Winter 8/Witch Visit 2.1
I.F. Ister
Fortifying The Thread
- Pronouns
- He/They
[X] The Hut, where Hirkir resides
"Shapecrafters sometimes create shapecrafted defenses, so you should always keep an eye out while interacting with one," Hasvir explains as he carefully eyes the door. Finding it free of any tampering, he raps his knuckles against the repaired wood, "Hirkir, open up! It's me!"
A shuffling can be heard on the other side of the door as a choked yelp rings out. Things rattle as they fall to the ground, a soft crunch followed by a lengthy stretch of quiet swearing. Eventually, the bulbous voice of Hirkir comes barreling through the wood. "Who is 'me?'"
Hasvir hisses through clenched teeth, his eyes narrowing to fine lines. "Hirkir, I'm not playing around here. Open the door or I open it for you."
"No, no I don't think I wi-"
Wood creaks and groans as a fresh ravine is gouged into the surface. The air turns dry and crisp as Hasvir very casually allows the door to swing open to reveal the form of a somewhat plump man frozen in the entryway.
"-iieeelcome to my home, brother dearest!" Hirkir's broad smile is as strained as can be as he moves in for a hug. Hasvir's pointing finger stops him in his tracks as the air dries ever further.
"Take another step and I'll leave you looking like your front door," Hasvir growls as Hirkir's plastered-on smile falls away, fear flashing in his eye.
You pause in entering after him as your eyes dart between the brothers. Tension drapes across the room like a cat across a lap. But unlike with cat and mouse, the role of prey and predator is not so clear cut.
"How am I supposed to know you're my brother if I can't touch you?" Hirkir demands as his fingers wiggle in a rather confidence un-inspiring manner.
"If you touch me, you're going to slip in some kind of toxin organ." Hasvir's finger doesn't waver. Your lips start to chap from how dry the air is getting. Trausti looks particularly uncomfortable, as an ice specialist he has to be feeling the heat harder than most.
"So? If you really are my brother, then you'll have nothing to fear!"
"If I had let you put something like that in me before, you would have triggered it the moment you heard my voice."
"And if you had died, then you wouldn't have been my brother!"
...You now see why people don't always load up on shapecrafting, if this is the ordeal they have to go through every time they want more work done to them.
Regardless, this isn't going anywhere fast.
What do you do?
[ ] Intervene (Silver-Tongue Check)
-[ ] Write in an argument to bolster your rolls
[ ] Check on the Witch's corpse while you leave the brothers to sort everything out
0~0~0
AN: Short one, yes, but I'm shooting for a few updates today
No moratorium, short vote.
"Shapecrafters sometimes create shapecrafted defenses, so you should always keep an eye out while interacting with one," Hasvir explains as he carefully eyes the door. Finding it free of any tampering, he raps his knuckles against the repaired wood, "Hirkir, open up! It's me!"
A shuffling can be heard on the other side of the door as a choked yelp rings out. Things rattle as they fall to the ground, a soft crunch followed by a lengthy stretch of quiet swearing. Eventually, the bulbous voice of Hirkir comes barreling through the wood. "Who is 'me?'"
Hasvir hisses through clenched teeth, his eyes narrowing to fine lines. "Hirkir, I'm not playing around here. Open the door or I open it for you."
"No, no I don't think I wi-"
Wood creaks and groans as a fresh ravine is gouged into the surface. The air turns dry and crisp as Hasvir very casually allows the door to swing open to reveal the form of a somewhat plump man frozen in the entryway.
"-iieeelcome to my home, brother dearest!" Hirkir's broad smile is as strained as can be as he moves in for a hug. Hasvir's pointing finger stops him in his tracks as the air dries ever further.
"Take another step and I'll leave you looking like your front door," Hasvir growls as Hirkir's plastered-on smile falls away, fear flashing in his eye.
You pause in entering after him as your eyes dart between the brothers. Tension drapes across the room like a cat across a lap. But unlike with cat and mouse, the role of prey and predator is not so clear cut.
"How am I supposed to know you're my brother if I can't touch you?" Hirkir demands as his fingers wiggle in a rather confidence un-inspiring manner.
"If you touch me, you're going to slip in some kind of toxin organ." Hasvir's finger doesn't waver. Your lips start to chap from how dry the air is getting. Trausti looks particularly uncomfortable, as an ice specialist he has to be feeling the heat harder than most.
"So? If you really are my brother, then you'll have nothing to fear!"
"If I had let you put something like that in me before, you would have triggered it the moment you heard my voice."
"And if you had died, then you wouldn't have been my brother!"
...You now see why people don't always load up on shapecrafting, if this is the ordeal they have to go through every time they want more work done to them.
Regardless, this isn't going anywhere fast.
What do you do?
[ ] Intervene (Silver-Tongue Check)
-[ ] Write in an argument to bolster your rolls
[ ] Check on the Witch's corpse while you leave the brothers to sort everything out
0~0~0
AN: Short one, yes, but I'm shooting for a few updates today
No moratorium, short vote.