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Kazarian withdrew her hand from the ancient stone monument, soft tendrils of magic still clinging to her fingertips. She breathed out for a long moment, just then becoming aware that she’d been holding her breath. Soft mist fled her mouth as she took deep, but shaking breaths. After what seemed like an eternity of standing still, the wall remained unchanged.
For a brief moment she was consumed with fear. What if she hadn't followed the ceremony correctly? What if she'd simply imagined the pulse of the ley line beneath her palm? What if she simply was not destined for a mark? That thought chilled her to the bone. Though it wasn’t entirely uncommon to return from the Walk markless, she was more than certain that she’d be ridiculed by her peers who had already been gifted their marks. Panic gripped her, returning back to her village seemed suddenly like an impossible notion.
She bowed her head and leaned forward, her forehead resting on the still cold stone. She closed her fogging eyes in an attempt to keep herself from crying, telling herself that she was an adult now and that she should not cry over such things. She took a deep breath in and heaved a shaky sigh, her misty breath washing over the place where her hand once lay. Then, just as when she had first found the stone, she felt a gentle but resounding hum.
It reverberated through the stone and, much unlike the first time she’d felt it, the hum became louder. Kazarian took her head away from the stone and stumbled back, the world around her spinning. A dull chill started to creep its way down her back, through her hands, feet and horns, and grew in intensity with the din. Light started to flood from the stone in front of her, a similar glow pulsing from her feet and hands. (She was certain that she would have seen it from her horns and the chilled part of her back as well if they had been within her range of vision.) She fell to her knees, clutching at her horns and squeezing her eyes shut. The cold had gone from a gentle chill to a stabbing, icy pain, and the light was near blinding. She could feel lines being drawn in her skin, and could even recognize their names.
Whoon, the light. Baksha, a minor form of atmosphere. Nadra, creation. And, last, Arahtani, the binding.
As the light dimmed and the chilling pain slowly subsided, she looked to her hands. Her once pale, grey nails were a vibrant blue, and as she looked down she saw the same of the claws on her feet. She knew the same would be true of her horns. They, along with her very bones, would all share the colour of her mark until the day she died. With a smile more joyful than she knew she could make, Kazarian looked up to the stone. Her stone. A gentle wind passed over the stone, dust sweeping away like falling stars. She stood, her head still swimming from adrenalin and unbridled joy. She smiled and touched her hand to the stone one last time before turning to return to her village.
With her mark of stars her path was cast alight, the sky an ever living map to her eyes. It would take time for her to fully understand all her mark could do, but at that moment the happiness of having obtained her mark at all seemed like enough joy for the rest of her life. At least it did, until she returned to her village, or rather, lack thereof.
That was supposed to be one paragraph. but i am kaz and i cannot condense anything i ever do.
But yeah. Soooo. That's one way Casting Creatures get their marks, and another attempt to flesh out kazarian as a character. I dont know that either was very successful, but that's okay xD
Really I....I just wanted to show off the picture. But then. Wall of text. I'm sorry guys xD
Art, Character and Story © me, howstrange
For a brief moment she was consumed with fear. What if she hadn't followed the ceremony correctly? What if she'd simply imagined the pulse of the ley line beneath her palm? What if she simply was not destined for a mark? That thought chilled her to the bone. Though it wasn’t entirely uncommon to return from the Walk markless, she was more than certain that she’d be ridiculed by her peers who had already been gifted their marks. Panic gripped her, returning back to her village seemed suddenly like an impossible notion.
She bowed her head and leaned forward, her forehead resting on the still cold stone. She closed her fogging eyes in an attempt to keep herself from crying, telling herself that she was an adult now and that she should not cry over such things. She took a deep breath in and heaved a shaky sigh, her misty breath washing over the place where her hand once lay. Then, just as when she had first found the stone, she felt a gentle but resounding hum.
It reverberated through the stone and, much unlike the first time she’d felt it, the hum became louder. Kazarian took her head away from the stone and stumbled back, the world around her spinning. A dull chill started to creep its way down her back, through her hands, feet and horns, and grew in intensity with the din. Light started to flood from the stone in front of her, a similar glow pulsing from her feet and hands. (She was certain that she would have seen it from her horns and the chilled part of her back as well if they had been within her range of vision.) She fell to her knees, clutching at her horns and squeezing her eyes shut. The cold had gone from a gentle chill to a stabbing, icy pain, and the light was near blinding. She could feel lines being drawn in her skin, and could even recognize their names.
Whoon, the light. Baksha, a minor form of atmosphere. Nadra, creation. And, last, Arahtani, the binding.
As the light dimmed and the chilling pain slowly subsided, she looked to her hands. Her once pale, grey nails were a vibrant blue, and as she looked down she saw the same of the claws on her feet. She knew the same would be true of her horns. They, along with her very bones, would all share the colour of her mark until the day she died. With a smile more joyful than she knew she could make, Kazarian looked up to the stone. Her stone. A gentle wind passed over the stone, dust sweeping away like falling stars. She stood, her head still swimming from adrenalin and unbridled joy. She smiled and touched her hand to the stone one last time before turning to return to her village.
With her mark of stars her path was cast alight, the sky an ever living map to her eyes. It would take time for her to fully understand all her mark could do, but at that moment the happiness of having obtained her mark at all seemed like enough joy for the rest of her life. At least it did, until she returned to her village, or rather, lack thereof.
That was supposed to be one paragraph. but i am kaz and i cannot condense anything i ever do.
But yeah. Soooo. That's one way Casting Creatures get their marks, and another attempt to flesh out kazarian as a character. I dont know that either was very successful, but that's okay xD
Really I....I just wanted to show off the picture. But then. Wall of text. I'm sorry guys xD
Art, Character and Story © me, howstrange
Category Artwork (Digital) / Fantasy
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 243 x 259px
File Size 66.8 kB
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