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08-12-2014, 12:46 PM
The final ring looms ahead and the half-child curses himself- not for being behind, but rather for still not knowing who is conjuring all of this magic and who it is he needs to speak to in order to unravel the mysteries. He tries to think, to recall, who seemed surprised by the appearance of the magical roots and trees, but he was so focused on avoiding them that it seems difficult. Even his fawn, whose mind he probes briefly, is unable to answer him sufficiently. Well, it seems he must carry on to the finish then and speak to everyone who will listen.
As for his position in the race, the half-child pays no mind to the fact that he is near the back. He knows that he is not worthy of such a prize such as winning this race to the end of the island. In fact, he is hesitant to come in anything but last, and so as he lands on the far side of the clouds, he slows his stride. His small chest is heaving anyways. A glance back shows him that two remain behind him yet, and he prays to the gods that they might pass him- They might like him then, and then they will speak to him. Yes, the half-child’s poorly developed logic tells him that he must lose this race if he is to understand what mysteries elude him.
But he loses sight of those who were behind him as the headwind begins to blow and he is bombarded by a barrage of petals. Oh, how amusing Zunden would find this all- he imagines her biting and kicking at the petals, which makes him laugh. Still, onward he runs, the faint twinkling of the final ring looming ahead. And as he passes through, still unable to see his position, he calls out to anyone who might hear him, his voice reverent despite his gasps for breath. “Who- who made that magic happen!?”
As for his position in the race, the half-child pays no mind to the fact that he is near the back. He knows that he is not worthy of such a prize such as winning this race to the end of the island. In fact, he is hesitant to come in anything but last, and so as he lands on the far side of the clouds, he slows his stride. His small chest is heaving anyways. A glance back shows him that two remain behind him yet, and he prays to the gods that they might pass him- They might like him then, and then they will speak to him. Yes, the half-child’s poorly developed logic tells him that he must lose this race if he is to understand what mysteries elude him.
But he loses sight of those who were behind him as the headwind begins to blow and he is bombarded by a barrage of petals. Oh, how amusing Zunden would find this all- he imagines her biting and kicking at the petals, which makes him laugh. Still, onward he runs, the faint twinkling of the final ring looming ahead. And as he passes through, still unable to see his position, he calls out to anyone who might hear him, his voice reverent despite his gasps for breath. “Who- who made that magic happen!?”
Adelric
We only have what we give.
Permission granted to use magic or physical force with Adelric at any time for any reason to any degree, with the exception of killing him.
Please do not tag Adelric unless it is in an opening post
Please do not tag Adelric unless it is in an opening post
