- Messages
- 547
- Character Biography
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The rugged terrain before her was both familiar and alien, the steep sided ravines and valleys that crystal clear water rushed down, born from the heights of the mountains straining for the heavens behind her. The Spine, aptly named, sent fingers of its great range into the wild interior of the continent. In its own way, it was a peaceful place; humanity seldom ventured far into these thick and untamed places. It was a favorite retreat for the ancient sidhe when she wished to be away from the quick lives of the the younger races, when the hustle and break-neck speed of the world got to be too much.
Or when she wished to contemplate some new piece of information, or to tease out unknown secrets from the Prim, to continue the mostly abandoned search for a way out of Arethil and into the ocean of worlds that lie but the thickness of a dream away. So close, yet it might as well not even exist. The laws of magic were totally binding, and they had turned the diminutive woman - herself by mere technicality a demon on this world, an outsider - into a prisoner.
She descended into the next ravine, already weary from the trip up the last. The terrain was not particularly forgiving for her or her companion. The little horse- and it was a horse, never mind that it was sized for herself - seemed to have little trouble picking its way across the broken ground. The faint thrill of magic danced in the air around the silver-haired sorceress, although the flow of the Prim was so slight it would take a keen magician of one of the inferior races to detect it any further away than dozens of feet. The purpose was not entirely clear, unless one watched closely as foliage and branches bent to clear her path, as roots strove to avoid tripping her up. The weariness of travel was not for the terrain, necessarily, but for the effort she exerted to make it less wearisome.
"Not much further, my friend," she said softly to her little stallion. As if the beast could understand her - not just that she had spoken to him, but what she meant - he tossed his head and pushed forward, turning hsi head sideways and gently butting it against her shoulder. Absently, she stroked his muzzle until he stepped away. She was forced to pick her skirts up - sky blue trimmed with lavender, a small leather purse hanging at her hip by a string - as she stepped over a thin rivulet of water tumbling down the steep slope, towards the distant thunder of a river a couple thousand feet below. "Not much further, then we can rest for the day."
The light of the Art suffused her flesh, but she drew lightly on it. It was nto good to call upon the Prim for too long; it was to easy to become hopelessly addicted to the sweet flow, so much like life itself, that came with the chaotic power. It was - quite literally - her lifeblood. Every ilm of her being was comprised of that sweet, transcendent power that hailed back to the beginning of all things.
Like myself, she thought. It was neither bitter nor sour, merely a statement of fact. The sun was still high enough to grant some light to the woods that had yet to turn to true jungle. It would not be long before the immense mountain range behind her began to shade the valleys, and then the going would end up being terribly slow. And unsafe.
She made her way downhill, wreathed in muted power while the world adjusted itself to allow her to pass without any of the effort another might until she hit the shattered stone of the valley floor, where cold water cascaded over short waterfalls and rolled over rounded stones. The roar of the river running from the heights was still coming from further afield than she was, but it did not matter. She figured she would make camp when she made it to the banks of whatever greater flow lie below her.
Or when she wished to contemplate some new piece of information, or to tease out unknown secrets from the Prim, to continue the mostly abandoned search for a way out of Arethil and into the ocean of worlds that lie but the thickness of a dream away. So close, yet it might as well not even exist. The laws of magic were totally binding, and they had turned the diminutive woman - herself by mere technicality a demon on this world, an outsider - into a prisoner.
She descended into the next ravine, already weary from the trip up the last. The terrain was not particularly forgiving for her or her companion. The little horse- and it was a horse, never mind that it was sized for herself - seemed to have little trouble picking its way across the broken ground. The faint thrill of magic danced in the air around the silver-haired sorceress, although the flow of the Prim was so slight it would take a keen magician of one of the inferior races to detect it any further away than dozens of feet. The purpose was not entirely clear, unless one watched closely as foliage and branches bent to clear her path, as roots strove to avoid tripping her up. The weariness of travel was not for the terrain, necessarily, but for the effort she exerted to make it less wearisome.
"Not much further, my friend," she said softly to her little stallion. As if the beast could understand her - not just that she had spoken to him, but what she meant - he tossed his head and pushed forward, turning hsi head sideways and gently butting it against her shoulder. Absently, she stroked his muzzle until he stepped away. She was forced to pick her skirts up - sky blue trimmed with lavender, a small leather purse hanging at her hip by a string - as she stepped over a thin rivulet of water tumbling down the steep slope, towards the distant thunder of a river a couple thousand feet below. "Not much further, then we can rest for the day."
The light of the Art suffused her flesh, but she drew lightly on it. It was nto good to call upon the Prim for too long; it was to easy to become hopelessly addicted to the sweet flow, so much like life itself, that came with the chaotic power. It was - quite literally - her lifeblood. Every ilm of her being was comprised of that sweet, transcendent power that hailed back to the beginning of all things.
Like myself, she thought. It was neither bitter nor sour, merely a statement of fact. The sun was still high enough to grant some light to the woods that had yet to turn to true jungle. It would not be long before the immense mountain range behind her began to shade the valleys, and then the going would end up being terribly slow. And unsafe.
She made her way downhill, wreathed in muted power while the world adjusted itself to allow her to pass without any of the effort another might until she hit the shattered stone of the valley floor, where cold water cascaded over short waterfalls and rolled over rounded stones. The roar of the river running from the heights was still coming from further afield than she was, but it did not matter. She figured she would make camp when she made it to the banks of whatever greater flow lie below her.