[SE] It only takes one little thing to light a spark

Iskra

I'm chasing starlight to find it's died away

Deimos or Zenith pick whichever of the threads I made you prefer! This one will be the poem.

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The fires around Snowcloak hissed as Iskra dropped a log into them. He'd been splitting some of the bigger pieces earlier this morning, and now, like a barn kid feeding carrots to all the eager ponies, he was drifting from brazier to pit and tossing in every manner of kindling and log he had hauled with him. At his side, Goose trotted along, nose to the ground as he assessed their route. Every so often, he'd lift a leg and drizzle his mark on the surrounding scenery.

As his bag lightened, Iskra found himself pausing at one fire pit that had several empty seats around it. His muscles ached with even the smallest movements, and his clothing was littered with fragmented wood. He supposed he could stop and rest, just for a little while. Part of him was loathe to do so, because it made getting back up that much harder. A smaller, quieter, but insistent part of him also told him he did not deserve rest. What had he done recently that was so tiring? Drank, and slept, and foraged for flowers.

"Just for a little," he told to protesting, cruel voice as he shuffled to the end of a bench and sat with a groan.

We are all stardust

Halo was cold, but Zen was finding that he didn't mind it all that much. At least, not Flowerbirth level of cold. He wasn't sure if he could handle Deepfrost in Halo. There was something charming about the snow and the bustle of people traversing it that was soothing. The region was quieter than Torchline, which was also a plus. The Demi-god pulled the hood of his coat tighter around himself as a gust of wind went by. The snow carried on it forced him to close his eyes for a moment before resuming his walk. It was still hard to believe that this was Flowerbirth weather.

Spotting an open fire pit, the Demi-god sped up. There was already a man present, but Zen paid him little mind as he stood and warmed his hands by the open flame. A silent sigh left him as he felt feeling return to his digits. Maybe he needed thicker gloves.

Reflections of the cosmos and the passage of time

Zenith

Iskra

I'm chasing starlight to find it's died away

Iskra lifted his gaze as a stranger bustled in next to the pit. He appraised him for a minute, recognizing well the gratitude for the heat. Actual Halo-born folk seemed nearly impervious to the cold, Iskra had always thought, but he was a Torchling babe, and he'd never lost that affinity for the tropical atmosphere. Unlike Zenith, though, he knew Halo rather well and had accumulated a wardrobe to combat it over the years.

"Hey. New here?" he smiled in greeting. "I'm Iskra, a woodcutter around here." In fact... Iskra leaned over to the bits of wood he still had with him. He'd only refueled the fires, but he could make this one a bit more intense with more fuel. He chucked a few additional logs in, brushing the splinters from his gloved hands when he was satisfied. "What brings you to Halo?"

We are all stardust

Zen paused, eyeing the man for a heartbeat before nodding. Stars formed in the air, bright blue standing out against the snow. (Zen.) The Demi-god relaxed as Iskar further fueled the fire, content to let the warmth of the higher flames soak into his bones. The wood cutter's gesture prompted a grateful nod as the stars shifted and reformed. (Just visiting. Exploring.) Before he made his inevitable trip east, the Demi-god wanted to explore the other region that was devoted to his mother.

Torchline seemed securely in Safrin's hold. Word on the street had made it clear that both rulers were loyal to his mother. Zen wanted to see how Halo compared. In fact, while he had a local here, he might as well ask for directions. (Any recommendations?) Learning more about the citizens and the places that they frequented was a solid first step. Even though he'd only been in Caido for a brief time, Zen had already learned just how valuable people watching was in gathering information.

Reflections of the cosmos and the passage of time

Zenith

bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones.

---

You've encountered the OG random event! This allows you to skip one levelling requirement with the character in this thread. (Unfortunately does not count for characters over level 10, how sad.)

Iskra

I'm chasing starlight to find it's died away

Iskra's eyes widened in surprise. First, at the strikingly, haunting sterling gaze the stranger leveled him with. An unnatural gaze, Iskra thought warily, as if something equally terrible and beautiful ran in the man's veins. Second, at the harnessed starlight that drifted midair, cosmic words answering in lieu of a voice. Zen, the stars said, and Iskra glanced at the man, repeating the word to be sure he understood it. "Zen? Well met." He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets and leaned into the pull of his jacket as he watched the next array of starlight scripture.

"Hmmm," Iskra mused aloud. He had lived in Halo for many years now, but given his tendencies to stay curled up in bed or isolated in the woods, he was probably one of the worst people to ask about the sights of the city. "Well the Citadel is a must see. Aside from its beauty alone, it also has our barracks and academy. It is where many stay and train, and where our decisions are made." Admittedly coming from a family of warriors, Iskra was proud to see Halo balance both the book and the sword so equally. Many cities tended to favor one over the other. "Not too far from here is the Kraai, a nice little bar where you can warm your spirits." Now that was one haunt Iskra did frequent in town. In fact, probably once the sun was setting, he'd be there.

"So where're you from then, if you're just exploring?"

We are all stardust

Zen inclined his head in agreement but otherwise didn't verbally or star-lly return the sentiment.

He listened as Iskra pointed out a few possibilities. The pride in the man's voice was clear, and it resonated with what Zen had seen from the stars. The citizens of Halo were clearly proud of their home and their people. They were certainly a hardworking region as well. Eyes flicking to the fire, the Demi-god added the Citadel and the Kraai to his mental list of places to visit. The stars condensed and reshaped in the air, (Thank you.)

The woodcutter's question was reasonable, but not easily answered. Zen took a moment, debating which location to claim heritage. Iskra seemed like a kind individual, but he didn't feel inclined to tell him the truth. (Torchline.) He may have only spent a few weeks there, but it was where he had landed after leaving his mother's domain.

Reflections of the cosmos and the passage of time

Zenith

Iskra

I'm chasing starlight to find it's died away

It was an interesting thing, Iskra mused, as he traced the words being scrawled by starlight with his eyes. He supposed, similar to when he wrote messages, that it was not as quick or as easy as speaking. That each letter fitting into each word had to be crafted, and words carefully chosen from the myriad among the language in order to be certain the message was kept clear. Tone of voice carried a lot of this weight usually, but given that Vesper hadn't murmured in the slightest, Iskra took it that these heavenly scrawlings were all the man could muster. He didn't blame the short, pointed words then, as he too tended to keep his writings brief.

He nodded at the home Zenith claimed, but did not speak further on it, not when reading it sent a pang in his heart. "With your practice, I'm guessing you've written a poem for Vox already?" Iskra asked with a slight smile. He did not wish to invite the Family's attention, so as irregular as it was, Iskra reached into his pocket and withdrew a bit of paper to do as was required. "I have not. Perhaps you could pass judgement on my attempt." Iskra reached forward and pulled a small, burnt stick from the fire pit. His hairs curled where the fire licked him, but he was quick and accustomed to such warm bites. Using the charcoal, he scratched out a sorry attempt.

Woods so lovely dark, and deep
Seems the place you'd creep
Yet in the mind
There you'll find
Vox

Iskra passed his paper to Zenith, ready for his scoring.

We are all stardust

Zen shook his head. He'd been heavily debating if he wanted to write a poem or not. Vox probably already knew about the Demi-god's existence so avoiding it likely didn't have any tactical advantage. Avoiding it however might invoke trouble with the Family before Zen was ready to deal with it.

Letting out a silent sigh, Zen took the offered sheet and read Iskra's poem. He shrugged afterwards, his stars morphing beside him. (Seems fine.) There was imagery, and it was relevant. Surely that was good enough for a scribbled poem.  Zen mimicked Iskra and retrieved his own charcoal. He winced slightly when the flame drew too close but was able to avoid being burned. It would have been easier to just use his stars, but Zen refused to put that amount of effort in for the Family. The mere idea of using the magic gifted to him from his mother in order to appease Vox made him nauseous.

Considering it for a moment, Zen wrote out his own poem below Iskra's and handed it to the man to read. The Demi-god wasn't proud of it, but for his first poem, he'd take it.

Burning brightly in the night
Their silent echoes ringing with spite

Always evading purple blight
The end nears for this fight

Stars are not meant to fall
Go home

Reflections of the cosmos and the passage of time

Zenith

There is a scent—ozone and scorched parchment, the tang of lightning on snow.

The flames in the brazier flicker blue. Briefly. Then purple. Then blue again.

A fizz of static cracks across the parchment, curling the edges of Zen’s poem just slightly. Not enough to burn. Just enough to hum. A faint, almost giddy vibration lingers on the page, and then—

Vox is there.

Not fully. Just a shimmer, a ripple in the air across the fire. Like heat haze with opinions.

"Oooooooooh," the distortion croons, delighted, many mouths not quite in sync, like a choir of jellyfish speaking through a broken phonograph. "Two for one? You shouldn't have!"

The words spin in a spiral across the firepit, flickering in and out of sight like a malfunctioning marquee. A few sparks drift upward—one shaped like a paper heart, another like a falling star, and one that might have resembled an anatomically correct lung if it hadn’t blinked.

"To the woodcutter," Vox intones, and the fire briefly bows toward Iskra like a gentleman. "An excellent first draft. Five out of five creeping things under the bed. I especially liked the pacing. It made my knees itch."

Then, the shimmer twitches toward Zen. A pause. A longer one. "Ah. You."

Silence. A crackle. Then, with uncharacteristic softness, like a whisper tucked behind a cough:

"Stars fall all the time, you know. That’s how islands are born. How you came to be, too."

The fire hiccups. Vox is gone.

Only the scent of singed stardust remains.

Iskra

I'm chasing starlight to find it's died away

Iskra's lips twitched, as if fighting back a smile, or trying to press one into shape, hard to say. Seems fine appeared to be the best praise he'd get out of the star-touched man. He supposed that was a good enough remark for his efforts, especially since he did not plan on converting his job into poetry. Idly Iskra stuffed the paper back in his pocket and threw his charcoal stick onto the fire. The brittle bits of its scattered into coals and a swatch of sparks danced up from the fire pit like their own set of stars.

Curiously he watched Zenith jot down his own writings, but this time as any other person would, the air devoid of the shimmering that they'd been speaking through thus far. Iskra wanted to ask why, but Zenith struck him as a rather private person, and he realized the why didn't really change anything, so he let the question die inside of him as the paper was passed over. Iskra leaned forward, arms perched on his knees as he held the sheet and read the charcoal scratchings. "Oooh, I love the ending!" Iskra grinned, passing the paper back to Zen.

Just then, the world shifted briefly. The hairs on Iskra's arm and the back of his neck stood on end. In the distance, where Goose had been lingering, never deciding to sit with Iskra or Zen, the dark barked deeply. Iskra drew up a halting hand towards his dog, a sharp command cutting through the air, bidding the husky to remain afar. The dog's outcry did not cease, but his body stilled, hackles raised like a violent sail. Iskra squinted against the backdrop of blue flame and quasi-real semblances of this vile man creature. His teeth grit against themselves, biting down on the electrical current that zipped around them, the air thick with the charge of wrongness.

It was over as quickly as it had started. That fact did not stop the hammer of Iskra's heart in his chest, could not drown the fire that raced in his veins, an innate need to call upon his meager power in a bid of defense against this otherworldly danger he had no hope against. Vox's intrusion left no remnants except for the fading din inside Iskra's head and the frayed edges of his nerves. The fire had returned to normal, its blue and purple tinge so absent, that one had to wonder if it had ever been there at all. The shimmering in the air, like a gossamer cloth they could rip from the heavens, was nothing more than the normal curl of smoke. Indeed, there was nothing for them to hold onto about this occurrence, and Iskra at once began to doubt if it had happened at all. A heavy drinker at times, this was not his first time chasing ghosts and memories, nor his first attempt to peel back reality from imagination like a stubborn back on a sticker. Only the acrid smell of singed light, an impossibility that he nonetheless experienced, grounded the woodcutter.

He rubbed at his beard in quiet disbelief, his gaze skipping over to Zen, to see if the man was equally rocked or if Iskra truly was going insane on his own over here. Goose's barking seemed to cut through a false silence that had settled around Iskra, the mongrel no longer able to heed the command and rushed forward, head thumping under Iskra's arm in an urgent assessment, tongue lashing at Iskra's face in anxious greeting. Iskra leaned into the dogs head, gripping the creature's fur as he hugged him tightly. Real — this was real. Goose, and their survival, unyielding still.

"I uh..." What did one say after something like that? It left ash in his mouth, as if that electricity Vox had appeared with had singed the enamel from his very teeth. "I have to go back to work," he said, excusing himself quickly, with barely even a farewell in the apologetic lift of his hands. He reached for his sack as he stood and strode away, not bothering to look back, dog in tow.

We are all stardust

Zen's lips twitched up at the praise, but it quickly turned into a grimace as he heard Vox's voice in his mind for the first time. The eldritch appearance twisted his stomach. The mockery of his magic forced his teeth to grit. All of it was even more unpleasant than he'd expected. Though, as he had expected, Vox was already aware of his existence. But something was off. Zen might not have heard the Family member's voice directly in his head before, but the Demi-god had heard enough about the eldritch being while listening to others to know that Vox was usually cheerful. That cheer seemed present as he addressed Iskra, but the sudden shift as he turned on Zen was clear. Was it because he was Safrin's Demi-god?

Apparently, though, Vox didn't understand metaphors. Or wordplay. Or perhaps Zen was too unfamiliar with poems to have properly gotten his point across. Zen was well aware that he was a fallen star himself. He thought he'd been clear enough that he was talking about Starfall not belonging, but maybe it was lost in translation. It only further angered the Demi-god

Iskra, however, seemed frazzled and before the man could leave, Zen reached over and gripped his shirt. Starry words formed, softer, almost gentle in their hues. (Be safe.) Letting go, the Demi-god let out a heavy, silent sigh as he, too, left the warmth of the fire.

-[FIN]

Reflections of the cosmos and the passage of time

Zenith