Oaks
02-11-2024, 12:00 AM
(This post was last modified: 03-11-2024, 10:25 PM by Cloud Fairy.)
OAKS
you look well suited
like you came to win
The draw of this place is subliminal and constant.
The magic in it is unmistakable; it is heavy, persistent, and elusive all at once. The very stones upon these slopes seem to pulse with it and the water sings gleefully with it. The very air whispers with promise and with equal dismissal.
The power hidden in the mountain is not something to be trifled with, to be needlessly sought or to be uselessly squandered. Oaks may be naive, but he is not a complete fool and he understands this much at least.
His entire life, he has been subjected to the oddities of the magic that he had inherited. He has spent nearly every year of his life in solitude, hoping to avoid the inescapable reality of his power. Born during the plague, he’d seen far too much loss of life and, all too often, death had seemed to hasten in his very presence. From an early age, he’d known despair, had seen life leave the eyes of others, had watched enfeebled hearts grow still. Not even his mother had been able to provide much comfort for him – she’d been sick too and his unseen magic made her illness worse. For fear of ending her life, she’d had to leave him early on.
But one thing she’d imparted to him before her departure had been a tale of her own experiences here at the Mountain. She’d told him of her misadventure the first time, the source of the shadowy wings, and her later trials that had earned her the ability to fly. She’d told him of the fairies’ fickle benevolence, how they smiled with dagger teeth that were as frightening as they were comforting. They were not to be feared, she had told him, but they were not to be underestimated.
With that thought in mind, he pauses in the shadow of the mountain, a mild breeze of wind ruffling some of the more solid feathers on his own ghostly wings. He wonders, not for the first time, whether something out there might be able to help him understand and control his power better.
His withers twitch, his nostrils flare. The near-electric air is quiet around him while he waits.
The magic in it is unmistakable; it is heavy, persistent, and elusive all at once. The very stones upon these slopes seem to pulse with it and the water sings gleefully with it. The very air whispers with promise and with equal dismissal.
The power hidden in the mountain is not something to be trifled with, to be needlessly sought or to be uselessly squandered. Oaks may be naive, but he is not a complete fool and he understands this much at least.
His entire life, he has been subjected to the oddities of the magic that he had inherited. He has spent nearly every year of his life in solitude, hoping to avoid the inescapable reality of his power. Born during the plague, he’d seen far too much loss of life and, all too often, death had seemed to hasten in his very presence. From an early age, he’d known despair, had seen life leave the eyes of others, had watched enfeebled hearts grow still. Not even his mother had been able to provide much comfort for him – she’d been sick too and his unseen magic made her illness worse. For fear of ending her life, she’d had to leave him early on.
But one thing she’d imparted to him before her departure had been a tale of her own experiences here at the Mountain. She’d told him of her misadventure the first time, the source of the shadowy wings, and her later trials that had earned her the ability to fly. She’d told him of the fairies’ fickle benevolence, how they smiled with dagger teeth that were as frightening as they were comforting. They were not to be feared, she had told him, but they were not to be underestimated.
With that thought in mind, he pauses in the shadow of the mountain, a mild breeze of wind ruffling some of the more solid feathers on his own ghostly wings. He wonders, not for the first time, whether something out there might be able to help him understand and control his power better.
His withers twitch, his nostrils flare. The near-electric air is quiet around him while he waits.
@Officials - Oaks would like to try questing to have his Disease Acceleration (1 space - I play it as uncontrollable and unknown-to-him (i.e. he just thinks things sometimes die around him)), upgraded to Disease Manipulation (3 spaces - which I would continue to play as uncontrollable, but at least he'd maybe have a chance of not killing things and/or someday learn how to control it... or it's up to you all if you want to officially make it uncontrollable ;3 )
