Solo A Foray into Foraging

[Keene Ward]

The forty-fourth day of fall, 514 AV.

With morning came the heavy remembrance of the past day's failures along with an increased tenderness of the bruise on his shoulder. His legs, however, had been partially acclimated to the constant state of pain, and seemed to be much more responsive however irritated they may have been. Sitting up elicited the same tenderness as it had for the past few days, but Keene paid it less attention than he had. It wasn't so much that his body had healed over night as his mind had seemed to temper itself in the struggles of his slumber. Rising from his cot, Keene felt more in control of his body than before, though it still felt sluggish from the exertions he been subjecting it to. Fumbling in the dark, Keene managed to stumble his way over to the corner of the room where his cleaner clothes lay folded. Having taking no time to undress himself the night before, Keene struggled to wiggle his way out of his tunic without aggravating the bruise on his upper left shoulder any more than was necessary - though intent and actuation were very different in terms of what was actually committed.

Keene quickly realized there was little point to removing his clothing, as he was going to sweat through whatever he was wearing in a matter of chimes once he started up the mountain. With the shirt almost free of his arms, Keene let it fall back over his shoulders, shimmying back into it and letting the scent of his stale sweat pass him by with little concern. In Zeltiva, he had bathed fairly regularly, but it had been out of habit more than anything else. On Sahova, there were few places to bath aside from the salty brine of the ocean ten miles out, and even fewer places to get the water needed to do so. Thus, he had had few baths since his time arriving. When he grew to the point were even he took issue with the musk of dirt and sweat, Keene used a spell similar to what he watered the tree with, rinsing away the dirt with his transmuted res. It was an exchange he found to be only acceptable when either socially necessary or personally unbearable. At present, he smelled of man and dirt; it was a scent he had been growing used to, and it didn't seem to bother Atziri enough for her to say anything about it. She wasn't the pinnacle of hygiene herself, and as social law - though he wasn't sure if it still applied in the cave manned by only two individuals who were of a typically different sort of relationship than the general public - dictated, it was only rude if the action in question was either explicitly attributed as such, or if the party in question exhibited clear displeasure. Neither were the case, and Keene took it to mean there was a general understanding that bathing would occur when the bather saw fit. Something Mella had rarely ever allowed him, though he held no reservations against her.

Not even having removed his sandals, Keene was in fine order to leave the cave once more. Fiddling around with his belongings, Keene found the spout to his larger water skin, filling his smaller flask and taking a swig before capping it. Afterwards, he stuffed a handful of raisins into his mouth, withdrawing some of his more rare to ingest jerky along with another handful of almonds that he stuffed into his pocket. Glancing about to make sure he hadn't forgot anything, Keene swallowed the mouthful of dehydrated fruit as he latched his water flask back onto his belt. Running a hand through his tangled hair, Keene headed out towards the main cavern, a merry glow bouncing off of the glossy sheen of the walls. The quality of the light and (as he drew closer) the heat signified a fire had been built. Immediately his mind was pulled to the meager piece of timber he'd been able to procure the night before. His pace slowed some, a combination of thought and disappointment in himself giving extra weight to his steps. He had little doubt Atziri was waiting for him.

His assumption about the whereabouts of his master was correct. She stood next to a stick stuck out over the fire in a familiar fashion. The smell of cooking meat filled the cavern with a savory aroma, though Keene's morning appetite - which was typically small - had been sated enough that it was merely pleasant to his senses without drawing fourth any primal need to feast. Hearing the unobtrusive taps of Keene's sandals against the smooth obsidian floors, Atziri turned around, a small grin on her face. "I see the great provider has awoken from his well-deserved rest." The sarcasm was lost on Keene.

"I am well rested, yes." Taking a somber look at the fire that had been supplied with wood he certainly had not foraged, Keene gave Atziri a small frown. "But I am no provider."

A short chuckle popped itself up from the woman's chest as she shook her head. "No, you're certainly not." Letting her smile thin into a neutral line, she added with an emphatic, "Not yet, anyway." Turning the spitted creature over, Atziri moved towards the table where several items had been scattered across its surface. Keene eyed them suspiciously, but waited for his master to speak either explanation or instruction. It had seemed to be the pattern with her. "I neglected to give you this the other day." On the word "this", Atziri lifted and tossed a knotted bunch of rope towards him. Both unprepared for the sudden call to action and naturally inept at such things as "catching", Keene stepped forward with his arms awkwardly splayed before him as the collection of knots fell harmlessly to the ground, passing between both hands in its gentle arc. Atziri watched with an impassive stare as Keene knelt to gather the binding up. "Use that to carry the wood you back to the cave, Initiate." Nodding, Keene stared down at the strange contraption. From what he could tell with it coiled in his hands, it was a pack of sorts, only it was missing the siding. Not entirely sure how it worked, he supposed he'd figure it out when the time called for it.

Removing a folded sheet of vellum from her pocket, Atziri decided to approach him and hand the item over rather than risk casting it into the fire after Keene's impressive display of hand-eye coordination. As he fumbled with the cords in his hands to receive the note with his right, shifting the ropes to a snug hold under his left arm, Atziri spoke again, a brow slightly raised. "And this," Keene carefully opened the parchment, staring down at the neatly scrawled letters and carefully depicted images, "Will be your guide for the next step of your daily tasks." Not recognizing a single name of any of what appeared to be plants - the images gave a relatively blatant hint -, Keene frowned down at the parchment before turning to face his master with an inquisitive stare.

"And all these are found on the island?" From what he remembered of the landscape, things seemed relatively barren. What food there was, according to Boswell, came from the forest of thorns, which was a good three or four bells from their current location on the mountain at a pace he could manage. Atziri seemed undaunted by Keene's obvious doubt.

"Of course. What good would a list of edible plants be if none of them were found where you were?" The question was sound, and Keene saw little reason to argue. He was still new to the island, even after having been there for a solid number of days. There was still too much he didn't know, didn't understand. Despite his growing list of duties, he still had little idea beyond speculation what the Wardens' true purpose was. While they fulfilled the role of guardians, Keene doubted that was it. Nothing in Sahova could be that simple, as he'd been quick to learn upon his arrival. Wasting little more worry on the presence or absence of the plants outlined on his newly acquired list, Keene tucked it into his pocket alongside the jerky. Seemingly having forgotten something, Atziri pointed a finger upwards, a sudden "Ah!" escaping her. "And the food you brought with you will be confiscated for the time being." Keene's eyes widened. "If I recall correctly, the last time I sent you out to collect necessary supplies, you brought back a stick."

Having zero retort, Keene merely set his jaw and nodded his understanding. With the added pressure of having nothing to eat the next day, Keene found the list he had rather unceremoniously shoved into his pocket had become exponentially more valuable than before. Content with her delivery, Atziri returned his nod, pulling the creature from the fire and setting the stick against the table to let it cool. She gave him a small smile before gesturing he should get going. "And meat is a privilege suited to those who earn it." She held out an expectant hand, into which Keene placed his jerky after shuffling over with a slight frown. She was astute, to say the least. "Good. Wood will earn you meat. Everything else is up to you, Initiate." The way in which she said the word "meat" did not give Keene the impression that the collection of wood alone would keep him fed. Nodding his understanding, Keene turned to head out towards the exit. In the short span of no more than ten chimes, he'd managed to loose his entire store of food - save the handful of almonds still in his pocket - as well as receive a daunting ultimatum regarding his personal health. All in all, he supposed it was just another day on the island of Sahova.

[Keene Ward]

Outside the cave, Keene set about familiarizing himself with the rope contraption Atziri had given him. The lack of a presentation of an axe had not escaped him. Having nothing to chop the wood with but his hands, Keene decided he'd attempt some other approaches to gathering enough timber to fill the strange mess of knots. There was a different sort of knot that seemed to slid, allowing for different sizes of loads to be carry. Two pieces that seemed to be straps appeared to be loops for his arms to pass through and support the load, however without anything inside, it was a bit confusing to visualize the intended purpose. Deciding it would be a waste of time to investigate any further without the firewood he was supposed to load into it, Keene turned to face the incrementally less daunting path to the plateau. While he was in no way a master of traversing the way to his first daily task in his growing routine, Keene found that time was kind to the diligent. It was much less daunting starting upon a journey who's outcome was relatively known rather than casting oneself into the abyss of fate.

Adjusting the ropes so that they were secured through a series of wrappings and shoving of his arms through different openings, Keene started up the incline at his steady pace he gradually grew more accustomed to (and fell into it more readily) over the days he'd been traversing the trail. It made the journey a smidgen less stressful, though no amount of steady cadence was enough to keep his heart from rushing every time the earth beneath him gave way with a trickle of running rocks or puff of dust. While he had gained the confidence to travel upwards with a mere combination of one to two limbs, there were still plenty of points where travel was stopped with a steady four until he found himself ready to continue. Catching his breath during his brief pauses, Keene pushed on. Knowing the trail made it much easier to determine at what points he should exert himself at at which points he could take it easier, though the whole trip was usually a combination of panting, aching, and struggling. At the top, after having heaved himself over the familiar ridge before the broken skyline of his tree against the otherwise flat horizon, Keene took his almost ritualistic rest upon his back, the sweat sticking to his skin in a thin, moist layer, gathering what dust he had kicked up in the process of the climb.

Rolling up to his feet, Keene pushed himself to stand. The soreness of his legs had remained about the same as the day before, but he noticed it less. In fact, he noticed most of the pain in his body less save the bruised shoulder he had received only yesterday. He wasn't sure if it was the natural way of the body to handle pain in such a way, but he supposed it was useful enough he wouldn't dwell on it. Not wasting the effort to brush off the dirt that had collected on his back and any exposed skin that had made contact with the ground, Keene eased his way over to the tree. It seemed much the same as before, however the lack of change was certainly preferable over a shift towards death. He was glad to know his efforts were not yet in vain, though the harshness of island did not bode well for either him or the tree. Finding no reason to succumb to what was only the perceived harshness, Keene drew his flask from his hip and uncapped with with a defiant twist of the wrist. Sahova was certainly not the most comfortable of places, but he would sooner be damned by all the pointless gods of Mizahar rather than to lay down and accept only a single possibility in an infinite number of outcomes. He had defied the pull of fate once before, and he was not about to let mere inklings of foreboding keep him from his tasks.

The tree, of course, shared little of Keene's presentiments. It was as it always was and - conceivably - always would be, nothing about the plant made it extraordinary in any way other than the simple importance Keene had attributed to it. He knew this as a fact, yet he could not help but feel a modicum of responsibility for it beyond his tasking. He had cared for it, and even in the short amount of time he'd done so, he had developed an expectation: that each time he cleared the ridge, the defiant mound with its twiggy companion would greet him against the grey skyscape. Keene found his feelings toward the tree a bit absurd, but they existed none the less. As he readied his res to draw the water from the flask, he stared down at the sapling with a steady frown. He fond it frustrating that such a thing should find its way to a place in his mind where he not only felt responsible, but he cared about what happened to it. It was possible that was another lesson, though it didn't seem to be in the fashion of Sahova. He figured he had simply grown a bit sentimental with all of his physical, emotional, and magical exhaustion. With time, it would pass, he was sure.

Weaving the breath of gaseous djed over the tree, Keene pulled the water from the flask in a long, snaking tube of liquid that followed the res's motion. Forcing the water to spread out into the air in a mist, the cloud quickly formed, precipitation tumbling to the ground immediately. Drawing in the water from the surrounding air, Keene let the cloudburst shower for a few chimes before transmuting the last of the gaseous res into suspended water, fueling the cloud for a few more ticks before it dissipated. The ground had been watered, and Keene decided it was best he didn't linger. There were few things worse in life than the loss of something precious, and while the tree was something he had invested his time in, Keene decided to refuse to place anything more within it than the water he was required to deliver. There was plenty of time left to him for both the chopping of wood and the gathering of what food he could find. Without a second thought, Keene rolled himself off of the edge of the plateau, not bothering to give the tree a parting stare. Having isolated the unwanted emotion, the first step towards distance was not lingering.

[Keene Ward]

The journey down towards where he had felled the tree the previous day took a good while, enough time for the heat of the day to set in with its steady, oppressive humidity. Keeping his knees bent as he'd learned was best in the long descent, Keene shuffled down the now familiar path. It had taken time, but he was finally able to better understand where the more dangerous, slick parts of the trail were and where was save to let his body relax enough to not feel as if every part of his person was in permanent peril. Though it made the descent easier in theory, Keene's weary - a seemingly permanent state of being - legs still had to traverse the difficult terrain. Slips and skids still happened, but they were much less startling than they had been in the past. Even the fatigue he felt at the final ledge only required a short chime to catch his breath from the drop. Easing over the edge, Keene hit the ground with heavy impact, his knees bending to take on both the weight and the pressure of his motion forcing itself toward the ground. Wincing, he straightened up, glad to have kept his balance.

Starting off towards where he'd felled the tree the previous day, he let his attention shift towards alternate ways to cut through the flexible fibers of the wood. Ice was effective enough, but he wondered if he could reach a less res intensive alternative through the exploration of the different pressurization of air and its varying velocities. He had placed limits on his own elements, forcing their transmutations to follow the natural course of what he believed to be set parameters. Res, however, was above the natural law of the world. It was something beyond, not merely of a higher status but of an entirely different quality than lent itself towards creativity, ingenuity, and innovation. Having only ever considered his elements from the stand point of a non-magical view point, Keene found approaching it from the ideation that res was, in essence, a form of unlimited potential gave him a plethora of ideas he would have hardly stopped to consider before.

Before, air had been air. It was a form more abstract than water that existed everywhere. It was a substance from which life was derived, and while it possessed power, he had only every considered that power contained within the realms of nature. The very core of magic, however, was forged from the unnatural. It was foolish to fail to consider things beyond that which was easily perceived as possible, as the impossible was already actuated in the form of the very existence of reimancy. With enough gale force, Keene could imitate an especially powerful rush of wind, simulating a solid strike. This was something he had observed in nature; rushing winds with strength enough to move that which was not tied down. However, a single twisting, twirling layer of wind was potentially a solution to hacking through the tree as opposed to the icy alternative. If he could spin the res fast enough, at the moment he transmuted it into air, it was possible it would have a similar effect to an axe, the very force of the friction slicing through the fibers with a relative ease.

His footsteps were steady against the uneven slope of the ground as he retraced the since faded steps he'd taken the day before. In the distance, he could make out the forlorn stump of the once proud tree sticking straight up and fading into its surroundings. The rope that was bound about his body slowly found itself losing ground as Keene managed to extricate himself from it in time to set it down next to the stump. Ambling around to the fallen trunk of the once tree, Keene let out a small breath, drawing it back in to gather both his senses and his res before exhaling a thin wisp of res that snaked and coiled its way towards the wood, twisting and writhing above it with an almost impatient sort of motion. Alternating his hands in a rotation with palms facing him, rising and falling above the other in an increasingly fervid pace, the res began to whirl in a tight circle, its thin tail quickly eaten by the rapid rise of the head's speed.

Keeping his eyes set firmly on the tight knit whirl of res, Keene slowly lowered it until it rushed in between the severed halves of the trunk just slightly above where the ice had stopped its crushing advance. His hands slapped and smacked against each other at times, interrupting the flow of the bluish haze that spun an alien blue glow. Gathering his will, Keene slowly transmuted the outside of the ring, drawing the air within the immediate vicinity over the exposed res, coating it in a thin layer of air. The attraction was difficult to control with the added concentration required to keep his hands whipping around in front of him and maintaining the res' speed. However, drawing in too much resulted in small wispy gusts to slam into the trunk and jiggle it about the ring of wind. Small trickles of sweat reformed at his temples, easing their way down his face as he kept his entire focus on the proper amount of air he needed to attempt his plan. It took about a chime of flying hands and mute fixation to finally achieve an acceptable width.

With a final revolution of his hands, Keene pulled them apart, the wind's speed shifting to a point where it seemed to shimmer as it was forced downwards by his will. Connecting with the wood, there was a strange hissing noise as it passed through, the frenzied haze eating downwards until it hit the dirt at which point it began to slow, spewing small rocks and dust in every direction. Ducking for cover, Keene kept his arms up and face covered, grimacing as small bullets of earth slammed into his skin, some drawing blood while others left bruised mementos of their connections. When the spell had faded and the dust had settled some, Keene gaze over at the now severed piece of fire wood. A small rush of lightheadedness rushed through him, inducing a slight wobble on his feet that required a few ticks of slow blinking and control breathing. When it had passed, he stared down that the cut he'd made. Where it had begun after the ice, the wood was smooth, polished. It held the same sort of shine that smooth rocks often had after washing up upon the shore. The spell had been an advancement from the painstakingly slow process of expanding his liquid res through the tree until it broke apart.

Preparing himself once more, Keene readied res to continue chopping it up. He had several more cuts to make, and from the look of things he required at least two tree's worth of wood to make up for his blunder the day before. Much more confident in not only his ability to complete the task within a reasonable amount of time but to do so in an efficient manner as well, Keene set about his task with a gradually dimming vigor. The spell was intensive in the sense of concentration, though it required less res than most other of his magics. There were still improvements to be made however, and Keene set about applying his ever shifting understanding of his magic to each cut, honing both his mind and the edge of his airy blade.

[Keene Ward]

As his luck would have it, the first spell had been a lucky event. Preparing his quickly rotating ring of res, Keene attempted to do the same thing with the second cut. Having already succeeded earlier, the resulting mess of forceful gusts that sent the tree shooting towards him was partially attributed to his own pomp. As it slammed into his shins, Keene let out a sharp yelp as the thorns tore into his exposed skin before the brunt of the tree's weight knocked him backwards. The trunk had swiveled, meaning only one of his legs took the brunt of the impact while the other only received a few painful scratches. Having stepped back quickly, Keene had pulled his leg out and away from the majority of the spines that lined the bark, though two remained lodged a good way in the meaty front of his calf. Wincing as he stared down as the fresh, bright red blood that had started to trickle from the abrasions and puncture wounds, Keene lowered himself to the ground to get a better look at his legs.

The impact of the tree had been enough to leave a large, quickly darkening in the middle of his right shin. Two thorns suck out on either side at different levels and depths. Moving his leg incited stinging pain from where the woody projections had found a new home in his muscles. Gritting his teeth, Keene gingerly gripped the thorn closest to him. With a quick motion, he yanked it out of his leg, tears forming on the side of his eyes as the sides of it scraped against the entry point. Taking a few quick breaths, Keene did the same for the second. The sharp pain caused him to jerk the arm to the side, breaking a part of it off before he could pull all of it out. While it was only the tip of the thorn, Keene glared down at the dark spot of foreign matter buried beneath his layers of skin with an unhappy frown. He could feel it inside, but he had not way of digging it out without creating a large tear in his already bleeding flesh. Deciding it was best to just leave the splinter inside rather than tear apart his leg, Keene debated the best course of action. The bleeding wasn't intense, and had already began to congeal. The pain was starting to dull as well, making the dull throb of the bruise more intense than it had been initially.

Taking a few chimes for the stinging to subside some, Keene struggled back to his feet, the advent of his weight pressing against the bruised skin with an uncomfortable pulse. Taking a few slow steps, Keene forced the pain, attempting acclimation so he could continue his work. After a few chimes of near stomping, Keene felt as though the pain had become regular and steady enough for him to ignore the brunt of it. Turning back to the tree he'd thrown askew, Keene rubbed a combination of sweat and tears from the corners of his eyes, blinking once he'd done so. Treating magic as a trivial tool was something he'd managed to forget over the past half of the season. On the island where magic was almost preferred over the mundane, it became increasingly more difficult to view it as the terrifying and potentially unpredictable force it was. His head was still a bit light, aiding with dealing with his injuries as they felt a bit removed from focus, almost blurry. Having regained most of his faculties, however, Keene limped over to position himself at a perpendicular with the trunk, ready to recast the wind blade and maintain full control and concentration. He didn't want the tree flying at him again, and this time he rotated the ring of res in the opposite direction from himself.

Once more, he kept the ring thin, pulling in only the immediate air around it and slowly lowering it as it pushed through the wood. The slim shimmer of the speed of the air hissed through the trunk at a steady pace as Keene lowered his hands, keeping the rhythm steady. As it neared the end of the cut, Keene separated his hands and shoved them downward, releasing his control over the ring of wind as it finished the cut and whirled in a short flurry before dissipating into nothing. The dust that was kicked up knocked against the cuts and scrapes on his legs, forcing a stumbling retreat. The wood had been cut in the same neatly polished sort of fashion as before, and while Keene had suffered for the storm of dust he'd caused at the end, the overall process seemed to be as straightforward as he'd first thought, it just required the same amount of effort as anything else. It was foolish to have thought he could relax when dealing with a high speed, control relevant spell. Steeling himself for the remaining cuts, Keene limbed about to finish up slicing the rest of the trunk.

It took him a fair amount of time with breaks taken in between each cut for the clouds that inevitably shrouded his mind to fade. He was able to stop the explosion of dirt at the end of the spell by intentionally slowing the rate of rotation once the cut was finished before allowing it to blow out. It took even more concentration and control, which called for even longer breaks of around eight to twelve chimes as he relaxed his muscles and eyes in anticipation for the next cast. The efficiency of the cut, however, was much preferred over the cumbersome clash of ice against wood. Were it flesh, however, Keene felt rather confident ice would be a better element than air, as the blade took not only time to develop, but a force of will that would have been difficult to maintain in a fight.

Once he had made it to the point where there were more branches than trunk, Keene allowed himself a respite from magic while he first de-spined and stacked up the various logs of firewood he'd cut. They filled the rope netter much better than he'd anticipated, needing only two or three more of similarly sized cuts to be counted as full. His fingers were a bit sore (and his middle left finger bled) from removing the spines to keep them from stabbing into his back when he carried them. With the majority of the wood collected, Keene decided to keep the amount he'd gathered. He wasn't entirely sure how he was going to get it back to the cave, as the total weight of the wood pile was much more than he could lift, let alone carry. He hadn't stopped to consider whether he would be able to carry the wood, which he found to be a bit naive upon retrospection. He supposed several trips would make up for the mistake and his own weakness, though the idea of it wasn't appealing.

[Keene Ward]

The light had begun to change, the occluded grey had shifted into a darker, gold tinted pallor. Keene had yet to collect anything off of the list, and as he drew it out of his pocket, he was relieved to find that one of the few plants on the parchment was labeled as a "wattleseed". It was the fruit produced by the type of trees he had just felled - according to the handwritten document they were called "acacias". Limping over to the branches, Keene inspected them for the seed pods. There were mostly dried, brown pods that had been torn open with the loss of their water, but there were still plenty what were greenish enough he believed they were good for harvesting. Having only ever bought food before, Keene had little idea if there was a certain protocol that came with foraging, or if it was acceptable to just stuff the pods into his pockets. Choosing the latter for lack of anything else to tell him not to, Keene gingerly lowered himself to the ground in a squat, taking care to ease into the position as the stretching of his skin only served to aggravate the injuries on his legs.

Carefully, his clumsy fingers attempting to keep themselves from gaining any more wounds from the thorns of the branches, Keene started gathering up the pods, collecting them in his left hand. They didn't come off very easily, requiring several vigorous tugs at different angles before they tore off of the green branches they were attached to. It was slow going with the added threat of the wooden needles that were much smaller and sharper than they had been at the base of the trunk. When an area of the branches had been cleared, Keen stood to shuffle over to another spot laden with the pods, carefuly situating himself back into the painful squat to resume his gathering. Each time he stood, Keene stuffed the pods into his pockets, filling them to the point of obnoxious bulging before he had finished picking half of the tree. He had no idea how many of the pods were enough, but with his pockets near bursting (which wasn't quite an accurate amount to be measured in as the pods took up quite a bit of space without being that many in number), Keene couldn't carry any more of them on his first trip back.

Standing up, Keene ambled over to the tied logs, undoing the knots and removing about half of the load. It was much more manageable with the five medium sized pieces of wood. Cinching up the loose ends, Keene lifted the pack up, puffing out a short breath of effort as he slung it over his shoulder. The resulting addition of weight was surprising, but not completely unbearable. Setting his gaze on the ridge above, Keene started up back towards the cave, his feet hitting the ground with a heavy step than he usually took, the action jarring and irritating the scabs that had formed over his cuts, cracking some of them with painful fractures. He moved on, pressing the pain to the back of his mind. If he took too long, it would be dark, and he was slow enough at it was without succumbing to weakness. There was a distinct difference between a weakness of the mind and a weakness of the body. While he had no delusions of strength when it came to his physical abilities, Keen was by no means weak of will. While the stinging scrapes and punctures were uncomfortable, most of them were shallow, superficial. Nothing was fundamentally keeping him from completing his task, only that which he allowed to stop him.

The journey was about twice as long as it should have been. In spite of Keene's determination, he still required several moments of rest. By the time he reached the cave, he could hardly feel his legs. The light had begun to fade, and though his footsteps had become gauche and lumbering, he pressed on, letting his momentum carry him blindly into the cave. He stumbled onwards, glad the path was mostly straight. It was only a short way in darkness between the entrance and the light of the candle Atziri had left for him in the chamber. The unspoken gesture of kindness was lost upon Keene, his mind nearly consumed with the exhaustion he felt from the firewood bound to his back. Dropping the wood to the floor by loosening the ropes around his shoulders, Keene gasped with relief as the weight fell with the dessicated trunk. Hobbling over to the table, Keene relieved his pockets of the seed pods, the resulting pile of gathered food rather more impressive than he had first thought.

Taking little time, Keene eased himself down into a squat once more to untangle the wood from the rope binding. The comfort the release and redistribution of his weight made for his tired legs outweighed the pain of the slight tears the motion made in his scabs. Using his hands to push himself back up, gathering the rope up as he did so, Keene hurried back out of the cave. Without the weight of the wood to slow him down, Keene found the journey back to be not only quicker, but easier. The slope was still rough on his legs, but being able to more carefully place his feet with the illusion of lightness he felt allowed him to hurry down the hill and arrive a short time before the sun began to set. Restacking and tying up the wood, Keene shouldered it once again. The weight pressing down upon him with a force that was much greater than he remembered, despite the fewer pieces of wood tied to his back. Frowning back at the way he'd come, Keene clenched his teeth as he started back. The thought of the sweet release of sleep one of the only things pulling him back along what felt like the longest journey he'd ever been a part of.

[Ink]

Fate has dictated the conclusion to your journey...

...And now, only Fortune awaits you.

I am Ink, Mistress of Sahova; and it is my pleasure to award you with this bounty of XP and Lore. If you have any questions regarding this Grade, please do not hesitate to send me a PM. Fret not, I tend not to smite...often.

 

Keene

XP

• socialization 1
• acrobatics 1
• endurance 2
• bodybuilding 2
• reimancy 3
• logic 1
• wilderness survival 2
• herbilism 1
• foraging 1

LORES

• A Lesson in Hunger
• The Tree has Sentimental Value
• Identifying an Acacia tree

MISCELLANEOUS

• Wounds: shin gouge and bruise

With Regards,
Ink