(no subject)
Elderberry #2. Dark Ritual
with Hot Fudge, Whipped Cream and Malt
Story : knights & necromancers
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1242 all the way through 1270's
Word Count : 800 (8-part pocky chain)
Malt Prompt : Pfah - Dark Ritual + Kairn + I'm just a child
So, I got the notion to do this after reading a few of Miyabi's pocky chains. I know my canon is huge and sprawling and crazy, and I do like to do montages now and then, so I thought I'd give doing a few, very character specific ones a try.
If you've never read me before, this might work well as a teaser for Kairn's story as a whole, though I admit it's fairly vague (it is pocky after all!) It also has at least one spoiler for those who do regularly read me.
Sigils. The language of the gods. Draw a circle, add a few lines, and poof! All it takes is a touch and a thought and you’ve got fire out of thin air, water out of sand, rocks thrusting up out of the dirt. Sure, Kairn’s not very good at conjuring up much more than sad looks from the Masters, but that doesn’t make the whole idea of it any less exciting, doesn‘t keep him from trying. How many other kids can say they’ve made so much as a little spark out of something they scribbled with a piece of chalk?
Power over life and death, that was the ultimate goal all along. And Master Berwyk makes every effort to remind them so as he paces the room. Like most of the rest of the class, Kairn’s not hearing half the words coming from the man. He’s too busy gaping at the dead rat dangling from his hand.
The old man drops the furry little corpse onto a fresh set of lines and touches the rim while the students hold their breath. Kairn will find out later he’s not the only one to faint when the creature gets up and runs.
Sethan’s looking over his shoulder. He’s never sure if that makes it better or worse. He doesn’t sigh and shake his head like Master Berwyk, he just grabs his hand and puts it back in the right spot now and then. Before long he’s actually got a respectable form and he’s summoned up a nice little blaze instead of the sad little sparks he’d usually manage on his own.
“Why are you helping me anyway?”
Sethan shrugs. “I felt like it.” Then there’s that crooked half grin that Kairn finds he’s growing used to. “Of course, now you owe me.”
“He’s not serious, is he?” Kairn’s looking in wide-eyed horror from one friend to the other. Sethan’s slouching against the wall, hands in his pockets, and Reida’s idly picking something out of her nails.
Across the room, Master Ephram examines, for at least the tenth time, the positioning of the corpse’s hands. There is a pair of interlocking sigils on the floor, one for the body, one for Ephram.
“How’s he going to get back out?”
“Not my concern,” says Reida as Ephram waves her towards the rings. She slips a stump of chalk from her pocket as she passes.
Kairn drops to his knees over the body. Behind him, Shasa’s on the ground, hands cupped over her mouth, crying.
Self defense indeed. Reida’s idea. He eyes the marking on his glove and swallows the bile that’s crept into his throat. Daliver has the same mark burned in angry red across the side of his face. He’s not moving, not breathing.
Kairn’s about to rip the glove off and hurl it to the ground when Shasa lets out another sob. He looks at her, huddled in the grass, whimpering and shaking, and he pulls it back tight over his hand.
He’s got a stepladder teetering beneath him, a can of paint in one hand, a brush in the other, and the eyes of a small boy set on him from across the room. Kairn sweeps one last stroke across the last in the chain of circles over the door. It won’t necessarily keep anyone out, but at least he’ll know if they try to get in. One more measure he’s started taking when they settle in a new home.
Shamino doesn’t ask, he just watches. Kairn supposes he figures it’s just another one of those strange things his uncle does.
Kairn’s pressing a wad of silk into her hands, and Lyssa’s looking at him like he’s lost his mind.
“What,” she says, “do you want me to do with this?”
“Touch the sigil, and think of me, and I’ll be able to hear you.” He scratches his head. “You know, if you’re ever in trouble or anything.”
“And what will you do then? Sit here and worry?”
“I’ll…well…Alright, don’t use it if you’re in trouble, then. Just say ‘hello’ sometime?”
She laughs as she stuffs the cloth down the neck of her blouse and Kairn turns red.
The lab feels like home. In twelve years he never once fully realized how much he missed it. Running for your life doesn’t leave much room for sentimentality.
Reida’s put him in charge of fire. Probably just so she can mock him. He supposes, to some extent, he missed that too.
And Sethan’s looking over his shoulder again as the bowl comes to him, but he doesn’t intervene on his behalf anymore.
Kairn invokes the sigil and the pink jelly in the bowl begins to bubble. He shoves it toward Sethan. There’s a body on the table needing a liver.
with Hot Fudge, Whipped Cream and Malt
Story : knights & necromancers
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1242 all the way through 1270's
Word Count : 800 (8-part pocky chain)
Malt Prompt : Pfah - Dark Ritual + Kairn + I'm just a child
So, I got the notion to do this after reading a few of Miyabi's pocky chains. I know my canon is huge and sprawling and crazy, and I do like to do montages now and then, so I thought I'd give doing a few, very character specific ones a try.
If you've never read me before, this might work well as a teaser for Kairn's story as a whole, though I admit it's fairly vague (it is pocky after all!) It also has at least one spoiler for those who do regularly read me.
Sigils. The language of the gods. Draw a circle, add a few lines, and poof! All it takes is a touch and a thought and you’ve got fire out of thin air, water out of sand, rocks thrusting up out of the dirt. Sure, Kairn’s not very good at conjuring up much more than sad looks from the Masters, but that doesn’t make the whole idea of it any less exciting, doesn‘t keep him from trying. How many other kids can say they’ve made so much as a little spark out of something they scribbled with a piece of chalk?
Power over life and death, that was the ultimate goal all along. And Master Berwyk makes every effort to remind them so as he paces the room. Like most of the rest of the class, Kairn’s not hearing half the words coming from the man. He’s too busy gaping at the dead rat dangling from his hand.
The old man drops the furry little corpse onto a fresh set of lines and touches the rim while the students hold their breath. Kairn will find out later he’s not the only one to faint when the creature gets up and runs.
Sethan’s looking over his shoulder. He’s never sure if that makes it better or worse. He doesn’t sigh and shake his head like Master Berwyk, he just grabs his hand and puts it back in the right spot now and then. Before long he’s actually got a respectable form and he’s summoned up a nice little blaze instead of the sad little sparks he’d usually manage on his own.
“Why are you helping me anyway?”
Sethan shrugs. “I felt like it.” Then there’s that crooked half grin that Kairn finds he’s growing used to. “Of course, now you owe me.”
“He’s not serious, is he?” Kairn’s looking in wide-eyed horror from one friend to the other. Sethan’s slouching against the wall, hands in his pockets, and Reida’s idly picking something out of her nails.
Across the room, Master Ephram examines, for at least the tenth time, the positioning of the corpse’s hands. There is a pair of interlocking sigils on the floor, one for the body, one for Ephram.
“How’s he going to get back out?”
“Not my concern,” says Reida as Ephram waves her towards the rings. She slips a stump of chalk from her pocket as she passes.
Kairn drops to his knees over the body. Behind him, Shasa’s on the ground, hands cupped over her mouth, crying.
Self defense indeed. Reida’s idea. He eyes the marking on his glove and swallows the bile that’s crept into his throat. Daliver has the same mark burned in angry red across the side of his face. He’s not moving, not breathing.
Kairn’s about to rip the glove off and hurl it to the ground when Shasa lets out another sob. He looks at her, huddled in the grass, whimpering and shaking, and he pulls it back tight over his hand.
He’s got a stepladder teetering beneath him, a can of paint in one hand, a brush in the other, and the eyes of a small boy set on him from across the room. Kairn sweeps one last stroke across the last in the chain of circles over the door. It won’t necessarily keep anyone out, but at least he’ll know if they try to get in. One more measure he’s started taking when they settle in a new home.
Shamino doesn’t ask, he just watches. Kairn supposes he figures it’s just another one of those strange things his uncle does.
Kairn’s pressing a wad of silk into her hands, and Lyssa’s looking at him like he’s lost his mind.
“What,” she says, “do you want me to do with this?”
“Touch the sigil, and think of me, and I’ll be able to hear you.” He scratches his head. “You know, if you’re ever in trouble or anything.”
“And what will you do then? Sit here and worry?”
“I’ll…well…Alright, don’t use it if you’re in trouble, then. Just say ‘hello’ sometime?”
She laughs as she stuffs the cloth down the neck of her blouse and Kairn turns red.
The lab feels like home. In twelve years he never once fully realized how much he missed it. Running for your life doesn’t leave much room for sentimentality.
Reida’s put him in charge of fire. Probably just so she can mock him. He supposes, to some extent, he missed that too.
And Sethan’s looking over his shoulder again as the bowl comes to him, but he doesn’t intervene on his behalf anymore.
Kairn invokes the sigil and the pink jelly in the bowl begins to bubble. He shoves it toward Sethan. There’s a body on the table needing a liver.