The Scribe relaxes their pose, letting the sword vanish. They still look like Portland Lambert, though, which is weird.
"I only write what I see," they say, lifting their hands helplessly. "You can only create what you feel. Tell the story as you want it to happen - invite the ghosts of the stories around you."
The Curator pointedly attempts to take attention away from the Scribe. They aren't sure how much you read of the Scribe's work, but it's all a bit flowery.
"What the Scribe means is that it is difficult to explain with words something that can only be felt. There is a certain frequency to our magic that you must be in tune with - the same that you would feel when cooperating with the specters. You must take that energy and do more with it than simply cooperate... you must lead."
no subject
"I only write what I see," they say, lifting their hands helplessly. "You can only create what you feel. Tell the story as you want it to happen - invite the ghosts of the stories around you."
The Curator pointedly attempts to take attention away from the Scribe. They aren't sure how much you read of the Scribe's work, but it's all a bit flowery.
"What the Scribe means is that it is difficult to explain with words something that can only be felt. There is a certain frequency to our magic that you must be in tune with - the same that you would feel when cooperating with the specters. You must take that energy and do more with it than simply cooperate... you must lead."