Inbox - Fade Rift

[nonvenomous]

Book/crystal/correspondence/action/whatever you desire.

Comments

definitely not almost a month later

[wythersake]

"Oh, you don't want to do that," Edging an elbow about his. "Orlesians are dreadful."

Richard speaks, if one may call it speech — there are things that hiss in dreams, that wind through paths of Fade. Few of them own tongues, but every night, you can listen.

You can grow used to anything.

He listens, and it isn't casual; not really. The tension in his hands draws them up new, knuckles lifted with a degree of care not present about the apple. And something in the staff slithers, reaches for itself.

[nonvenomous]

There’s no glimmer or glow to mark the incantation taking hold between them -- Richard’s spellwork is as severe as the rest of him, and in this case, all but indistinguishable from prayer. Raw, healthy material builds its way out of the break at a crawl, virgin wood following the grain to bridge the gap from both sides.

No more than a minute has passed when Richard winds down into a silence that the growth continues beyond, the eerie trickle of cells through a rapid cycle of growth and death just audible beneath the rustle of his breath.

The new wood is a shade or two lighter than the staff around it, not yet having endured the rigors of weather or travel or combat under a mage’s hand, but otherwise seamless. Natural.

He lifts his hands with a hope you weren't expecting something more spectacular glance, and withdraws an easy step, leaving Isaac room to admire or test it as he sees fit.