ISKRA
There is a valid point to fire being best enjoyed at night, at least in the most theatrical sense. It could certainly roar and roast merrily through the day, enticing everyone over to warm hands, a staple already around the city, but perhaps with a more tremendous fire pit to really offer some spectacle. At night however, it becomes encompassing, and it'd be then that Nina and other tales and shapes could really play their part.
"I would be so in for sled racing," he agrees swiftly, glancing over a the Warden with a semblance of boyhood. "Could even get some enchanted ones going at the Gilded Market. Perhaps smoke screens or jumping sleds, or something." Personalities built into the wood, perhaps proving to be the difference between a victory or a burn out.
Iskra continues to strike at the fallen tree, his strength and approach cleaving through the bark as much as his axe does. "Well," he grunts, the effort breaking apart his words as he explains to the best of his abilities. "The few times I've seen it done, someone has torches they're juggling or spinning about. Then it becomes a two-sided torch pole that they twirl, and so on it builds until they and the fire appear to move as one, but nothing burns. It's not fire magic, so much as it is someone who can dance with fire." It's own impressive feat, because it requires technique in avoiding the blaze whereas magic requires the thought of it.
Depositing the split pieces, working almost in tandem with Deimos, Iskra considers for a moment as he brushes his hands off on his pants before pursuing more chopping. "Guess it just started to feel like home after a while." The simplest truth, really. He takes his axe back in hand, driving it into the wood repeatedly. "I originally came here to get away from my old home and the death of my mother. Tried to give myself as opposite a life as possible to the one I knew." He doesn't add that he did so specifically to keep the memories at bay, not that it seemed to do him any better than the bottle. Or maybe it did, and staying in Torchline would have been far worse, and he left more in ruin than now.
"While I only meant to be here until I felt better... that took longer than I expected, and I found a part of myself here I didn't even realize I was missing." Gathering up more of the broken apart wood, he deposits it in the sled and leans into his shoulder to wipe away his sweat. "Now, I go back to Torchline and it doesn't feel like home anymore. Things have changed." He shrugs faintly. "Not everything, but home is here now." Picking a bit of wood that dove between his fabric to rub at his skin, Iskra regards their work. "Think this is cleared enough?"
"I would be so in for sled racing," he agrees swiftly, glancing over a the Warden with a semblance of boyhood. "Could even get some enchanted ones going at the Gilded Market. Perhaps smoke screens or jumping sleds, or something." Personalities built into the wood, perhaps proving to be the difference between a victory or a burn out.
Iskra continues to strike at the fallen tree, his strength and approach cleaving through the bark as much as his axe does. "Well," he grunts, the effort breaking apart his words as he explains to the best of his abilities. "The few times I've seen it done, someone has torches they're juggling or spinning about. Then it becomes a two-sided torch pole that they twirl, and so on it builds until they and the fire appear to move as one, but nothing burns. It's not fire magic, so much as it is someone who can dance with fire." It's own impressive feat, because it requires technique in avoiding the blaze whereas magic requires the thought of it.
Depositing the split pieces, working almost in tandem with Deimos, Iskra considers for a moment as he brushes his hands off on his pants before pursuing more chopping. "Guess it just started to feel like home after a while." The simplest truth, really. He takes his axe back in hand, driving it into the wood repeatedly. "I originally came here to get away from my old home and the death of my mother. Tried to give myself as opposite a life as possible to the one I knew." He doesn't add that he did so specifically to keep the memories at bay, not that it seemed to do him any better than the bottle. Or maybe it did, and staying in Torchline would have been far worse, and he left more in ruin than now.
"While I only meant to be here until I felt better... that took longer than I expected, and I found a part of myself here I didn't even realize I was missing." Gathering up more of the broken apart wood, he deposits it in the sled and leans into his shoulder to wipe away his sweat. "Now, I go back to Torchline and it doesn't feel like home anymore. Things have changed." He shrugs faintly. "Not everything, but home is here now." Picking a bit of wood that dove between his fabric to rub at his skin, Iskra regards their work. "Think this is cleared enough?"
Swinging my axe, instead of sleeping
Swinging my axe, my splinters are bleeding
Swinging my axe, these cuts are too deep and I feel like I’m freezing
Swinging my axe, my splinters are bleeding
Swinging my axe, these cuts are too deep and I feel like I’m freezing
