning for surrogates. To be a host is to be as unto...an adopted child. Chosen. Nurtured. Needed."
By this time, Micolash's voice has dropped entirely to a reverent whisper. Though he now pauses to lift a trembling, pale hand to his face, now wearing an expression of contrite confusion. Reaching past the bars, gently touching thin fingertips to one cheek and looking at the liquid they come away with. In the midst of his words on these Great Ones and Their nature, the scholar had begun to weep. Tears dropping from his eyes freely, unbidden and undetected. At least until this very moment, though the man seems to be smiling in confusion at having such a response.
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"Oh yes! It is as if-..." His eyes briefly lose focus as he thinks. How to phrase this. "Say you were to understand a single, profound word in every sense. You know it in all its implications, in all its metaphysical potential, its universal impact, its meaning, its raw and basic power. You have taken a single word, a lone concept, and meditated upon it for a decade. Without. Ceasing.
"Now take that, all of that. All that time and vast understanding, that unlocked potential! To achieve and perceive all of that is to hear a rune."
Goodness, but that description got Micolash all wound up. He does hope it makes sense, as he's been known to blather on long since he's lost his audience. But he has no time to dwell on it, because an even more compelling question has been asked.
"You ask if they are good..." the scholar begins slowly, bringing his hands together at the fingertips. "...Mine is not to say if They still...perceive such mundane, arbitrary concepts as good and evil.
"But. I have never seen a single one act in malice. I have never known one to reach out with anything worse than curiosity. If They cause us harm, it is only because our minds our young; our bodies weak. Our eyes, too few and yet to open. Their desire for offspring, borne only from each one losing Their own and yearning for surrogates. To be a host is to be as unto...an adopted child. Chosen. Nurtured. Needed."
By this time, Micolash's voice has dropped entirely to a reverent whisper. Though he now pauses to lift a trembling, pale hand to his face, now wearing an expression of contrite confusion. Reaching past the bars, gently touching thin fingertips to one cheek and looking at the liquid they come away with. In the midst of his words on these Great Ones and Their nature, the scholar had begun to weep. Tears dropping from his eyes freely, unbidden and undetected. At least until this very moment, though the man seems to be smiling in confusion at having such a response.