[AW] the flowers say hello

[Ipomoea]

IPOMOEA so lay me down in golden dandelions  The sand underhoof is shifting, making way for the spiny stems of cactus that rises out of it. They scratch and claw their way into the air, their needle-like fingers twisting around towards the murderous king. The magic bleeds out of Ipomoea as hot as the sun, feeding off of his anger in a way he did not know was possible. He can’t pull it back, can’t stopper the flow - Nor would he want to. Ipomoea lets the anger fester, an unspoken rage in the back of his mind. Perhaps it has been there all along, a disorganized and distant ferocity, since the day he was born here amongst the dunes of Solterra. He feels feral now as be looks into the crow’s blue eyes, and the savage inside of him is singing with the joy of being released. The points on each cactus spine sharpens, and they reach dangerously for Raum. A single flower, orange and yellow and bright, blooms in front of them all. He sees the others arrive, and their words spin through his mind. He doesn’t want to listen, he has eyes and ears only for Raum, but their words wriggle their way into his ears nonetheless. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t react. He only listens, and he feels his anger grow, opening a bottomless pit within him. ”Solterra has seen enough violence.” It will see more with Raum at its helm. ”Is that really what you wish to bring upon us?” He takes a single step forward. He does not waver, does not blink. His jaw only tightens, until his teeth grind together painfully and tastes blood at the back of his throat. His vision is still red, as red as the man with the poisoned words. ”When will your righteousness burn you apart, Ipomoea?” Oh, if only Raum knew. It was the desert burning through his veins, a stranger and a friend, his past becoming his future. Later he might look on today with worry, and wonder when this streak of violence had first taken root in his heart. But today he does not question it, and he will not withdraw from it. "When will it become a poison? Does it already taste wrong on your tongue?" "First you must escape alive." "Remember why you got away." If this was a poison, he had succumbed to it far too willingly - and perhaps that was what the silver man wanted. The anger was oddly familiar on his tongue, and there was a sweetness to it that was unexpected. Once had felt guilt, and regret, and had worried that he had not done enough. But he had chased gods since then, had stood and fought on a bloodstained field, had learned to say that is enough. Ipomoea could not change the past - but he could shape the future. And he would no longer sit idly by while another part of the world burned. Be brave, be brave. He takes his eyes off of Raum for the first time, and looks to Bexley. The vulture sitting on her back smiles and laughs and spills her mocking words. There’s something like gratitude in his eyes, but it’s masked with determination, with sadness, with anger. And perhaps his self-righteousness is already burning him apart, because still he steps forward. Their words are crumbling as ash in his mind. “And then we accept that we might die for it.” “I will not run.” Another step forward brings him even with Efphion, and his voice is low. The cactus continues to grow, hemming Raum in, a circle of thorns rising from the Solterran sand. He steps closer, and the cactus in his path falls away. He steps past Efphion, past Torstein into the circle his magic has made, and the cactus grows back to fill the gap. Only then does he stop, and although the shortened distance between himself and the king makes him tremble, he lifts his head high. His words are for the king, for Senna, for anyone who supports the murderer, for anyone who tells him to run. He throws their warnings to the wind, and pays now for Delumine's silence. “Nothing here belongs to you, Raum.” His name is bitter and acidic on his tongue. “Not even your own life.” The first eagle dives with a scream that pierces the air, wind whistling along its wings. The rest follow in a flurry of feathers and movement, each of their talons spread wide as they reach for the king, for his monster, for the red man who stands beside them. Odet flies with them, and he is the first to reach for the solterran king’s eyes, hoping to feel flesh beneath his claws. The blade on his dagger falls away, and in its place grows a vine. And when he raises the newly formed whip and cracks it in Raum's direction thorns sprout all along its length. The coil unwinds like a snake that lunges for the king, like a boa constrictor seeking to wrap around his neck and smother the words in his throat. Somewhere in the canyons a teryr is roaring, and its anger is Ipomoea’s anger. @Raum @efphion @Torstein @Senna @Bexley @Seraphina po literally surrounded by a bunch of solterrans to clarify - po has built a circle of cactus, if you want your character inside that circle or on the outside is up to you! there’s also a convocation of eagles on the attack. ”here am I!”