Lighting it up, going to burn to the ground
It's effort, extremely so, to keep from barking out a side-peeling laugh as the smug man is sent howling and dipping away from the fire with his hands clamped over his ass. He looks, briefly, like a fat emu running amuck. The best part of all, is the fire has singed through his pants and underwear, revealing a flash of skin, appearing like he'd had such a volatile fart it pierced his clothing, and thusly Iskra names him too. "The posterior to fear!" Kinder portions of the crowd still cheer, the sort that favor participation trophies over actual quality (be it of work or character), and certainly the healers in the massess can't keep from tending to someone in need.
He absolutely slides a contented expression towards Melita once the focus is drawn away, impressed as ever by her capabilities. The next rounds are a give and take between them, altering flame and success alike, until it seems they've exhausted the participants for now. Some even, have no interest in continuing on, but others, like firehawk, are emboldened to test themselves on this newest tier.
In good display of a visual increase in scale, Iskra adds more wood to the fire, purposefully stacking some higher in the middle. The flame naturally draws itself taller, thicker, hotter, but he funnels into it as well. Less red and orange, more yellow and flickers of white now, heat like the breath of consumption as wood snaps and curls into ash. "BEHOLD!" he says with raised voice, the tone lifting along with his arms as he faces the crowd and stalks before the fire. "A bonbonfire." Bonfire squared, even.
This time, when Iskra demonstrates, he does his running start again, but parts the flame before him. It's subtle, his body blocking the view of it for most everyone, and he keeps the opening small. It's risky still, heat alone flashing over his skin with teeth that sizzle at hair and bead up sweat and red hue, but he toes that line with a familiarity with how far he can push the fire. Similarly he arcs it out behind him, and it washes against the shield on his back as he makes it look like it flares and billows from his movement through it, when in reality he pulls it out and away from him as he glides through, as unharmed as a deer prancing over a den of wolves.
He absolutely slides a contented expression towards Melita once the focus is drawn away, impressed as ever by her capabilities. The next rounds are a give and take between them, altering flame and success alike, until it seems they've exhausted the participants for now. Some even, have no interest in continuing on, but others, like firehawk, are emboldened to test themselves on this newest tier.
In good display of a visual increase in scale, Iskra adds more wood to the fire, purposefully stacking some higher in the middle. The flame naturally draws itself taller, thicker, hotter, but he funnels into it as well. Less red and orange, more yellow and flickers of white now, heat like the breath of consumption as wood snaps and curls into ash. "BEHOLD!" he says with raised voice, the tone lifting along with his arms as he faces the crowd and stalks before the fire. "A bonbonfire." Bonfire squared, even.
This time, when Iskra demonstrates, he does his running start again, but parts the flame before him. It's subtle, his body blocking the view of it for most everyone, and he keeps the opening small. It's risky still, heat alone flashing over his skin with teeth that sizzle at hair and bead up sweat and red hue, but he toes that line with a familiarity with how far he can push the fire. Similarly he arcs it out behind him, and it washes against the shield on his back as he makes it look like it flares and billows from his movement through it, when in reality he pulls it out and away from him as he glides through, as unharmed as a deer prancing over a den of wolves.
Iskra
