08-02-2019, 09:26 PM
The sudden appearance of the flames surprises her, and Noah lets the grasses subside from their rapid growth for a moment – but then as she notices the flames lick at his legs, she changes her mind – opening the channel further, she encourages the sawgrass to revive again and again, feeding the flames into a growing monster rather than letting them subside like they would when the fuel subsided if it did not have her unnatural assistance. Thankfully the grass outside of her control is sparse and scraggly, forming a natural firebreak, which will hopefully serve to prevent a wildfire outbreak (that’s the last thing she wants).
It’s truly unfortunate that in the next heartbeat, he ceases to be an equine. Noah stutters out of her feinting dive early, thankful that she had been prepared to do so, when Aodhan becomes a rock. A <i>rock</i>. In her utter confusion, she doesn’t pull up quite hard enough; her left hind hoof clunks painfully against the quartz and her right hind leg scrapes painfully against the sharp edges. The little mare can feel the heat from the blaze she is encouraging against the underside of her wings and belly as she does pull away, wincing, and finds a powerful thermal to lift her into the sky with a minimum of her effort. Sharp green eyes gaze downward and a frown is carved into the lines of her face – she can’t think of a single less offensive form to take than a rock. He’s immobile, stuck, and rocks aren’t animate things – he should have a minimum of awareness of his surroundings, though she can’t be sure of that last bit.
To entertain herself, she lets the foliage grow more and more; if he doesn’t shift forms, it’ll grow over and around the quartz, tangling in itself, creating a cage of fire. Eventually she’ll run out of energy to renew the grass and feed the fire, but she spends most of her time creating elaborate flowerscapes at home, so that will be a long while. If he doesn’t shift, he can’t form any sort of counter-attack, and they’ll be at an uncomfortable stalemate. If he does shift, he’s likely to be burned again, at least to some extent before making an escape. Anxious to finish and return home, she grows frustrated of the wait, and feels the anger surge again. How dare he pull her away from her peaceful home, to this?
Noah stops feeding the plants. They’ve grown quite full and green and new and will not burn away instantly, but they will die (she mourns for them already, but pushes those feelings aside); the anger unlocks that bit of her soul that she has locked away, and giving up on the green-magic, she reaches instead for the disease-magic she was born with. Remembering the plague, she images the worst of it: the cough, the delusions, the muscle weakness; the onset of deafness, and blindness, and the way the skin peeled off of the victims. She images all this and more, and she pours it into the last burning bits of her plants. It’s an airborne contagion, and it’s a million times faster-acting than the plague had ever been, it should take only minutes after inhalation, and it will be triggered as the fire burns away at the last of the greenery.
The last part of her that is not engulfed in fury for her disturbed peace hopes he picks a new form that doesn’t breathe air. It’s not going to be a pretty disease.
It’s truly unfortunate that in the next heartbeat, he ceases to be an equine. Noah stutters out of her feinting dive early, thankful that she had been prepared to do so, when Aodhan becomes a rock. A <i>rock</i>. In her utter confusion, she doesn’t pull up quite hard enough; her left hind hoof clunks painfully against the quartz and her right hind leg scrapes painfully against the sharp edges. The little mare can feel the heat from the blaze she is encouraging against the underside of her wings and belly as she does pull away, wincing, and finds a powerful thermal to lift her into the sky with a minimum of her effort. Sharp green eyes gaze downward and a frown is carved into the lines of her face – she can’t think of a single less offensive form to take than a rock. He’s immobile, stuck, and rocks aren’t animate things – he should have a minimum of awareness of his surroundings, though she can’t be sure of that last bit.
To entertain herself, she lets the foliage grow more and more; if he doesn’t shift forms, it’ll grow over and around the quartz, tangling in itself, creating a cage of fire. Eventually she’ll run out of energy to renew the grass and feed the fire, but she spends most of her time creating elaborate flowerscapes at home, so that will be a long while. If he doesn’t shift, he can’t form any sort of counter-attack, and they’ll be at an uncomfortable stalemate. If he does shift, he’s likely to be burned again, at least to some extent before making an escape. Anxious to finish and return home, she grows frustrated of the wait, and feels the anger surge again. How dare he pull her away from her peaceful home, to this?
Noah stops feeding the plants. They’ve grown quite full and green and new and will not burn away instantly, but they will die (she mourns for them already, but pushes those feelings aside); the anger unlocks that bit of her soul that she has locked away, and giving up on the green-magic, she reaches instead for the disease-magic she was born with. Remembering the plague, she images the worst of it: the cough, the delusions, the muscle weakness; the onset of deafness, and blindness, and the way the skin peeled off of the victims. She images all this and more, and she pours it into the last burning bits of her plants. It’s an airborne contagion, and it’s a million times faster-acting than the plague had ever been, it should take only minutes after inhalation, and it will be triggered as the fire burns away at the last of the greenery.
The last part of her that is not engulfed in fury for her disturbed peace hopes he picks a new form that doesn’t breathe air. It’s not going to be a pretty disease.