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queenofheartsrp2010-12-23 04:11 pm
k0kka.livejournal.com) wrote in queenofheartsrp2010-12-23 04:11 pm
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[She’s no baby. Three hundred and sixty three years old, Paderau is no child, delved down deeper into the web of magic than most in her order. Knows every curve and flicker that makes the flame, can tune in to all that chaos and burn. She’s had it seared into her since the womb, since the perfect clarion ring of The Powers That Be touched her little human soul and made her so much more.
She knows magic, knows ebb and knows flow, but that doesn’t make her less apprehensive about the strangeness of what’s going on around her. The cabin, the snow, the voices and images coming in off the vine, Birdie shivering her little tail feathers off in a corner. Paderau has to tug the girl in close to her, wrap her up in the few extra clothes she’s got besides her white frock and pump her full of her own powers. A little puny on this strange new world, but not cut off, she’d be dead if she’d been cut off: a three hundred and sixty three year old corpse cut loose from its age old strings.
It’s the Batgirl that gets her to come out into the snow, would have gone out eventually, confident in her own ability to defend herself, but hearing anyone was wandering around out there alone put her into a goddamn tizzy. Would have left her little Birdie in the warmth of the shack, but the Phoenix was having none of it, cried herself hoarse, arms wrapped around the warden.
Between the two of them there was enough fire to brave the snow, so they started their expedition. Paderau could trace all the energy around them, dots of huddled masses, a few others darting about in the snow, and more disconcerting energies that she doesn’t want to investigate too closely for the time being. Find the Batgirl first, drop a blessing, do the good work: it was a straight forward mission.
Just shouldn’t have let the shadows close in on her. It was her own damn fault, really, she could sense the bastards clear as day, but as more and more of them had started to ping up on her sensors, she’d lost track individually. Maybe she thought they were close enough back to their little hut that they could make it, shut the door and bless the shit out of the threshold so nothing could come through. It didn’t really matter now: either way, she was wrong and penned in by the flickering shapes.
Birdie is the first priority, tucked in against her, Paderau bathes them both in orange light, a warding shield built firebright, stoked by ember and timber, fed on smoke. The warden spits bursts of flame at the strange ethereal stalkers, and while the bright lights of her inner strength fell the darker creatures, the others remain, pushing through her shield as easily as a bubble to take hold of her.
And with those glittering arms around her: all the voices inside of her go quiet. Warden brothers and sisters drowned out by another power, some hideous unholy thing that has no business touching her soul.
She convulses. The mental strain excruciating, the silence where the singing voices of her order should be is deafening, numbing. Her power draining from her leaves her cold and breathless and she sinks down into the snow. This isn't right. It should not be. Too much silence. White, blinding silence.
And then the Phoenix burns, bursting into a shrieking ball of terror and flame which scatters the final assailants like dust, like snow, leaving only the blinding white rage of the storm around them.
She continues to smolder quietly as she drops down next to the stiff, wide-eyed woman.]
She knows magic, knows ebb and knows flow, but that doesn’t make her less apprehensive about the strangeness of what’s going on around her. The cabin, the snow, the voices and images coming in off the vine, Birdie shivering her little tail feathers off in a corner. Paderau has to tug the girl in close to her, wrap her up in the few extra clothes she’s got besides her white frock and pump her full of her own powers. A little puny on this strange new world, but not cut off, she’d be dead if she’d been cut off: a three hundred and sixty three year old corpse cut loose from its age old strings.
It’s the Batgirl that gets her to come out into the snow, would have gone out eventually, confident in her own ability to defend herself, but hearing anyone was wandering around out there alone put her into a goddamn tizzy. Would have left her little Birdie in the warmth of the shack, but the Phoenix was having none of it, cried herself hoarse, arms wrapped around the warden.
Between the two of them there was enough fire to brave the snow, so they started their expedition. Paderau could trace all the energy around them, dots of huddled masses, a few others darting about in the snow, and more disconcerting energies that she doesn’t want to investigate too closely for the time being. Find the Batgirl first, drop a blessing, do the good work: it was a straight forward mission.
Just shouldn’t have let the shadows close in on her. It was her own damn fault, really, she could sense the bastards clear as day, but as more and more of them had started to ping up on her sensors, she’d lost track individually. Maybe she thought they were close enough back to their little hut that they could make it, shut the door and bless the shit out of the threshold so nothing could come through. It didn’t really matter now: either way, she was wrong and penned in by the flickering shapes.
Birdie is the first priority, tucked in against her, Paderau bathes them both in orange light, a warding shield built firebright, stoked by ember and timber, fed on smoke. The warden spits bursts of flame at the strange ethereal stalkers, and while the bright lights of her inner strength fell the darker creatures, the others remain, pushing through her shield as easily as a bubble to take hold of her.
And with those glittering arms around her: all the voices inside of her go quiet. Warden brothers and sisters drowned out by another power, some hideous unholy thing that has no business touching her soul.
She convulses. The mental strain excruciating, the silence where the singing voices of her order should be is deafening, numbing. Her power draining from her leaves her cold and breathless and she sinks down into the snow. This isn't right. It should not be. Too much silence. White, blinding silence.
And then the Phoenix burns, bursting into a shrieking ball of terror and flame which scatters the final assailants like dust, like snow, leaving only the blinding white rage of the storm around them.
She continues to smolder quietly as she drops down next to the stiff, wide-eyed woman.]
[A shrill cry comes through the vine, a girl weeping and cooing miserably:]
P-paaaddy. Wake up. Wake up now, up please, please, cold now, Paddy, wake up.
[She stops trying to speak eventually, and only warbles a mournful, helpless song.]
[[ The lovely Nessy is hiatusaurus, so it may not do you any good actually talking to Birdie, but you can feel free to try. Paddy could use a lift back to her cabin though. Much obliged, and first come first served on that account. Back tagging is also an option if you want to lay down your bagsies. ]]