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Entry tags:
what the fel (open)
Who: Qilby and OPEN!
What: Consorting with demons? Never. Just call it curiosity.
Where: In the forests. Far from Silverglen.
When: July 10, afternoon.
Warnings: Nada!
Qilby, like a ghost in his pale whites in the most shadowy part of the grove, stands looking over a small mound of earth. Poking out of the top of it is the head and tail of a single imp, its huge ears sticking up like the two large leaves of some strange plant. The dirt around it is freshly-turned over, tightly-packed into an earthen prison. When the demon struggles, Qilby merely waves his hand and the ground responds to his command, resolidifying around the tiny form (the perks of being a Blacksworn, as he's been finding out more and more with each passing day.) He tilts his head, staring the imp down.
Certainly it has a wakfu of a sort, a mere pittance of a life force that serves its small, frail body's needs well enough. If it were its wakfu he were interested in, he wouldn't have even given the pitiful thing a second glance. No, it's the other energy practically burning up the air around it that interests him -- the electric, almost giddying feeling given off by the tongues of green fire coming up off its still-exposed shoulders.
For all the millennia he's lived, wakfu had been all there was. The one universal, the one constant, the one thing that every living creature shared in common. A powerful force, to be sure, but even it had its limits -- hadn't that been the reason he'd turned to the study of its much more volatile cousin, stasis, in the first place? There's wakfu here, too (although wielding it on Azeroth is a strange feeling, like sleeping in a bed that isn't his) but this is the first time he's ever seen a hint of there being something different, something new, a whole source of power he's never even thought to conceive of.
He must know more.
"Well, speak if you can," he says, having to tilt his head down all the way to look at the imp head at his feet. "I can't go through the trouble of catching one of you every time I want to study this power of yours. If you can talk, it'll spare me a little inconvenience, and you a great deal of discomfort."
In response, the imp grins and flicks the tip of its tail, sending a fireball arcing over Qilby's head and onto a patch of grass which immediately goes up in flames. Qilby quickly smothers the small fire with a flick of a finger, turning a circle of earth over the burning grass and shooting the imp a look. The demon cackles but its ugly laughter is cut short when it sinks even further into the ground, so deep that only its face is visible.
Dirt powers. Maybe they do come in handy.
[ooc: Prose or brackets, I don't care either way. :)]
What: Consorting with demons? Never. Just call it curiosity.
Where: In the forests. Far from Silverglen.
When: July 10, afternoon.
Warnings: Nada!
Qilby, like a ghost in his pale whites in the most shadowy part of the grove, stands looking over a small mound of earth. Poking out of the top of it is the head and tail of a single imp, its huge ears sticking up like the two large leaves of some strange plant. The dirt around it is freshly-turned over, tightly-packed into an earthen prison. When the demon struggles, Qilby merely waves his hand and the ground responds to his command, resolidifying around the tiny form (the perks of being a Blacksworn, as he's been finding out more and more with each passing day.) He tilts his head, staring the imp down.
Certainly it has a wakfu of a sort, a mere pittance of a life force that serves its small, frail body's needs well enough. If it were its wakfu he were interested in, he wouldn't have even given the pitiful thing a second glance. No, it's the other energy practically burning up the air around it that interests him -- the electric, almost giddying feeling given off by the tongues of green fire coming up off its still-exposed shoulders.
For all the millennia he's lived, wakfu had been all there was. The one universal, the one constant, the one thing that every living creature shared in common. A powerful force, to be sure, but even it had its limits -- hadn't that been the reason he'd turned to the study of its much more volatile cousin, stasis, in the first place? There's wakfu here, too (although wielding it on Azeroth is a strange feeling, like sleeping in a bed that isn't his) but this is the first time he's ever seen a hint of there being something different, something new, a whole source of power he's never even thought to conceive of.
He must know more.
"Well, speak if you can," he says, having to tilt his head down all the way to look at the imp head at his feet. "I can't go through the trouble of catching one of you every time I want to study this power of yours. If you can talk, it'll spare me a little inconvenience, and you a great deal of discomfort."
In response, the imp grins and flicks the tip of its tail, sending a fireball arcing over Qilby's head and onto a patch of grass which immediately goes up in flames. Qilby quickly smothers the small fire with a flick of a finger, turning a circle of earth over the burning grass and shooting the imp a look. The demon cackles but its ugly laughter is cut short when it sinks even further into the ground, so deep that only its face is visible.
Dirt powers. Maybe they do come in handy.
[ooc: Prose or brackets, I don't care either way. :)]