Solo A Courier to the Citadel

[Keene Ward]

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The fifty-first day of fall, 514 AV

The night had treated him well. Keene woke with a freshness he hadn't felt in a long time. His scrapes had mostly healed, the sting of them all but gone. The bruises still remained, but as he rolled himself up to a seated position, he realized they were much worse to look at than they were to feel. Planting his feet firmly on the ground, he pushed himself up to stand. His muscles had begun to stop feeling so sore, though stretching to his left and right was met with plenty of resistance from the sleepy tissues. He could feel his body had become a bit stronger over the past days, the constant hiking and application of his magic certainly having something to do with it. Heading over to the corner where he kept his clothes, Keene pulled on his dark, three-quarter length pants, tying them off just below the knee. Wiggling into his low cut tunic, he loosely tied the string across the neck, pulling it into a bit more respectable position. He'd become rather used to doing things in the partial darkness, and had developed a knack for getting dressed in the murky conditions. Shoving his feet into his sandals, wincing at the raw areas of his feet that had begun to heal from the chafing, Keene tied the leather straps together to keep it on his feet.

Refilling his water flask, Keene noticed it was running low. He made a mental note to devote nightly amounts of res to the creation of more. Running on fewer meals a day was something he could handle, but not having any water was absolutely ridiculous, especially when he could create it with a snap of his fingers. Tucking the flask into his belt, Keene headed out towards the main cavern, ignoring the slight burn of the irritated areas on his feet rubbing against their leather bindings. The soles of his sandals tapped against the stone of the tunnel with a gentle echo, bouncing into obscurity all around him. He ran a hand along the smooth texture of the tunnel, his nearly healed fingers bouncing against the twisted grain of the rock. The structure of the cave never ceased to spark his curiosity. It was an impressive feat, and he wondered if he would ever have the ability to create something of a similar scale. It was humbling to think of the power needed to craft such a feat of architectural stability and simple elegance.

As he exited into the main cavern, Atziri stood in the sand pit, her wild, fiery hair slick with sweat as he exhaled, carefully moving her feet in a circular rhythm as he kept her arms and fist in a position ready for combat. Seeing Keene, she stopped the exercise, wiping beads of sweat from her forehead and offering him a grin. "Good morning, Keene." He offered her a nod, heading over to the table to pop a few of the starchy wattleseeds into his mouth, munching down on them as Atziri approached. "I need you to head into the citadel to pick up a few supplies for us from the Synchrography Office." She reached into her pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper. Keene accepted the offer, opening up the document to gaze down at the request form. Atziri's handwriting was terrible, but he could make out a few things that seemed to mostly be food they couldn't forage and other sorts of necessary supplies. Slipping the paper into his own pocket, he grabbed another handful of the seed from the table and proceeded to eat them as well. "I'd like you back by the fifty-third at the latest." Another nod of understanding.

He planned to spend the night in the citadel before returning, as the tree required water each day, and he was sure a day without it wouldn't be beneficial to its growth. There was the firewood to gather as well, though he'd been doing much better on that front than he had initially. All in all, he was growing much more competent in his abilities as an initiate, something he found inspired him to continue doing so rather than shirk his newly acquired responsibilities. Atziri had even left some of the jerky she'd confiscated on the table for him. Pulling off a bite of the tough, preserved meat, he gave Atziri a grateful incline of his head. "I'll head out now then." Atziri seemed pleased enough, taking one of the strips of jerky for herself and heading back to the sand pit where she resumed what she had been doing, the meat sticking out from between her lips as her face resumed the concentration it had worn before he had entered. Turning to head back down the hallway to his room, Keene picked up his backpack, strapping it over his shoulders. Considering switching his shoes, Keene decided against it. Either way, it would be a bit of a walk and the more he walked in the shoes, the more he broke them in. If he switched footware every time he felt uncomfortable, nothing would ever get better.

Heading back out of the cave, Keene took a last look and the controlled, graceful movements on his master as she struck forward at the air, pulling back her arm to turn slowly and strike with a different hand towards her right. It was curious, and he made a mental note to ask her about it on his return. Turning towards the light that shone where the tunnel opened up out of the mountain, he started on his way. It didn't take long before he was standing outside of the cave, the light of the day blotted by the cloud cover. The heat had yet to fully pick up, and the humid wetness of the air met his skin with a comfortable warmth. Turning to gaze at the pathway to the plateau where the tree waited that only existed in his own mind, Keene steeled himself for the climb. It would be a good, proper warm up before he headed to the citadel. His legs, while not nearly as sore as they had been, would surely benefit from the excursion up the ledges and slopes to begin the day.

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[Keene Ward]

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Making his way up the sloped trail was much easier with rested muscles and a firm grasp on not only the way, but the nature of the path itself. He rarely slipped due to surprise, though there were still plenty of instances during which he slid backwards, clutching at the ground in front of him for stability. Despite the amount of times he'd made the climb, the ground remained as seemingly wild as it had the first time. Though he had little issue knowing where and when to climb the various ledges and slops that presented themselves to him, the actual act of doing so was still relatively difficult for him. Still, the amount of time it took to reach the plateau was not nearly as long as it had been the initial climb, and as he finally made it to the familiar, final ledge, he jumped up to pull himself over without too much trouble. He found he was not nearly out of breath as he usually was, taking only a short while of rest before rising to his feet, slapping the dust that had collected on the dark color of his breeches.

Removing the cap from his water flask, he exhaled a cloud of res, guiding it with the hand that held the cap. The res pulled the water from the flask, holding it as a core in the middle of bluish dust as it began to swirl over the tree. Pulling the water out into the air, most of it dispersed, forming the cloud that instantly began to shower over the plant. He maintained the spell until the water had mostly been precipitated before transmuting the res into water, letting it tumble to the earth until the air above was once more at a comfortable level of saturation. Checking to make sure the earth was properly watered, Keene nodded his contentment with his work. The cloud spell had become a second nature of sorts. While he still payed close attention to what he was doing, the res had started to move naturally, his memories joining with his will to create an almost reflexive sort of magic. He wondered if such a feat were possible for faster, more combat oriented spells. Being able to quickly cast a defensive blast of air or extrude icy spikes with only minimal thought to initiate seemed like worthy things to work towards.

He strode over to the edge of the plateau, surveying the landscape beneath him. The light had intensified enough to illuminate the island in the overcast light, making clear the hills, valleys, and trees that dotted the horizon. He gazed outwards, tracing the path Atziri had showed him with his eye, recementing the trail in his cognitive map. Once he felt confident he could make his way back to the citadel with few issues, Keene turned to head back down the mountain, sliding over the ledge to land firmly on his feet, the bruise sending a little throb at the impact. Straightening up, Keene headed down the path, his feet much more sure as they traversed the uneven ground. Though he still struggled at times where the decline became incredibly steep or it fell off into a ledge that he had to carefully lower himself over, he felt much more confident in his abilities. He did not, however, let that confidence cloud his caution. He'd done so before with his air blades, and it had resulted in the relatively benign black badge on his right shin. A mistake on the mountain could net him much worse injuries than that.

As he came to the cave, dropping down over the final ledge with a dusty cloud expanding from his feet, Keene stared out over the way he had yet to travel. It was just past midday, and the heat had begun to set in. Sweat trailed down the back of his neck, the sides of his face, and wet any and all fabric that touched his skin. He reshouldered his backpack, adjusting the straps to keep the empty sack better attached to his back before staring out towards the citadel. The slopes that led out from the cave were much more gentle than those that came the higher up the mountain one got. It was almost relaxing to hike down them, but the gradual slopes were almost more difficult to climb as they were so long and just angled enough to cause him a bit of trouble. By the time he reached the point that signaled he was about halfway to the citadel, Keene leaned against a forlorn looking juniper to catch his breath. He pulled a small ball of res from his hand, hovering it above his mouth as the transmuted it with a flick of the wrist into a cool cascade of water that hit his tongue with a refreshing coolness. In the past, he would have thought the little spell a waste of energy, but on the island where commodities such as food and water weren't nearly as easy to come by, he had adjusted his beliefs somewhat. Magic water wasn't something he partook of daily, but when the need arose, he simply sated it. Stubbornness was slowly losing ground to tenacity. He continued on, wiping his lips with the back of his hand to clear away the residual water that had missed his mouth as it fell from the air. His steps were still light enough, the muscles in his legs having grown a bit more used to the strain of his daily routines.

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[Keene Ward]

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The citadel rose up like the massive creature he remembered, though this time he was more than aware the majority of the towers' size lay beneath the ground. He had gotten a bit lost on the way over, having taken what seemed to be a trail that had led him on about a half bell's worth of detour before he arrived off to the side of the gates where he had first left with Atziri. The familiar terrain hastened his pace slightly as he approached the entrance to the citadel. Looking back, he should see Mt. Merlus, but no details beyond the sharp intersect the mound of earth had with the sky. It was a powerful looking jut of rock, and he nodded towards his, his intent to return quickly set in the slight turn down of his lips. He'd been sent on a retrieval, not a vacation, though seeing as he could not make the trip back in time that night, Keene supposed he had time to spare to visit Boswell and Risabel.

It had been a good while since he'd last seen either of them (made all the longer by the content of those days he'd been gone), and he was curious to see how the two of them were doing. He found it odd that that was the first thing he considered as his feet tapped along the massive stone corridor of the vestibule, the sound of his leather soles clacking with a reverberation that bounced off all the smooth stone surfaces. He glanced down at the vambrace on his left arm, the intricate etchings twisting across the leather surface. The piece of fancy leatherwork gave him access to the whole of Sahova with a few exceptions. He wondered if his time would be better spent investigation what all the Gug Andjak had to offer. Shaking his head, he let his arm fall into the swing of his walk. He had a limited amount of time to spend at the citadel, and if he were to find anything too interesting, it would surely impede his ability to return to the cave in a timely manner.

As he came to the courtyard, the familiar twist of mist and fog greeted him with several tendrils of watery fog. He kept to the path, not wanting to incite the interests of the ghosts for the time being. As he passed over the partially cobbled pathway gated by the small, wrought iron fence Mistress Wanda had put in place to protect against the spirit, Keene glanced to his left, eying the massive structure of the Quarters. There was still plenty of light in the sky, and he was sure Boswell was on a hunting trip of sorts. His time would have simply been wasted as he wandered the many floors in search of him. Letting his head turn to the Gug Andjak, he followed his gaze with his feet, padding over to the large, heavy doors and waiting a moment outside of them. Letting his hand fall onto one of the large, iron rings, Keene pulled the doors open with a slow but fluid motion. The heavy wood moved soundlessly as it came to stop with enough room for Keene to slip in and pull the door shut behind him.

The interior was much the same as he remembered it. The orderly bustle seemed exact in number and motion as it had every other time he'd walked under the Gug Andjak's arch. His ears caught the distinct sound of barking, muffled behind wooden doors. The barking was followed by yelling, a higher, more feminine sound and a lower, husky growl. Keene made his way over to the door the the lab Risabel worked on and rapped his knuckles against it twice. The barking increased in intensity as he heard Risabel shout a string of profanities at what he thought was a chuckling old man. The door was thrown open, Keene glad he had taken a few steps back prior in case something of the sort should happen. What he had not expected, however, was the small, furry frame of the Gibbat dog hurtling towards his with tongue out and tail wagging. It slammed into his chest, taking him off balance and straight onto his back with a heavy thud. Having tucked his head to keep himself from major injury, Keene' face was immediately assaulted with the hot, soggy press of the dog's tongue against his skin. The feeling was strangely familiar, but he was too caught up in trying to push the little creature of his head to really notice it.

Risabel's snorting chortle could be heard even over the exciting whining of the dog that he had finally managed to subdue by holding it firmly with both hands as it squirmed about in his grip. He gave the legate an unamused frown, rubbing a particularly wet part of his face on the shoulder of his shirt. "Looks like Seymour missed you." Another series of snorts erupted from the bushy haired young woman as the dog - presumable Seymour - offered up a few excited yips of his own, his struggles increasing enough Keene released him, putting a hand on its head to keep it from leaping at him once more. From his seated position on the ground, he could easily see the disturbance had had little effect on the researchers. They were all involved far too deeply in their own world to notice the foolishness of two Pulsars and a yappy mutt. Risabel cleared her throat, offering a hand to help him to his feet. He took the gesture warily, using most of his own strength to right himself back to his feet. Seymour danced about his legs with a happy grunting as he sniffed, licked, and sneezed at his legs and feet. "Didn't think I'd be seeing you any time soon, Initiate."

From her tone, it seemed as though she had heard Atziri speaking to him at one point or another. Brushing the jest off with indifference, Keene nodded. "I am surprised as well." Seymour let out a little bark, attempting to gain some notice from the young man he was so adamantly interested in. Looking down into the creamy, blue eyes of the dog, Keene offered him a nod. "And I see you're doing well, gibbat dog." It responded by sitting down and wagging its tail, alternating front paws back and fourth in a sway before resuming his curious investigation of Keene's altered scent.

"His name is Seymour, by the way." Risabel spoke the words as she close the door she'd left flung open. Turning with a raised brow and hands on hips to emphasize the latter part of the statement.

"Seymour?"

"Yep. His whole name is 'Seymour Ward Junior'." She waited for some sort of response from the blank stare Keene offered her. After a few beats, she let out a frustrated huff of air. "You don't get it?"

"Get what?"

"Seymour Ward."

"...The gibbat dog's name?" Keene shook his head, a look on confusion pulling down at his lips and creasing his brow. "I don't understand what else there is to 'get'."

Rolling her eyes, Risabel muttered, "Gods, I forgot how dense you were." Before speaking at a more conversational decibel with a heavy helping of disdain. "Seymour Ward. As in, he would like to 'see more' of you." If Keene's face could have made an expression blanker than it usually did, it would have. His lack of impression was, however, clearly evident. "Has anyone ever told you you're about as fun to joke with as trying to maledict a rock?" Her voice had dropped the disdain in favor of frustration mixed with a hint of disbelief.

"No."

"Well one has now." Keene shrugged his shoulders, accepting her statement as fact. He didn't know anything about malediction aside from the fact it could be done on bones - and perhaps rocks? Risabel, however, didn't seem entirely predisposed to answer any of his questions regarding her craft with much honesty after their little exchange. She folded her arms in front of her, watching with a little smile as Seymour nibble on one of the leather straps on Keene's sandal with a little growl. "So what brings you back this early?"

Keene shook his foot in an attempt to rid himself of the furry pest. The action only seemed to increase the creature's grip as well as the growling, so Keene just let the thing be, offering a disgruntled frown that was responded to with a wagging tail. "Atziri needed supplies."

"Ah, so playing the errand boy for the big bad pyromancer, hm?" Risabel raised a brow, a little chuckle playing at the back of her words. "What did she send you for? Whips and chains for her new slave boy?"

Unamused, Keene shook his head. "Food and candles, mostly."

Another huff as Risabel rolled her eyes. The motion seemed to inspire a new line of questioning, however, as she returned to look at him with an honest gaze of curiosity. Her eyes flicked up and down, appraising him in the quick, analytical sort of fashion he often employed while looking for the proper seeds or mushrooms to pluck. "You look a bit different, to be honest. What has she been having you do?"

"Hiking." Keene's voice, while usually unimposing, carried a hint of of weariness to it that Risabel was quick to pick up on.

"Oh?" A small snicker. "I can't imagine that panned out very well for our little delicate flower of a man, hm, Ward?" A few more snickers were followed by a couple excited barks from Seymore.

Keene shook his head, no delusions of grandeur clouding his response. "It has been... difficult." However much he struggled, however, he had improved just as much. He doubted Risabel could deny that even over the short time since they'd last seen each other, he was much more fit and able bodied looking than before - though he was still wiry and lacking true muscle mass. "And you?"

"Same old, same old." She made a vague gesture back towards her lab. "The old fart took half the bones you found and has been working on them for the past few days without really telling me anything." Another roll of the eyes. "And I've been left on grunt work." She shook her head, "Speaking of, I should probably get back to it." Risabel eyed the little fluff ball that had proceeded to lie down across Keene's feet, the fuzzy warmth of the creature soft and strangely similar to a pair of boots he'd once found in the Zeltivan market place. "Seymour was causing a ruckus when he noticed you were here."

"He noticed?"

Risabel nodded, giving Keene a shrug. "Apparently Gibbat dogs can see the auras of people and things." She shook her head, a little frown playing at her thin lips. "I'm still not sure I believe it, but he certainly seemed to notice you before either of us saw you."

Giving the contented Seymour a raise of his brow, Keene muttered a soft, "Curious."

"Well," Risabel clapped her hands a few times, rousing the dog and drawing it over to her. "We should get back to work. Are you here long?" Seymour plopped down at the legate's feet, his tongue lolling to the side as he gazed up at Keene.

"No. I leave tomorrow."

"Hm, shame." She gave him a small grin as she opened the door. "When you have more time, maybe I can show you a little bit about what I do all day, hm?" Seymour offered a happy bark as he bounded back into the room. "Well then, see you around, Ward." And the door was shut, severing the small exchange.

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[Keene Ward]

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Heading out back across the courtyard, Keene found the idea of the gibbat dog's abilities quite interesting. He wondered if it were some form of magic they were able to tap into, or if the ability was unique to the dogs themselves. Either way, it was something he planned on investigating when he had the time and opportunity to do so. The short amount of time he was to spend in the citadel was enough for a few social interactions and, of course, a lesson in shielding he was owed. Upon checking in with the Synchrography office in the morning, he planned to request the lesson before he departed. Atziri had given him the tools to work with, but he still felt that any extra guidance would be infinitely helpful. Making his way through the twisting path of the courtyard, Keene passed from the humid warmth to the chilly interior of the Quarters. It was much colder than he remembered, and he found the warmth from where the backpack rested against his back to be more comforting that he remembered. The sweat on his skin was quick to chill, and though it was at first refreshing, he was quick to find himself a bit uncomfortable.

Padding through the mostly silent halls, Keene made his way up to the floor where Boswell had been. The last time he'd knocked on the door, an unfamiliar face had greeted him. Taking his time as he ascended the staircase, he wondered if Boswell had moved to another room. His previous, fur covered cupboard, however, had been, by far, the most comfortable place in Sahova. Keene had a hard time rationalizing a move with that in mind. As he stood in front of the door to the room Boswell was supposed to be within, he gave a little knock. The steady force of the impact of his knuckles against the wood pushed the door open to reveal an empty space. There were no furs, nor any other commodities aside from the cot, the table, and the basin that was in all the rooms. Frowning, Keene pushed the door open wider, stepping in to survey the situation. There was absolutely no sign that anyone have ever lived in the room before, aside from the distinct lack of dust that coated the more ancient and disused compartments of the building.

Backing out, Keene's frown was steady on his lips as he closed the door behind him. He had never known (nor cared to know) where Thomas resided, at it was getting a bit late for him to knock on every door along the way. So he resigned himself to retreat to his old room a few floors down, his pace sluggish as his mind drifted elsewhere. While unpleasant, Boswell was a hunter, which meant he was in dangerous situations nearly daily. It was possible the young man had succumbed to the will of the island, though Keene had a difficult time imagining it. The difficulty arose not from his own feelings about the hunter, but rather the air of competency Boswell managed to muster around him with what seemed little to no effort. Such an aura was not something easily faked by those who did not possess the abilities to exude it. However, it seemed as one of the only possibilities. That, or the man had finally left the island. Without conclusive evidence as to the demise of the hunter, Keene decided to let the matter remain open ended for the time being. It was hard to imagine Boswell falling to whatever prey he stalked, even with the ridiculous stories and quirky bounce of his mousy curls.

Stepping into his old room, he was pleased to find it unoccupied. The bed, however, received no such feeling from the young man as he set his empty backpack in the corner. Settling down on the mat, leaving the door open so the light from the hallway could flood in, he cleared his mind and regulated his breathing. His musings about the Gibbat dog were dispelled easily enough, but the potential plight of the hunter was much more difficult to quell. Instead of completely shoving the thoughts from his mind, Keene instead tried to just avoid them and focus on the task of shielding. He stared down at the shimmering sparks that poured from his finger tips, layering over each other as he carefully and fluidly moved his hands to create a growing circle upon the ground. He forced his thoughts to that of flesh, warm, pulsing, living matter. He visualized the feeling of skin, the sent of sweat, and the reality of the physical body. The opalescent sheen pulsed with his thoughts, his will. As he finished constructing the would be barrier, he kept his thoughts focused on what it was he wanted it to block for several ticks afterward.

Gazing down at the small, circular shield, Keene cautiously extended a hand, gingerly placing the top of his finger on the surface. The opalesque glimmer flashed for a moment, and he felt a solid substance beneath him. Though he didn't want to break the shield, part of the process of learning was to see how much it could handle. He pressed against it with his finger, the sensation similar to poking a stone wall. It held for a few ticks before there was a slight ripple in the surface. With a bright flash, the shield shattered, disappearing into the murky light of the room. With a sigh, Keene sat and thought back over what it was he had done wrong that time, the thoughts of Boswell slowly fading into the back of his mind as he investigated possible adjustments he could make. While he was excused from the gathering of food and firewood, he was still an initiate who had yet to learn the proper applications of the magics Atziri required of him. The citadel offered plenty of time to work in silence to better understand the art of shielding, and seeing as he had little else to do before retiring for the night, Keene took full advantage of the opportunity.

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[Keene Ward]

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The chill of the room made the more delicate gestures his fingers tried to achieve much more difficult than it had been at the beginning. He had begun to weave a new shield, Using the little scales that comprised the bulk of the magic to create spirals, building them up against each other and feeling them lock into place. As he drew his hands up to a point, the small dome sat shimmering like an opalescent pavilion, ready to deter the passage of flesh should it meet with its shimmering walls. Extending a finger, Keene pushed against the construct. It was the fourth or fifth one he had created since he'd begun, and he could feel himself growing more and more sleepy; the final shield he'd created was certainly his last for the night. Pressing against the wall of force, the customary flare of energy glared back at him for an instant before it faded back into the myriad tone of the shield. Putting more pressure on the shield, Keene added more and more, expecting the shield to break at any moment. There were a few ripples as he increased his force, but for the most part it held with half his weight pressing down upon it. Shifting forward, Keene attempted to put his full weight on the shield, but a flash of white signaled that that was too much for it to handle. His hand hit the cool stone below with a sharp slap, jarring his shoulder as the rest of his body followed.

Sighing, Keene rose up from the ground, shivering over to the door to close it with a heavy thunk, enveloping the closet in the familiar darkness of the cave. Blindly stumbling over to where he'd left his backpack, Keene gathered it up before lying down on the unbearably lumpy excuse for a mattress, holding the bag like a small, multi-pocketed blanket over his chest. He stared up at the darkness of the ceiling, regretting not taking his leather pants and boots along with him. The chill of the Quarters was much more than he had remembered. It was almost biting, a similar feeling to when he used ice reimancy but without the hints of excitement that usually came with it. He found that there had been a comfort in the face of Mt. Merlius, a haven like feeling in the wake of the humid warmth. The Quarters held no such sentiments; they were hard, firm, and indifferent to those who slept within them. As he stared, he let his thoughts wander back to Boswell. He could clearly make out the little nose, bright eyes, and messy curls of the young man's face; the way he scrunched his nose up when he laughed or the strange habit he had of winking after certain things he said. He hadn't thought about the hunter or the legate since he'd left. He'd been far too busy with the strain of his work load to dwell on sentimentalities. Alone, in the icy bowels of the Sahovan citadel's Quarters, however, he had nothing [i]but[i] time and the ramblings of his thoughts to keep him company.

He pondered about the idea of "company". It had never been something he'd craved, but that was perhaps due to the fact he had always had it. Save for the part of the summer season when he had been quite and very much alone, Keene had always had at least one other person with him. He supposed it wasn't so strange to feel the absence of interaction. When his mind was busy, it was barely an issue, but when he had time to wander, Keene wasn't entirely sure he liked what he ran into. Boswell was, in a sense, a friend, as was Risabel and (he supposed) Seymour. Their wellbeing was preferred, but it was not something he could control. Being unable to control the outcome meant he had to plan for their eventual demise. All things died. It was a part of life. Death was something that could not be avoided, though it could certainly be postponed for a time. He would have liked to have been able to control the extent of postponement. He was calculating and philosophical, but that did not give him immunity to the fear of mortality most living creatures felt. There was a fear there, seated deep in his chest. It was something he continued to avoid each day. That fear drove him, pushed him, towards whatever future awaited him. It was both terrifying and necessary, and it was one of the few things Keene did his utmost not to dwell upon.

Boswell's laughter came to the forefront of his mind. He found it pathetic that he worried so much about the hunter. It was uncharacteristic of him, but then again, he had few friends to start with. When it came to the confusing contract of friendship, he'd barely been able to understand it, let alone properly practice it. Having never exchanged verbal confirmation that they both considered the other "friend", Keene supposed that it was only in his mind that the two of them were true comrades. Even then, Keene couldn't imagine why he felt so strongly regarding Boswell's well being. They had spent much time together since his arrival, and in a sense he supposed he had developed a sort of social dependency on the young man. He had offered assistance, food, and information about the island as well as the companionship he seemed to have taken for granted. Rolling to his side, the clumps of musty straw pushing their way through the mattress to prick at his chilled skin, Keene let out a sigh. He was still weak. Even after having been exposed to the blistering heat of the Sahovan wilderness, he was yet still untempered. Worry was for those who did not have the power to change things, and he felt the emotion rise up like a snake, sinking its teeth into his neck and flooding him with its weakness. For the time being, he had to grow stronger; strong enough to beat down the venomous foolishness and reforge himself. Letting his eyes close, Keene drifted off into a shivering sleep plagued with snakes and fire.

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[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

• Planning 1
• Observation 3
• Climbing 1
• Reimancy 1
• Endurance 1
• Land navigation 1
• Socialization 1
• Shielding 2
• Meditation 1

LORES

• Seymour War Junior
• “See More Ward”
• GIbbat Dogs See Auras
• Mt. Merlus: A Home?
• Boswell: A Missing Friend

With Regards,
Ink