09-01-2013, 11:31 AM
A sudden chill cut through the warmth of the drink in Jon's veins, like icy fingers trailing across his back and shoulders. His skin prickled with goosebumps and he shivered ever so slightly. He wondered where a cold draft might have come from in the middle of summer.
The man jerked his legs off the table, almost as if he'd had some sort of spasm. Had he come in here drunk and lost his balance? Certainly he hadn't drunk enough here, the larger part of the bottle had gone to the man's companion at the table. What odd behavior for a man attempting to display such a compelling air of confidence.
That icy sensation on Jon's skin persisted. Honestly it was enough to ruin a good buzz. Perhaps he could do something about that. In his boldness, he dismissed the little voice that reminded him what had happened the last time he'd attempted such a thing and accidentally called down lightning from the sky. No, he knew what he had done wrong and had learned.
The Great Spirit beckoned him. Jon reached out with his third eye and grasped the primeval force. It came to him easily enough, and raw power flooded through him, an exhilarating, intoxicating force that dwarfed the effects of the whiskey. Colors bloomed brighter, sounds and smells became more detailed. The crisp aroma of his drink mixed with the odors of a dozen different concoctions in the room. He removed his glasses – yes, he could see better than he had ever been able to on his own. With this, he could do anything.
Jon sought out the base element of fire, easily identifiable amidst the raging maelstrom that comprised the power coursing through him and sent out gentle strands – the threads of the Great Spirit woven through destiny, as he'd once read – tiny invisible filaments into the air. Not for them to actually do anything, only for them to exist for a moment, expand ever so slightly, and dissipate. Yes, that was the way to do it properly.
Jon let the threads vanish, and continued to hold onto the power. His enhanced senses could tell the air had grown warmer, but the chill was still there.
The man jerked his legs off the table, almost as if he'd had some sort of spasm. Had he come in here drunk and lost his balance? Certainly he hadn't drunk enough here, the larger part of the bottle had gone to the man's companion at the table. What odd behavior for a man attempting to display such a compelling air of confidence.
That icy sensation on Jon's skin persisted. Honestly it was enough to ruin a good buzz. Perhaps he could do something about that. In his boldness, he dismissed the little voice that reminded him what had happened the last time he'd attempted such a thing and accidentally called down lightning from the sky. No, he knew what he had done wrong and had learned.
The Great Spirit beckoned him. Jon reached out with his third eye and grasped the primeval force. It came to him easily enough, and raw power flooded through him, an exhilarating, intoxicating force that dwarfed the effects of the whiskey. Colors bloomed brighter, sounds and smells became more detailed. The crisp aroma of his drink mixed with the odors of a dozen different concoctions in the room. He removed his glasses – yes, he could see better than he had ever been able to on his own. With this, he could do anything.
Jon sought out the base element of fire, easily identifiable amidst the raging maelstrom that comprised the power coursing through him and sent out gentle strands – the threads of the Great Spirit woven through destiny, as he'd once read – tiny invisible filaments into the air. Not for them to actually do anything, only for them to exist for a moment, expand ever so slightly, and dissipate. Yes, that was the way to do it properly.
Jon let the threads vanish, and continued to hold onto the power. His enhanced senses could tell the air had grown warmer, but the chill was still there.