1 suxx to Pulse of the Living World
As he walked among the Sleepers he ignored the un-Awakened except for those who gave him dirty looks or shuffled to the other side of the pavement as they passed by. He fixed those who disdained him with an intimidating stare. How dare yous judge me. Sure I got a missing arm, scary tattoos, a leather jacket and look a bit rough around the edges but that's no reason to look at me like that as though I'm somehow less than you. I'm more than yous will ever be. I'll show yous one day.
Striker angrily munched on some jerky he'd found on a bench in the park as he wandered the streets of Sacramento. It was dusk and he was taking in the feel and rhythm of the populace of the city while being increasingly frustrated by the individual people in it. Everything seemed more alive to him as his Supernal senses made the people, the scant animals he saw, and even the trees, bushes and grasses dance with supernal Life in a myriad of colors even as the people's attitudes darkened his mood. A stray dog wandered up to him and lifted his spirits for a few seconds. Hey fella, how's the city treating ya? He gave the mutt a scratch on the head before it wandered off again. Dogs don't know any better, but people... Content to live their pointless lives, never even striving to be good at what they do, let alone reach their potential, or even move beyond what the universe has planned for them.
He was walking through a medium sized park now, though he didn't know which one. The sun was low in the sky and the trees cast long shadows across the cooling grass. Just off the concrete path snaking through the small vestige of nature, a few people were pulling items out of bags and long black rolls of heavy cloth. Striker saw a long stick with something on each end that came from a thick fabric bag. Someone pulled out what looked like two chains with large wads of some sort of weave at the end of each one. Next he noticed what must have been a bottle of about 4 litres of some type of liquid which was poured into various containers. By now Striker was interested. These people weren't just continuing their existence. They looked like they were doing something interesting. He approached and stood watching a girl who looked like she was in her early twenties untangle a pair of chains.
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What's she going to do with them? Is this some sort of martial art?
Each chain now loose she dipped them both in the liquid.
And she's putting... Oil to stop it rusting? Nah it didn't look that thick.
Then pulled out a lighter and flicked the trigger.
Flammable. It's something bloody well freakin' flamable.
The scent of kerosene wafted over Striker as others in the group began pouring out their own supplies. His breath started coming in short, shallow bursts and as the girl's lighter didn't produced the expected flame he winced slightly, disappointed. She flicked it again and then the tiny flame was there in her hand, under her control. Strikers eyes widened as she set it to the poi pois she held and the flame covered them in an orange light, creeping up the chain a little as if trying to escape. Then he stood enraptured as she began to spin them around and around her body, turning and twisting at the last moment to get out of the way of the ever moving flames, moving in more and more complicated arcs and circles as her body remembered the moves and patterns she'd done before.
I've never seen fire used so... Beautifully. She's tamed the freakin' fire. It's. It's. It's. The fire's alive but she's controlling where it goes.
A drumbeat was soon started by another member of the group who had some small bongos and soon there were half a dozen sets of flames dancing and spinning in time to the music as the sun sank beyond the horizon. Striker eventually settled down on the grass and continued to watch the group, oblivious to all else. He sat with the flames dancing before his eyes while he pondered the differences between raw power and finesse.
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