Does this magic rely on the law of conservation of mass like his own magic ( or, what’s left of it )? Or does it buck the concept entirely, bringing forth new matter from absolutely nowhere?
Either way, he won’t protest against literally any of this. Lorin will take that… wand, he believes, and roll it around in the palms of his hands for a spell. It’s lightweight, about as much as a normal stick one would find on the forest floor. And yet, it hums with incredible power.
As someone who knows exactly how to use an arcane focus, it’s simple. He’ll focus his previous visions into the wand, which in turn exacts his will on to the space before him, shaping reality to his specific design– telling the Weave to rearrange itself to create a desired effect.
Rooms appear from thin air, and within them the expected appliances and furnishings. Cabinets, the wood fire stove, and a table for two in one ( the kitchen area he had forgot to mention ), and in the other everything needed for a modest washroom that meets his standards.
Another room is conjured, and within it is a bed far larger he probably needs, just absolutely stacked with quilts and thick blankets. More bookshelves adorn the walls here, including a little alcove just filled with books above the bed. An armchair is here is well, and next to that a small end table.
The living quarters are the last to get its much needed attention. Another armchair, this time right next to a fireplace made of misshapen stone. The aforementioned bookshelves. An old and slightly weathered rug thrown over the warped floorboards. Trinkets and nick-knacks line the walls, such as potted plants and wind chimes.
Essentially, he’s turned what looked like someone’s attic into the spitting image of the fairy tale cottage tucked far beyond the reaches of man.
It’s warm, inviting, and the smell of magic perfumes the air with something sweet. An actual place to call his own, for once.
…It dawns on him, now, he’s never actually had a place of his own, before. It strikes him as odd, yet comforting.
His own little sanctuary.
And with that, he motions to hand the wand off.
–––– ❝ …While I believe this is complete, why not add a touch of your own? It is only fair, considering I assume you will occupy this space with me from time to time. ❞
{ * A touch of my own..? }
{ * The man looks around the place. It took no effort to get this home up and running the way Lorin wanted, so he’s pretty pleased with himself. }
* “ ..Hmm. I’ve no idea how I could claim this space. I’m not particularly materialistic, otherwise I’d place something on the mantle. Anything I’d put in here would clash with the aesthetics. “
{ * He stands up, looking the room up and down before turning to Lorin and quirking a brow. }
* “ If you had to pick some object to remember me by, what would come to mind? “
romaincrisis
snowghoul
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