NorseQuest (A Norse Xianxia)

Talking to Drifa
Drifa crouches in the middle of the field, hands on her knees and shoes flat against the ground. Golden stalks of grain that should've been harvested by now sway to and fro as gusts of wind playfully bat at healthy, red strands of hair.

Drifa's dress — of soft blue, woolen make — is spackled with mud and dirt, more than enough evidence of the kind of things she likes to get up to. A girl after your own heart.

"How goes it, cousin-mine?" Drifa perks up as your words reach her ears. Springing to her feet — which sends her shooting well beyond the grain-ears — she bounces to a stop before you as her hair whips in the wind.

"Halla!" She sings your name as she wraps her arms around your waist — and the baby bump slowly, but steadily, growing from your stomach. Ever since the battle with the nisse-turned-monstrosity, she's practically worshipped the ground you walk on. She's even gone as far as claiming one of the larger Asvir boys as 'her Abjorn', not that she really understands what such a thing means.

Fortunately, Sten took it in good humor and didn't do anything untoward after tracking the boy down and cornering him in a dark alleyway. So that's nice.

With a slight surge of strength, you peel your niece away from your unborn children. While she would never mean you or them any harm, she is young and simply doesn't know her own strength. She's surprisingly strong for her age, as many of the Asvir boys perilously learned.

Casting your gaze past the smiling face of your eldest niece, you lay eyes on the greenery she had been studying. It's a tiny growth, a spring shoot far out of season. It won't survive the winter, so what has it capturing Drifa's attention so?

Crouching down beside Drifa, you jerk a finger at the plant — the ground surrounding it heavily scorched and lightly smoking. "What've you got here?"

"A plant!" She says matter-of-factly, her hands on her hips and pride in her spine. "A magic one!"

A brow arches upon your face. You don't doubt her, she's not one to tell tall tales, but children often find many mundanities magical, "a magic plant? What makes it magic?"

"Because it keeps living after I burn it?" She looks at you like you're the silly one.

The right brow joins its brother high on your head. If that's the case... it truly would be magical. "Can you show me?"

She grins, big and wide, as she rolls up a slightly singed sleeve. Crimson orthstirr sparks as licks of flame ignite in her palm. Thrusting her palm forward, she drenches the little sproutling in crimson fire.

This continues on for a few seconds as the ground darkens ever further. By the time the flames let up, the plant is as fine as ever. In fact, it almost seems to be better, to be slightly bigger than it was before.

You find yourself doubting that such a thing is your kin, so how can it thrive in fire?

What is this plant?

"See?" Drifa gestures at the plant, her palm smoking painlessly as she points, "Magic."

You nod almost absent-mindedly as Blackhand begins to speak, the lesson clear even before words leave his 'lips.'

'In order to understand the unknown, you must engage it with all of your senses. Touch, Sight, Hearing, Smell, and, last of all, Taste.'

Your lips curl down as you regard the small hint of unmarred green peeking from the scorched ground. Do you really want to eat some random seed?

[ ] Of course you do, why is this even a question?
[ ] Pass on this for now, go talk to someone else or enter the house
-[ ] Sten, at the forge
-[ ] Asva, with the milk
-[ ] Enter the Farmhouse

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AN: Not much to say here.

No moratorium and short voting period.