Hills
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Quote Originally Posted by singingnoodle View Post
No! I'm a gnome, demon. He's probably going to just keep saying that to annoy Mercutio. Technically, I don't know what I am, being ageless tends to confuse people of my actual race. Why would you help me vile trickster?


Mercutio waves a hand dismissively. "Same thing but smaller, honestly. A few interesting physiological and psychological differences, granted, but nothing major. The ageless caveat is curious, though. Now unless you want to be prematurely roasted alive, kindly shut up."

Without waiting for a response from Thenadier, Mercutio begins to read aloud from his spellbook. Each carefully placed words rolls off his tongue and even as they leave his lips they seem to leave the page as well. Lines of glowing Abyssal text lift up off of the two pages, adding to the flickering light of the fire with a solid, hellish yellow glow. The animated lines of text spiral around each other, before gathering two metres above Mercutio's head. Soon, a shape begins to emerge from the swirling cloud of text. A large, cloud-like body, a head with a short snout and two large, spiral horns. By the time Mercutio finishes reading, the text has become a perfect, living replica of the cloud-ram he had tamed minutes earlier.

Mercutio smirks pridefully up at the cloud-ram, but then turns his attention back to his spell book. He reads the spell again, creating another cloud-ram next to the first. Again, to create a third. By the time he has conjured up the fourth, though, the effort seems to have weighed on him. His words are strained with effort, and a slight sheen of sweat shines in the dancing firelight. But he doesn't seem to pay that much mind - with every summon, his smirk grows wider and more prideful, until he is almost grinning. Seemingly minor in the long-run of things - or at least, so Mercutio hoped - but still an important milestone. "Well then. Experiment the second."

Closing his spell-book, Mercutio lifts a hand and waves it forward. The four cloud-rams surge upwards and forwards, until they are above the flames. "Now. Downpour."
The cloud-rams swell, and a massive torrent of rain pours down from them. The flames hiss, and soon the hills are lost in a thick cloud of smoke and steam.

Pond
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Quote Originally Posted by Earl of Purple View Post
Pond

Mateo will wait for the knife to press against his belly before acting. His hands whip out to grab her wrist, one next to the other. He'll grip tightly and twist, aiming to break her wrist or otherwise disrupt her wrist-bones.


The siren cries out in shock and surprise as Mateo grabs her wrist. As he twists, a horrible cracking sound echoes through the cave and her cry becomes one of pain. The coral knife slips from her hand. It hits the ground and skitters down the slippery slope of the ground, coming to a stop dangerously close to the murky water. The siren recoils, holding her broken wrist to her chest. It's bent back at entirely the wrong angle, already starting to swell below her thin scales. With large, black eyes, she looks at Mateo for just a moment, before diving forward and scrambling to grab her knife.

Swamp
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Quote Originally Posted by Morty View Post
Wenomir takes a deep breath and remains still. He won't attack, not this time. All those years ago, he lashed out like a fool and murdered the man whose spectre is now in front of him. That won't happen again, unless they strike first.


Loooved hiiiim, looooved hiiim, looooved hiiiim! Mock the beetles as they swarm around Wenomir. There are gaps in their flight, through which he can see brief glimpses of images. They shift and change at a feverish pitch. He sees himself, standing over His corpse, covered in blood. He sees Jadwiga, alive and well and so beautiful, never looking at him. He sees Him leading Jadwiga towards a bed and brief flashes of the profane things they do there. He sees himself, being lead to a gallows, to a chopping block, to a guillotine. He sees himself marred and malformed by the experiments of those seeking retribution. He sees himself marching with those like him. He sees himself in the midst of the transformation that made him who he is now.

And then, suddenly, there is silence. The beetles fall away as if they had never been there. They simply vanish. Wenomir is alone, in the middle of a swamp.