08-28-2017, 02:46 AM
It's been a long few days, searching for the elusive stardust herb, the last item Blake needs for a certain spell he's been working on. The young mage skirts through the forest, trying to quickly locate the reagent in the dark of the early evening - the herb only blooms in the evening, and Blake can feel the night creatures watching him search through their territory. The feeling of sharp, wild eyes on him gives him pause, for just a moment, and he slows his pace, gentle and unassuming, hoping whatever it is that has him locked in its gaze will realize he's not a threat.
It was a silly idea, he thinks to himself, and one that he shouldn't have tried to go through with. He didn't need to cast this spell. He didn't need to go alone to find the stardust herb, but now, when he can hear the panting of a beast and the hooting of an owl much too close for comfort at his ears, his hands begin to shake with fear. What if he can never find his way out? What if something attacks him? What if--
He whirls around when he hears the initial declaration, eyes wide and looking for the source of the sound. He tries to choke out words, say something to defend himself, but his voice won't escape his throat, and he backs up against a tree and clutches his worn wood staff so tight it turns his knuckles white. He tries to think of a spell, something, anything that will help protect him, and the first thing that comes to mind, he begins to chant softly under his breath - until suddenly he's pinned to the forest floor and struggling for breath, staff and sack sliding across the leafy carpet of grass out of his reach.
A cry manages to escape his throat then, just barely through the wheezing, and he can feel something wet and slimy drip onto the back of his neck. He gasps and shudders as tears fall from his honey-colored eyes, trying to grab for his staff, a branch, the ground, anything that will get the beast off and away from him. "Please," he manages to whisper, still struggling to hold breath in his aching lungs, "please don't hurt me. I don't mean you any harm. Please."
It was a silly idea, he thinks to himself, and one that he shouldn't have tried to go through with. He didn't need to cast this spell. He didn't need to go alone to find the stardust herb, but now, when he can hear the panting of a beast and the hooting of an owl much too close for comfort at his ears, his hands begin to shake with fear. What if he can never find his way out? What if something attacks him? What if--
He whirls around when he hears the initial declaration, eyes wide and looking for the source of the sound. He tries to choke out words, say something to defend himself, but his voice won't escape his throat, and he backs up against a tree and clutches his worn wood staff so tight it turns his knuckles white. He tries to think of a spell, something, anything that will help protect him, and the first thing that comes to mind, he begins to chant softly under his breath - until suddenly he's pinned to the forest floor and struggling for breath, staff and sack sliding across the leafy carpet of grass out of his reach.
A cry manages to escape his throat then, just barely through the wheezing, and he can feel something wet and slimy drip onto the back of his neck. He gasps and shudders as tears fall from his honey-colored eyes, trying to grab for his staff, a branch, the ground, anything that will get the beast off and away from him. "Please," he manages to whisper, still struggling to hold breath in his aching lungs, "please don't hurt me. I don't mean you any harm. Please."