Sylphe
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Among the colourful crowds of the championship, a shrouded person is both hidden well and in a constant danger of being found out.
The amount of people was dizzying. Milo moved in a bit of a haze, sensing so many energies and lives glittering around him. And though it was a sensation hidden deep, with this many people it pressed on his mind regardless.
Returning to the site of one’s defeat suddenly didn’t sound like the best idea.
Who would’ve thought?
Moving the white hood off his face just enough to see better, he noticed an alleyway that quite a few folks seemed to avoid, most of them already entranced by the arena’s subtle pull. It was strange not feeling it today. Or, perhaps, not with such power. It was… freeing.
Though as he was about to disappear, he noticed a stand just by the entrance. Well, he was already headed into the Grand Arena anyway. If he were to suffer that amount of people, he could at least cheer on a few of the unfortunate from the stands. From safety. Not that he had much of an inkling of those that fought, but he’d learn soon enough. A few, though, he caught the stories of already, mostly from the medics he hung around for those past few weeks, running errands. So without much thought, he asked for flags of the ones that did catch his attention. He reached out for the purchased items with a pale arm, and for a moment the shopkeeper paused. A tattoo adorned Milo, a mighty dragon coiling around his pale forearm, done in ink that appeared black at first, yet glinted with thundering and cold blue when it moved, like an iridescent wing or a precious stone. It exuded a strange, electrifying chill on his skin.
How much elemental magic do you plan to infect yourself with?
The mind is not a constant, neither is the soul. For us, even the body is in a flow.
Hey, he managed to rhyme that. Dismissing the thought, he gave the stunned shopkeeper a small wink and smile.
"Excuse me."
"Right! Sorry! I got distracted! Reallynicedragonbythewayyyyyy-" Two flags landed in front of him. Pitch black, with a silvry horse. Pure white, with the gold embroidery of a four-armed creature. But the smile ran into a hurdle, a quiet, nervous pause as the shopkeeper lady squinted, and it became painstakingly obvious she was trying to figure out why the man under the hood was so familiar.
He shouldn’t have spoken. Oh dear. Why did he-
"Are you…?" Her voice brimmed with thinly veiled excitement as her eyes began, uh, glittering. Literally. Was this lady a light mage? That could explain why the flags he was hurriedly stuffing into his cloak shimmered with colour.
With a finger to his lips he silenced her. He took a careful glance to one side and another, and despite the chatter and droves of folk around them, nobody seemed to notice her little yelp. So, softly, he nodded, and watched her eyes light up like the noonday sun.
Some days he had to wonder if all of those folks whose magic set their eyes aglow could really still see. It didn’t make sense for them to. But magic liked to break every rule biology set down, and after years of working with both, the most he could do to complain was a deep sigh.
"Hold on, please, I’ve got something for you!"
"No, no, please don’t bother-" But she was already at the back of the store, leaving Milo alone to ponder yet another possible mess he got himself into, and also the rest of the shopper’s merch he didn’t pay attention to. Like the parasols the lady was currently rummaging around in, without a doubt enchanted to disperse or absorb light in tune with the shopkeep’s (supposed) strengths. He’d wished he had something like that back when the winds of combat tore away his hood. The sun that day was merciless.
"Here!" She nearly slammed down a parasol before him, making him wince a little bit. Ma’am. Lady. I’m trying to stay undercover here.
"I can’t." He whispered, though he did gingerly pick up the item. It looked fairly simple at first, with red fabric and light, but pretty patterns. Milo gave the shopkeeper an eye. It looked like she was waiting for him to do something.
Maybe… Taking the parasol over his person, he opened it, and…
Oh. And suddenly, as he became veiled in darkness and starlight, he felt things slowly clicking into place. In awe, the mage looked up to see that the parasol had a whole night sky trapped underneath, impossibly deep with the darkest blue he had ever seen.
"I… this is beautiful. How much is it?"
"Ohnono! Just take it! Well I mean, would be really helpful if you could uh, uh, wear it? Promote the brand?"
He didn’t look very impressed. With the idea, that is. With the parasol and skill? Very. Slight irritation crept into his voice.
"What is your name?"
"Madeline-"
He almost gave her a jolt, leaning in sharp, hands nearly slamming against the counter.
"Listen, Madeline. I’ve already got enough trouble from people thinking I save candy stands from dragons."
"That was you?" Madeline blinked.
Damn it. And just like that, the whole attempted scary display dissolved into awkward voice jumps.
"Uh, maybe. But- Look. I… I don’t enjoy attention too much. So, please…"
"The uh! The parasol! Protects against prying gazes!"
"…That… sounds like a lie," Milo deadpanned, not noticing that something else crept into his voice. The feathers lining the man’s face – were they darker and fluffier the more the parasol’s
darkness touched on them? A second voice, almost like ideas rather than words, accompanied his own.
Lying? Madeline, are you lying?
You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?
With a slightly amused eyeroll, the mage took the shopkeeper’s hands into his. He didn’t mind the flush she had, trying to not notice, though it did ping at the back of his mind like all blood did. Pitch black and red flashed through his eyes, feathers fluttering.
He let go, hurriedly snatched the parasol, checked the hood over his head, and dissappeared back into the moving crowd. Madeline blinked. In her open palms glistened a ruby, the crystal’s black and red eating surrounding light up instead of reflecting it like any sensible gem would.
Finally having made it to the alleyway, Milo exhaled, back against the wall.
What was that?
Stupid, that’s what that was.
In his hands rested the beautiful parasol. Closed at the moment. He shook his head and walked. Surely the arena wouldn’t mind if he took a small detour through the less crowded pathways. Not as many voices, less headaches, less yelli-
"WINDCUTTER!"
What.
Windcutter?
Windcutter, Windcutter windcutter. Windcutter windcutter windcutter windcutter, windcutter windcutter. Windcutter windcutter windcutter windcutter windcutter windcutter, windcutter.
"Windcutter?"
"Windcutter, windcutter! Windcutter windcutter windcutter!" Windcutter. Windcutter, windcutter – windcutter windcutter windcutter. Windcutter windcutter windcutter windcutter, windcutter. Windcutter windcutter!
Windcutter windcutter?
Windcutter.
Milo blinked, rubbing his temples. How did he end up in the Grand Arena stands again? There was a kobold, a very loud kobold with a sword, and windcutter windcutter-
NOPE. Some things were best not thought about too hard.
He leaned over and out, regarding the rising pillars and booming voices. Even still, even months later, his heart rose in its beat, skin crawling.
I’m safe here, I’m not fighting.
Milo worked to get a deep breath or two in through the heated, still air. Not a paragon, he tried to tell himself, through something about those words felt untrue and wrong.
Darkness fell over the Arena. And though the dragon on his arm swirled and danced as Ice and Energy were called, it was now that he felt something else, something different, the shadows seemingly lagging behind as they fell over him.
Always a paragon.
And suddenly, his presence at the event was not stressful, suddenly, it was calming. Calling fire. With the last of the announcements and first blows of combat called, Milo called out with excitement, feathers joining in, a flag of Light in one, Darkness in other.
"Sonder! Exudation! GIVE THEM HELL!"
< Message edited by Sylphe -- 8/21/2022 15:16:24 >
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