trainingwings | (no subject)

Player Name: Prince/Dave
Are you new?: Y
Character Name: Kaladin Stormblessed
Character Fandom: Stormlight Archives

[Action:

Kaladin’s training kicks in fast, and he’s out of the loose flowing white clothes in seconds, reaching for his weathered blue uniform - the fabric thick but well used, a little rough but familliar between his fingers. Thats when he feels them first - the wings, sprouting from his back, feathered like the strange chicken’s from Shinovar, and completely alien. Also, completely attached to his back. He’d grasped at them a few times, trying to make sense of it, but eventually left them alone - it hurts when he tugged on the feathers, but he seemed to have some control of them. He shifts on his uniform, glad that they nestle (albeit slightly uncomfortably) against his shoulder blades. At least they were out of sight. Nothing could be done for the way they itch, just slightly though. He straightens the silver buttons of his uniform a single time, tan fingers tracing the lines one final time. His trusty spear is also suspiciously missing, and he is in the middle of a forest. Both of these things are deeply unsettling. Especially seeing as the foliage doesn’t recoil from his touch - or, indeed, from any pressure at all. It just sits there, still, in all its leafy glory, and the ground isn’t hard stone like in Roshar - on the contrary, its soft like sand but denser. He places a hand against the bark of a tree, and takes in a deep breath, trying to steady himself. There is a faint breeze that seems to whistle past one ear, then he sees something that resembles tousled leaves. From it, Syl appears. She glows with a faint blue light, and lands gently on his shoulder, the short gust of wind subsiding as she crumples up like a delicate paperdoll. She takes the form of a young woman only a few centimetres in height, with a skirt that hits about her knees, and seems to sway in a breeze that isn’t quite there. She hunkers down quietly, and leans against the collar of his shirt. He doesn’t ask where her usual cheer has gone - the dissonance between this… place and their own world is explanation enough. But he is glad for her company.]

[Accidental Video:]

What is this thing? [Kaladin picks up the journal, flicking open a page. Its set up strangely, thats for sure. Also, as he speaks, the words seem to be appearing on the page - yes, words that he can actually read. He makes a startled noise, narrowing brown eyes and raising a brow and pulling an incredulous face at the book between his hands. Glyphs, sure, he had been proficient at - but words? Reading? That was a women's art. He had a feeling it had something to do with the feathery protrusions on his back. After all, they were the most alien addition on top of the list of already obscure experiences. He decides continuing the conversation can't hurt his situation.]

If anyone is here.. or can explain anything about this place, now would be the time to show yourself!

[ He sort of raises his voice at the last part, but it just seems to echo through what seems to be the vast expanse of forest. No use for it then - he starts up walking. He has the feeling he's got a long way to go before he gets an explanation for any of this. ]

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[ Kaladin keeps his eyes straight, taking the lead. If his companion wanted to keep these things to himself, so be it. He found that prying often only agitated - besides, what kind of assassin freely gave his secrets? A poor one, at best, and a dead one at worst. The captain knew what he needed, and having agile and capable company would be enough.

The thought that this could all be some elaborate trap crossed his mind, and he made sure to take extra care - keeping himself exactly 3 paces ahead and taking many the precursory glance. Though the terrain was foreign and the noises completely bizarre, he felt a little assured in the knowledge that they would probably not run afoul any of the monsters from his home - no whitespines or chasmfiends to worry about. Just the curious little shelless, feathered creatures which flitted through the tree tops. The way the leaves stayed out still bothered him - what happened when a highstorm came? Did they even have high storms here? - but he pushed such thoughts to the back of his mind.

Syl, on the other hand, was not content with simply sitting by. With a resolution born of stubbornness, and armed with a childlike curiosity, she gathered her courage and swooped gently from her place at Kaladin's shoulder. She had no weight, so he didn't feel her go - but she rustled, just slightly, like branches in the wind, as she curiously poked about the stranger. His double pulse troubled her. She had yet to meet any man nor spren who ticked quite like this, and she was determined to get to the bottom of it. She flits about him for a moment, never resting still, till she finds the source. His chest. She flies up, in front of him, and for a moment, her breeze goes still. Her dress hangs limp about her knees, her hair so long it falls and curls about her feet. As though she is standing on an invisible floor that isn't quite there.

Then she reaches out a tiny, slightly translucent hand, and it sinks through the fabric of the man's jacket, and her finger tips touch it.

Her hand rests, just lightly, on the second heart.]

[ He doesn't think much of it at first, his eyes ahead on the road, and every so often, flick back to Kaladin, gauging his movements, learning him as carefully as he learned the tower guards.

He says nothing when the spirit moves closer, only to watch her too. Her curious glance, the way she shifted and danced closer.

There's no reaction, in the end, he doesn't rage and spill blood, not for this. There was no fighting a spirit. He simply swallowed the old pain (and new still, like a wound that could never close), and he heard the heart breath.

( I will be glad to rest ) And it double thumbed against his chest, cold and familiar. She sighed and wept and laughed and bubbled like time itself kept contained. ]

Leave her be, she has seen enough. [ Though in the end, even as he walks, he doesn't shove the strange spirit free. He simply stands, feet planted like he might take root. ]

[ Syl blinks, slowly, tiny hand still resting against the heart. She hears the woman's voice too, contained and trapped as it is in that wretched vessel, and tears herself away. It reminds her of shardblades, and she hears the voice of her people, of spren, trapped and contained within swords and then used for awful, awful things. She shudders, and insteads hugs herself tightly, as if caught in a chill. The short exchange catches Kaladin's attention, and he pauses long enough to flick a glance over his shoulder - Syl had appeared to people before, but usually, only if she deemed them worthy, or they specifically asked. She must be in full visibility for him, and she inches closer, hovering just before the nose of the mans mask. The captain doesn't falter in his stride however - if Syl wanted to commune with their masked companion, so be it. ]

You need to let her free. [ Syl states, voice small and quiet like the echo of a breeze. She stays there, still and motionless, her gaze pointed fixedly at the heart. Something dark was keeping her there. The little spren didn't like it at all. ]

[ His head tilted up and away, wary of having her so close. She was not of any realm he knew, and after the things he had seen done in the dark, he would not risk having her close enough to do him harm.

Do her harm.

( he could not lose her again ). ]

She is not mine to free. [ He hadn't done it to her, and he had no idea how she had come to be. Only that after days the sickening reality of it all sunk in, and by then, he already needed her too much. But he had always, always needed her. ]

[ Syl nods, just once, as if she understands, and looks very sombre. She's still hovering just infront of his nose, but the breeze that she always has seems to curl about her once more, making her skirts shift and hair flow. She nods a few times, as if thinking things over. Before looking back to him solemnly. ]

She seems very sad, to be stuck in there. But I think, once, she was very strong. Very just.

She would have wanted you to be, too.

[ his teeth grit and his words were a sharp bark. He was harsh because he had to be, must be, because it was all that was left to him, and he could not stand to see what rested underneath. ]

Desist, shade. [ he'd have drawn a blade if he thought it would help. ]

[ Syl huffed, affronted at being called a shade, her advice rather obviously ignored. She flits back to Kaladin's shoulder, and hunkers down there, comfortably tucking herself into the collar of his uniform.

Kaladin doesn't bother chancing a glance back at his companion, but does throw back a comment.]

So, you mentioned spirits before. Are there monsters lurking in the woods we should be wary of?

[ It seemed a legitimate enough concern. After all, the man had questioned if Kaladin was even real - that either spoke of madness, or spirits, or perhaps a combination of both. ]

(no subject)

bite the pillow im.. getting.. beaten???

fear the mighty assassin

death by pillow is not super fear inducing

look he could make it a broom. death by broom. would that be better.

slightly better. kaladin could probably use that broom. hes mighty useful with long shafts of wood.

... possess him and makes him throw himself into the sea

no subject