|.
Oh wonderful, the spiky monstrosity could shoot things at him. That wasn't completely and woefully unfair at all. It looked like a giant prickly badger, as best Zhol could tell. Or at least, it looked like a prickly version of a picture of what Zhol thought was probably a badger, that he'd seen in a children's picture book of animals and had only vaguely understood. It was maybe four feet long at a guess, and it's bristling spines started a foot and a half or so off the ground: Zhol had never seen a rodent of such unusual size in the flesh before, and while it wasn't some colossal horse sized predator, and was smaller than he presumed the snowshoe leopard would be, it was still plenty big enough.
Zhol considered Azira's instructions; imagined the inevitable condescending tirade he'd receive about how it had just been proven that he was good for nothing except wasting time, being rescued, and making this whole process harder than it needed to be. He desperately wanted some sort of alternative, some way to subdue the beast on his own, to prove Azira wrong and clamp shut that mouth of hers for a little while. But what was there that he could actually do?
Set it on fire, and stab it, his mind offered helpfully, borrowing Dinah's voice to do so. It sounded exactly like the sort of thing she would have suggested as well; unfortunately for Zhol, Dinah was no huntress, and her advice in such matters probably wouldn't prove all that useful. As far as Zhol could tell, all that would achieve is him being shot by fiery spikes, instead of non-fiery ones. His mind filled with all the options that would be available if he possessed any form of reimancy other than his own. He imagined how his mother might have commanded the very earth to rise up and envelope the rodent. He thought of how Dinah might have used water to knock the spines out of the air. Lillah would have summoned a gale that would have gusted the quills harmlessly aside. But as usual, Zhol's fire was only good for making things worse, and it wasn't like there was anything else he could -
His mind stumbled, tripping over recollections of his time spent in the Hideaway a few days before. In amongst his attempts to use meditation to wrestle some degree of control over his reimantic powers, he had also attempted to learn to use shielding to protect others from the dangers his powers could pose. What he had discovered, and confirmed amid his subsequent reading, was that a shield could only guard against magic and skill of equal potency. His shields could not block his reimancy - or his archery, he had later discovered, terrible as that was - because they simply were not practised and refined enough. But a spike-badger? That was no mage, no expert archer; surely, even his novice abilities could withstand the onslaught of such a thing?
As he'd done in the cave, he reached inside himself for the flickering candle that represented his magic, and imagined himself blowing out the flame: dedicating his djed to something other than conjuring fire. He imagined the wisp of smoke forming itself into glyphing shapes that he remembered being taught by his mother; the overlapped squares that formed an eight pointed star; the runes and symbols that he had memorised but didn't quite understand drawn in at all the correct points. As he shaped the protective glyph in his mind, he focused his thoughts on one simple purpose. Stop the quills. Stop the quills. You don't need to do anything else, just stop those quills. He delved into himself, mining more than just djed: he sought out every vestige of his confidence, every scrap from every corner of his mind. I am not useless. I am not worthless. I can do this. This will work. Around his outstretched fingers, the air shimmered like a heat haze, stretching and twisting as it extended it's way into a barrier between him and the approaching beast. All the while he focused harder on his glyph: more imaginary smoke, sharpening the details, focusing the shapes, making the image clearer and clearer in his mind. It wasn't until the symbol burned with coherent brightness that he risked opening his eyes; it took all the focus he could muster not to grin and punch the air as he stared at the shield he had managed to create.
His shoulders slumped a little with exhaustion at the amount of concentration and focus he'd just expended, but he didn't let it phase him; didn't let it diminish the sense of achievement - even for such a paltry effort. He risked a glance over his shoulder towards Azira, not wanting to look away too long just in case the shield wasn't there when he looked back. "I don't know how long this will hold," he admitted, "Might want to hurry it up with those bow skills, huntress."
Zhol considered Azira's instructions; imagined the inevitable condescending tirade he'd receive about how it had just been proven that he was good for nothing except wasting time, being rescued, and making this whole process harder than it needed to be. He desperately wanted some sort of alternative, some way to subdue the beast on his own, to prove Azira wrong and clamp shut that mouth of hers for a little while. But what was there that he could actually do?
Set it on fire, and stab it, his mind offered helpfully, borrowing Dinah's voice to do so. It sounded exactly like the sort of thing she would have suggested as well; unfortunately for Zhol, Dinah was no huntress, and her advice in such matters probably wouldn't prove all that useful. As far as Zhol could tell, all that would achieve is him being shot by fiery spikes, instead of non-fiery ones. His mind filled with all the options that would be available if he possessed any form of reimancy other than his own. He imagined how his mother might have commanded the very earth to rise up and envelope the rodent. He thought of how Dinah might have used water to knock the spines out of the air. Lillah would have summoned a gale that would have gusted the quills harmlessly aside. But as usual, Zhol's fire was only good for making things worse, and it wasn't like there was anything else he could -
His mind stumbled, tripping over recollections of his time spent in the Hideaway a few days before. In amongst his attempts to use meditation to wrestle some degree of control over his reimantic powers, he had also attempted to learn to use shielding to protect others from the dangers his powers could pose. What he had discovered, and confirmed amid his subsequent reading, was that a shield could only guard against magic and skill of equal potency. His shields could not block his reimancy - or his archery, he had later discovered, terrible as that was - because they simply were not practised and refined enough. But a spike-badger? That was no mage, no expert archer; surely, even his novice abilities could withstand the onslaught of such a thing?
As he'd done in the cave, he reached inside himself for the flickering candle that represented his magic, and imagined himself blowing out the flame: dedicating his djed to something other than conjuring fire. He imagined the wisp of smoke forming itself into glyphing shapes that he remembered being taught by his mother; the overlapped squares that formed an eight pointed star; the runes and symbols that he had memorised but didn't quite understand drawn in at all the correct points. As he shaped the protective glyph in his mind, he focused his thoughts on one simple purpose. Stop the quills. Stop the quills. You don't need to do anything else, just stop those quills. He delved into himself, mining more than just djed: he sought out every vestige of his confidence, every scrap from every corner of his mind. I am not useless. I am not worthless. I can do this. This will work. Around his outstretched fingers, the air shimmered like a heat haze, stretching and twisting as it extended it's way into a barrier between him and the approaching beast. All the while he focused harder on his glyph: more imaginary smoke, sharpening the details, focusing the shapes, making the image clearer and clearer in his mind. It wasn't until the symbol burned with coherent brightness that he risked opening his eyes; it took all the focus he could muster not to grin and punch the air as he stared at the shield he had managed to create.
His shoulders slumped a little with exhaustion at the amount of concentration and focus he'd just expended, but he didn't let it phase him; didn't let it diminish the sense of achievement - even for such a paltry effort. He risked a glance over his shoulder towards Azira, not wanting to look away too long just in case the shield wasn't there when he looked back. "I don't know how long this will hold," he admitted, "Might want to hurry it up with those bow skills, huntress."
"Pavi" | "Common" | "Nari" | "Symenos"
Dad Thoughts | Dinah Thoughts | Khara Thoughts
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This template was made by Khara. She was bribed with coffee and jammy dodgers.
Dad Thoughts | Dinah Thoughts | Khara Thoughts
...
This template was made by Khara. She was bribed with coffee and jammy dodgers.
