The cell was still dark. It had been dark for so long. Laurance didn’t know if his eyes would ever work again. He had been left alone for so long. He couldn’t hear his team in his head, he had seen no one. He had been eating the food that appeared in the middle of his cell without warning, but there was no noise. There was no one. He moved around his cell aimlessly, chains around his ankles clicking, providing some sound at least. He traced the walls, feeling marks and grooves. He wondered if previous prisoners had made some of them.
He spent a lot of time sitting. Or laying on the ground. A lot of time praying and communing with God. It was almost peaceful. Except the chains reminded him he was a prisoner.
The darkness reminded him of the night time in the Nether, when he had been a prisoner there, though not chained. He was a different kind of prisoner there. He was a prisoner by the rites which had brought him back from the dead. But he hadn’t known God then. He had only known of the company -the power- of men. And he had felt utterly alone. No one of his kind had cared for him. His old friends had thought him dead. There would be no rescue.
But not this time. Sure, he was isolated, but he was not alone.
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The loud crash startled Gale from the thread bare cot he rested on. The clamor continued as he carefully picked himself up off the floor. There didn’t seem to be any immediate threat which helped slow the rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins. Gale still shouldered on the hilt for his great sword, while picking up a short sword in one hand and a shield in the other.
It never hurt to be prepared.
Carefully, Gale looked out of the entrance of his small hovel in the Brume before he fully stepped out to see what was the matter. Reaching the main thoroughfare through the Brume, the adrenaline left him in a rush as the strange parade of machines, supplies and people made their way to the Foundation all as part of the restoration.
He watched them a moment more before jogging back to his closet of a home, depositing his weapons and going back to join the throngs of people.
“You ain’t gonna be long in there, right miss? It’s condemned and shit, buncha damage. Your coin’s good but I ain’t lookin’ to explain nothin’ if it falls in on you or somethin’.”
The highlander man’s passed another small sack of coin which immediately leads to him giving a dip of his head and dropping his concerns. A few moments of fussing with a key later and the chain holding the gate that’d been installed to keep people out fell free and the path was open. It was a short but familiar walk down the alcove it lead into, with the sound of stone giving way to sand crunching under the roegadyn’s boots with each step as she made her way on through to the other side, lifting her head up like she’d done so many times before.
Though what was left of the place was broken and silent, a spark of energy ran down along the Sea Wolf’s spine, a mote left from the roaring crowds that had once filled the place and shouted her name. The temptation to draw her blades and let that long scraping ring bounce against the walls once more grasps hold of the back of her mind for a few moments, but for once some actual restraint manages to win out the day. Instead one gloved hand reaches out, with a few wisps of aether running past her fingers and diving down into the sands she had so often declared her own.
The better part of a year had passed since the last time she was here, since the damage that was done to this place by her own hand was wrought. She wasn’t certain that what she was after would still be around at this point but the oft-blood soaked sand’s history ran deep. Eventually energy started to run back up the current she was reaching out with. Faint compared to what she’d drawn up out of the arena to snatch victory, but present and ready to be pulled from it’s long slumber by the hand of it’s champion.
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This week we were asked to search using the hashtag again from weeks 7 reflection but using other social media other than TUMBLR.
By doing so, looking at Facebook and Instagram, you find so much more information within these platforms.
The findings on facebook, you see pages dedicated to Beatrix Potter and photos from her stories that people share within the comments that people post.
On Instagram you see peoples post’s of different photos all around the world of where the TV series was filmed to merchandise and productions of the different stories written by Beatrix Potter.
Using the hashtag within learning helps students to placing what they have written online or photos posted into categories, so that others can follow or to like the information shared.
A childish set of giggles worked it's way through the trio of youngsters as they'd successfully slipped their way out of the village and that day's set of responsibilities. Even though they were less than 10 summers old, they knew enough not to go too deep into the jungle, but staying out of earshot when everyone had a few fulms of ear to work with did mean getting well into the dense forest. That and they hadn't turned the corner from fearing their mothers and aunts more than they feared the beasts stalking even in the nearby wilds.
Once they'd felt like there was enough distance between them and all the stuffy adults in their lives, Einar whips around to face his two partners in crime, flashing the rather opposing forces of the duo a smile. "Last one to the top of the tree has to eat a beetle!" Mjara and Shar didn't get much in the way of time before the boy had leaped up onto the trunk of a nearby tree and had started working his claws into the bark for a proper head start. The immediate shouts about it being unfair were lost in a sea of cackling from the young boy, and eventually his two friends as they rose ever higher up the tree.
Though he'd given himself the early lead, it wasn't long before Einar was passed up by his particularly pale friend. Shar shot out her tongue briefly as she made her way into the lead, being one of the more hunt focused of the bunch and very particularly not wanting to have to eat a bug. Mjara on the other hand, while being nimble on the ground was likely the weakest climber and Einar was making full use of that. As such, she was left standing on a limb well short of the tree-top looking into the smug faces of her two friends, her own dark features twisted into something between a pout and a scowl. "Einar you cheated! You ALWAYS cheat!"
"I'm sorry, I can't hear you 'cus of all the beetle breath you're about to have!" A sinister giggle twists into the boy's last few words, a chorus that Shar happily joins. The rain of teasing from on high drove Mjara into a pissed thump of her food against the branch she was standing on, swiftly followed by a couple of more. The laughter was cut horribly short as a crack of wood replaced it, and with a flail of limbs trying to get hold of the trunk the young girl started to fall with the branch she was on giving way from beneath her. Her companions were too stunned to react properly at first until Mjara impacted back-first against one of the broader limbs back first, and lay distressingly still.
Einar and Shar both were nearly screaming out their friend's name when they finally got the sense to start rushing down towards her, nearly slipping from the tree themselves in the process. She was still breathing when they got there, but only just barely. "I.. I am going to go get help! Maybe one of the huntresses can get her back to the healer in time!" Shar's words fall out with a tremble before she left a silent Einar knelt next to his battered friend.
When words did finally reach the boy's lips, it was a string of pleas to any power that would listen. From promises of better behavior, to do as he was told, on down to swearing to Mjara he'd never make her eat another beetle if she'd just wake up. The palms of his hands work back and forth over the unconscious form, as if somehow he'd find someway to make it all better if he looked hard enough. It was in one of these passes that a trickle of understanding hit him, his palms swiftly moving back to her core. Even though his eyes were half blinded by rivers of tears, he thought he could almost see where Mjara was broken. Not sight so much as just being able to read along the lines of the aether that made up his friend, and where the flow was wrong.
The boy didn't understand why he could suddenly grapple with this new sense, nor did he care to linger on the how's and why's of the moment. Panic over his friend and raw instinct drove him into reaching out with that sense, using his own aether to reach down into Mjara's own. It was rough and sloppy, a task entirely too grand for someone's first feeling out of such power, but Einar was driven as he forced the other viera's aether back into the correct shape and current, like lining out the path of a damned up river. And with that flow of corrective energy, so too came a mending of flesh and bone. Too much, too quickly to the point that the girl would end up spending days in bed finishing recovering and fighting off aether sickness, but such things were secondary to the relief ripping up through up in a cry as his friend coughed hard a couple of times and sucked in gasping breaths.
