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CAVE STATUS
QUESTS/EVENTS
Torrential downpours cause localized flooding and many upset cats. Along with these frequent rain, from gentle drizzles to heavy rainfall, there seems to be a flux of Magicka drawn in particular to water sources. Occasional jet streams of warm air make narrower tunnels harder to navigate. On occasion, the rain intensifies, becoming howling storms with sleet or large hail. However, the temperatures overall are a little warmer, with snow and ice in temperate caves somewhat receding.
Oct 03 2020, 10:35 PM (This post was last modified: Oct 03 2020, 10:59 PM by Marrow.)
MAGICKA LEVEL 87% RESTORED TO 100%
Marrow decayisanextantformoflife
It is very, very cold, here in the mountainous cave. Marrow thought the tunnel leading up to the waterfall cave was cold, with its snowy breeze and the ever-persistent ice—but, no, this is a cold that seeps into her bones. A creeping kind of chill that crawls past her fur and doesn't seem to want to leave. She shivers, teeth chattering against herself, but carries on, curious enough to attempt to overcome the arctic cold.
The cold doesn't seem... overwhelming, for now, with her fur, and her hooves have proven surprisingly useful in her journey, crunching in the snow and helping her keep a grip on the stone and soil beneath it, even in some of the riskier terrain. She's avoided the mountains, thus far; although they seem interesting enough, she thinks it would be wiser to return here with a companion. Perhaps Comet would be well-suited to this place; her magic was over water and ice, wasn't it? She'll have to ask...
Marrow's own magic aids with the cold, at least—especially with a new trick that she had discovered just a day prior. The growth of plants, not in the ground, but in herself... wooden nubs of still-growing horns pattern themselves just behind her head, the first sparks of her experiments with this new magic, and even though they're small for the moment, she's proud of the results.
She shivers, again, breath coming out in a puff of cloudy, warm air, and considers the thicker coat of the Lessers she's spotted in her wanderings. Perhaps... something akin to that, mimicked with plants, would be helpful? A collar, maybe?
A collar of plants sounds nice.
As Marrow walks, she calls forward the magic within her; guiding the sparks of life that must lay just beneath her skin to free themselves, to grow through the skin and drape around her neck.
The magic catches; begins to grow, dark green against golden brown fur, and Marrow stops—taking a moment to let the sensation of shoots emerging and large leaves unfolding to fade, looking down at herself and watching the process with interest.
She had watched, earlier, the nubs at the back of her head emerge using a glassy gemstone attached to a stray bone—but from this position, she can see the vines emerge firsthoof, and she finds it fascinating.
I did that, she thinks, wonder in her eyes. I made life.
She's done it a dozen times before, coaxing seeds out of stone and soil using her most basic and intuitive of magics, but actually hosting the plants herself is... different. Strange—but in a good way.
She thinks she enjoys this magic the most, so far.
With a slight bounce in her step and a slightly warmer body from her success, she continues onwards; head swinging this way and that as her eyes take in the myriad sights. Oh, but this cave is so big... she can see dark, white clouds up above if she only cranes her eyes a little, wisps of color dancing along the ceiling with ever-changing beauty.
It's... gorgeous, even. Despite the cold, she finds herself quickly enraptured by the sight; entranced by the delightful play of color so very, very high up here.
If it wasn't for its distance from Canis and the bones... perhaps, she could live here, even.
But that's a thought for another time; for now, she sets her head forwards and continues walking. What else might she find...?
Oh—the smell of cool water makes its way to her, and when she puts her nose to the ground and sniffs, breathing in the scent, she can smell damp wood as well.
There's a lake here. And as she keeps moving forwards, she spots it at last.
The first thing she notices is how its dark surface shines with sheets of ice, some of the smaller pieces drifting and floating atop the lake. The second thing she notices is the graveyard of trees, stretching out of its surface—reaching for the ceiling like clasping, grabbing hands; like the reach of a drowning gembound, disappearing beneath the waves.
The third thing she notices is the song. Dripping, echoing song—like raindrops on stone, the familiar pitter-patter of dampness dripping from stalactites in Canis, made into a melody.
Are the trees... singing? Marrow thinks; breath catching in her chest for a brief moment.
Although such an assumption is not such a leap of logic, here in the caves—where rocks walk and the world turns on the will of magic—Marrow quickly discovers that...
...oh.
Oh—it isn't the trees that are singing at all! They seem quite dead, as expected; no, the melodious song that entrances her, as beautiful as ivory bones, seem to come from little white fluffs.
Snowballs? Marrow thinks, then laughs to herself; a gentle chuckle that fades quickly in the snowy wind. She can believe plants can sing—if they can move and grow at merely a thought, then they can certainly sing—but snow? Not to mention the location...
...still, the name sticks in her mind. Snowballs.
And as she walks closer, closer to the icy lake, the waters almost but not quite lapping at her hooves as she reaches the shore, she finds that the little creatures might as well be called 'Snowballs', for how fluffy they are.
They roost in the trees above the water like little clouds adorning the dead branches; they fluff their feathers with all the puffiness of the snow she had been walking on just moments before, and their song...
...it's still so very pretty. Even prettier, up close; it echoes off the water and mixes with the swaying, creaking of trees and the ripples in the lake. The tones of their song echo like a strange orchestra, and Marrow quickly finds herself caught in the moment.
What sweet creatures...
She looks down, beginning to pace and paw at the ground; clearing snow away in a vague ellipse for her to sit in. She's been walking for a... while, she thinks. There's hunger coiling in her stomach that she needs to resolve; perhaps she'll catch a fish, living in the waters below, in a little bit. But, for now, she waits and listens—caught completely in the moment.
For a little while, watching the lake's waters ripple and listening to the sparrows sing, she finds herself at peace. Idly, she reaches out little strings of magic; seeking to thicken and grow the collar of vines hanging about her neck.
Her serendipity is interrupted not by the fizzle of her magic, but by a trill at her hoof; a crystalline chirrup that has Marrow's head inclining towards the source, blinking.
There is a snowball next to her leg.
The bird, that is; a tiny, tiny puffball barely as tall as her hoof. It hops and jumps through snowy banks, inclining its head in swift, jerky movements, but one thing is clear—it's coming closer, rather than running away.
Hm. That's strange. Weren't birds supposed to be skittish?
Slowly, she shifts her leg towards the bird. It jumps back a few steps, but doesn't seem afraid; no prey instinct seems to flare in its eyes, and the only fluffing of feathers that happens is its already velvety coat fuzzing with its movement, every hop and jump and shift of its wings showing a coat that seems... rather effective, considering the cold. Certainly better than her own. From a design standpoint, it was perfect for the snow in which the birds lived in.
From an emotional standpoint...
...the word 'cute' comes to mind.
Marrow glances around just briefly, making sure no movement is shifting through the pure white surrounding her, then focuses her eyes back on the bird.
"...you're a little sweetheart, aren't you?" she murmurs, lowering her head to its eye level. The little snowball tilts its head at her; she tilts her head right back. To the left, to the right—she actually giggles, feeling much less like the adult deer she is and more like the child she was, exploring Canis and discovering the bones for the first time.
She doesn't think she minds the idea of acting a little childish, right now. She does... try to cultivate a reputation, of sorts, but... well. Nobody's around. There's no dignity to be shattered here.
Not like she clings very hard to that, anyways. The fact that she's cooing at a little bird says it all.
"Would you like some food...?" she asks, reaching through the snow not physically, but magically, hoping to raise up some sprouts for the passerine Lesser.
