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Miss Chief aka Uke rolled 5 100-sided dice:
5, 21, 19, 32, 29
Total: 106 (5-500)
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Mriae rolled 5 100-sided dice:
91, 89, 33, 28, 49
Total: 290 (5-500)
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 Posted: Tue Apr 28, 2015 4:59 pm
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As was to be expected, the heat in the Malro Desert was sweltering. The surrounding towns felt the effect of the heat, and as a result the villagers mainly stayed confined to their homes. Everyone, that was, except for Ziqah. Who cared if the sun blazed down on them? It was just a little heat! Besides, there were adventures to be had, people to meet, and dragon souls to obtain. None of that would be possible if she just loitered about in the shade and sat on her laurels. No – she had to get out there! The world wasn’t going to wait, and neither was she. Venturing out gave her an excuse, anyway. She needed to learn to get used to her newly acquired magical abilities.
“I’m going out. Be back later. Don’t wait up. If I don’t come back, you know the desert got me.”
This was to her mother and her twin sister. The girls’ mother opened her mouth to object, but before she could even get a word out, her youngest was out the door and gone. Her mother could disagree all she wanted with Ziqah’s desire to get out, but she was still going to go, regardless. She wouldn’t be pinned down. She was her own person, and if she wanted to kill dragons, then she was going to kill dragons. They wouldn’t exactly kill themselves; someone had to do it!
The desert was a dangerous place. If the heat didn’t bring a person down, then the lack of water would do it, or perhaps the many beasts that called the sands their home. Her mother’s concern was of no surprise to Ziqah, really. The desert was how she lost her father. He had gone out to help a nomadic family for his job as a healer and he never came back. The young girl, however, would be careful. She wasn’t dumb. She knew what her limitations would be.
It didn’t take long for her to find a dragon. Just over a couple of large dunes, a few miles out into the desert, laid a kiandri dragon. Ziqah peered at it from afar and smirked with content. Guess it was her lucky day, after all! The kiandri basked in the sun, limbs sprawled out as it relaxed. A gentle breeze blew by, and it yawned lazily, sharp and jagged fangs glistening as the sun hit them. Killing it would be no easy feat. Not only were kiandri dragons large, but they were dangerous with their electric breath attack. Luckily for her, however, Ziqah had the element of surprise, and she would use that to her advantage.
The dragon didn’t even see her coming. Warm sands, which seemed to be a good place to relax, then warped and changed underneath it. The sands moved up and around the large creature, only to close in and compact on it. The earth was tight around its body, squeezing tighter and tighter until finally it couldn’t breathe any longer. The earth had literally crushed it to death. Pleased with how she used her new abilities, Ziqah couldn’t help but let out a "WOOP" of satisfaction. That was epic! Not only did she manage to kill it, but she took it down all by herself. Her sister would never believe her.
Yet Ziqah’s good luck was not about to last. From the other dunes behind the dead dragon, movement could be seen. The sands shifted, and from them the heads of four other kiandri popped out. Each of them looked directly at Ziqah and growled with a low, predatory rumble. She was next, it seemed.
“Well, that did not go as expected.”
[Word Count: 611/1500]
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Posted: Tue Apr 28, 2015 5:47 pm
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The problem with necromancy — in Ataya’s reasonably limited experience so far, aside from the risk of going blind, permanently crippling oneself, or otherwise passing out at inopportune moments and driving one’s body to the physical limits — was the general, ‘shocking,’ disapproval that society at large seemed to have for it. Of course, that in itself wasn’t even a scarecrow in terms of deterrence so far as Ataya was concerned. Between being born hybrid and growing ever more progressively bitter with the standards of everything from society to his own parents over the years of moving through adolescence, Ataya had a strict policy of doing whatever he wanted — within some very narrow range of limits.
Convenience, however, and a want for privacy and not to be interrupted or attacked did demand that, on occasion, he worked in more secluded places. He tended to prefer home. Secluded mountain passes. Rock caverns. Private valleys out of the way of all his family where, worst come to worst, all he could really do was accidentally cause a rockslide or an apocalypse of undead creatures to consume him alive without risk of them — likely — making it up to disturb his family, so that wasn’t all that bad, was it?
Where had this explanation begun again?
Oh, yes, Ataya was out in the middle of the Malro desert, miles from town and suffering the blistering, abominable, disgusting, and hatefully unnecessary heat for a reason. Whatever gods had invented heat this sweltering and repugnant were vile, distasteful beings deserving of not a moment’s worship in Ataya’s opinion, but that aside, privacy and room for open and undisturbed spellwork was a highly deserving reason of going out of one’s way. Even when ‘out of one’s way’ involved heat.
Ataya tended to think, as an aiskala, he harbored a particularly well earned hate for the summer, burning sands, and everything that came with it. But that was neither here nor there. For now, all that mattered was that he had carefully arranged his trip, gathered the belongings he needed and spellscrolls, mounted his hastar, found a quiet and unobtrusive, undisturbed location, and he thought it was fairly reasonable to suspect that he would be left alone.
The fates, generally, hated Ataya.
He was quite convinced of this. And if anyone wasn’t, he would be happy to point out multiple occasions which clearly evidenced their unjust and undeserved hatred. In this instance, the arrival of someone else within the vague vicinity of his space. A certain, small, unwelcome someone that he did not care to identify until it — she, they, he? — decided it was a perfectly good idea to wake sleeping dragons.
Ataya was fairly familiar with a decent slew of persons who frequently made very poor decisions, but given that this unwelcome invader boasted the size of a child, from what little he could tell, rousing previously peaceful and unbothered kiandris seemed to be among a very narrow collection of Incredibly Stupid Ideas with which very few could compete.
Ataya, still tucked some distance off and out of the range of the immediate fight — though he could hear it and wouldn’t be surprised, given his luck, if the dragons chose to come his way next — debated. Would the fates really grant him any favors if he interrupted his work and went out of his way to bother sparing the life of an irritable child?
“If she lives to the count of…” Ataya debated in his head, “…ten, perhaps, mm?” He gathered shadows in his palm, winding them around his fingers and up his arm. “One…two…three…”
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Posted: Wed Apr 29, 2015 8:46 am
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This whole ordeal could go one of two ways. The four dragons that were now looming over her could get the upper-hand, lash out, and eat her to bits. It was definitely the more gruesome way to go, for sure, and the mere thought of it made the twelve-year-old grimace with disgust. She was not going to be eaten by dragons. Not if she could help it. Alternatively, if she played her cards right, she could work her magic and distract the dragons. That would give her enough time to evade them and run back home. Possibly -- if they didn’t find her in the distance and catch her. Regardless of which scenario happened, Ziqah was in a bit of a pickle. There was no doubt about that.
One had to be quick on their feet in times like this. Waiting to try and think of the best possible way to go about getting away was not going to do. It’s what her sister would have done. She was always the planner, and that would have gotten her killed. Ziqah was just the opposite. She was motivated under pressure, and would do her best to roll with the punches (or in this case, the dragon bites). The apprentice Dovaa stared the kiandri dragons down, and it was as she did that an idea popped into her head. She knew what she was going to do.
The nice thing about earth was that it was literally all around them, and in the desert it was even more readily available. Most Gaili probably preferred to work with more solid earth and stones. It would provide more brutal attacks and a harsher impact. The Malro Desert, however, boasted fine sand that was more copious in amount and easier to work with. It was perfect, and this would be what she would utilize for her plan.
“Well, it’s been nice knowing you,” Ziqah said, turning on her heel as if she was about to face her back to them and run off. Yet she didn’t run away. Instead, she whirled about in a circle and spun quickly, enough to start kicking up sand to make a tornado of the silt. It was small at first, but as she spun more it got larger and larger, to the point where it eventually covered all four of the dragons. The sand itself was disorienting. With it blowing everywhere, it was difficult to see, and the small grains stung as it got in their eyes and barraged their pelts. Not only that, but some of the whirls of sand cut deeply into them, causing the dragons to cry out in pain. Satisfied that this would be enough of a distraction, Ziqah began to slip away. The whirlwind of sand would last for a few more moments, so she was confident she’d be able to get a decent length away from them all.
Stupid dragons – it’s what they got for underestimating her.
She may have been just a kid, but she wasn’t dumb or helpless.
She could hold her own with the best of them.
[Word Count: 1,128/1,500]
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Posted: Fri May 01, 2015 3:35 pm
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“…seven, eight, nine…”
The sound of fighting continued, and as he reached the count of ten, Ataya hummed to himself. It certainly sounded as though she were still alive — ‘she’ he guessed, due to voice tone alone — and, figuring that matters would be more simply handled if he did so on his own terms, he set aside what he had been working on: carefully tucking away scrolls, stepping out of the spell circle he had been testing and into the unmarked surrounding sand. There, he bent, stooping to a crouch and touching long fingers to the desert as he sought out — and found — shadows. Gathering his magic to him, he shifted, and melded into them.
Harder to be hurt, certainly, when one had no physical form and infinitely faster to travel besides. His hastar, Rannah — loyal as she was — need not be placed in the zone of danger, and he felt more sure of himself when casting if he was dependant only on his own two feet and not subject to the whims, fears, and potential mishaps of another creature. He moved near to the center of the action, but well enough to the side to keep away from immediate harm. When he reassumed a physical form, he shut his eyes. Sand pelted about in a messy whirl, but given that was already blind, the sight impediment was nothing, and he dealt easily with the rest, calling on his clan magic to send out ripple of frost in a growing sphere around him.
The purpose was two-fold. Generally speaking, Ataya ‘saw’ with his aiskala magic to begin with, dropping the temperature and frosting the air that surrounded him so that he might identify negative space shapes — where things ‘were’ — based purely on where his ice was not. After two years of practice, honing and perfecting the technique, he had worked down to a fine-tuned minimum how much precisely he needed to effect with such a chill in order to get a workable sense of his surroundings.
In this case, however, he applied no such minimum. With the sand as it was — wild and violent and under the magical puppetry of the girl, apparently gaili — he needed a means of warding it off from himself first. Coating the particles in ice worked well enough, and from there, he further pushed outwards with his magic, seeking and finding the shapes of the dragons as they were. With a sharp grip and twist, Ataya flicked his fingers out, summoning a spire of ice that jutted from the sand, towards the nearest approaching dragon — and through it — pinning it like an insect with a needle.
A garbled, broken screech of objection met his ears, but it was weak and formed by a dying voice box, soon disintegrated into nothing more than a soul orb. Obvious now, however, Ataya soon gained the attention of all the remaining three, and felt as the air rippled, alive with gathering magic. Heated and electric. He sank back into the shadows, skittering formless across the sand moments before the CRACK of kiandri lightning, burning the sand where he had stood seconds prior and causing it to claw upwards in a misshapen spear of scorched earth.
He took shape again some distance away.
“Do you make a habit of testing the limits of survivable stupidity, girl? Or did you erroneously think yourself, for some other unapparent reason, capable of managing this yourself?”
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Posted: Sun Jan 03, 2016 10:09 am
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Words filled the Dovaa's ears, and something became clear in her mind: she was no longer alone with the dragons. Ziqah's face contorted into a frown at the notion of being called 'girl'. While, yes, she was a girl -- the way Ataya said it was in an annoyed and demeaning fashion. Memories filled the back of her mind of being called such things and worse from times she went about the markets of her home. She was all too familiar with the notion that she was being a nuisance, and due to that, she couldn't help but grimace at the other Dovaa near by.
"I didn't now there were so many," she told him, not paying full attention to the skewered dragon that just cried out as it lost its life. "And to answer your questions: no. No I don't, on both counts. I know my limits, and I know when I need to go." After saying this, the young girl took time to pause and assess Ataya. He looked like a Dovaa, but there was something else about him. Something darker. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. All she knew was that he had ice magic, and that was an impressive sight to behold.
Ice was few and far between in the desert, what with the heat and all. Water magic was a bit more prominent, but that, too, was on the uncommon side of things. "I don't need you judging me," was the last thing she finally commented, her head turning back so she could assess the dragon situation behind her. Now that Ataya was around, things might not be so bad, but it was better to get a safe distance away. She didn't want to become dragon food -- not when she had so many other adventures bouncing around in her head.
"...Thanks for the help." This was a quiet, almost begrudging comment on Ziqah's part, but it needed to be said. After seeing that she would be in and over her head, he stepped in to help, even if he did think her foolish for doing so. He deserved a thank you, at the very least. She'd be dead without him, after all. Her family had already lost her father. Losing Ziqah as well would be something that both her mother and twin sister could not handle. Not in the slightest.
[Word Count: 1,526/1,500]
The Only Black Uke Sorry for the long overdue tag. ; n; I'm gonna try and get back into things. Slowly but surely.
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Posted: Sun Jan 03, 2016 10:06 pm
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Ataya might have said a great many things. It was his usual habit, in any case, at the slightest excuse, and if he could manage pair it with showing off and berating others simultaneously, all the better. It was also usual however, that his snappishness would come in the wake of equal demonstrations of distaste aimed at himself, ‘justifying’ his overall chilliness and ire. He was used to that. Used to being sneered at and argued with, looked down upon and generally not appreciated as he would consider himself due.
He was not used to thanks.
Thus, while he was fully prepared to respond in kind to his company before and all the way up to her final comment, the trailing — if quiet — ‘Thank you…’ left him temporarily at a loss for an appropriate response. A moment later, his blind eyes narrowed, suspicious. She must have seen his magic, his coloring, known him to be hybrid. But the statement had sounded genuine by all accounts. At length, he huffed, but it was a soft and unassuming sound, no longer derogatory so much miffed, and curious. He gave a nod and the smallest semblance of a ‘bow’.
“See that you watch your step…”
And then, he retreated, sinking back into shadow without another word and skittering across the sand in that form to reappear again beside his hastar. He had come out here for a reason, after all, and said reason had nothing to do with young dovaa girls. No matter how startlingly ‘polite’ in the end. Nor was it his task to look out for her any further. So, he mounted. There would be other places to practice his work without unasked for and unwanted watchful eyes, and it was easier to retreat further out of sight without comment than to make a scene.
As he turned Rannah and started off, however, there was a momentary niggling in the back of his mind—he had not gotten the girl’s name. He dismissed it.
After all, what did it matter?
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