[Hawks leaned over the edge of his makeshift perch on the broken stone wall, silently judging the distance down to the ground where he had climbed from. It was only a couple meters, but it'll have to do. His wings felt heavy and tingly on his back but they respond well enough to flexing--no obvious obstructions, damaged feathers, or gunk. No (visible) reason for them to be acting like they lost bloodflow (that they didn't even need). He hadn't expected his quirk to be perfect but still... the loss of so much sensation was causing him to feel paranoid.
One flap, two.
Baby (bird) steps mean if he can't take off from the ground, he should try starting with a boost--
Pain... Hawks spits some snow out before levering himself onto his elbows. He managed to glide a bit, but that was very much glorified falling compared to what he's used to accomplishing. His wings rustle along the trampled snow and dirt trail he landed on but refuse to make themselves useful otherwise. He grumbles as he moves to stand once more.]
Ugh, this will take a while.
II. Ascension
[Hawks was very grateful he managed to borrow that bedsheet from the camp and perhaps less enamored with the idea to go up the mountain at all. The sheet helped keep his (very very red) wings hidden from the odd creatures on the mountainside and at least a little bit of heat trapped close to him. He can't fly, he can't send feathers out independently, he can't detect enemies in his blind spots. He can glide a bit, which is the only reason going up where the citizens pointed was a better idea than going across flatter ground towards the city just yet. The little jeweled marble in his pocket felt as heavy and foreign as his wings do at the moment, but perhaps he'll find something of interest up here. Certainly, it was what the people at the camp felt was most pressing for 'adventurers' to concern themselves with.
If this doesn't produce some kind of useful information, he might just have to regroup and go the other way anyway.]
no subject
[Hawks leaned over the edge of his makeshift perch on the broken stone wall, silently judging the distance down to the ground where he had climbed from. It was only a couple meters, but it'll have to do. His wings felt heavy and tingly on his back but they respond well enough to flexing--no obvious obstructions, damaged feathers, or gunk. No (visible) reason for them to be acting like they lost bloodflow (that they didn't even need). He hadn't expected his quirk to be perfect but still... the loss of so much sensation was causing him to feel paranoid.
One flap, two.
Baby (bird) steps mean if he can't take off from the ground, he should try starting with a boost--
Pain... Hawks spits some snow out before levering himself onto his elbows. He managed to glide a bit, but that was very much glorified falling compared to what he's used to accomplishing. His wings rustle along the trampled snow and dirt trail he landed on but refuse to make themselves useful otherwise. He grumbles as he moves to stand once more.]
Ugh, this will take a while.
II. Ascension
[Hawks was very grateful he managed to borrow that bedsheet from the camp and perhaps less enamored with the idea to go up the mountain at all. The sheet helped keep his (very very red) wings hidden from the odd creatures on the mountainside and at least a little bit of heat trapped close to him. He can't fly, he can't send feathers out independently, he can't detect enemies in his blind spots. He can glide a bit, which is the only reason going up where the citizens pointed was a better idea than going across flatter ground towards the city just yet. The little jeweled marble in his pocket felt as heavy and foreign as his wings do at the moment, but perhaps he'll find something of interest up here. Certainly, it was what the people at the camp felt was most pressing for 'adventurers' to concern themselves with.
If this doesn't produce some kind of useful information, he might just have to regroup and go the other way anyway.]
III. Wildcard
[go wild!]