Callynite
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.
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.
