"You're out of practice. This is a bad idea."
The fire was small. The lantern inside it burned brighter here in the swallowing dark of the shroud. A beacon of pure white in a wreath of dull, ugly red.
"Shut up."
Someone had had the foresight to drag a log up to the remains of the fire. Hammersmith was seated on it. Humming to himself as the dark and the diamond-bright thing in the fire whispered.
"I said this is a bad idea Shaman. Go Home."
The fire pulsed.
"I'mma king o'bad ideas."
The fire shuddered.
"Noticed. One of them said you reminded them of their father. You can still quote that letter YOUR dad sent you after you hit the bottom of the mountain, right? Same one you gave your kids after you sent them back up it? That made you squeamish. Kind of funny to watch. Been a while since you felt weak, huh? Gonna happen a lot more before this is through. Go home Shaman."
The fire -writhed- under the giant's one glittering ruby eye..
"Fuck You."
Sparks were rising from the dead embers. Â
"You're going to see a lot of people die soon. You made that Harky stripling feel -heroic-  And you knew you were doing it! You know what happens to people who think they're noble, right?. Aren't you tired of outliving people you don't even -pretend- to care about? You and me both know you have a bad habit of rising people up and then leaning back to see how fast they fall. You got a sick habit. Go Home Shaman."
 Sparks were leaking out from between the ancient roe's teeth. The two were mixing in the inky black night of the forest.
"Fuck. You."
Forming a column of starts reaching for the stars. Two parts of an old ritual weaving together in the night air.
"And here you are back with your faith.  What'd you tell that pointy mage? You and faith fight? A lot? You fight knowing you're going to lose and that pisses you off more. Go Home Shaman."
The word that followed wasn't a word. It was a force given form with tone. It was a command and a burning retort of promise twisted into something that rolled off the tongue and dripped over the brain like dark, thick, viscous oil. The one after it was nothing short of explosive hatred that drew claws over the ears and unleashed a flood of sparks that screamed rancor.
"You're out of practice. It's nobody's fault but your own."
Out in the dark of the Shroud a voice rose in song to the sky and the stars. A raw, bloody edged voice only just short of crashing against the vaults of heaven.
"You're feasting on nettles because you don't know how to find a better meal. People are noticing. You're chasing phantoms people forgot about because you don't know how to get your teeth out of something that's wronged you. People will notice that. You're bleeding inside and out too much. People have noticed -that-. They aren't blind. You're not going to have anyone to blame but yourself for the pain that's coming. Come on then. Sing me your faith, Spark Shaman. Remind me what a soul on fire is supposed to sound like. Remind me why I love hearing  your tongue dance with Words."
In the dark of the shroud the shadows shuddered as a low voice rolled through the spaces between tree and bough, carrying sparks and smoke with it.Â
In the dark of the shroud a voice called for something more through a curtain of rising flame and boundless fury. Fury fed with passion kept kindled as coals, rising again in a crimson howl
The fire was small. The lantern inside it burned brighter here in the swallowing dark of the shroud. A beacon of pure white in a wreath of dull, ugly red.
"Shut up."
Someone had had the foresight to drag a log up to the remains of the fire. Hammersmith was seated on it. Humming to himself as the dark and the diamond-bright thing in the fire whispered.
"I said this is a bad idea Shaman. Go Home."
The fire pulsed.
"I'mma king o'bad ideas."
The fire shuddered.
"Noticed. One of them said you reminded them of their father. You can still quote that letter YOUR dad sent you after you hit the bottom of the mountain, right? Same one you gave your kids after you sent them back up it? That made you squeamish. Kind of funny to watch. Been a while since you felt weak, huh? Gonna happen a lot more before this is through. Go home Shaman."
The fire -writhed- under the giant's one glittering ruby eye..
"Fuck You."
Sparks were rising from the dead embers. Â
"You're going to see a lot of people die soon. You made that Harky stripling feel -heroic-  And you knew you were doing it! You know what happens to people who think they're noble, right?. Aren't you tired of outliving people you don't even -pretend- to care about? You and me both know you have a bad habit of rising people up and then leaning back to see how fast they fall. You got a sick habit. Go Home Shaman."
 Sparks were leaking out from between the ancient roe's teeth. The two were mixing in the inky black night of the forest.
"Fuck. You."
Forming a column of starts reaching for the stars. Two parts of an old ritual weaving together in the night air.
"And here you are back with your faith.  What'd you tell that pointy mage? You and faith fight? A lot? You fight knowing you're going to lose and that pisses you off more. Go Home Shaman."
The word that followed wasn't a word. It was a force given form with tone. It was a command and a burning retort of promise twisted into something that rolled off the tongue and dripped over the brain like dark, thick, viscous oil. The one after it was nothing short of explosive hatred that drew claws over the ears and unleashed a flood of sparks that screamed rancor.
"You're out of practice. It's nobody's fault but your own."
Out in the dark of the Shroud a voice rose in song to the sky and the stars. A raw, bloody edged voice only just short of crashing against the vaults of heaven.
"You're feasting on nettles because you don't know how to find a better meal. People are noticing. You're chasing phantoms people forgot about because you don't know how to get your teeth out of something that's wronged you. People will notice that. You're bleeding inside and out too much. People have noticed -that-. They aren't blind. You're not going to have anyone to blame but yourself for the pain that's coming. Come on then. Sing me your faith, Spark Shaman. Remind me what a soul on fire is supposed to sound like. Remind me why I love hearing  your tongue dance with Words."
In the dark of the shroud the shadows shuddered as a low voice rolled through the spaces between tree and bough, carrying sparks and smoke with it.Â
In the dark of the shroud a voice called for something more through a curtain of rising flame and boundless fury. Fury fed with passion kept kindled as coals, rising again in a crimson howl
![[Image: tumblr_mjwxnlcz6Q1rl52wjo2_500.gif]](https://33.media.tumblr.com/224cfbd6e79103f0520a30eabfc5085d/tumblr_mjwxnlcz6Q1rl52wjo2_500.gif)
