07-10-2022, 01:47 PM
cause if we don’t leave this town
we might never make it out --
He is not sure what he had expected to find at the center of the storm, but the way his heart had begun to beat harder in anticipation told him that he was not expecting it to be anything good.
It’s why he is surprised when the nightmares begin to loosen their hold on him just slightly, his moonlit wings thrusting him into the eye of the storm, and into the eerie calm. A soft exhale loosens the tightness in his chest, but the relief is short-lived. It could not possibly be this simple. Daring to survey his surroundings, he half expects some kind of monster to explode into the center with them, but instead only the uneasy quiet remains.
It does not last long.
He almost does not notice the change at first. The nightmares continue to churn around them, a medley of indistinguishable sounds that spin together. But above the voices there soon comes another sound — wind, dull at first, but gathering in volume as the spinning of the nightmares does the same. The sanctuary of tranquility begins to shrink, and he feels himself being sucked in by the vortex of nightmares and the tornado-force winds. He can no longer decipher the individual nightmares now as they clamor around him, washing over him in a tidal wave of fear and panic, of monstrous growls and screams of terror. The strength of the wind only further feeds into the chaos, and he can feel a swell of panic rising in his chest.
All around him is darkness, save for the silver glow of his moonlit wings. He looks up, searching for where the funnel widens up into the sky. He cannot tell from down here if it is daylight or night, the sky appearing to be only a pinprick from down here where he drowns beneath the nightmare and wind. But he thrust upwards with his wings, ignoring the feel of everything that tries to drag him back down—shadowed claws and writhing tentacles, the feeling of something trying to tear at the magic in his veins. It prods at the lunar protection as if trying to grab hold of it, and something in him shifts, a moment of clarity in the chaos.
He pulls at the light from his wings, and though it is weaker than if he were to use light from the moon itself, he wraps himself in a shield. It is enough to slow the assault of nightmares, to dull the strength of the wind trying to suck him back down to the bottom of the twisting tornado. Exhaustion once more threatens to turn his bones to lead and his muscles to rubber, but he continues to force his way through the churning mass that had seemingly taken on a life of its own. He thought he had caught a glimpse of the others traveling upwards—the logical route, of course, to that bright dot of sky where the clouds were still angry but not a seemingly living entity of terror. But Tiernen instead uses his shield to force his way through the direct mass of the storm, that predatory drive and need to overpower rising above the urge to run. His eyes harden and his teeth grow sharp, an almost feral snarl pushing down the panic and the urge to kill taking its place.
Only he does not have a live prey to focus his anger on, only the storm.
When he finally bursts from the side of the tornado his skin is once more drenched in sweat, the lunar shield fading away almost immediately due to the already meager control he'd had of it, and it takes all of his strength to keep himself hovering on his ever weakening wings.
we might never make it out --
He is not sure what he had expected to find at the center of the storm, but the way his heart had begun to beat harder in anticipation told him that he was not expecting it to be anything good.
It’s why he is surprised when the nightmares begin to loosen their hold on him just slightly, his moonlit wings thrusting him into the eye of the storm, and into the eerie calm. A soft exhale loosens the tightness in his chest, but the relief is short-lived. It could not possibly be this simple. Daring to survey his surroundings, he half expects some kind of monster to explode into the center with them, but instead only the uneasy quiet remains.
It does not last long.
He almost does not notice the change at first. The nightmares continue to churn around them, a medley of indistinguishable sounds that spin together. But above the voices there soon comes another sound — wind, dull at first, but gathering in volume as the spinning of the nightmares does the same. The sanctuary of tranquility begins to shrink, and he feels himself being sucked in by the vortex of nightmares and the tornado-force winds. He can no longer decipher the individual nightmares now as they clamor around him, washing over him in a tidal wave of fear and panic, of monstrous growls and screams of terror. The strength of the wind only further feeds into the chaos, and he can feel a swell of panic rising in his chest.
All around him is darkness, save for the silver glow of his moonlit wings. He looks up, searching for where the funnel widens up into the sky. He cannot tell from down here if it is daylight or night, the sky appearing to be only a pinprick from down here where he drowns beneath the nightmare and wind. But he thrust upwards with his wings, ignoring the feel of everything that tries to drag him back down—shadowed claws and writhing tentacles, the feeling of something trying to tear at the magic in his veins. It prods at the lunar protection as if trying to grab hold of it, and something in him shifts, a moment of clarity in the chaos.
He pulls at the light from his wings, and though it is weaker than if he were to use light from the moon itself, he wraps himself in a shield. It is enough to slow the assault of nightmares, to dull the strength of the wind trying to suck him back down to the bottom of the twisting tornado. Exhaustion once more threatens to turn his bones to lead and his muscles to rubber, but he continues to force his way through the churning mass that had seemingly taken on a life of its own. He thought he had caught a glimpse of the others traveling upwards—the logical route, of course, to that bright dot of sky where the clouds were still angry but not a seemingly living entity of terror. But Tiernen instead uses his shield to force his way through the direct mass of the storm, that predatory drive and need to overpower rising above the urge to run. His eyes harden and his teeth grow sharp, an almost feral snarl pushing down the panic and the urge to kill taking its place.
Only he does not have a live prey to focus his anger on, only the storm.
When he finally bursts from the side of the tornado his skin is once more drenched in sweat, the lunar shield fading away almost immediately due to the already meager control he'd had of it, and it takes all of his strength to keep himself hovering on his ever weakening wings.
-- tiernen.
listen, i did not proofread this at all, so if it doesnt make sense, he used his lunar protection to create a shield and just forced his way out of the tornado.
also pretty please scramble his carnivore and love illusionism, thank you!