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Snippet #2406526

located in Purgatory, a part of Requiem for a Fallen, one of the many universes on RPG.




Characters Present

Character Portrait: Zilocke Thane Character Portrait: Ilyana Ree
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‘Magic’ was a bit of a misnomer for what he did, but from a kid, Zilocke was willing to let it slide. The angel—he was pretty sure she was an angel, though he had limited experience to guess from—produced a snowglobe then, and it wasn’t long before he found himself assailed by, of all things, bubbles. A few of them popped on the rougher edges of his facial hair, and a few others on his nose or cheeks, and he grinned widely. “You and I are going to get along spectacularly, kiddo.”

Producing a handkerchief from somewhere in one of his many pockets, he dabbed carefully at the little girl’s face until she was free of tears and mucus, then combusted the fabric, holding the flame far enough away from both of them that it wouldn’t cause any inadvertent damage. It became ash in his hand, and this was picked up by the wind to drift away somewhere he knew not. He was often quite like that, himself. He wondered if this girl had any more direction than he did, and cocked his head, setting the bell woven in his hair to chiming.

Shrugging to himself, the large alchemist rose, taking the girl with him and setting her easily on his shoulders. “All right, little Miss. Two questions.” He held up a pair of fingers for emphasis once he was certain she was holding on enough that she wouldn’t fall right back off again. He started walking, then, long, easy strides that ate ground in the way a starving man eats hot food. For all that though, he seemed the furthest thing from rushed. “What’s your name, and where are you going?”

She had been more focused on the bell in his hair, she had finally discovered the source of that chime! She wanted to reach up and prod the bell several times to make it jingle but before she had a chance to, she found herself flying momentarily into the air! Her eyes were wide in pure delight and she immediately held out her arms as if to flap them to prolong her flight.

Somehow this man had mastered flying, all she had to do was stay on his shoulders! She happily flapped her arms as he guided her, only pausing briefly to stare at the fingers in front of her face. "My name...?" Oh! She knew the answer to that question! "Ilyana! I'm Ilyana and my last name rhymes with weeeeeeeee." She leaned in real close to his ear as if this was a really important secret. "Pssst, it's Ree." She giggled as she pulled back, resuming her motions.

"I don't... remember where I'm going though," She faltered and furrowed her brows. She was here to fight something... someone? Bad shadow ants? "Um, I think I am supposed to be battling shadow ants with long capes!" She embellished a little to make her story a bit cooler, since regular old shadow ants didn't sound very fearsome. But shadow ants with capes, now those were worth adversaries.

Ilyana Ree, was it? Interesting name; it didn’t sound so different from some of the dialects around here, but then he supposed that was irrelevant. As for where she was going… shadow ants with long capes, was it? Well, definitely a greater task than shadow ants with short capes. Everyone knew that only bards and fools wore short capes. “My, my, Miss Ilyana, that does sound awfully important. And you’re in luck! I think we’re supposed to be going to the same place.” He’d take her to Resmyrd; it was where everything important seemed to be coalescing at the moment anyway. The letter of his summons wasn’t very specific, but unlike he often chose to portray himself, Zilocke was not an idiot. Given all he was capable of seeing, it would have been a massive oversight not to notice the disturbances in the passages between this world and the next.

“My name is Zilocke, but since that’s a boring and silly name, you can call me Zee. And then we can rhyme! Won’t that be fun?” He picked up humming a tune to himself as they walked, partly to occupy his time and partly to see if he could coax the kid into singing along. It had been so long since he’d met anybody interesting—he’d almost forgotten what it was like, really. Days in his shop were just mundane people coming by to ask him for mundane things. It was really a small-scale miracle that he hadn’t just up and left sooner.

His footsteps carried them out of town and onto the road, which at this stage of the journey was made mostly of dirt, deep ruts carved into it where the wheels of wagons and carriages had passed countless times over interminable years. Out beyond civilization, the world was oddly quiet, and he had the vague sense that nature was holding her breath in anticipation of something—or perhaps bracing herself for something. It was vaguely disquieting, but he made no sign of it, continuing to hum along with his surprisingly-agile treads as he went, setting himself and by extension the angelic child on his shoulders into a comfortable traveling rhythm.