Court of the Fallen
[se] in the armory of your soul - Printable Version

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RE: [se] in the armory of your soul - Morgan - 06-14-2021

From the top of the structure, Morgan could feel a high cold wind and see further; honestly, even in the midst of all their fun, she had to take a moment just to appreciate the beauty of their snowy home - the white expanse spreading out into the foot of the mountains and the Citadel rising from it, the orange glow of lights within a contrast to the grey sky.

Looking back down, attention caught by the sound of snow finding impact, she saw Deimos and Noah quite happily destroying each other via snow. With a smirk, she knelt down and just to tease, let snowflakes fall from her hand with her magic; slow, flat flakes but heavy, like a curtain, raining down on the two men's heads; maybe not the same impact as a snowball, but they'd end up far more covered in snow.


RE: [se] in the armory of your soul - Deimos - 06-14-2021

Nothing but the wiles and action of childishness exuded from his form, a liberation away from the dirges, from the dregs, from the laments of yesteryears. Given over to antics and juvenile tendencies, a lapse in calculations, pervaded and surrounded by humor and stupidity, freely exuded in attuned armaments and ties and tethers of laughter. It echoed when he was hit once more from the shaken snow, rising out of the clumps bearing down upon him, in the way his gut hurt from the exuberance of chuckles bearing against his ribs, in the breathless wake of his exertions.

Before he could exact some measure of siege back upon Noah, flakes began to fall down upon his head. Glancing upwards, for he’d somehow forgotten Morgan in the crossfire, the Sword arched a brow, following the patterns of the sudden weather alteration, to see her incantations taking hold and shape. All she’d receive in response was a cheeky, boyish grin, and a volley of Air enchantments right back at her, intending to billow the elements in a rush, in a gale.

Now, for Noah’s comeuppance, the beast orchestrated another massive snowball – readying, volleying, and then hurling it towards the hunter’s proportion of shelter – intending to damage it beyond repair.


RE: [se] in the armory of your soul - Noah - 06-21-2021

Even as Noah retreated to hide behind the wall of snow he had previously, there was nothing he could do to shield himself from the attacks that followed. Morgan released a flurry upon his head, burying him to the mercy of her control over the element. Deimos charged his own control over water on her, as well as him. The largest of the snowballs so far descended upon him. the hunter brought his arms up to guard his head, but it crashed over his back and neck and arms just the same. He laughed, body shaking with the raucous frivolity of it all. [say]"Okay, okay, I think that's enough for me."[/say] He called, climbing over the ice wall and lifting his hands out to the other council members.


RE: [se] in the armory of your soul - Morgan - 06-21-2021

Her flurry went as planned, though Deimos did successfully blow quite a lot of the snow back up at her face. Morgan closed her eyes and sat up, constructing some kind of shield of ice before her but not before she was thoroughly covered in it. Ah well. She was hardly unused to snow.

She was in two minds about continuing, but Noah's absence made her mind up for her. [say]"Yes - I think we've proven we're all very skilled at snowball fights. Time for a drink by a fireplace."[/say] The Kraai was calling to her, with it's comfortable chairs by warm flames and the promise of a belly-firing beer. Easily jumping down onto a lower level then climbing to the ground, she looked the two men over. [say]"You're welcome to join me."[/say]


RE: [se] in the armory of your soul - Deimos - 06-21-2021

Deimos presented another juvenile, boyish grin as the assaults seemed to conjure a ceasefire, a surrender, from the hunter. He’d take it as a childish victory, shaking his head to rid himself of the flakes cast into his beard and hair. [say]“A truce then,”[/say] he muttered, arching a brow at Morgan’s indication – and the notions sounded far more pleasant after contenting themselves with foolishness. [say]“Until next time,”[/say] he warned with Cheshire intentions and a seditious, cheeky angle to his jaw, as if these demeanors weren’t going to be altered by time, space, politics, and a series of molten consequences.

[say]“Sure,”[/say] he accepted thereafter, glancing back to Noah, waiting for him to join, before they could saunter off towards the Kraai; simpler measures for simpler times.

{FIN}