Cally stood at the edge of the bridge as a fire was slowly lighting in her vibrant green eyes. A slight breeze gave lift to the cloak draped over her back, as her pose turned almost eager and poised for action. In a different setting she might appear the deer-hyrbid joan of ark ready to take on the world, but she was far more adept to take on an adventure as Callynite. And Cally was certain there was an adventure to be had. The island screamed 'come and explore me, see what can be seen'. It was only the second time she'd been to it, but even that first time when she'd focused on fact gathering rather than the more serious exploring she had been eager to see what the island had to offer, what secrets it could produce, and how willing it would be to give them up.
The former druid stood ready as her eyes took in the sights. This early in the morning, the sun only beginning to rise in the east, she wasn't surprised that there weren't too many individuals around. In fact, she was certain that most others would start showing up in the next hour or so . . . did Novus pass time the same way the Thicket did? She hadn't seen any time keep devices from what little she had explored and seen yet, but she was sure the days were the same length. That had been another reason it had taken her a small bit of time to get to the island and really look it over, she'd been going through quite the process to get used to this world.
Well not just this world, but the changes that had happened to Cally as well. The transformation was slowly growing to be something she was more familiar with. Her steps were easier, now used to the odd hooves that adorned her feet, and more particularly her longer and leaner limbs. She'd even grown used to the odd equine shape of her body and the thicker fur. Thankfully she still had some of her more familiar features, like her dual ears, large eyes, fawn-shaped tail, horn and antlers. Even her nose was hers, but her face stature was odd. She couldn't quite understand what was the purpose of the transformation other than the fact that everyone she'd come across seemed to be mostly equine and she'd been born a deer - she still was a deer in her mind, she refused to identify as anything else, and certainly not a mutant of a hybrid . . . hearing that be a way to describe her had really messed her up, even if the odd stallion had apologized later, it had been the best way to describe her odd mix of horse and deer . . . a mutant. Not a positive word, but she wasn't too positive with the changes.
The biggest change was what she didn't have though, what she couldn't feel. This close to the trees and brush, she should be hearing their voices, feeling the presence of the natural world. She should be able to greet them in warmth, and ask them for directions. She should be commanding vines to move obstacles from her path, speaking to the very being of nature to get her bearing. Her form should be fluid, a transformation between deer and any other creature she desired to take the shape of (even if it was usually the small white fox she'd grown fond of). But those druid abilities were gone, and with their disappearance a hole had formed in the center of being, a hole that wouldn't be filled until she could find a way to unlock anything of her former magical prowess. She didn't fit into Novus much to begin with, that she'd lost so much in the transformation made it even harder.
But enough on the past that couldn't be changed now, and back to the journey on hand. Cally headed forward, her tiny form moving smoothly. She stood tall as she made her way through the sands, green eyes looking for a good place to start before finding an almost obscure trail that was clearly used by game and the creatures of the island. It was just the faintest flattening of vegetation, almost hidden by those who weren't trained in finding those sort of things. Thankfully Cally had the training, from being taught by the forests of her home in what to follow, and the old, old lessons from her Ranger father. The ex-druid new what to look for, and knew if she wanted to discover the secrets of this world, sh;d need to think like the citizens of the island. She pushed through the brush without hesitation, her steps careful but steady as she began her trek to the center of the island.
There is a promise of power on the island. The forest is almost vibrating with a magic that feels a little too like that beast of power making a home in her blood. She can feel it in each strange bird singing warning to her. Magic is alive in a doe that pauses in mid-step with antlers of amethyst rising from her brows like crown. Everything around her is purring, and singing, and beating the same drumming battle-cry as the organ hiding beneath her skin.
Isra should be worried about what the island means. She should be worried about the volcano sitting dull and dormant in the distance. There are a hundred red flags waving a warning to her that she doesn't know how to fear anymore.
A dragon is flying over the forest in which she's walking. His wings are painting strange patterns of thick black on the jungle fronds. Fable is searching for something, that same taste of power and death that's a bitter sting on her lips. Below him Isra knows she will never have a thing to fear again.
A ghost is here, they both know it. And soon the sand beneath hoof and wing will be grave-dirt freshly turned.
The arrows cooing a soft moonlight song across her shoulder are home in the thicket where there are sharp-tooth cats peering out green-eyed and bejeweled. Her magic is humming a greeting in her blood. Sand is turning to ore, and citrine, and quartz in the places where she is walking. Leaves are shining gold-dust when she pauses to brush her nose against a petal like a lion hunting a wounded boar. Birds are swallowing their songs when her magic whispers things like, become, become, become to them.
It is almost a terrible thing, to walk among a strange island and know that the beast in the blood is home. Almost.
Ahead a sound breaks through the dying birdsong and the leaves sway beneath some force that is not her own. An arrow vibrates and starts to glow in its quiver. Isra pauses, hoof half in the air. Her horn aches upon her brow like a reminder that she never has to be afraid again. Now she's the danger in the thicket.
“Hello.” Her voice rings out, clear and sweet. But beneath it is the warning her tongue, by way of tooth and poison, has learned to give.
“A kind of light spread out from her. And everything changed color. And the world opened out.”
The little female moved smoothly through the forest, her eyes trained on the world that she was moving through, following tiny trails that well-trained eyes picked out from the subtle tread down grass, a broken limb on a bush, tuff of fur tangled in a low brush. Little signs that marked previous travel, and it was these unknown paths that the tiny doe was intent to follow, not the well placed constantly seen ones that others seemed to take. A well-trekked path usually lost all hints and clues that might be found, and would usually lead you to tourist-trap like locations. Following the game trails and more hidden paths as Cally was doing now, those were the ones that would surprise you . . . and she wanted to find good surprises.
The voice suddenly echoing in the air was not what the little doe was expecting as a surprise though, and she froze at the ringing out hello. The voice seemed sweet enough, but Cally's ears pinned at the touch of warning in the under-currents. Slowly the little doe cautiously broke free from the brush. One hoof first, cloven and dew claws prominent and followed by her deer-ish face poking free, unicorn horn gleaming in a ray of sunlight, as the small deer antlers tucked on the inside of her dual set of ears matching the unicorn horn's dark brown hue. Green eyes turned towards the mare, and her eyes soon lit on the quiver and bow the mare carried.
Instantly any greeting was forgotten as the little half deer-half horse hybrid broke free of the rest of the bush, shaking off her ten hand height as she stared at the mare in shock and delight, "You have a bow and quiver!" Her delighted cry might not be normal for one who has a glowing arrow ready to be strung on a bow and aimed her way, but Cally was hardly focusing on that, "You must tell me where you can get one! Oh, I beg of you! Mine got left on the wrong-side of the portal thing that brought me here." She paused then, her features dropping slightly in the level of delight it showed, clearly remembering that horrible portal, "That portal left a good deal on the wrong side of it, at least." And she wasn't to pleased with what it'd done to her either. Transformations. Horrid mutilation of her own magic, ripped from her and locked out of her reach. Occasionally she could feel it's hum, as if it was trying to break free to do what she wished of it again, but when ever she tried to reach out to that nature-based ability, it was always just too far out of reach.
Suddenly Cally's expression cleared again as she stared up at the stranger, "Oh dear, forgive my manners. My name is Callynite, but I prefer Cally. I'm not usually so . . . rude in initial greetings, your bow startled me." Cally apologized and introduced herself in the same breath, dipping her head lightly in greeting, her little doe tail lowering itself from where it had rose with her earlier excitement. The little doe then glanced at the mare curiously that slowly turns more cautious as she realized the arrow is indeed glowing as if needed, and she managed an almost awkward laugh as she added once more, "Ah, and please, don't shoot me. I'm just your normal dr- erm, wayward explorer." She visibly flinches as the words were cut off in mid-speech, another violent reminder of what that portal had done to her, trapping her magic and cutting her off from her druid-path. The flinch had momentarily introduced the flicker of despair at her situation before the slate was wiped clean again and she a friendly smile in place once more. She had company, no point in thinking on what was lost and losing her thoughts into that depressive state . . . she was better than that anyways. She had to find a way home somehow.
"Speech"
@isra
Let's jump on the sun and ride it to tomorrow together, where everything is brighter and sure to be better.
When the horn breaks through the thicket something in her heart leaps and aches. Every nerve in her body quivers with that same knowing, that same hum in her skin that chants, I know you, I know you. It's as if all her nerves have become a storm, first there is a shock of lighting running down her spine, then a roar in her chest that screams to put out the moon-fire glow of her arrows.
Her quiver goes dark and dead. Isra's ocean eyes blaze to life.
The angle of her horn twists upward when the doe-mare moves closer. A ray of sun glints through the leaves and dapples the hollow curves of her horn. It makes her look like another wild thing, as if they are two does in a forest instead of two more mortals caught in a game of magic and gods (although if it is a game Isra promises herself she will tear it all down). Her bow cants to the side, tucked against the tangled, leafy mess of her mane. Even the ground around her hooves turns to grass, thick and blue-green, another apology her heart knows in all its broken bits to give.
She smiles kindly and if it is a queen's motherly smile she does not know it. “You don't need to ask forgiveness of me. This island is making us all a little strange I think.” There is a chuckle half-alive in her voice, a suggestion of all the things that are crumbled and almost-dead in her soul. She swallows it back down and it tastes like acid.
Her hooves move almost silently across the sand becoming grass beneath her shadow. “I'm Isra.” She says nothing more, this is a place for magic, and wildness, and that beast blooming hot and violent in her blood because she can still taste Raum on the breeze. It's a time for lions, not for queens. And if she dips her head in greeting it's nothing more than a nod of a once-wild heart to another wild-heart.
“Tell me about this portal that brought you here, and while you give me a story I will make you a bow” Isra shifts towards the woods, where a songbird is watching them like a hawk watches small mice in a mossy meadow. She tries not to look at him, because when she does that beast of challenge creeps a little closer to the surface of her.
Isra wants to be a doe just a little longer. Then she'll take up the hunt once more.
Just a a little longer...
Isra taps her horn against a stone and it becomes a golden bow, etched with emerald ivy. A part of her can't help but think that she's a monster of unicorn to make weapons instead of purity. And maybe that's why she makes no arrows to join the lonely golden bow shining in the grass.
"The air was iron and loam and growth."
@Callynite
(Just a note that she can only keep the bow for this thread, unless you want to purchase the weapon item and make it official, then she can keep it!)
06-23-2019, 08:29 PM
Played by
Dyzzie [PM] Posts: 116 — Threads: 20 Signos: 40
The former druid had moved forward with hesitation, her steps cautious, her expression carefully neutral as she broke free of the brush and lining vegetation of the path, her eyes on the other. Her steps were easy and light, an echo of the deer she had been before the corrupted magic had twisted her being. She refuses to focus on that, least she swell with anger and indignation. Instead her eyes alight upon the other, noting the eyes of the ocean reflecting back on her, eyes sweeping over the mare and recognizing her from the coagulation of souls upon the sands when the stories of Tempus had first been sung to her (a face to one of the gods who might have played a role in her transportation through space and reality (or was it sub reality, or perhaps interdimensional . . . she still wasn’t sure).
As the two met, Cally’s eyes watched almost in melancholy at the changes the earth around the others’ hooves. It was a deep pain that echoed through the depths of her being, watching the growth of the grass, thick and she yearns for that familiar whisper, the soft greeting of blade to blade. It’s another reminder of the sudden silence she found herself in. The world no longer sung to her, the trees no longer shared their gossip and attention, the flowers never paid her compliments while fishing for their own, brush no longer sassed at her when she moved through them. It was a world of silence, of disconnection. The music of the earth no longer serenaded her through the day, and she yearned for the subtle hum and gentle sounds she hadn’t known she’d ever miss.
Her gaze is ripped from the changing of earths, and instead returns to focus on the mare, watching her smile turn kindly, almost motherly if one was watching for it. Cally, who’d never known a kind and loving motherly smile recognizes not, but she does note the kindness and returns it in equal measure, her own oddly designed muzzle turning up, her half equine-half cervinae features meshing together into a face that was built like a horse, but with the gentleness and grace of the deer. She dips her head, light flashing equally from the long, straight horn between her eyes, as well as the smaller doe antlers tucked beside her cervidae ears. “I wouldn’t know if it’s the island making us weird, or if it’s our apprehension of the island.” She responded, and her gaze turns to the surrounding forest and for a moment she wonders what the forest might say to her, had her powers not been locked so firmly away.
Would it speak in warning and riddles, trying to encourage her to leave? Would it whisper seductions to lead her deeper into trouble? Would it hear abuse at her, as if to wound her with their very words? A moment of bitterness crosses her face, hating that there was no way of knowing, she couldn’t feel the forest around her, let alone even hoping to listen. She was grateful when the mare spoke, drawing her attention back from those thoughts, grateful for any reason not to ponder on could bes, and what ifs. She smiled lightly in greeting, “Cally.” There’s no full name spoken, as she starts to borrow the other’s patterns of speaking little, but saying enough. It feels fitting for their setting. She wonders briefly if this creature, who had access to obvious magic could feel more from their environment than an ex-druid with powerful earthen magic buried deeper in her than one would have thought possible, so deep even the hum of her magic was lacking in her soul.
An offer was than extended that had Cally’s eyes widening faintly in surprise, even as she nodded her agreement. What was a slightly painful story compared to a missing piece of herself – for she did consider the magic-stolen bow and druid staff just as powerful a piece of her as her trapped magic. “It is quite a story, I suppose I shall start with a bit of background. I’m not the creature you see before you . . . this body is merely the outcome of the twisted, corrupted magic of that portal. I was a deer, from a place called the Thicket, where magic ran deep and affected us all. In my home world I’m a fairly powerful user of earthen magic, druid magic; an aid for my career of exploration and discovery." It was a brief touch of what her world was, and no mention of the Disirax was made, no point in making a reality free of the beast aware such a creature existed.
Her story now turned to the portal, “I was exploring a new cave system – perhaps foolish to do on my own, but I was no fawn getting my hooves wet for the first time. Venturing far enough in, I came across an odd room with paintings on the wall, crude – more stick figures than elaborate masterpieces. But it told a story of gods and betrayal, of suspicion and discord. Of a faint peace that balanced on the edge of war. With the knowledge I have gained so far of these lands, it appears to be a brief touch of the pantheon here. But at the farthest end of the cavern was the portal. Made of carved stone, it had words etching around the side, though I’d have to think to remember what they said. The portal itself seemed to be suspended liquid. I remember it being cool to the touch when I had first put my nose to it.”
As she had spoken, her own unicorn horn had been lit by a green glow that spoke of experience in handling magic, as she lifted a small twig and drew what she remembered the portal looking like in the dirt between them – a rough quick shape, a skill drawn from having to sketch up quick maps while exploring to share her discoveries with others. “I had shifted forms, a druid ability to take the shape of a beast of the earth; and had sniffed out the entire portal in hopes of discovering what it may be, before throwing caution to the wind and stepping towards.” Her expression grew more haunted as she spoke softly, “It was . . . horrible. Cold and stuck in some sort of limbo. Wild and unfamiliar magic was warping me, and it wasn’t until my own magic fought back that the attack escalated. In hindsight I’m certain the magic was attempting to morph me into a more horse-liken form, but my magic had started to counter the effects, as it was being locked away and out of reach. I ended up in this half state you see now . . . But in the process, upon waking in this odd world, I discovered every druid ability I had, the magic and kinship to the earth I had cherished my whole life, had been locked and buried deep within me.”
Her eyes turned icy, glinting like cold emeralds as her tone seemed to darken, “You’ll have to excuse me if I’ve come to the decision that I’m not fond of those this land call gods. And I’ve developed a severe hatred for the magic that forced me from my world, and trapped me in a form not my own before ripping away a large part of my soul when it bound my magic far from my reach.” The darkness slowly drained, her words said before she glanced towards the beautiful weapon, having watched the change from stone to gold. She approached with almost caution, as if not believing it to be real. It wasn’t the bow she missed, but it was certainly a beautiful creation, and a part of her wondered how long the transformation would last. She merely glanced at Isra, before bowing her head until her delicate muzzle touched her chest, “Thank you. It’s beautiful. How long does your transfigurations last?”
"Speech"
@isra . I'm fairly shocked with her sudden seriousness, it doesn't come through often.
Let's jump on the sun and ride it to tomorrow together, where everything is brighter and sure to be better.
Isra is wondering down a dark road as the doe tells her story. Like a river the past runs across the dark places behind her eyes. It sparks like a storm when she presses her eyes closed against it. Sometimes it feels like drowning, feeling the echo of all the things her skin used to be, and sometimes it feels only like the oppressive weight of the deep, dark sea.
When she shakes her head the humid air whistles a little through the cracks in her horn. It reminds her of home, of the wind whistling through the hollows of her mountains. And then, Isra with her ring of teeth-scars around her throat, doesn't feel so full of fury. Instead acceptance starts to bloom beneath her bones. Her smile is a weak thing though as she uses her magic (and oh she's a little jealous of that green glow) to push the bow closer to Cally. “I too used to wear a different skin and it was taken from me by a god.” That weak smile grows a little wild, a little reckless. It starts to look like something that a unicorn with a sword crown should wear.
She looks a little dangerous then, and maybe when she turns it's the sea frothing in her eyes instead of the reflection of the dappled sunlight. “Sometimes though, I wonder if it's the gods that made me what I'm supposed to be.” And she doesn't say the end of them, but she's thinking of it when she recalls the blackness of the primordial sea and the way all the gods brought destruction and games each time they wandered down to the mortal coil.
Sometimes she wonders if they don't fear death as much as a warrior wielding a weapon fears it just a little.
So when she steps closer and says, “It will last until I ask it become something else.” there are a hundred feeling beneath the words. Isra blinks and the bow becomes a sword, then a dead branch before turning back to a bow lovely and delicate enough for a doe to wield. Overhead a crow screams and a wildcat roars back. The island comes back to life around them, all the wildlife adjusted to the two mares in the middle of it. Isra draws her own bow, and cants her head upward when the wind sings once more through her hollow spiral of a horn.
“I would help you hunt for your magic if you would let me.” This time when she smiles it's not with the idea that magic can be found in the forest, or under a rock. Isra is smiling because she knows that sometimes magic comes from dark, evil things.
Sometimes one has to die to be remade, this she understand as much as she understands all the ways in which she is full the strange combination of love and fury. And if they must hunt for a relic--
Then Isra will hunt (and she'll fool herself that it's a relic she's looking for).
In a way, this new world had twisted a part of the little doe. Gone was the carefree and playful creature she had been, hardened by the brutal awakening of trapped in another world with out her appearance as a familiar face, or even her magic to let her touch nature and feel the familiar embrace of the natural world around her. Gone was the reliance that a single shout would have a herd of deer approaching with aid, weapons at the ready. Gone was the knowledge that any new face was with out a new friend. Sure, she'd escaped some terrors of her own world . . . but the more she learned of Novus - or it's pantheon, the more certain she was that she'd traded one troublesome creature that was easily outsmarted for a range of gods who could smite you because it was tuesday and there was a rainbow on the wrong side of the sky. Well, perhaps not for that reason alone - but Cally couldn't help to feel like even the island of itself was just a foolish trick, or game to play on the mortals. Sending them into a clearly dangerous island that had appeared as if by magic and fire, with dangerous creatures in the foliage, on a wild game of chance that they JUST MIGHT stumble upon a relic. Cally found the entire event: laughable.
Yes, gone was the doe who would have shrugged off the consequences and banded together a party to search for the relic just for the chance to explore the island. She'd turned into a shade of that creature thanks to the story of her arrival to Novus. She sure loved to explore, yes; and it was why she stayed on the island - to hunt through it - but that carefree, fun-loving attitude was defaced with blazing fury to the gods, and a hardness that would likely aid her when she found the path to regain her abilities. She might be powerless now - but she wasn't going to bow to the hand given to her . . . she would rise up and fight back.
She appeared to not be the only one with a troubled story - she could read it in the way the eyes of the mare seemed to darken with her own black thoughts, before the cerulean spheres where closed of by the shutting of her eyes. Only when air whistles through her horn, surprising the green and brown doe and having her glance at the horn with a new, more inquisitive light in her eyes - startled and delighted by such a neat mutation - does her company seem to pull herself out of where her mind had taken her. There is a weak smile to her features, as she aided in pushing the bow a little closer to Cally.
Just the light touch of the familiar weapon settled the former druid, some of the constant tension leaving her body as the tiny creature stared down at the priceless gift - not for the craftmanship of the item, but for what the item meant to her. Her weapon of choice, a way to protect herself from dangerous creatures, a defensive utensil that was as comfortable to her as her own skin . . . sorry, former skin. She is testing it with her telekenetic abilities, both working the bow as well as the abilities themselves as she'd found even they had been weakened by her arrival in Novus. She draws back the string, releasing the magic holding the bow posed and watching it snap back with a solid sound with out even a waiver of the bow itself. She stops her experimentation at the others' words then, startled by the understanding - and yet relieved someone else understands.
Cally watched as the weak smile grew a little more wild, a little more reckless, and Cally tilted her head at the presentation of the mare, a certain danger and wildness reflected from the smile, the shift of a storm in her eyes. Cally lets the bow sink back to the ground, perching it in an easy and practiced manner so it rests against one foreleg. "Sometimes I think gods forget we aren't just toys to be played with, and even small changes when important enough can be catalysts." The doe speaks softly, though there's that ever present darkness that has grown in her soul regarding the situation.
The doe would be lying if she claimed to understand the next part of the other's words. She fought and clung so hard to who she was, had been, and lost; she gave little thought to the gods trying to make her into what she was supposed to be . . . but she also knew the only familiarity in her own skin came from her own magic's desperate bid to keep her as true to herself even while it was being bound back and buried deep with in her. She was certain, had her magic not reacted and retaliated, she'd speaking to the other as a horse and living a lie. Cally was a deer, and no god would make her believe otherwise. "While I am glad you feel as if this is what you're supposed to be . . . I don't know if I'd be able to agree to such thoughts, especially if my own magic hadn't halted my transformation process . . ." She admits with a simple tone, not to bothered one way or another on the idea of accepting herself as she was now. She was still far too new in her new shape anyways. Any form of acceptance would come with time, and she hand't had enough of it yet.
The other steps closer then, explaining that the bow will last until her will asked of it to be something else. Suddenly the bow shifted where it rested against Cally, changing from a sword, to a dead branch, and then back into the bow. Surprised, the doe reached low with her nose, touching it softly, even as her dual sets of ears shifted - one towards the crow, one towards the wild back. A flash of her former self entered her eyes as she mentally cataloged where the sounds came from, the distance the sound of such creatures would require to travel, where the dangers were in correlation to herself. It was instinctive reaction, drawn from her many adventures and explorations in her home world, a required method of being aware of the world and the dangerous its possessed.
The doe tilts her head when the other speaks again, offer to help in her hunt for her druid magic, and the female nods, her expression shifting into a form of something akin to hope, but not so far lost from the darkness to be the look of a fool. It's a guarded look, a cautious one, but hope none the less, "I would accept the help, gladly. I won't rest until it's found and recovered. Another's assistance should make it that much faster to return." She stated with a gentle dip of her head in appreciation.
She doesn't know how this place may have twisted her magic, but Cally refused to see herself as complete with out it. It was who she was, a druid, and with out her magic . . . she felt like nothing . . . and she cursed the ones who made her that way.
"Speech"
@isra . I feel like Novus is going to turn her a bit darker than she was before. I don't think I ever realized how much I implemented that connection of the earth into her character until the simple things are there no more LOL
Let's jump on the sun and ride it to tomorrow together, where everything is brighter and sure to be better.
The leaves around the two mares start to shake lightly. It would be easy to think it nothing more than a quick breeze come off the of the sea. But then maybe they might notice that there is no wind brushing softly against their skin (and is a very soft sound the leaves are making).
At first it's only one tree frog that appears. He is green and dotted yellow. Then another appears, and another. Soon it's hundreds of tree frogs lingering on the trees around the mares. Each is brighter than the one that came before it. Some of them hurt the eyes to look at, they are brighter than the sun.
Once starts to croak and soon the others follow until the forest is alive with the spring song of the frogs. Perhaps the mares might wonder what is is they are all trying to say?
And when the noise stops, each frog glows for a moment, before fading back into the dark forest.
@Callynite and @Isra might notice the first tree frog right away. Or maybe they only notice when more and more frogs start to appear on the trees around them. Some are bright enough to make their eyes ache. The frogs starts to croak all at once, and the sound is as sweet as it painful. They stop and in the quick silence the frogs start to glow for no more than a heartbeat. And then they are gone.
Each participant will be awarded +100 signos for encountering a Random Event! How you reply is up to you; feel free to NPC the frogs or anything else.
Enjoy!
To tag this account: @*'Random Events' without the asterisk.
Please be advised, tagging the Random Event account does not guarantee a response!
Watching Callynite handle the bow so easily feels like discovering a secret Isra didn't know she was waiting to learn. It's the same way Isra handles a story, or her magic when it is gentle rain instead of a roaring storm. There is a tender touch here that reveals an etching of metal she didn't realize she made. Then there is the way the bow pulls tight like the apex of a story before the mare releases it.
There is in the doe-mare all the grace of a warrior and Isra wonders if she notices the way in which she moves that suggests something dangerous instead of soft. It's the same thing in her that is learning to love the way sharp things feel. “Maybe we should remind the gods of all the things they like to forget.” Each word is as sharp as the glass tips on her waiting arrows, and as jagged as the edges of her that are still trying to find ways in which to meld back together.
For the first time it does not ache to swallow down the echo of jagged words and sharp silences between them.
Just as more sharp edges are hanging on the tip of her tongue, the jungle comes alive. First it's nothing more than the croak of a frog. Isra tilts her ear towards the sound. At first she ignores the sound as nothing more than another sign that this island is hiding more things than Raum. And Isra is still too full of jagged bits that want to bleed to care for mysteries and frogs out of place.
It's not until they start to shine like stars of all the wrong colors that she turns towards the trees lined in light. Everything in this forest is light and strangeness, magic and danger. All of it makes her miss the bonfires and fragrant night blooms of Denocte. The frogs are burning the edges of her pupils and Isra shutters her light against the brightness of it all.
When she opens them again the jungle is no brighter than a jungle on a strange island should be. The sight settles something she did not feel rising in her like a storm (magic, or maybe rage). She turns towards the dark places between the trees. Upon her shoulder the lunar bow starts to glow silver-white. The cold of it against her skin feels like the sea. “Shall we look in whatever darkness the frogs went to first?” Isra turns behind to look at Callynite just once; the golden bow stays a bow (and it's begging to be touched again)
Then Isra walks into the dark where her bow is the only light at all, and each steps makes her feel like hunting is becoming home.
“Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires.”
If any of her former friends saw her now, they might be hard-pressed to recognize her. Not just because she looked a tad unusual, but even if the familiarity in which she handled the bow spoke of who she was, it was a different look to her eye that made the once carefree doe look near terrifying. An odd look for one who once stood tall as a pacifist. Now, however, there is one that she wanted to harm, or perhaps ones is more accurate. Who ever corrupted her being and magic so thusly, she intended to let them pay. Gaining a bow was the first step down that road, and as she handled it, the familiarity of it returned.
Never a warrior, before Cally had always been a mere protector, ready to help defend her friends but preferring to do it with as little cost as possible. Now, that sense was being eroded by the darkness, and as she released the string, watching it snap with an audible crack of air, there's a new thrill to the motion and sound, a new whisper of what she could be if she ventured down that path. The darkness keeps its' distance though, growing so slowly Cally isn't aware of the changes she's making, the strides she's taking further away from who she once was.
In time she'll be thankful of a certain troublesome stallion's playfulness to temper the darkness should it grow to powerful, but for now, she relishes in the power the bow provides. She turns to the mare then when she speaks again, her dual ears turning towards her, and her eyes nearly gleam at the thought, her head held high, as her tiny stub of a doe tail gives a slight wiggle of pent up energy, "I wouldn't be arguing to the idea. Perhaps they are overdue for . . . friendly reminder." Sarcasm had always been a second language for Cally, but the darkness inflicting it wasn't natural to who she had been, another hint to the corruption she felt the longer her connection to her abilities remained cut off. She doesn't bat an eye at the dark sarcasm, however. The doe believes firmly it's due.
There's a change though at the first croak of a frog. Cally hardly notes it, as a single ear twists to catch the sound before dismissing it. It's not until the cries turn into a crescendo crashing around them that the doe turns to watch them start to glow, brighter than anything she'd seen before. Instantly her eyes squeeze shut to blot out the sudden brightness in the dark. It's not until the light infront of her eyelids stops penetrating the thin veil of skin before she opens them again, blinking a few times as she glanced around.
The light and frogs are gone, but the other's bow replaces the light, glowing as if prepping. Instantly Cally's own bow is drawn up, surrounded by the green hue she once remembered her magic being more firmly marked by, and she holds it tightly with her mind, ready for danger, ready for adventure. The other presents the option of following into the darkness where the frogs went first. Cally doesn't answer verbally as she sets forward, her tiny form pushing through the trees with no sound, sliding into the shadows like she was born part of them, her steps finding silent foot falls under a trained eye her father had carefully cultivated. She joined the forest, a spirit slipping from tree to tree, her body blending easily . . . her golden bow the only thing that stood out. In her element once more, but with out the connection, she threw herself all the more deeper into being the silent shadow, her bow ready and held at her shoulder, angled across her body so it doesn't strike anything as she moves, with a found sharp stick already notched to be fired.
"Speech"
@isra . I think we can definitely call this one done. I've got a lot more exploring to do with this darker side of Cally. She's going to be interesting, the more time I put into her . . . and it will be curious, the longer I withhold purchasing her magic for her, just what she becomes.
Let's jump on the sun and ride it to tomorrow together, where everything is brighter and sure to be better.
