04-03-2015, 07:57 PM
One moment he’s standing in a gathering of warriors around a strange stallion that yet brings a feeling of déjà vu to the once-general: he swears he doesn’t know the bay stallion but yet he is familiar. It irks him, leaving him distracted though he spouts the requested information with no shame – yes he’s been lax of late (who hasn’t?) but he is still the renowned warrior that he always was. His other life responsibilities have not dulled his skills. And then, suddenly, he is no longer standing in the Tundra but in tepid, disgusting water.
He thinks in mild annoyance how much he dislikes magic, but he can’t waste time wondering whether it is the Tundra’s magic or the stranger’s because he is sure neither have dumped him in a pleasant land of rainbows and babies. His wings will be useless here but still he mantles them, lifting them from the water where they would drag and be a nuisance; at the same time he spots the crocodiles in the murky water, already starting to edge towards him, no more than their eyes and the ridges of their backs above the surface of the swamp.
His wings are useless here, as is his ice, but he has fought without both before, as annoying as it is. Instead he summons a strong wind from behind him, miserably strong, and focused through magic to blow in such a concentrated area as to mostly part the waters before him, making him a path that is fetlock-deep instead of miserably chest-deep. The mud beneath is still sticky and impeding but less so than such an expanse of water, and so Brennen responds also to the push of the wind and moves forward himself, stepping lightly and keeping a wary eye on the scaly predators. Best case scenario, they are uncomfortable with his magics and they leave, but if not he is light on his feet and ready to charge forward in a flurry of hooves and hope to push past them.
He thinks in mild annoyance how much he dislikes magic, but he can’t waste time wondering whether it is the Tundra’s magic or the stranger’s because he is sure neither have dumped him in a pleasant land of rainbows and babies. His wings will be useless here but still he mantles them, lifting them from the water where they would drag and be a nuisance; at the same time he spots the crocodiles in the murky water, already starting to edge towards him, no more than their eyes and the ridges of their backs above the surface of the swamp.
His wings are useless here, as is his ice, but he has fought without both before, as annoying as it is. Instead he summons a strong wind from behind him, miserably strong, and focused through magic to blow in such a concentrated area as to mostly part the waters before him, making him a path that is fetlock-deep instead of miserably chest-deep. The mud beneath is still sticky and impeding but less so than such an expanse of water, and so Brennen responds also to the push of the wind and moves forward himself, stepping lightly and keeping a wary eye on the scaly predators. Best case scenario, they are uncomfortable with his magics and they leave, but if not he is light on his feet and ready to charge forward in a flurry of hooves and hope to push past them.