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Miss Chief aka Uke rolled 2 100-sided dice:
50, 6
Total: 56 (2-200)
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 Posted: Fri Mar 20, 2015 11:50 pm
Statistics Name: Ataya
Stage: Adept
Clan/Class: Aiskala Mage
Level: 56
Stats:
INT - 75
ATK - 60
DEF - 55
LP - 425
ENG - 425
◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◆◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇ Die ResultsAtaya rolls 50 for initiative - goes first.
Master ATK = 1800 magical damage (at full power).
◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◆◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇ The Broken, the Beaten, and the Damned In the remaining month or so of winter where the snow fell too heavily to travel far to begin with, Ataya wanted to begin attempts at deciphering how to read text. As it happened, however, the process of attempting to fine tune his aiskala magic to a.) do the job he wanted to with precision b.) not make an entire mess of the house every time he walked through it and c.) not absolutely exhaust him to maintain it constantly, was a massive enough ordeal on its own. On the one hand, he relished in the challenge. It was in his preferred area of interest — detailed and controlled spellcrafting — but the fact that the spell, or process of casting, that he was attempting to fashion directly impacted his functionality in day to day life made the pressure all the higher. At least, though, after his lowest point, there were no other instances where he felt quite so helpless, and he did not even flirt again with that state. Frustrations were many, but hopelessness never plagued him, and through all his moods in the weeks following that night, he kept his head solidly above the tides of self-doubt. He would grapple this, would overcome it, and one day, it would all feel natural. It helped, too, that — without the feeling of absolute uselessness and, in its place, a growing sense of building self-sufficiency — he was more willing to allow and ask for help, all with the mental justification that the sooner he improved and learned, the better, and further crippling his process by not accepting his family’s aid did nothing to that effect. It was not until the snows began to thaw that a new vein of uncertainty prickled at him. He was passably capable, at least, of maneuvering his surroundings. He moved through the house with ease and the land in the direct vicinity without issue. Though his technique did not help him with his clothes, he began a habit of even more rigid organization than he was used to, and by the coming of spring, he was comfortable finding everything he needed without issue. He could even make himself breakfast without — usually — damaging his food. The thought of bringing his new malady before Dysarrin, however… Ataya frowned. He genuinely did not know precisely what to expect. It was entirely possible, so far as he could guess, that the wildboy — man, Dysarrin was undisputably a man now — might not even notice, let alone care. Something, however, made Ataya dread that it would not be so simple as that. After several long moments lingering at the tail end of his dressing process, Ataya abruptly huffed, shaking his head and dismissing the thought forcibly. He was capable. Dysarrin already thought him weak and incapable no matter how inaccurate those assumptions were, and now — while, true, he had an added disadvantage to grapple with — he was managing, and Dysarrin was his friend. ‘Understanding’ wasn’t exactly an adjective that he would readily apply to the man, but stupid was, and surely, if nothing else, Dysarrin would be too stupid to care. It wasn’t as though it affected the two of them after all. Much. Dysarrin didn’t care about his ability to read, nor did he care about his skills at making himself breakfast or even, likely, dressing himself, though he had that under control and Dys still didn’t seem to. Not that Ataya ever expected he would, at this point. So, in the end, it changed little to nothing. So he told himself. He told it to himself as he donned his boots, as he ate, and after he left the house. He told it to himself as he started up the path to his usual ‘spot’ and continued to insist it to himself over the ever-rising thud of his pulse in his throat. Without winter, everything felt more empty. And he, more blind. Scowling at the thought, he forced it away, too. Out here, he had free reign to stretch his magic without risking the interior of the house, and he did so as he climbed, filling in the blank space with outlines until he reached his destination. On arriving at the tree — the tree, which seemed, at this point, to have started it all for himself and Dysarrin — he felt a strange knot in his throat as he touched his fingers to it. This was the first time he had been here and could not see everything as it was every spring. Much, he thought as he trailed his fingers idly down the bark, had changed since he had begun making this trip at seven years old. He wondered, off-handedly, what all might change in the times he visited to come. A pointless mental exercise, in the end. There was never any telling, after all, what the future held. For all that he had seen and heard of gods and great plans, Ataya bet nothing on the cards of ‘fate.’ The world, so far as he could tell, was chaos. It was only after sinking to a sit at the base of the tree that it occurred to him: waiting without a book would be very, very boring indeed if Dysarrin chose to take his time — or not show up at all. Pinching wearily at the bridge of his nose and massaging there, Ataya sighed, and readied himself for a wait.
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Posted: Sat Mar 21, 2015 9:25 am
 StatisticsName: Dysarrin
Stage: Adept
Clan/Class: Firani Barbarian
Level: 35
Stats:
INT - 50
ATK - 50
DEF - 32
LP - 320
ENG - 320
◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◆◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇ Die ResultsDysarrin rolls 44 for initiative - goes Second
Advanced Magical Defense = Rolled 90 - 100% (814) magical damage warded
◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◆◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇ Dysarrin was not of a kind to have much appreciation for change. Though there was one point ( several moons back, by now) that he thought he might have been bored with the mundane redundancy of his daily activities, the winter had proven him wrong. Stupid winter; reminding him of how treacherous thinking could really be. Stupid winter for existing. Honestly, anything unfavorable that happened through the past months was obviously winter’s fault. Bad things never happened in summer or spring, when the sun hung in the sky for greater spans of time and warded off evil. And because of the general lack of hospitableness winter imposed, the snowy months were supposed to be a time of hibernation and recuperation; of long days and nights spent bundled in thick furs, pressed against his woman and appreciating that there was no need to venture into the drifts. As usual, winter did not care for the way Dysarrin perceived things to be. It was, however, the first time the season had seen fit to pair up with an outside source. Perhaps it had grown angry that the mountainous clan had adapted well enough to not losing its members to the cold, and in its rage, it beckoned forth warriors from other lands to do its work for it. It was certainly the laziest of all seasons. Lazy, spiteful, unforgiving, extremely self-centered. Again, Dys was reminded of how everything bad in the world stemmed from winter. Lack of desire to traipse out into the snow lent itself to smaller hunting ‘parties’ sent out by the clan, if one or two people could really be classified as a party. And on winter’s worst days, one or two people didn’t return. Losing one or two members of the family would’ve been enough, but it happened multiple times - More than once - dwindling the already small numbers of their clan to a pitifully small degree. Dys, despite being vehemently against the cold, was even more against ravagers from strange lands swooping in, plucking off a warrior or two, and then dipping away before anyone could make heads or tails of it. Naturally, he’d seen fit to inspect the occurrences for himself, and though it had seemed like a good idea for Tavi to tag along at the time, her presence turned out to be more of a hindrance that he’d been prepared for… In a brief and wildly unfulfilling scuffle, she’d been grievously injured. So much so that she’d rapidly turned into a stark-raving-mad, bitching, self-depreciating, very useless woman. Dys expected he wouldn’t be thrilled to have his leg ripped off, either, but it hardly did her any good to be mad at him. Dys didn’t learn much quickly, but he learned to avoid Tavi in record time. A task that became even more challenging when Zenith, oh wise and noble clan leader, decided their survival hinged on leaving the home they’d known for their entire life. It was an intriguing and promising, if not slightly confusing prospect, and one that Dys was ready to agree to almost instantly. Until he learned where, precisely, their move would take them. The Elechun clan resided farther to the southwest, out of reach of the Osias clan boundaries, and a safer, more notable distance from the open expanse of the desert. The clan itself consisted almost solely of Firanis, Gailis, and Kiandris. They were not kind. They were not welcoming, and they did not share. Which were all traits Dys himself expressed, so he could hardly fault someone else for it. What he did expressly dislike about them was their living arrangements. By this point in his life, Dysarrin had explored many caves; both on his own and with his most trusted and useful of companions. Venturing into them for only small stretches at a time was bearable, if only because it presented new lands to explore. What was entirely unacceptable was living in them. The Elechun had carved out a sizable living quarters, smaller familiar clusters even had their own rooms (a concept Dys was unfamiliar with), but the space still felt small, cramped, enclosed. Nevermind he was constantly surrounded by people he didn’t know and definitely didn’t like. By the time the welcoming scents of spring reached him, Dysarrin was exhausted, utterly at the limit of his mental capacity. He was perpetually annoyed, groggy, spiteful; as if winter had left permanent imprints on him. And it didn’t help that the shift in territory had dragged him even farther away from his spot that he shared with Ataya. As he picked his way finally and blissfully through familiar territory, Dys only hoped stupid Orderite warriors tried to pick him off from this plane. Then, at least, he would have something suitably solid to crush. The dregs of winter jeered at him. The Firani could not even begin to identify the sensation he felt when he first laid eyes on Ataya, sitting under their tree and waiting for him. It was kind of like stuffing his face in fresh baowi pelt or eating fire or sunbathing. Something good, definitely, and he clambered toward the still-pitifully-small lad with due haste. “Ataya,” he rumbled out in greeting, instantly falling into the habit of giving his companion the same girth of personal space he usually offered. He proceeded to plaster his cheek to the side of Ataya’s head, bumping shoulders with him and rubbing appreciatively on his for the sole fact that he existed.
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Fluffesu rolled 2 100-sided dice:
44, 90
Total: 134 (2-200)
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Posted: Sat Mar 21, 2015 9:26 am
((Ah, crap, I didn't roll)
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Miss Chief aka Uke rolled 3 100-sided dice:
51, 21, 5
Total: 77 (3-300)
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Posted: Sat Mar 21, 2015 9:45 am
Quote: Accuracy:Hit. Power: 10% - 180 damage done. (Minus mitigated damage: does nothing.) Defense: 10% - Blocks 83 damage from next attack. Several times, Ataya almost convinced himself to rise and leave — fetch something he could do while he waited — but nothing came to mind, and the idea that if Dysarrin did return on this day and he wasn’t here he would miss him always held him rooted eventually. It wasn’t as though he had a great lot to do at home, either, other than continue to refine his spell technique and think about potentials for attempting to read again. The thinking, he could do from here. So he did. At every turn, when something rustled or shifted, Ataya would tense up, wondering if it were Dysarrin — or something else altogether. Most times, however, it was nothing but breeze, so far as he could tell, and he ended up settled back again, waiting for the next sound. He supposed he should have known, though, that Dysarrin’s actual approach would be unmistakable. The scent alone could give the man away, and Ataya recognized it almost before he even heard the other’s heavy footfalls. As it was every spring, however, Ataya found he didn’t mind even the foulest of odor at first. Dysarrin was here, ending his wait, and the ever-present fear that the wildman wouldn’t show up after a particular winter was swept away once again. Ataya wanted to see him. The desire plucked at him abruptly. A needlessly sharp, impossible-to-satisfy want, and no matter how he shoved at it, as Dysarrin pressed in close and rumbled his name, Ataya found himself leaning in, reaching up and catching at the other in something of an unintentionally clinging hug. “Dysarrin,” he greeted in turn, mostly keeping the pinch in his throat out of his voice and smiling as his fingers skimmed the other’s shape to help bolster the existing mental image he had of his companion. “You survived another winter. I…” He hesitated, and then decided Dysarinn needed no explicit telling; either the man would find out, or he would not notice, and if he managed not to notice, then clearly Ataya was succeeding in his personal goals anyway. “It pleases me to have you back.”
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Fluffesu rolled 3 100-sided dice:
35, 95, 68
Total: 198 (3-300)
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Posted: Sat Mar 21, 2015 10:44 am
Quote: Accuracy: Miss Power: Miss Defense: 75% Def (814 x .75 = 610.5) For the most part, it didn't generally occur to Dysarrin what effect his actions might have on other people. Particularly not those he performed on a routine basis, and not those that had repeatedly similar results. Pressing too near to Ataya in practically any situation usually merited some kind of rebuke or rebuttal. Perhaps squawking, if it was exceptionally unexpected. The customary outcome wasn't usually any form of immediate reciprocation, and it certainly never involved any amount of soft-spoken tones of voice. Definitely peculiar, but decidedly not... bad. Dys purred as Ata's slim fingers slipped over the ridge of his shoulder, ignoring the ticklish tingle the flighty touches left against his skin. "Mhm," he agreed, wings flicking as his teeth met with the base of one of Ata's horns, clamping down on it and giving a dragging tug to his companion's head. "Lot's to do. Can't just not survive winter..." He stilled abruptly, leaning down to stick his nose against the silken sheet of the smaller boy's hair. More than once in the past season, he'd caught himself wondering if the sky warriors had found his friend's clan, also. Their family was of an even smaller number than Dysarrin's. Never mind that the people in it were so small and defenseless. Surely, if they'd been found, Ata wouldn't be here at all now. He huffed softly, tucking his nose in close to Ataya's ear and rubbing against him. "Lotsa bad stuff happened," Dys grumbled. "Thought maybe it found you too, but... guess not. That's good at least." An amused rumbled slipped from him, then he was sliding to the side, overlapping himself across Ata's legs and purring up at him as Dys settled. "Be stupid if bad stuff happened to an Aiskala in winter," the Firani snorted as he peered back up at his friend. "Maybe not so bad clan for you. Could be worse."
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Miss Chief aka Uke rolled 3 100-sided dice:
57, 29, 34
Total: 120 (3-300)
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Posted: Sat Mar 21, 2015 11:14 am
Quote: Accuracy: Hit. Power: 25% - 450 damage done. Defense: - Blocks 206 damage from next attack. “I— ack, Dysarrin!” Ataya’s calm fractured briefly at the unexpected — and un wanted — bite to his horns, yanking at his head, and his objection would likely have been far louder and lasted longer had the ordeal not ended just as abruptly. Replaced by Dysarrin’s nose in his hair. Ataya flushed, brow pinching with a furrowed and convoluted look as a shiver of an entirely different sort teased through him at the contact to his overly-sensitive ears. Quite against his better judgment, his mind flit of its own regard back to some of his personal — activities — over the earlier course of the winter, and immediately, Ataya stamped down on that line of thinking. It would get him nowhere.Bad things, he insisted to himself, forcing his attention back to what Dys was actually saying, and not where precisely his body was rubbing against him. “Bad things?” he parroted aloud. “I, ah…” His expression turned down, all the events of his winter weighing on him, and he gave a tight sigh. Despite his best intentions earlier, it actually frustrated him a touch — as it generally did when Dysarrin didn’t notice obvious things — that nothing apparently seemed the least bit out of place to his friend despite the two of them having interacted for so many years, and the man seemed in an inordinately good mood now, at least. Affectionate and purring. So when better? Ataya settled his hands on Dys — because with the man in his lap there was little elsewhere to put them, for one, and the contact was comforting in its own way — and debated as he ran over his explanation mentally. “My winter was actually not…particularly fruitful, either,” he admitted at length. “I managed to reanimate a boawi, finally,” he said. “Which was…satisfying, for how long it lasted. Unfortunately, the ah…” He frowned. “Well, it doesn’t matter a great deal, since I’ve managed to deal with it in any case, but…the spell didn’t go off…exactly as planned, in the end. Something happened, I don’t know what, but I…it…” He flicked his tongue along the backs of his teeth, irritated that this seemed so difficult to say when really, Dysarrin should already have noticed and already be comforting him, not whining about whatever it was that had happened over his own winter. “I can’t see anymore. After the spell ran afoul, everything went white, and…my uncle and every other healer my family knows…no one could do anything. So I can’t read and it’s terribly boring. What happened over your winter?”
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Fluffesu rolled 3 100-sided dice:
71, 74, 41
Total: 186 (3-300)
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Posted: Tue Mar 24, 2015 2:34 pm
Quote: Accuracy: Hit Power: 75% Dmg (250 x .75 = 187.5) Defense: 25% Def (814 x .25 = 203.5) How was Dysarrin supposed to gauge when Ataya's complaints were actually something worth listening to? The smaller male was always in a mood over something, and more often then not, it seemed to boil down to his incredibly over-sensitive feelings. He was never really physically hurt or even moderately wounded, insofar as the Firani could see. Not that there was anything distinctly wrong with being a little moody on occasion. And Dys was generally more than satisfied to allow Ata to rant until his tiny heart was content. So of course Dysarrin didn't pay any ample degree of attention to this particular bout of awkwardness that Ataya was going through. To be fair, the Aiskala had been steadily progressing in levels of strangeness ever since their first winter apart. Each year, something new and... different. Peculiarity was apparently something he strived to achieve. Dys hummed, stretching himself out across Ata's legs, while shifting just enough to not apply an uncomfortable degree of pressure to his companion's bones. "Mhm," he hummed in agreement, only catching every other word Ataya uttered. "Dunno any fruits that grow in winter..." There was a slew of pointless ramblings that Dysarrin ignored in favor of rubbing the side of his head against Ata's abdomen. He had that peculiar smell that always snuck in when they were apart for however many moons... Not a bad smell, just... one that ought to be replaced by something that more accurately demonstrated the proper ownership of... of... His thoughts trailed off as his bright green eyes peered up to catch Ataya's own eyes. "Can't... see no more?" He grunted out, reaching up to catch the back of the smaller male's head and drag his face downward for closer inspection. Admittedly, the notable difference between ice-blue and white wasn't terribly striking. Dys squinted, lips puckering as he glowered at the small and seemingly unimportant space. With a huff, he sat up, perching forward into a crouch and swiveling to pin Ataya with a glower that- if he was properly comprehending what his companion was saying- likely went unnoticed. "Why?" Dys demanded curtly, brow pinching and voice crackling. "Why would you do that?"
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Miss Chief aka Uke rolled 3 100-sided dice:
66, 94, 94
Total: 254 (3-300)
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Posted: Tue Mar 24, 2015 2:39 pm
Quote: Accuracy: Hit. Power: 100% - 1,800 damage done. Defense: 100% - Irrelevant because fight is won. Result: Victory. Gains 35exp. Ataya huffed. Granted, Dysarrin didn’t sound particularly pleased — certainly a touch edgier than before — but he supposed that was within the realm of things to be expected. “Yes,” he repeated in a stiff quip, ignoring the faint, anxious trip in his pulse when Dysarrin dragged him in and down. “I can’t. See. I feel I made that clear already. The spell blinded me. It was actually very painful and an unpleasant memory, so if we could just—” When the grip released and Dys withdrew his weight, moving to perch, presumably, somewhere directly before him, Ataya shifted his weight against the tree at his back, pursing his lips at the immediate follow up question. “Why? Oh, I don’t know, perhaps I did it on a whim, felt that life just wasn’t challenging enough and I wanted to make it more interesting—obviously I didn’t do it on purpose, idiot,” he snapped. “And in any case…” No longer completely comfortable on the ground and irritable as was, Ataya pushed to a stand, dusting his hands over himself as his brow furrowed. “I’ve managed to deal with it well enough, other than that I can’t find ink on a page yet, and occasionally my food still gets frosted in the process of trying to locate it…I’ll have to find a compass spell of some sort, and…well, a great lot of other things. But I’m working on it, and other than the oh so sad reality that it robs me of seeing your grimy face in all its muck and hair coated glory, I think I’ll manage.”
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Posted: Tue Mar 24, 2015 4:31 pm
Quote: HP: 0 Outcome: Loss - Gains 28 EXP Dysarrin's wings flicked, tilting down and then fanning out of their own accord as he growled out an unenthused sound. Ataya had been the one to bring it up in the first place. Why even mention this 'painful and unpleasant memory,' if not to dwell on it, as he dwelled on most things. And then he had the nerve to sound angry about it. Never mind the whole deal was apparently a thing he'd decided to do to himself. He had no right to sound irate at Dys, who hadn't so much as laid a finger on him for the past several moons. Wasn't as if Dysarrin had gotten a hair up his bum and decided to blind Ata for the sheer challenge of it. If anyone should be angry, it was the Firani. Ataya had deliberately broken his thing. His best thing. A snarl built in his throat, echoing out in some semblance of words. "Your fault," Dys snapped aggressively in response to the new, sharper tone Ataya had decided to take with him. "Why you do this?! Stupid pet goes and breaks himself every time I gotta go away." He prowled forward, placing an open palm to Ataya's stomach and shoving his weight forward as he pushed. "Why, why? So stupid," he spat.
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Posted: Tue Mar 24, 2015 4:59 pm
‘Your fault.’
Ataya bristled, gut lurching and shoulders stiffening at the words. It didn’t help matters that it was — he knew — his fault, at least on some level. But the accusation in Dysarrin’s tone burned, making his fingers itch to bunch and anger lick through him. Dysarrin didn’t understand. He didn’t understand anything, but in this particular instance it felt all the more wholly unfair, and he opened his mouth, already well prepared to snap, when Dys continued.
And Ataya’s thoughts hooked, catching onto two words like thorns snagging into the thread of conversation.
Pet.
A broken. Pet.
“I am not your pet…” Ataya said, voice simultaneously quieting and dropping to a chilly low. “And I am not. Broken. If you think—” At Dysarrin’s press, forcing the air briefly from his lungs as he was pushed back up against the trunk of the tree, Ataya’s pulse stuttered messily in his chest: brief disorientation and panic triggering in over his anger momentarily. As soon as it registered that this was all that was happening, though, his teeth grit, shoulders relaxing back to an even — if stiff — line, and breath curling from his lips in a frosted exhale. “Get. Off.”
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Posted: Tue Mar 24, 2015 6:41 pm
"Uh, yes," Dys snorted derisively, voiced laced with rough annoyance. How dare he not understand. At what point had Dysarrin been unclear with where he stood on those lines? Ata had always been his. Always been (relatively) good Best Pet. And this... wouldn't have been terrible if it had been anyone else, but Dys preferred to not have his things broken. He couldn't constantly be at his Aiskala's side to keep him from being a stupid, stupid boy. So stupid. So misunderstanding. So nonchalant about ruining Dys' things. So unrepentant. "Are pet. Are mine," Dysarrin reiterated in a growl. "And you-" His hand settled on Ataya's hip, nudging him away from the tree and persistently ignoring the smaller hybrid's command. "-broke-" Another shove, rougher this time, knocking Ata sidelong. "-yourself."
"Can't read, can't see. Can't do nothing. Why?!" He lurched forward, threading his claws through the cloth at Ataya's shoulders and yanking him down, landing heavily on top of him and giving as violent a shake as he thought might...hopefully not break him. "You ruin everything!"
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Posted: Tue Mar 24, 2015 7:37 pm
Ataya tensed further — if possible — when Dysarrin pushed at him, stumbling and feeling his emotions lurch messily like a physical entity in his gut. The ground frosted, crackling in the wake of his footsteps and his fists bunched uselessly at his sides. Dysarrin was just stupid, he reminded himself fervently. He didn’t understand; he couldn’t possibly understand. But telling himself so did little to quell the bile in his throat or slow the building angry sting in his eyes. “Don’t shove me…” It was barely a whisper, the first time, his voice hoarse and uneven. It picked up after that. “I’m not—”
Then, Dysarrin was on him, yanking him to the ground and Ataya cried out — then snarled. Like a ripple in the wake of a boulder being dropped into a still lake, he shoved outwards with his magic. With it, a temporary ice barrier rose, climbing up from either of his sides and walling him off from Dys. Beneath it, he sank into the shadows, out from under the other altogether only to appear a half second later a good stretch away from him. There, he slung, fingers sweeping out in a stiff, harsh jerk that sent up an icy semi-circle of frozen spires before and between them.
“Idiot!” he accused, voice clipping upwards in volume and pitch as his limbs quivered. “You never appreciated what I could do before, why would you suddenly care now? Do you want to see what I can’t do? Do you want to see how BROKEN I am?” The fact that he could ‘see’ nearly everything in the vicinity — the tree, rocks, dips in the dirt — told him that his magic was seeping on its own, coating the surrounding area wastefully, far more than necessary. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. Controlling his breathing was enough effort without worrying about his magic, too. “I’m not your ‘pet’ — I never have been, I never will be and you have no idea…”
What it’s like to be stuck in nothingness? To feel as useless and helpless, broken, and ruined as he was being accused of, now? What it was like to hate oneself so much that the feeling was suffocating?
“You’re a fool. And you’re even more of one than I thought if you think I can’t do anything…”
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Posted: Wed Mar 25, 2015 9:22 am
Frustration boiled up in him like the churning, oozing lava within Kaiatasel, spreading out in waves of heat that lapped over anything in his immediate vicinity. This wasn't even moderately how his pet should greet him after their moons apart. Particularly when he'd been bad for those past months. Dysarrin snarled at the crystal barrier that prevented him from delivering due punishment, his lips drawing back to display pointed yellowing teeth. "Ataya," he warned in a guttural rumble, head swiveling about to find the smaller male several yards away.
He rose then, large wings fanning out and casting the angry pulses of his magic to combat (to some degree) the seeping waves of ice creeping over the ground. His foot settled on the shell his pet had vacated only instants before. It cracked beneath Dys' weight, splintering and crumbling into thin shards before the wildman pelted off toward the icy blockade before him.
"Are mine!" Dys snapped back, each progressive footfall landing and dispelling briefly a small radius of frost over the ground. "Mine, mine, mine." The frozen spires proved to be as annoying as anything that normally cropped up on an average winter day. With a harsh growl, crackles of flame encompassed the Firani's bunched fist, and so while it would've been just as easy to weave through the individual pillars, punching his way through them somehow felt much more satisfying. And if Ataya truly did lack the capability to understand possession and how it was quite intolerable to break someone else's treasures, Dys could show him that too.
He pressed onward from the spires, snarling and launching the full force of his weight at the younger hybrid.
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Posted: Wed Mar 25, 2015 10:22 am
“Your friend! Your company, your comrade, your mage if that pleases you—but I am not a pet. I am not anyone’s. Pet. And I am not. Broken.”
Ataya felt the heat of Dysarrin’s magic ripple outward. Wild. Erratic. Unpredictable. He could tell where Dysarrin was by sheer virtue of where his own wards melted in the other’s wake, and his pulse felt suffocating in his throat. Everything was so messy, and Dysarrin was angry — with him — in a manner and to a degree he could never remember experiencing directly. When Dysarrin drew close enough, leaping in, Ataya knew in that fraction of a second he ought to sink again, meld and retreat before impact—
But he didn’t, and Dysarrin was on him.
His smaller body topped back under the force of Dysarrin’s like a wooden doll in the crash course of a boulder, and he hissed, wincing as his head and body jarred roughly to the dirt. Bruises. Scrapes. The burn of Dys’ magic, and his older and larger ‘friend’ atop him, snarling like a mad dog. The corners of Ataya’s eyes stung, his throat pinched, and everything hurt.
“You’re a fool,” he hissed beneath his breath. Instants later, he drew once more on his depleting reserves of magic, melding out from under the hot press of Dysarrin’s weight and up again, some distance away.
This time, he wasted no time locking onto Dysarrin’s shape. Once found, he focussed, and gripped with one of the simplest spells he had learned; the very spell he had been practicing the first day Dysarrin had stepped into this stretch of land. With it, he pulled his friend’s weight up — up, up — well off of the ground and then higher still until he was dangling midair with the height of several men between him and the earth. Breath ragged, Ataya plucked at surrounding shadow, calling on his diabi magic to crawl up like ink and encase Dysarrin in black. No damage. No pain. Just absolute black.
“Do you like it?” The scream of a demand grated on its way out of his throat like sandpaper tearing through the passage and off his tongue. “Do you like how it feels? To be blind and helpless? Shall I mock you now? I was terrified.” His limbs quivered, though whether from rage or remembrance he did not bother to discern. “I was terrified and I would sooner die than feel that useless again, but I am not and I…” His exhale shook, matching the tremor in his bones as his knees threatened to give. “I am not…useless…or broken…”
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Posted: Wed Mar 25, 2015 6:23 pm
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dysarrin knew he should be careful when blindly throwing his weight around. Particularly where Ataya was concerned. He'd long since outgrown the days when tackles were a somewhat less harmful form of play. And while it was never his express intent to physically harm the smaller boy, the thought registered more slowly in this instant. Not that he was a great master at keeping himself in check on a regular basis, anyway. He crashed into Ataya's slight frame with about as much resistance as a bouken could offer. His boy was being stupid. Stupid and angry and careless for reasons Dysarrin didn't fully understand. Because he'd hurt himself? Well, that wasn't Dysarrin's fault. Ata had no business putting up such a violent fight for something he'd done. Dys had reason to be angry. Stupid Ata had gone behind his back as usual and done something dangerous and broke himself. Claws dug into the Aiskals's arms, careless of potential injury. Self-harm seemed to be a running theme for the people in his life of late, and one was more than enough. A snarl dragged out of him, long and lingering as Ata's magic pulled him away for the second time. And Dys felt his blood boil. "Stoppit," he barked in annoyance, slapping the flat of his palm against the earth and shoving up a dry mist of frozen dust and dirt. Green-eyed attention riveted back to Ata's new and ever-changing location, about as interested in letting the younger man off the hook as any starved predator. He lurched forward again, lengthy claws scrabbling at the earth and wings beating in some form of assistant propulsion, but within only a few short heartbeats, Dys found that he wasn't headed in the direction of his choosing. He felt an unseen force dragging at him. His natural impulse was to fight it- fight the magic that of course had to stem from Ataya's own power. He snarled, resiting the pull with tosses of his head and drilling his claws into the ground up until the point where he was incapable of reaching the earth anymore. "Ataya!" he warned in a yip,voice notching up a few octaves as Dys clawed back at whatever invisible strings held him suspended. Dysarrin held no fear of heights. He was not scared of magic, for all the mysteries it held. And he would likely never be afraid of Ataya, angry and rash and clearly misguided as he was. He was not fond of his body moving in ways he did not command it to and less thrilled still by the spread of darkness that crept across his skin. Uneasiness slipped in where frustration had been moments before. And the thrum of his heart against his ribcage escalated as the shadows swam across him. At some point his stopped recognizing the power as belonging to Ataya. He registered that the mage was somewhere beneath him, screaming and carrying on. But his position, his presence, and his complaints seemed unimportant with the shadows crossing his vision. His breath came heavier as he squirmed, fighting first with magic, - sending bursts of flames licking from his hands and his jaws and anywhere that the darkness might have purchase - and then with physical violence. He growled and thrashed, claws raking down his neck and his arms and his face, attempting by any means to scrub the shadows away, with little result. "Stop..." The word came on a cracked choke, caught somewhere between a necessary intake of harsh breath and the snaps and spits he'd meant to vocalize.
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