13, 2014 at 07:46am
Last active: 31, 2014 at 7:07pm
Damon lost the tiny thread of time at several points but one way or anther he found it again and resumed stalking along it in search of it's weaver. Of course the weaver could have already been dead hence the lose thread. but he hoped not. curiosity had always been his weakness and the Annulai where certainly a curiosity.
Hand still on his dagger he crashed threw the undergrowth, following the threads path exactly lest he lose it again. he cared little for stealth, even the predators of the forest knew the dangerous nature of the tormented. he feared no wolf or bare attack. The people of the forest however he could be less sure about. yes the races that dwelled there knew him by name and deed and rightly feared him, they knew no poison could fall him and no creature match his strength still he felt losing a limb from a surprise 'homecomeing' would ruin his night even if he did not feel the pain of it. so his long elegant hand stayed firmly wrapped around his dagger pummel as he followed the thread further north.
I eat poodle noodles <3
21, 2014 at 12:53am
Last active: 04, 2014 at 3:36pm
Setharyn's eyes narrowed. So, the creature would threaten him, would it? He'd thought he'd sensed nothing malicious in its intent, but clearly he'd been mistaken. Yet what an odd choice of weapon the creature had made. It was a blade, but it was so large that she would have trouble swinging it in the confined space of the cave. It was an odd choice indeed.
He was of half a mind simply to swat the impudent thing into the wall of the cave and be done with it, but something stayed his paw. Perhaps it was that the creature's expression was more confused than aggressive, or perhaps it was that he had just woken from a long slumber, and did not particularly want to fight.
Whatever the reason, he knew he wasn't going to kill the creature. Now he just had to decide what to do with it and its weapon. From the looks of it, the weapon was a part of it, just as its hand had been previously. That would mean that the creature had done some sort of magic, or working of energy to transform her arm into the blade she wore now.
Well, Setharyn knew a thing or two about transformation magic, and this was his forest. Most Faery would have told you that the location magic was performed in had little to do with its effect, but he knew this to be untrue. Where you performed your magic had everything to do with its effect. This was his forest, and he was in tune with the spirit of the wood; he reached out to it now with his mind.
It was a strange experience, focusing on transforming, but not using himself as the target. In the end, instead of attempting to transform the sword into an arm again, he decided to work the spell he used when he was returning to his Faery form. He closed his eyes momentarily, trusting that he would not be run through by the sword in a moment of distraction, and pushed the magic out with his mind, infused by the forest's presence. Return, he thought, intent on the greatsword, be what you once were, what you were made to be