Completed [Bronze Woods] Reimancy

[Isolde Seibold]

{7th of Summer, 513 AV
12th bell}

The Nuit was having a hard time settling her mind. It was difficult for her to meditate. She would close her eyes, start the breathing process... and then break into nervous gasping the instant she heard the wind brush through the trees, or the smallest whisper of the grass caressed by the breeze.

She tried to tell herself that it would be highly unlikely for her to be attacked again in the middle of the meditation process. But, in Isolde's experience, emotions lent little to no credence to logic. Logically, she knew that probably nobody would come along to kill her. Isolde wasn't even concerned too badly about encountering a large predator. Still. The thought of those glowing crimson eyes glaring over her, the buzz and whir of the daggers spinning, spinning through the air on tendrils of black mist were more than enough to wreck her concentration. Even though she wasn't really even afraid of Kouri any longer. And even if she had still been afraid of the girl, it was unlikely she would fall into her company out here once more. The Nuit had learned her lesson last time. Though she and Kouri and Rena might be on good terms now... the Nuit was staying away from that particular tree in that particular clearing. It was... easier that way.

Then why was she having such a hard time calming herself? Like it or not, the Nuit's experience with the ghost had left her mind full of doubt. She was certain that coming out here was better for training than staying at home, or finding an abandoned building in Syliras where she might be overheard and prosecuted. But still. Out here felt... unsafe.

But she was never going to get any better if she didn't at least try. And Reimancy itself wasn't without its risks. So she might as well steel herself and get to practicing. And meditation was the first step. So it was time to just do it already.

The Nuit sat in the middle of a small, thinly-wooded area. She had felt compelled to stop because it reminded her of an area near the Outpost where she had Vaughn had used to take Wynry when there wasn't enough work to go around and they had managed to scrape together some free time. It also just so happened that it was a good place to remain hidden: tall grass surrounding her, completely swallowing her when she sat; branches thick enough overhead to stop one from being viewed from above by any wayward Kelvics or ghosts, or anybody else who might be up there (Isolde had once known a Pycon who would ride a golden eagle into the sky for hours at a time); a subtle gloominess beneath and between the trees, allowing for faint shadows to stretch, allowing her to better blend in with the ground. An ideal location. As ideal as she could imagine.

So the only thing to do would be to get to it.

[Isolde Seibold]

Hesitantly and unevenly at first, the Nuit began to breathe. She did not attempt to swallow large lungfuls of air, or even give her breathing a particular pattern... just inhale, exhale, as a person normally would. In and out through the nose, taking "belly breaths" to better fill the lower reaches of the lungs, a technique the Burned Man had told her was good for calming the nerves and focusing the mind.

Slowly and surely her muscles began to twitch, as if resisting the relaxation, and then finally gave in. Her hands lay still on her lap, her legs crossed and bent at the knee, half-lotus style, with one foot tucked up safely on her opposite thigh. Her back was straight, her posture impeccable, shoulders down and relaxed, making for easier breathing. Once she established the proper breathing routine, the Nuit let her eyes flutter closed, tilting her face downwards as if in deep contemplation. She focused on the feel of the air as it entered and exited her body, especially about the nose. Focusing on the act of breathing itself, the feel of it, was good for clearing the mind.

For a long while, little distractions kept trying to break through, despite her efforts. What if someone came along and she was too deep in meditation to react quickly-- or at least, as quickly as a Nuit normally could? What if a beast came along --slashing claws red with blood, as the girl's parents screamed and gurgled out their life's blood into the black mud of the jungle-- and became threatened by her presence? What if she spent all afternoon meditating, and then realized too late that darkness had started to fall and suddenly she was stranded in the unfamiliar Bronze Woods at night, alone, defenseless? A million other little, pinching questions tried to invade her mind, and she had to swiftly disregard each one, as if it was of no importance, in order to move away from the fear that constantly plagued her mind. It was rough going for a while, but eventually, after perhaps a full bell of meditation, the familiar feeling of tranquility bled through the Nuit's chest, absorbing her mind without a ripple, easing back her worries, and everything became clear and ordered and simple. Finally, finally, this was what she'd been going for.

The Nuit sat in utter relaxation for a few long chimes more, breathing evenly and steadily, enjoying the sensation-- or lack thereof. And then, when she thought she was ready, she flickered open her eyes. Almost lazily she raised her hands, cupping them into a bowl in front of her mouth and nose. A memory of the possession just two days before poured itself from the flat, calm, liquid expanse of her mind. During the possession, Kouri had accessed her djed, summoning a miniature twister. Isolde would do that again, now.

Using the memory as a focus, the Nuit took in a great, deep breath. Then, after holding it in for a moment, she quickly puffed the air out, except instead of air came a strange, bluish-white mist, almost like the fog over a large lake in the summer. The mist flowed into her hands and she dropped down, bending over her folded legs, and suddenly gave a fast twist of her wrist, the first two fingers on that hand held straight out, as if pointing. And suddenly the swirling, twisting mist was gone, replaced by a tiny, tearing wind. The spinning wind solidified, and there it was, a little bitty twister on the ground, wreaking havoc on the grass, snapping the long blades from their stalks about three inches from the root, shredding the plants, flinging the refuse into the air to float gently back down and be sucked up again. The Nuit held both her hands out and towards her destructive little creation, concentrating on the little twister as if it was a flame, occasionally leaning down to blow more misty res on it to add more wind as it went, until, finally, it had nearly doubled in size, standing a little more than a foot tall. Its suction was nothing too spectacular, its temper limited to ripping out little handfuls of grass and flinging them, but it was still enough to cause the many layers of the Nuit's clothes to flap against her body as if blown forward by a particularly sudden, intense tailwind.

[Isolde Seibold]

The Nuit played with the twister for a few chimes, directing it with a little pulse of res to turn this way or that, once making it chase a startled field mouse which quickly scurried away from the tiny tornado unharmed and squeaking its annoyance. The twister tore the petals off unsuspecting flowers, shredding them into soft, pink-white confetti, and kicked up an impressive amount of dirt for something so small, sparking miniscule dust devils to go rumbling away. But that was all the fun the little cyclone could have, and soon enough it began to expend itself.

If the Nuit would have blinked, she would have missed its sudden expiration. One tick it was attacking the nearest patch of tall grass, causing the plant to shudder violently from the base to to tip of the leaf, and then the twister had given an uncertain flicker, reminiscent of a cough or hiccup. Immediately it dissolved into a confused wind which tore out in all directions at the same time. A miniature explosion of destroyed plant matter and dirt poofed into the air, and just like that the twister was gone, leaving only some chopped-up vegetation as a testament to its existence.

After it had gone, the Nuit eased back into her original position, arms loose at her sides, the backs of her hands resting on her knees, fingers curled to the branches above. What other elementary practices had the Burned Man taught her so long ago? It took her a moment to remember, but still the information was gathered startlingly fast thanks to the current lucidity and ease of her thinking. There had been "twister" and "wind waves" and "wind gather-and-slash". And then, getting a little tougher: "projectiles" and "jumping" and "bird-tipping".

Pausing for a few chimes to rest and review her performance thus far seemed like a good idea. While she rested, the Nuit wondered how long she could practice before her djed would decide to run low. She didn't know how long it would take, how much stamina she would have after so long. How far through the list could she get to? The middle, the end? Isolde rolled her shoulders in a shrug; she would just have to find out. She would simply have to keep going until the time came to stop, or until another reason popped up to send her back to Syliras.

[Isolde Seibold]

Wind waves. The Nuit remembered this one. It had never been particularly difficult, but there was less control throughout the exercise because the wind was made to reach out further than just immediately in front of her. As a novice --and because learning Reimancy had not, back in those early days, been her primary objective, not by a long shot-- she had always been lacking in control. She had never been able to extend her reach further than a radius of a couple of feet in any direction, whether it be in a 360 around her, or even up or down. The point of the wind waves exercise had been to help her learn to use the natural wind of the environment --like on a breezy day such as today-- and to teach her to be able to reach out and touch that wind, to shape it into whatever form was necessary. When she had been training, that form had been a wave.

Remembering all this was bringing back other exercises, and combinations of exercises. She remembered her embarrassingly shaky attempts to combine "wind waves", '"wind gather-and-slash", and "jumping". That threefold combination had always made the Burned Man laugh, to see the sour-faced Nuit stumbling around and knocking herself over. Most of the time the Burned Man had been quite the somber, introspective fellow, sitting off by himself and scribbling down his many writings and observations, and it could be days between his smiles. But other times, when a rare mood struck him, he had used to find her total incompetence completely hilarious, and those times he would watch her practice with a big grin stretching from ear to ear. Sometimes it seemed he was just waiting for her to mess up in some ridiculous manner, to bring humor to his otherwise dark mood. At those times he would be overcome by mirth, and would laugh and laugh and laugh until there was no breath left for laughing. The Nuit had always thought that at those times he was making up for all the rest of the time he spent brooding and ill-humored.

But what was she doing? Letting herself become unfocused. The Nuit stayed her mind, thinking of her breathing, and easily reigned her thoughts to something more constructive to her purpose.

Slowly, sinuously, with her joints relaxed to rubber, the Nuit rose to her feet. She looked around with eyes that were a sleepy blue, and then slowly, almost like a dancer, began to sway back and forth, breathing with the movement, left-in, right-out, arms dragging with the motion, directing it. She supposed if anyone came across her now she would look a little silly, perhaps even crazy... but that thought was a far-away thing that had little importance to her at the moment.

After she had worked out the movement, the Nuit brought forth her res, breathing it out as a gentle, whitish-blue mist as before. The mist flowed from her lips down the slope of her body, like the fog off a mountain, hovering the length of her arms, collecting at her hands as if attracted there by some unseen force. Mentally --except she didn't want to call it mentally, it was like some other sense-- the Nuit touched the air immediately surrounding her, and then further out, and further out, as if the element only needed to be acknowledged to do her bidding. As soon as she called it, it obediently came, but the wind was not something to be contained, at least not for someone as unskilled as she. So instead of trying to pack it all into a tight ball between her hands, which was an entirely different exercise itself, the Nuit instead leaned particularly hard with one of her sways, stepping into the motion, and then used the extra momentum to suddenly spin and stomp in the other direction with her forward foot, thrusting her arms out abruptly, along with her res and the wind she had called.

Air shifted around her, tugging her hood away from her face, snarling its long, catching fingers in her dark hair. There was a sound like a sigh or moan through the trees, and a soft wind ran with her motion, past the tips of her pointed first-two fingers --a gesture that the Burned Man had often told her to use to better direct her flow of res-- towards the trees in front of her. Their leaves fluttered, a million tiny waving hands, and the motion was like an acknowledgment of sorts.

As the wind moved from the area within her couple-of-feet control radius, it spread and lost some of its shape, but the basic wave remained. The Nuit saw an image of it spreading out in front of her, breaking through the tall grass. And then she turned with a gathering of the wind and res once more to her hands, simultaneous this time, and slid into a stomp in the opposite direction, pushing out her hands with the two pointed fingers on each side. The air listened and obeyed with greater enthusiasm, flowing out in front of her once more, causing the leaves on trees and the tall grass to shudder and sway, and even the branches looked to be paying attention.

Over and over the Nuit swayed and stomped, and each turn became more synchronized, and the waves of the air pushed and rippled the tall grass like a lovely, green sea. Butterflies and bees and grasshoppers and a whole manner of insects launched themselves into the air around her, awoken into action by this strange wind, and soon vacated the area. Curious birds swooped from the skies to alight in the trees to watch with glittering black eyes, feathers ruffling with the flow of the summoned wind. Back and forth, forward and back, left and right, and breathing in and out, in and out, the djed an easy thing to access.

The interesting thing to the Nuit, as she performed this rudimentary exercise, was the properties of her res. She felt like she could continue manipulating the wind into waves like this for bells and not grow weary of it, and never run out of djed. But at the same time, the creation of one tiny twister earlier had been enough to cause her to want to take a break to rest and recollect her mind. Though it appeared she was using more res now, and there certainly seemed to be more mist in her breath, it felt apparent to her that she had used up more of it earlier, that the twister had taken more than all of this wind-shaping combined. She could only conclude that it was because with this exercise she had simply reached out and convinced the air around her to move, giving it a little incentive, enticing it with the flow of her own res. With the twister, that had been all her, there had been no outside air involved, and it had been moving at a much higher velocity in a much more concentrated area.

With the end of her speculations, Isolde abruptly cut off her routine, halting mid-sway, and felt the last of the wind sweep past her, a final brush of fine hair across her cheek. She held still for a moment and imagined that she could feel her heart beating within her as she breathed. Using her djed somehow managed to make her feel more... alive. But that was utter nonsense. Her motions still smooth and slow, she sank once more into her original sitting position, closed her eyes, and began to put thought to her next task.

[Isolde Seibold]

Wind gather-and-slash was next on her list, and it operated under approximately the same basis as wind waves. The Nuit was to gather as much air to her hands as she could hold --which wasn't all that impressive, compared to what the Burned Man had been able to do-- and then expel it sharply and quickly in one direction. Instead of just an exercise, this one was partially also intended for the Nuit to use as self-defense. The Burned Man had not been angry with Isolde for being reluctant to fight with others, even those who tried to start something with her-- those faceless people on the street who would give a shove and an insult as she walked by, or who would yank her by the wrist and threaten with their hot breath on her face. He had seemed to understand that. Though that had not stopped him from stomping those people into the ground. Or at least roughing them up a bit for all eyes to see.

But what he had also made the Nuit learn --or at least, he had started to teach her-- were simple mechanisms of nonlethal self-defense. Typically, these mechanisms played to her use of djed, since the Nuit's body was too weak and sluggish to effectively use if someone got a little too nasty with her. Thus, exercises like wind gather-and-slash were born.

Really, this exercise was mostly used for the practice of drawing large quantities of air towards her, and then effectively controlling how fast and in what direction that air then went. It was just nice that the method could also be used to aid in an unhindered getaway. The Burned Man had usually shadowed the Nuit like some sort of bodyguard, but attacks like this were intended for those times that she went off by herself and something happened, a bad situation that she needed to excuse herself from for her own safety. Wind gather-and-slash was made to simply knock the feet out from under someone (or perhaps shove them back, away from her), likely giving Isolde enough time to get clear before that person could get back up to give chase. It was simple, really. And the receiving person wouldn't get more than a couple bruises, unless they hurt themselves on the fall.

Only the Nuit still needed more practice on the "gather" part of the exercise. The gathering half was what took a lot of effort and concentration, and if the Nuit wanted to use it in a hurry she would really need to practice.

Once more Isolde cupped her hands into a bowl and raised them up to her face, tucked just under her chin. She breathed out a bit of res, until her hands were brimming with blue-white mist. Then, at the same time she willed her res to transform into viable air, the Nuit reached out with that other sense, touching the air all around her, summoning it, tempting it, drawing it in in a way that felt similar to pulling folds of cloth together. A gentle wind bore down on her body from all sides, collecting at her hands, creating a steadily-growing pressure. Immediately the captured wind became hard to control, wanting to break free of her grasp; the Nuit shifted position, hunching down over her hands, face set in concentration, still trying to pull in more and more air. This was the difficult part of this exercise, this period of time spent trying to maintain control over the air already gathered, while still trying to bring more and more to her hands. It was a delicate procedure for the Nuit. The Burned Man had been able to do it in a snap. For Isolde, the instant she felt her concentration slip--

Speak of the devil. The Nuit let her mind wander for half an instant, and the unruly pressure at her palms suddenly splintered out in all directions. Wind punched roughly at the Nuit's face and arms and she automatically shut her eyes against the hard puff of air, jerking from surprise. Her hands lay in front of her, empty, and she had to fight the frustration that automatically jumped up to bite her. Keeping calm was the only way to actually do this exercise. It definitely wouldn't work if she got upset about it. Breathe nicely, in and out. Settle. And try again.

It took three more failed attempts before the Nuit was able to gather an appropriate amount of air to her hands. By this time, she had been forced to resort to using more and more res to get the wind in her palms to behave just right. Scowling, eyebrows pulled down above narrowed eyes, the Nuit rose smoothly to her feet, still holding the air tightly within her grasp. Then, with a sudden, decisive movement, she swept one hand out and to the side, bringing the wind with it, the movement a diagonal slash. She waited until the last moment before releasing only a certain portion of her hold on the wind, ensuring that the blow would land how she wanted it to, and not flare out in all directions at once. Immediately the grass in about a three-foot swath near her hand snapped and flattened as the contained wind gusted forcefully free.

The Nuit gave a tight smile, and then started again. This time it was easier to gather up the wind needed, the process taking a lot less time and her use of djed a lot more efficient. Still, there was a good amount of res wasted simply trying to maintain the spell (since the longer she tried to hold onto it the more res was needed). That was res that could have been used --had the Nuit been more skilled-- to add even more oomph to the strike itself.

[Isolde Seibold]

About halfway through the Nuit's fourth go --not including the original four failed attempts-- a peculiar, burning sensation prickled through her stomach. Isolde was so focused on gathering the air to her waiting palms that she almost didn't notice it. When she did, she immediately stopped what she was doing, chest heaving, letting the trapped air fly freely from her fingers, cutting off her use of djed, bending at the waist with her hands on her knees. What was this fatigue? And wait... chest heaving? It was true: the Nuit's lungs were rasping air in and out, irregularly now, and her stomach was still prickling uncomfortably. No, that wasn't right. Not her stomach... her diaphragm.

As she become aware of her physical state, she also noticed the changes in her mental one. Her mind was a bit confused now, the thoughts not at all as direct and clear as they had started out. The Nuit realized belatedly that at some point during the exercise she had unwittingly slipped out of her meditative mindset and fallen back into the comparable haze of normality.

But what was this feeling? The Nuit had never felt anything like this during--
And then she remembered. It was her tell. Her sign that she was stumbling precariously closer and closer to her limit. A warning her body had been trained to give when she was close to overgiving. The tell had been established during her initiation to Reimancy. The Burned Man had said it was better to inflict all the pain at once; since the initiation was brutal no matter which way it was looked at, it was better for the teacher to initiate the student simultaneously to their tell, so that the student would always have a warning before they overgave, a physical sensation that they could then choose to obey or ignore. The Burned Man's own teacher, whomever she had been, had initiated him in the same manner.

It was just an altered step during the initiation. Usually ritualized wounds were inflicted on the hands; in Isolde's case, the wounds had been three horizontal cuts --Runes, the Burned Man had called them-- sliced deeply into the area of her abdomen from the bottom of her ribcage to the bottom of the diaphragm when it was fully extended. Res had been forced into her body at that more sensitive area, with the intention of creating a tell. The theory concerning this alteration was that the pain of the invasion of the res would cause an imprint on the student's psyche. So that, when the student came close to overgiving and their own djed ran low, the more sensitive area would give a physical alert to the student, warning them that they would soon begin to overgive.

And here was Isolde's own tell --or should it be Tell, with a capital 'T'?-- advising her that it was time, finally, to stop training. Advising her adamantly to stop. Her diaphragm was simply burning, to the point that she couldn't control her breathing. She tried to stop gulping in the breaths and found that she couldn't stop; her blasted diaphragm wouldn't let her. Finally, not knowing what else to do, the Nuit plopped to the ground, lying on her back in the area of grass that had been chopped away by her attacks, stretching her arms up above her head and her legs straight out as far as they would go. She held that position for a long time, trying to make her breaths shallower, trying to keep the buzzing of worry from her head. Eventually, thankfully, the sensation lessened, and then faded out altogether. The Nuit was able to hold her breath again. With that discovery, she carefully switched to a sitting position, and then stood. The buzzing in her head hadn't stopped; it felt like the beginnings of a headache. Still, all in all Isolde thought that today's practice had gone well. And she would certainly come back out in the near future --perhaps in a few days' time-- to have a go at the rest of her list.

[Radiant]

Isolde :

Experience

Skill	XP Earned
Reimancy	+4 XP
Meditation	+2 XP

Lores

Lore Earned

Fear of the ghost girl, Kouri

Meditating in the Bronze Woods

Reimancy: Wind Wave

Reimancy: Wind Gather-and-slash

Loots

Mild Overgiving: Bouts of headache with occassionally strike Isolde, will disappear once Isolde doesn't use any magic for a week.

Notes :

A sweet solo! You can't help but feel concerned and just want to hug Isolde then tell her everything is going to be alright... even though it's not! Mwa ha ha! Dreamcrusher!

My radiance is not bright enough?

If you have any questions or concerns regarding your grade, beam me a PM and we can work it out.