ORIGIN

The tunnel of emerald ferns opened up before him as the serpent slithered silently through the grove. His old skin caught on thorns and it began to peel from his ever growing body, revealing his shiny new, scales underneath. Relief washed over Septiezal as the dry, itching skin slid off his long, cylinder form. He was elated to finally have that retched thing off. This had to be his most difficult shed so far. He turn head to see his old scales handing on the Eridanus' foliage like a torn, dry, husk of his former self. For Septiezal, a new skin came new beginnings.

Septiezal left his old self behind. He came to this abundant cavern to rid himself of the dead skin. There was prey crawling everywhere. But a young cave deer stewing in his stomach, the python felt that his hunger was quite sated. He found himself to be growing quite bored. The low hanging leaf of a fern brushed against his side, tickling scales as he crept past. Septiezal slapped the plant aside with his tail, somewhat fed up with its sneaky leaves. A thought came to him as he turned to looked at the weeping fern. He had never tried to burn a plant before. Sure, he had charred sticks, but they weren't live plants. An grin stretched across his face as he felt his onyx summon heat. He should burn this fern.

Septiezal opened his mouth and breathed on the green leaves, expecting heat to roll out of his throat and onto the poor fern, but to his confusion, only as mere hiss escaped his lungs. His looked around, feeling a little embarrassed. He hoped no one saw him hiss at a fern.



"Speech."
Thoughts...

Septiezal turned back to fern and frowned. His magic had bailed on him. That was quite disappointing. He brought his tail up to tap on his stone as if there were something inside that was blocking his success.

I'll just have to try again. he thought casually.

He lifted his head higher, bending in an "S" curve as if to intimate the fern. The day he could cast his spells without concentrating would be the day he tamed fire. Another airy hiss escaped his throat as he focused on conjuring heat in his lungs. The black stone grew hotter once again as the scales around it glowed with heat. This time, he new he had control, or rather, his element was choosing to obey him. He felt the air in his lungs grow to an uncomfortable temperature, a sure sign that it was ready. Septiezal lurched forward and stretched his jaws wide, unleashing searing heat unto the fern. He watch in amazement as its green leaves shriveled up before his eyes and crumbled to the ground as if it had been through a cruel drought.

"Cool." Septiezal breathed, his tone fluctuated with amusement. He felt a grin slowly stretch across his snout. If that's what a plant looked like when he breathed heat on it, he wanted to see on engulfed in flames.

"Speech."
Thoughts...

The serpent's gaze flitted to the emerald shrubs towering over him like leafy sheep. How beautifully they would burn if they engulfed in golden flames. Septiezal slid out his sooty tongue, contemplating on the decision. To him, these shrubs seemed like nice target practice for a new spell, and he knew exactly who it would be intended for. With a little imagination, he could make out the shape of Mosi's face out of the leaves. The python's eyes flared at the unpleasant memory he had with this Gembound. Septiezal was not one to hold grudges for long, but this beast had planted hurtful words so deep within his skin that it might as well be a parasite. It was amazing how painful and long lasting words could be. For something that does not leave visible scars, can really disfigure one's character. Even know, he could hear the canine-fiend's vile voice mock him from the leaves, but now, it only did nothing but fuel the serpent.

A hiss slid out of his mouth as he aimed the spell right in the center of Mosi's big, leafy face. Deep seated anger rose in his throat, or was it super heated bile? It didn't matter, because the acidic lava that spewed from the python's mouth and slapped part of the leaves, with the rest assaulting the mossy truck of a large tree beside it. Septiezal was no spitting cobra, but at least he managed to conjure something up. Shooting liquid was a lot different than striking prey, it felt strange, and new. Septiezal chalked his bad aim up a learning curve. He just needed to practice more.

"Speech."
Thoughts...