OOC - continued from Here.
24th of Winter, 420
'Two steps forward, three steps back...' Was the saying truer of any endeavor beside the developing of a djed-crafting discipline?
It had taken nearly an entire season for Kuvarakh and his mentor, Aldren Trask, to stumble upon the trigger for Kuvarakh's djed release. Strong emotion of any kind that built inner tension. It had been anger that had done it. Anger at a bunch of the University's thugs that had come to beat docility into a singer/musician. 'An artist! So art was now to be subject to the stifling parameters of ultra-conservatives? Freedom of Expression was granted as long as you accepted that you were only free to express the party line?'
His hands formed fists and his anger surged. His awareness of the room inflated to reach the walls, so many details unnoticed otherwise. It felt as if the whole of the room was entirely within his brain. But the pressure waned quickly as his anger slid into satisfaction. He knew that if he could find an outlet, a target, within the next few moments, he could connect his djed to their sphere of thought and apply his "amendment" to it.
"ALDREN, COME HERE! HURRY!" he shouted, feeling the pressure build sightly with the exertion of volume. Trask was quick to respond, having tasked the exercise himself. He plopped down on his knees a bit hurriedly and had to put his hands out to catch himself from falling against Kuvarakh. It had the benefit of allowing them to lock eyes, which they would have, had not Kuvarakh reared back to avoid impact.
The anger he cradled gave rise to annoyance at Trask for 'his clumsiness...did he really think he needed to drop right in my face? My awareness embraced the entire room!" In a flash he found himself recycling the frustration of the last few weeks.
'There must be another solution. Here I sit, again, flooded with anger, deliberately...Waiting to make another attempt to place a thought in Trask's mind. And when I fail, he will again berate my failure, to stoke it anew for another attempt, and another and another! What if it works? So what? All I am gaining is the ability to affect peoples minds while angry...or sad...or laughing! What good is a person who can only spread grief or anger...or foolishness wherever he goes? I will be a pariah.'
"Myri's Balls I'll be a pariah! Thanks a lot, you ungrateful little shyke! You think this is easy for me? To be on call for someone who's pissed off all the time? It's not MY fault you have to be all petching emotional to get anything done." Trask grabbed Kuvarakh's open collar, seeming undecided whether to push him away or draw him eye to eye.
Kuvarakh slapped away Trask's hand and propped himself up in the big man's face. "Well, actually, it IS your fault! YOU'RE the one doing the petching training! You're real quick to dump your criticism on me when I fail, but isn't it really YOUR failure? And by the way, Myri doesn't have balls, idiot! She's a godESS! You know FEmale?" his scorn was withering.
"Good Preachin' Gods! That's the POINT, moron! It's supposed to show how WRONG you are!" Trask roared. The two men stood like images in a mirror, eyes locked, glaring.
The pressure behind Kuvarakh's eyes exploded outward as they both shouted in perfect unison "I'VE HAD IT WITH THIS SHYKE!"