11-20-2021, 10:44 AM
T U M U L T
Others eventually come, none of whom he recognizes. He has kept to himself mostly since arriving here, but he is admittedly a little surprised at how many show up at the top of this strange mountain for a reason that is still unknown to them. He does not know who the man is that has called them—does not realize he is more god than man, though he cannot deny the unnamable energy that seems to emanate from him. Everyone around him listens in rapt attention to what is being said, but the more he hears, the more skeptical he becomes.
He knew little of magic—real magic, and not just the lesser things that make up his wings and let him conjure small storms—and the unknown made him uneasy, but he also harbors a stubborn streak that will not allow him to leave. Besides, all this talk of magic and the mountain had, at the very least, stoked his curiosity. This land, the longer he stayed, continued to unearth more mysteries than he could comprehend, and this seemed as good a chance as any to witness the revealing of one firsthand.
He did not understand why they were digging, but he was interested enough to at least try.
Some of them go to the gray stallion, asking for assistance, while others use the gifts they already possess. He eyes those that asked the man for help a little suspiciously, since truly this entire ordeal seemed off, and he wasn’t about to sign himself away on an irreversible deal. Instead he moves over to the other side of a hole another had started, and steadily he begins to paw at the earth. Dirt and stone shift and move beneath the force of his hoof, and he alternates between one front leg and then the other, but it does not take long for him to realize this is clearly a Sisyphean task. His shoulders ache and each hoof is now worn into a strange shape, and the idea that they could dig to the bottom of anything seemed ludicrous.
He stops, looking up at the man that watches them through a tangle of forelock that clings to his sweat-soaked face.
He had watched him make that indent in the earth with a mere press of his hoof.
He could have likely completed this task without any of them, without any effort at all, and so what was the point in having them all here toiling away, other than he simply liked to watch others do his bidding?
His eyes lift to the skies above, and he sets his jaw in determination.
The clouds darken and churn, matching the stormy expression that brews on his face. Even though he has by no means mastered this particular skill, he was not going to manually dig another inch without having tried. And so he summons a storm, knowing full well that once it starts it will take on a life of its own and be out of his hands, but he shapes the beginning of it in such a way that he hopes it will spin itself into a tornado. It might not make landfall in the exact hole he had been working on, but at this point it could take them all out and he can’t really say he would care.
Of course, as he had worried, it does not go as he had planned.
A thunderstorm does indeed begin to form, but no tornado springs from the base of it. The thunder rumbles, rolling across the sky like a boulder. He watches with intense focus, willing for the storm to craft itself into what he needs, and he is so fixed on the sky that he does not notice as the others begin to plummet through the bottom of the holes as they reach them. Lightning begins to flash, followed by another clap of thunder after a brief pause. He notices though how that stretch of time between lightning and thunder starts to shorten, decreasing until his skin prickles in apprehension, at the realization of what he has just done.
The next lightning strike is different from the rest, nearly apocalyptic in nature as it careens from the sky and straight to the earth below, narrowly missing the storm-cloud stallion that stood there foolishly watching. Instead it buries itself into the hole he still stands perilously close to, burrowing through the bottom of the earth, and when all the dirt around the edge collapses and caves into its center it sucks him down with it.
It happens so fast he does not have a chance to scream, and he realizes then why none of the rest had screamed either.
He knew little of magic—real magic, and not just the lesser things that make up his wings and let him conjure small storms—and the unknown made him uneasy, but he also harbors a stubborn streak that will not allow him to leave. Besides, all this talk of magic and the mountain had, at the very least, stoked his curiosity. This land, the longer he stayed, continued to unearth more mysteries than he could comprehend, and this seemed as good a chance as any to witness the revealing of one firsthand.
He did not understand why they were digging, but he was interested enough to at least try.
Some of them go to the gray stallion, asking for assistance, while others use the gifts they already possess. He eyes those that asked the man for help a little suspiciously, since truly this entire ordeal seemed off, and he wasn’t about to sign himself away on an irreversible deal. Instead he moves over to the other side of a hole another had started, and steadily he begins to paw at the earth. Dirt and stone shift and move beneath the force of his hoof, and he alternates between one front leg and then the other, but it does not take long for him to realize this is clearly a Sisyphean task. His shoulders ache and each hoof is now worn into a strange shape, and the idea that they could dig to the bottom of anything seemed ludicrous.
He stops, looking up at the man that watches them through a tangle of forelock that clings to his sweat-soaked face.
He had watched him make that indent in the earth with a mere press of his hoof.
He could have likely completed this task without any of them, without any effort at all, and so what was the point in having them all here toiling away, other than he simply liked to watch others do his bidding?
His eyes lift to the skies above, and he sets his jaw in determination.
The clouds darken and churn, matching the stormy expression that brews on his face. Even though he has by no means mastered this particular skill, he was not going to manually dig another inch without having tried. And so he summons a storm, knowing full well that once it starts it will take on a life of its own and be out of his hands, but he shapes the beginning of it in such a way that he hopes it will spin itself into a tornado. It might not make landfall in the exact hole he had been working on, but at this point it could take them all out and he can’t really say he would care.
Of course, as he had worried, it does not go as he had planned.
A thunderstorm does indeed begin to form, but no tornado springs from the base of it. The thunder rumbles, rolling across the sky like a boulder. He watches with intense focus, willing for the storm to craft itself into what he needs, and he is so fixed on the sky that he does not notice as the others begin to plummet through the bottom of the holes as they reach them. Lightning begins to flash, followed by another clap of thunder after a brief pause. He notices though how that stretch of time between lightning and thunder starts to shorten, decreasing until his skin prickles in apprehension, at the realization of what he has just done.
The next lightning strike is different from the rest, nearly apocalyptic in nature as it careens from the sky and straight to the earth below, narrowly missing the storm-cloud stallion that stood there foolishly watching. Instead it buries itself into the hole he still stands perilously close to, burrowing through the bottom of the earth, and when all the dirt around the edge collapses and caves into its center it sucks him down with it.
It happens so fast he does not have a chance to scream, and he realizes then why none of the rest had screamed either.
CAN YOU TELL ME, WILL I BREAK OR WILL I BEND?
