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 Posted: Sun Apr 19, 2015 10:59 am
Xilarn scoffed softly, a faintly amused smirk coming to his face at the sight of the pile of scorra struggling and flapping and squawking and carrying on. There were quite a lot of them. Constructing a magical shield to keep them at bay truly was a feat worth recognition. It wasn't, however, enough to deter the birds from their path. The small herd shrieked and after a mite of glaring and pecking the magical barrier, they made their way around the the other side. "It is... a little better, I suppose." Not enough to send them away, but enough to give Xil time to formulate a new plan. Xilarn was not a spellcaster. He preferred to see his prey forcibly downed by the strength of his own hand. However. There were a great deal of scorra. So much so that Xilarn did not fancy his chances at successfully spearing all of them. Besides, that would be a great deal of wasted meat. And in this time and place so much waste was probably the worst crime. Ideally, they would've grown bored on their own time and fled or continued their journey without paying the two men any head. Once it became apparent that this was not going to happen, Xil took up Nua's lead. He sucked in a breath, pulling a tightly coiled scroll of paper from his satchel. This particular scroll was a trinket he'd picked off of a small raiding party. Admittedly, he'd...never had the opportunity to use it. Or maybe he'd been too nervous to at all. But with Nua around, a right proper spellcaster, surly he'd be able to... dampen any ill effects, should any arise. The grasses of Tale were long, dry, and plentiful enough that catching one would catch many. So Xil drew on the powers of the scroll, tugging out crisp traces of that weakened magic and coiling it around his arms. With a grunt and a flourish of arms, he thrust the powers forward, catching sparks of fire against the grass before the herd of scorra. The flames started small, but soon spread, licking and expanding at Xil's will, finding its way to cat the heard off and direct them away from the two men and Xilarn's camp. ((2194/2200))
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Posted: Tue Apr 21, 2015 5:53 am
He supposed? That meant he was disappointed. Nuawahn frowned, studying Xilarn's face for some sign that this wasn't so, but found the Oban completely unreadable. A little thrill of distant fear shivered through him as Xilarn turned to look through his satchel.
Have I been bad? Nuawahn wondered, backing away a few steps uneasily, Will he hit me? The Obans in the camp, he remembered suddenly. They had hit him. They had hit him and shouted at him and were very unkind to him whenever he had slipped up. Would Xilarn do the same?
Panic rose, looming out of the fog in Nuawahn's mind like some terrible, many-headed beast. He needed to run. He needed to flee, before Xilarn decided to hurt him. Like the others. To hit him and scream at him and lock him in the darkness with no light until Nuawahn wanted to scream. He was almost there, in that tent again, transported by memory and the malevolent fog to its dark isolation. He knew if he screamed or cried or cast a light, the Obans would be there, angry and hitting. He almost wanted it to happen, just to not be alone, in the dark...
Xilarn's flame sputtered to life and startled Nuawahn out of the terrible and inexorable track of memory. Brilliant and dangerous, it leapt towards the scorra, searing the grass around them and making them scream and shriek with frightened wrath. An obstacle in their way, they could handle. But something as destructive and alive as fire was not something they cared for. They squawked and scrabbled and writhed away from the fire, leaping in enraged terror as the herd milled chaotically. And then, finally, they changed course, lit orange by the flames as they retreated away into a different place. Smoke trailed them – a few had scorched tails – and in another time and place Nuawahn might have laughed, oblivious to the cruelty of it all.
But Nuawahn's laughter was stilled right now as he watched the flames spark and grow. He could not do fire magic. It was bright and lit the night, but it was too hot and burning for him and filled with so many heated emotions that he just could not handle. They were too strong, too angry for Nuawahn to even comprehend. Lightning, too, was alien. Nuawahn was a mage of light and air, water and maybe earth and ice if he tried hard enough. He was a healer by nature and by trade, unable to stop empathizing with another. Unable to hurt.
But Xilarn... Nuawahn watched the flames that eddied up his arm and danced around his face. Xilarn was, clearly, a creature of fire. A fire tribesman and a fire user with a large spear, who thought nothing of killing. Nuawahn did not know if it made Xilarn bad...
But it did make Xilarn scary.
Nuawahn shrunk away uncertainly, his glittering blue eyes wary as he held back the terrible shrieking memories of his time in the Oban camp, back behind the fog where he couldn't remember them. He waited for Xilarn's magic to die down before he whispered, in a frightened voice,
”Are you mad at me?”(2080/2200)
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Posted: Wed Apr 22, 2015 8:25 am
The spell seemed... larger, somehow, when it spread of its own power. Only a spark and a little nudge of mental energy brought it to this, raging in the space where Nua's shield had been moments before. Seeing wispy talons of orange reach out grasp at the feet of the scorra made him wince, because, for all intents and purposes, he didn't have a hand on the magic, anymore. As the birds fled from the onslaught, fire followed them, licking at their long-feathered tails and the wings they fanned out in fear. They shrieked and battered each other, taking almost ridiculous leaps and pecks at one another because each bird's own safety was more important than anything else. He wasn't going to say he hadn't hurt any of them, but... Hopefully it seemed unlikely that any of them would fall too ill or die? Maybe. The Oban huffed, drawing his arms back toward himself, hoping he held enough grasp over these forces to keep it from spreading further. Success did not come easy. Xilarn only knew very little of the power required to bring it forward, very less of what it took to stop it, and as the fires raged on, uneasiness seeped into his gut. "I can't," he hissed out on a huff, closing his open palms into fists as some symbol of dissipation that showed no sign of being conclusive. The magic still tugged on him, tugging at some impercievable thread that bound him to that power that he couldn't even control. "I can't make it stop." He scrunched up his face, biting his lip and tilting his head down. Camp would have to be moved at this rate... ((2475/2200))
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Posted: Wed May 13, 2015 4:58 am
Despite the heat, Nuawahn felt cold at Xilarn's declaration. He couldn't control it? What couldn't he control? His temper? His magic? Nuawahn didn't know which was more terrifying – that he was capable of such violent power, or that he couldn't control it. To Nuawahn's alarm the flames began to move towards them, flowing like glowing, hot water through the tall grass. Smoke began to stain the air above them, acrid and thickening with each passing moment. He watched it approach. ”This is bad.” he commented, an understatement at best. He needed to put it out, or he would catch on fire too! ”Um!” he exclaimed, grabbing his beads and rolling them in his hands. They were magic – they could help! And he had to stop or slow the bad flames, so he was willing to try all options. Fortunately, there was water around them to summon, from the air and ground, and he tried to throw it on the fire, spreading it out to cover the growing flame. A thin sheet of water crashed down on the licking orange flames and, for a moment, Nuawahn thought he had succeeded as the fire died, becoming slick, black charcoal and ash. And then, suddenly, a new flame sprang up where it should not have been able to, its odd color – just a bit off – making it clear that magic, not embers was the culprit. ”Aaa! Oh no!” Nuawahn cried as it grew, apparently to try to fill, again, the space that the fire had just vacated. He looked at Xilarn anxiously. ”It won't go out!” What if it spread further? What if the entire Tale was set on fire and the fire wouldn't go out? That would be bad, so bad that Nuawahn could hardly comprehend it. He hardly dared. He tried the water spell again, to no avail – the little magic flame kept returning, growing faster every time he put it out. He began to panic, his casting movements more frantic as he started to back away from the raging magical fire. And then something clicked. Instead of splashing the flame with summoned water, he turned to Xilarn. Maybe, since he had cast the spell, he was the reason why it kept burning. Maybe if he doused Xilarn, it would all stop. Nuawahn summoned his water and, with a warning shout, dumped all of the water he had gathered onto Xilarn. He hoped it worked... because if it didn't, the Fire man would be mad at him for sure, and mad Obans... were very, very bad. (2510/2200)
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Posted: Mon Jun 08, 2015 2:31 pm
DraconicFeline Short tag is short. Whoops. We can prolly draw this one to an end real soon. The scent of burning grass was, surprisingly, not half bad. The thought was one of many rampant and unwarranted considerations that flickered through Xilarn's mind as the flames danced and wove and cooked everything in their path. As aware as he was that he should be focusing on the task at hand, concentration did not come easy. It didn't help that Nuawahn was flapping about at his side, waving his arms in the flamboyant mannerisms of all spellcasters, and squeaking out exclamations when his attempts to quell the flames failed. Not that Xilarn was particularly surprised by that fact. He could feel the tug of magic like wires in his veins; tight, thick, dragging at him down and sapping at his strength. To be fair, he'd hardly done anything with his magic besides light small fires for nightlights or cooking or warming. Never had he used it in defense. And since it was working so well this time, he didn't see himself doing it very often in the future. Unless he wanted to level a small forest, maybe. For now, he should probably see to it that Nua got away unharmed, even if it was just telling him off so he would leave. Xil tipped his head toward the boy, opened his mouth, and felt cool, crisp, wet dumped on his head. The too-taught threads that bound him snapped like brittle twigs and the tension that coursed through him evaporated alongside the flames on the plains. He sank to the ground, sucking in a lungful of air and watching beads of water roll from the fabric of his cloak. It hadn't seemed like he'd done much, but really... Xilarn felt exhausted. That must be what happened when your body was forced to use a power it didn't actually have. He sighed, and raked a few sopping dreads back over his shoulder, tossing them behind him with a wet 'slap' to his back. Xil tilted his head up to Nua. "I am grateful," he said solemnly. Mostly. A little annoyed. Tired. Irritated that his food was ruined now. But appeased in a different sense, nonetheless. ((2829/2200))
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