05-04-2024, 07:57 PM
‘Magic just happens’, the gray stallion had said, ‘You get used to it.’
I’d scoffed when I’d heard it, as dubious as I was terrified by the thought. Magic had limits, I'd thought. Everyone knew it had limits. It was bound by bloodlines, by rules. It was predictable.
Yet as the months of my time here in Beqanna stretched on, I began to realize what he had meant.
There were no rules for magic here.
Some of the residents here lived in the actual sky, on solid floating clouds. Some had antlers as wide as I was long, and they glowed. Some could manipulate health, or summon fire, or turn into horrific monstrosities in the shadows.
Magic just happens, and it has made me cautious. I try each morning to Drift back home, and avoid others when I can.
The Ruins are a good place for that - something about the place tends to ward others off in the same eerie way the heart of the Forest does. Expecting silence as I make my way south along an animal trail, I am startled by the sound of impact nearby.
Lifting my head quickly, I see the shape of a large tawny bird falling toward the ground. A cloud of glittering snow highlights its point of impact, and I pick my way carefully through the shallow snow on legs the same colorless shade.
The bird - an eagle - is lying on its back. Its chest rises and falls, and the brown eyes are open and bright. Not dead then.
“You’ve got to be the worst flyer I’ve ever seen,” I tell the eagle with a relieved smile, some of the tension falling from my shoulders. I dare not get closer, not with that wicked beak and the potential for savagery in injured animals, but there’s no scent of blood, no bones at odd angles.
@Clopin
I’d scoffed when I’d heard it, as dubious as I was terrified by the thought. Magic had limits, I'd thought. Everyone knew it had limits. It was bound by bloodlines, by rules. It was predictable.
Yet as the months of my time here in Beqanna stretched on, I began to realize what he had meant.
There were no rules for magic here.
Some of the residents here lived in the actual sky, on solid floating clouds. Some had antlers as wide as I was long, and they glowed. Some could manipulate health, or summon fire, or turn into horrific monstrosities in the shadows.
Magic just happens, and it has made me cautious. I try each morning to Drift back home, and avoid others when I can.
The Ruins are a good place for that - something about the place tends to ward others off in the same eerie way the heart of the Forest does. Expecting silence as I make my way south along an animal trail, I am startled by the sound of impact nearby.
Lifting my head quickly, I see the shape of a large tawny bird falling toward the ground. A cloud of glittering snow highlights its point of impact, and I pick my way carefully through the shallow snow on legs the same colorless shade.
The bird - an eagle - is lying on its back. Its chest rises and falls, and the brown eyes are open and bright. Not dead then.
“You’ve got to be the worst flyer I’ve ever seen,” I tell the eagle with a relieved smile, some of the tension falling from my shoulders. I dare not get closer, not with that wicked beak and the potential for savagery in injured animals, but there’s no scent of blood, no bones at odd angles.
@Clopin