#sooma

Cyra and Scholar, an interesting team they make.

Some brainstorming about how a soul twister’s body would react/mutate (to be explored better in the story I’m writing):

Scholar’s partner (he doesn’t have a name yet)

My own soul twister sona looking cool  B)

MISCHIEF

Sooma, the soul-ooma

“Sooma!”

“WAAAAAAAH!”

“Frida!”

“Sooma?”

“Oh my leaf! Frida wake up! Sweetie, wake up, ohhh... it’s cute, not scary, I promise!”

“Sooma! Sooma!”

Becoming a Vengeful Shrubbery and Other Assorted Sketches Because I Can’t Stop Drawing This Stupid Magic Bug and Their Stupid Less Magic Friends

Miss Speck has called the rootlings together to inform them of her displeasure that someone had dared to indulge in their repast prematurely.

“Now, I know everyone here loves muffins-”

“Not the healthy ones!”

“Basil!”

“Sorry.”

“As I was saying, I know everyone here loves muffins, however we had agreed to share it together and instead there is a big bite taken out of it! If the guilty party confesses now, the rest of us will forgive you.”

And not a sound was heard, not even the crickets. The rootlings all looked around at one another, but no one confessed their guilt.

“Maybe it wasn’t one of us?” Ventured Harmaa, looking at the muffin skeptically. “I know our witch loves these.”

As they all turn to me I laugh, “Nope. Afraid not,I have my own full sized muffins. Of which I’ve had too many already.”

“Then there is but one thing to do!” Basil declared, with a good deal of enthusiasm.

“We must, investigate!”

“Psst.... where did he have that hidden?”

Ignoring the peanut gallery, Basil continued. “When all else fails, investigate! Excuse me if I may examine the crime scene here... mhm... mhm... aha!”

“And....?”

“That my dear Speck, is—”

“Say elementary and I’m shoving that pipe where the—!”

“Harmaa!” Speck sighed and shook her head. “Basil, on with it.”

“Basil you really shouldn’t smoke, it’s not good for you.”

“Oh, it’s not mine. It’s Speck’s.”

the little fire egg had been with the clan for decades, never moving, never hatching. the vaultwatchers had considered discarding it for years - it was worthless without a dragon inside, and surely if there was a hatchling waiting to come out, it would have given some signs of life by now? but they did not, and it did not. it stayed nested in the clan's gold with the rest of their precious things.

when the sun was being swallowed by the shadow, the clan was tense - this day fire was at its weakest, the power of the sun funneled away by the dark. so they stood, secure in the heart of the ashfall wastes but wary nonetheless, watching and waiting for something they couldn't identify.

then the egg in the vault began to hatch.

the vaultwatchers were alarmed at first, then curious, then amazed - as the magma melted away and the shell cracked open, a little nocturne tumbled out, tiny flames already flickering around her claws. she squeaked, then looked at them with eyes too intelligent for a newborn, swirling with what was unmistakably raw fire magic. she opened her mouth - it was full of lava, oozing past her teeth, melting the gold beneath her. it was as if, in the sun's absence, its power had been born as something new.