09-12-2020, 05:08 AM
The fire, smoke, and screams are clearly audible on the Isle in the north, as well. The teal and silver colt, having been born well after the burning of his homeland, shivers at the thought of it. He’s seen the aftermath, but not the fact. Is this what the Isle was like, at the time? He hadn’t been told about the fear and the running and the chaos before, but now it’s there.
Orange light comes from Nerine, the territory that was mostly made of soft (and wet, so wet) grass. Moors shouldn’t be able to burn, he thinks. The melting snow and Nerine’s endless rain should stop this, but today it hadn’t. Too much fire for him to imagine.
His mother told him to stay here, where it’s safe.
But then he saw Nashua leave, and leaves as well.
His wings carry him through the air relatively safe, but by the time he is gliding over Nerine, the heat waves from below disrupt his balance. A north wind that he hadn’t anticipated rocks him, and the temperature differences are too large to stay aloft. He is tossed forward into the mess, right in the middle, and then he scrambles sideways, narrowly avoiding a newly made tornado.
Panic washes over him, but then rage follows, and he is indeed mad. Mad at those who burn and kill, mad at everyone causing so much pain and suffering. Someone screams - another screams, a third - and his head tosses in That direction.
Someone is on fire!
The shock on his face travels through his body, going limb for a hot second. Time seems to slow for him, and when he regains control over his body, he finds two flame-wielders coming for him. Well, not for him, they rush past - but the gleaming mare behind him. NO, not another! ”STOP!” Nobody seems to hear. His eyes roll, this was not what he’d anticipated when he came here (of course it wasn’t), and the smoke keeps stinging in his eyes, keep blocking his throat.
Fear and rage consume the young ice dragon. He screams more, the trauma of fires, the smell of burning flesh, washing over him.
He’s not a boy any more. He is a madman.
Sachin runs around in circles, spitting ice out wherever he goes. One such cold breath is accidentally directed towards the tornado, that runs circles across Nerine, and he begins to laugh.
Laughing and crying and screaming, Sachin loses himself in the madness, and spits ice on every living creature he can find. If it douses anyone’s flames, he doesn’t notice. If he creates a mist of sublimating ice and fire, the steam blocking everyone’s vision, he doesn’t notice. If he gets cinders on his wings and brings with him the smell of death, he doesn’t notice. If the tornado is now a blizzard-storm, he doesn’t notice.
All he knows is how delightful it is to laugh, and aim at nothing and nobody in particular, and kill everything that moves.
Hi so I have an almost-adult teal and metallic silver boy who has gone mad. The tornado is now carrying his icy breath, do with that what you will. It’s possible he douses someone’s flames, possibly at the cost of hot steam burns instead, and it is possible that he creates steam and cracks in rocks so much that nobody can see a thing in the debris. He may be useful as a distraction one moment, if you need it, or as a target. He’s laughing all the way, anyway.
Orange light comes from Nerine, the territory that was mostly made of soft (and wet, so wet) grass. Moors shouldn’t be able to burn, he thinks. The melting snow and Nerine’s endless rain should stop this, but today it hadn’t. Too much fire for him to imagine.
His mother told him to stay here, where it’s safe.
But then he saw Nashua leave, and leaves as well.
His wings carry him through the air relatively safe, but by the time he is gliding over Nerine, the heat waves from below disrupt his balance. A north wind that he hadn’t anticipated rocks him, and the temperature differences are too large to stay aloft. He is tossed forward into the mess, right in the middle, and then he scrambles sideways, narrowly avoiding a newly made tornado.
Panic washes over him, but then rage follows, and he is indeed mad. Mad at those who burn and kill, mad at everyone causing so much pain and suffering. Someone screams - another screams, a third - and his head tosses in That direction.
Someone is on fire!
The shock on his face travels through his body, going limb for a hot second. Time seems to slow for him, and when he regains control over his body, he finds two flame-wielders coming for him. Well, not for him, they rush past - but the gleaming mare behind him. NO, not another! ”STOP!” Nobody seems to hear. His eyes roll, this was not what he’d anticipated when he came here (of course it wasn’t), and the smoke keeps stinging in his eyes, keep blocking his throat.
Fear and rage consume the young ice dragon. He screams more, the trauma of fires, the smell of burning flesh, washing over him.
He’s not a boy any more. He is a madman.
Sachin runs around in circles, spitting ice out wherever he goes. One such cold breath is accidentally directed towards the tornado, that runs circles across Nerine, and he begins to laugh.
Laughing and crying and screaming, Sachin loses himself in the madness, and spits ice on every living creature he can find. If it douses anyone’s flames, he doesn’t notice. If he creates a mist of sublimating ice and fire, the steam blocking everyone’s vision, he doesn’t notice. If he gets cinders on his wings and brings with him the smell of death, he doesn’t notice. If the tornado is now a blizzard-storm, he doesn’t notice.
All he knows is how delightful it is to laugh, and aim at nothing and nobody in particular, and kill everything that moves.
Hi so I have an almost-adult teal and metallic silver boy who has gone mad. The tornado is now carrying his icy breath, do with that what you will. It’s possible he douses someone’s flames, possibly at the cost of hot steam burns instead, and it is possible that he creates steam and cracks in rocks so much that nobody can see a thing in the debris. He may be useful as a distraction one moment, if you need it, or as a target. He’s laughing all the way, anyway.