"Can I see it?" he repeated, his expression containing a newfound awe and disappointment all at the same time. Something wondrous was happening and he couldn't see it?
"I wish I could. I don't exactly have eye's like-" He cut off suddenly when he felt some of her warmth rush into him, the now-familiar tingle in his heart whenever Fiala played with their connection. His eyes widened, and the sights ahead left him speechless.
As the Chosen One gauged the shot and the other dancers continued to whirl around the stage, the energies crept higher and higher, and the streams and whirls became bolder. It floated off of the dancers like steam and drifted up into the sky as flecks alongside the crowd. Every orc present had either a deep red glow in their chests or some rare few, like Motark, had begun to resonate with deep green light. Once the conflux of power reached the top, something started to coalesce.
To everyone else, the bonfire had merely gained its second wind, burning ever brighter as the flames reached their peak.
Motark and Fiala, however, would see the conflux of power at the top flash and snap into shape. The top of the bonfire parted and twisted until it made a vague, humanoid shape. No... it was an orc, judging by the ears and head. The shape grew taller, existing just as much in the flames of the bonfire as the smoke above it and the burning timbers beneath.
Completely unseen by the crowd, this nebulous giant of smoke and fire cast its blood-red gaze upon all the celebrants. It scanned every passionate face, every moving body and filled mug of brew, and delivered its boon upon them. Under its eyes, the body paint of the revelers glowed boldly, and they became rowdier, drunker, and happier. As it gazed upon the crowd, it's vision actually paused on Motark and Fiala, still on his lap. Instantly, his heart accelerated and spirits lifted. Fiala, connected as she was to Motark, would be just as helpless as he was against the rousing gaze of this entity. The paint on their bodies burned and even shifted in places, patterns on Motark's body re-arranging to connect to where the lines on Fiala ended, and vice versa.
The crowd slowly returned to raucousness. They crowd started to chant for the Chosen One, and the instruments resumed to add to the tension, the great spirit finally seemed to take notice. Slowly, it turned its gaze downward to its Chosen One. Shok had been pleased so far, but would he grant his Chosen One a blessing? After a few seconds, the festival's Chosen One raised his arm, a motion instantly mirrored by the fiery god above him, and threw.
The axe sailed, and hit the target dead center.
The crowd went wild, and magic seemed to start spilling everywhere, becoming a carnival of colors and emotions. The music was back in full swing. Shok had receded into a lingering presence at the festival. Occasionally, a waft of smoke from the bonfire would blow into some of the celebrants and they became even more exultant.
Motark looked back down at Fiala, awe, affection, and restless energy fighting for dominance in his heart. His hands drifted down Fiala's back and searched for her own. Once he found them, he brought them securely onto his own sides, wanting to expand the contact between them. He gave his shoulders a few sways, slowly left-to-right, and let his head dip down to rest on Fiala's. Nothing but an inch or two of air separated their lips.
"I definitely saw that..." he breathed, heart hammering in his chest for what seemed all the right reasons. He'd been keeping pace with Fiala, who drank like a bird, but even he had a flush of color to his cheeks.
