[open] I am the pattern, the plague, and the prison; any - Printable Version +- Beqanna (https://beqanna.com/forum) +-- Forum: Explore (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=1) +--- Forum: The Common Lands (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=72) +---- Forum: River (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=82) +---- Thread: [open] I am the pattern, the plague, and the prison; any (/showthread.php?tid=27138) |
I am the pattern, the plague, and the prison; any - morrowind - 06-09-2020 I am the pattern, the plague, and the prison -- This is not the world he knows. MORROWIND RE: I am the pattern, the plague, and the prison; any - Popinjay - 06-09-2020 She was not quite what you would call refined The storms call her. How could they not? She has always been a whirlwind, and now the storm is a part of her, every beat of her wings reverberates with thunder and the lightning ripples over her feathers, sizzling and hissing with that strange sharp scent like chlorine. There is a thrill to the feel of it, to the way the wind buffets against her face, the way it feels like she might die when she wheels and dives and falls to the earth. Her landing is a flurry of feathers and wind and rain and thunder, as much her own as of the storm that rumbles away and pelts the broad grey river. The water turns dull, opaque with the swell of groundwater the forms runnels around her feet. In the midst of it, a giant whirls and frets, and though even her eagle's eyes can't easily tell white iris from sclera, she can smell the building explosion within him, fear and fury and confusion. It sets him to dancing and swinging his head as though fighting the rain and the girl grins wide, shaking her wet and heavy wings to release a spray of water before thinking them away. They melt into her skin and she is just that much smaller when she approaches him. "Hey," She almost has to shout of the sound of the rain and the thunder of his feet on the sodden earth, "You afraid of the thunder or somethin'?" RE: I am the pattern, the plague, and the prison; any - morrowind - 06-09-2020 I am the pattern, the plague, and the prison -- He feels her on the edge of his consciousness. Feels the way that the lightning sings through her bones and lights her up. Once, he might have viewed her as something like kin—would have recognized that the storm that makes her up as the same one that he commanded. But now he feels severed from such things. Feels himself cut clean from the very core of his being. It leaves him blunted and dull and lost. MORROWIND RE: I am the pattern, the plague, and the prison; any - Popinjay - 06-13-2020 She was not quite what you would call refined Popinjay has no use for other people's authority, and so she ignores his as though it is no more than the rain dripping in sleek lines down his leathery wings. She approaches him with her usual lack of regard - for personal space, for caution - dances round for a better view of him - giant, white-eyed, winged and horned. And quite mad, she is sure, based on his reply. Her grin widens, flashing white teeth, hoping for something interesting to come after the proclamation of his fury, but he only asks her where they are. Hasn't he ever seen a river before? Or has he gone so crazy he forgot what it looks like? "This is the river. It's my river, and you are trespassing." The young mare draws herself up to her full height - which is not very much - and manages what she thinks is an imperious expression, something between angry and bored, one impish ear flicking back. The muscles of her haunches bunch and coil as she rocks back onto them, nimble feet ready to spring in any direction "And why shouldn't it strip you clean, what have you done to deserve my magic? You're lucky I let you keep your wings." She claims the ransacking of his gifts so easily, as if it were even remotely within her power to do. It is the Fairies and Beqanna herself that make those rules, of course, but he - too new or too deranged - seems to have no way of knowing it. Poppy snorts softly into the fading storm, returning his demanding stare with the reappearance of her mischievous grin. From the place where her dark eyes pierce the grey clouds that rush overhead in perfect mimic of the swollen river, she pulls down a crackling ball of lightning that sizzles and hisses and fills the air with its thin, pulsing light. The smell of electricity fills the air. "Maybe you should try yelling at it some more, that seemed to be working." She is a poor actor and there is already bubbling laughter hinting at the back of her words. @[morrowind] RE: I am the pattern, the plague, and the prison; any - morrowind - 06-14-2020 I am the pattern, the plague, and the prison -- Morrowind has always been straightforward—even for his kind. He had little use for riddles or creativity and his imagination, while not completely blunted, was certainly not his weapon of choice. So he doesn’t often imagine that others are lying. He takes them for their word, even when something tickles at the back of his mind that something is off. His white eyes narrow as he considers her. She seemed too small to be a river goddess, but who knew what strange things this land did to other deities and elementals. MORROWIND RE: I am the pattern, the plague, and the prison; any - Popinjay - 06-18-2020 She was not quite what you would call refined.
He steps forward and she bursts into laughter, dancing lightly to the side on her merry hooves, and releasing the ball of lightning so suddenly that it fizzes and whirls erratically around them like a lost thing. As an after-thought, she leashes it with just enough control that it never hits the large stallion directly, though it hisses at them both as if mirroring the thunderous anger in his voice. Most likely, it will find her after a time - the lightning often does, though it cannot harm her - or perhaps an unlucky tree will attract the thing and be destroyed in a shower of sparks and flame and chaos. The idea of chaos sings to her blood, it sets her nerves to tingling as she skirts the flames of his fury. "Are you mocking me?" She mimics in as deep a voice as she can manage, and then she rolls her eyes, her grin turning wry, "How stupid! I'm not the one angry at a thunderstorm." She laughs again, ducking out of range of hoof and tooth and wing as she does so, "It's the Fairies you wanna talk to if y'think they took something from you, but they'll prolly just throw ya off the Mountai-- oop, look out!" The ball of lightning slices suddenly past his shoulder, crashing into her chest like a snowball that skitters and whines as it spreads out across her body from the impact. The young mare shakes her head with a snort and bright sparks drip from her mane like water, falling to the earth with a hiss and the smallest tendrils of smoke when the grass barely burns from being so wet. The earth at her feet turns black and scorched as the lightning grounds itself and she looks back up at the towering stallion with her mischievous eyes. "So are you crazy, or what?" RE: I am the pattern, the plague, and the prison; any - morrowind - 06-25-2020 I am the pattern, the plague, and the prison -- Morrowind doesn’t think to flinch at the cracking of lightning, never stopping to consider that he could be vulnerable to it in this world. It is a flaw in his thinking—yet another piece of the puzzle that he has not quite put into place. He is not himself here. He does not stop to think that the one thing that he could previously wield could be the thing that kills him in this life. It would be his undoing, potentially. MORROWIND RE: I am the pattern, the plague, and the prison; any - Popinjay - 07-27-2020
The mare tilts her head at him, first one way, then the other, a bit like a bird trying to judge a distance or a shadow against the leaves, a bit like a dog coyly considering a command it does not like. Her eyes sparkle like the lightning that fades out against her chest as he questions her and for a moment it almost looks as if she is reflecting on his question. She isn't. She is, instead, thinking about how when someone is crazy, they don’t think that they are. She is taking his refutation as confirmation of the thing and if it were at all possible for that madcap grin to grow wider or wilder, it would. “I knew I was gonna like you,” the seal bay chirps in answer to his question, jigging sideways a bit so that her haunches swing her closer to him, "and since I like you, I'm gonna help you." No sooner do the words leave her lips but she arches her neck, looking down to the wet ground, striking it sharply with grey forehooves several times in quick succession. The mud flies, clods of it spattering into the air around them, bursting against faces, chests, and shoulders. A gob of it has marred the bright star on her forehead that struggles gamely to beam out from beneath her curling forelock until, breathless, she stops abruptly and looks up at the great behemoth again. "There now, not so clean anymore, right? See? I told you I could help." But she frowns and rolls an eye at him anyway, "You'll want to smile though when you go see the Fairies. I bet you're almost handsome when you smile!" @[morrowind] RE: I am the pattern, the plague, and the prison; any - morrowind - 08-09-2020 I am the pattern, the plague, and the prison -- She is struck by lightning and barely flinches. MORROWIND |