[OLYMPICS III] Magicka Competition

Oliver crept in hesitantly. He was very, very reluctant to even approach Huckleberry. The hybrid was an enemy--someone who'd attacked him and all those he cared for.

The hybrid came up with obvious fear, his feathers ruffled and his hackles raised. He practically crawled over the floor, shivering, oblivious to all else as he extended one clawed forelimb toward the other hybrid. Huckleberry had, in Oliver's experience, been dangerously unpredictable. One moment exceptionally violent, the next screaming or sobbing, and chaotic in his magic--to say the least. Why he was even here Oliver didn't know, but it wasn't his place to judge. And it wasn't his place to choose to withhold healing--not that he would have, anyway.

The claws on his wing-paws attempted to touch Huckleberry at the shoulder, the cringing bird-dog closing his shimmering blue eyes. There was a spark of magic, and a surge--a powerful one, one that almost disbalanced Oliver and knocked him to the ground. But he channeled it nonetheless, doing his best to strengthen Huckleberry. It wouldn't mend the wounds, exactly, but it should keep him alive--he hoped.

When he was done he sat back, shivering with both trepidation and the intensity of the magic cast--waiting to see if Huckleberry would awaken. If he were burnt, Oliver would need to conjure water, or lead the hybrid to the river--but for now he had to at least ensure that he would survive.

{Table code credit to Madison, altered a bit!}

Pride had watched the other competitors with deep interest.

He'd been pleased to see Squick, but that pleasure immediately faded as he realized that the hapless parasite still had no idea on normal social interaction. Aster had taken ill, and Pride found this... displeasing, disappointing. Elspet's entry had been far more interesting, and actually caught both his eye and his mind. The fire, internal and then external, had been both spectacular and almost frightening-- he'd feared that she might be truly harmed by her display.

Some of the others seemed less fascinating, to him. The serval, for example--what exactly had he... done? That one left Pride baffled. Wilder's too, had seemed... well, he had no idea. The supernova itself had left him unable to see the rest of her performance--it was a blinding magic, and she had failed to warn them to close her eyes. That said, what little he had seen had given him new ideas with his own magics, and left him mulling over a dozen very interesting possibilities.

The crow's entire "nemean" thing had left him nonplussed. He had heard the name, but had no idea what she was shouting, or why. And Huckleberry-... Pride had watched impassively as the hybrid had essentially destroyed himself.

Again.

That hybrid was an emotional wreck, and honestly, Pride felt that it seemed to truly affect his magicka. Did self-hatred, self-pity, focus one's damaging spells on oneself? Perhaps arrogantly, he thought to himself that this, perhaps, was why his own offensive spells usually hit their mark. ...Usually.

Rift's tree had been... pretty, but strange, to him, and he'd been a little impassive about it. Had it been a single color, perhaps, but the rainbow of light had been distracting at best; a poor choice of aesthetic the haughty stag sniffed to himself, internally. Aure's had been impressive, but not beautiful. Powerful, perhaps intimidating, but nothing Pride would dwell on or envy.

Sebastian's further use of fire, after Elspet's flame and Wilder's plasma-moving, had left Pride wondering if perhaps he should delve into fire magic. He knew that it was dangerous, yes--he'd seen what had happened to Eridanus--but there were many possibilities that didn't involve setting oneself aflame.
Hmmm. He could absolutely not imagine, however, that Rift would be okay with his brother having decimated his tree. It seemed a fairly disrespectful echo of Eridanus' fires, to him.

Well, the winners were announced. He could not deny that he was disappointed not even to place--certainly, he'd thought his own spellwork spectacular, and beautiful--but he was hardly about to seem ungracious. Polite, and seemingly genuine, he offered a few words to the winners. "Congratulations--you have earned it. Fascinating performances all around; it has been an honor to watch everyone here display their skills. Excellent storm, Aure; I would hate to see it put into true action against an enemy. Devastating, I should think; and that white fire was certainly impressive, Wilder," he went on (and damn, his eyes were still recovering). "Your fire was quite impressive," he went on, to Sebastian.

Thus, polite and genteel, the stag went among them with his congratulations, before turning to go his own way.

Zevruu didn't remember much after what had happened. He remembered being nudged away and he obliged, paws leading him away, though he had no recollection of such. As time passed on, he began to become more aware, until suddenly next thing he knew the competition was over and the winners were announced.

He hadn't won. Of course not - not after that devastating performance.

He could still feel the lingering fear. The paranoia. It wouldn't go away, would it? Not now, not ever. If he had managed to do this - and he had - this one time, who was to say he wouldn't do it again? Or to someone else? It wasn't safe. He wasn't safe.

He'd always said to himself he should stay away from others. But something had always drawn him to the gembounds in these caves. He had never been able to stay away for long.

But maybe he should. Maybe he was right. If he stayed away from others, surely he couldn't hurt them? He'd just...hurt himself.

With that thought, he turned around and ran.

-exit Zev-

"Speech" l 'Thoughts'