Busking at the Fountain

[ginger_firebird]

Visitors to the fountain might see a somewhat unusual sight this day. Mantis is having a glorious sit next to the mist coming off of the water and has a leash wrapped around his wrist. On the other end of the leash is a catwing in a harness. It’s a happy little calico flapping his wings and batting at the water as Mantis watches. There’s a basket with long straps sitting by Mantis’ feet and from it he pulls out a bottle of water to drink from. The weather has been simply too hot for his liking, but Yaga needs his exercise.

Mantis sighs and wipes at the sweat pooling at the back of his neck. He’s dressed in the lightest cotton tank he could find and the most breathable linen pants, and still he’s overheating marvelously. The swimming heat does give him an idea, though, and he looks around him briefly before nodding. There were people in the Nexus who knew when their minds were being read. Surface thoughts that were easy enough to get through, but he’s also met those who have a profound level of influence and control.

So why not see where they are? One psychic to another. Mantis begins to hum quietly to himself, but sensitive ears and minds might be able to hear his hymn. It’s a mournful little melody born out of the remnants of childhood memories and he’s used it to amplify his powers for years. It was always meant to sink deep into a part of the brain that was easier to read, easier to control, but he’s not looking to make a puppet or even mess around all that much.

A question echoes and repeats along the notes of the music as it cycles back and forth along the vicinity around the fountain and perhaps even further: “Can you hear me? Do you know where I am? How alone are we in a place like this?”

This seems lik a good place to voicetest!

[forgeoflegend]

In a park in the Nexus, a field almost Solas Prime sinks slowly, cautiously to sit on the ground, resting her mighty hammer across her lap. Anyone who looks upon her is probably taken by a few things.  She is enormous.  A mechanical being larger then most building around, though she possesses a sense of grace one wouldn't expect from such an enormous person, having carefully navigating the streets to find this resting spot without disturbing any city features along the way.

The next thing one might get the impression of is her age.  To say she is old is an understatement.  The brushed silvery armor is worn in places, and scratched from the passage of the eons.  Her eyes especially carry the impression of someone utterly ancient.

She is Solas Prime, a god-like being born at the dawn of time, or perhaps even just before it.  The First Blacksmith.  The artifactor of the Order of Primes.  She created many artifacts and weapons of incredible power.  It was one such weapon that ended her.

She touches her abdomen.  It was whole now but she knows she has died.  She created something for her beloved.  The Requiem Blaster.  The destruction it was capable of frightened even her, and she considered destroying it.  Perhaps she should have.  She'd quarreled with her lover, some foolish misunderstanding. and he turned the Blaster against her.

She lowers her helm and circles her fingers around her hammer.  Perhaps something to take her mind off things.  For the moment at least.  Her hammer, her Forge, still buzzes and tingles in her hand.  It's power still hasn't left her.  Creation is and always will be her domain.  Maybe though this time a little inspiration would be interesting.

"Tell me," she speaks to any who seem daring enough to approach her.  She barely whispers as she speaks to take pity on the small ones.  Even her whisper is booming, "If you could create anything, if only you needed the raw materials, what would you create?