A Child of the Storm

by **Keene Ward** on February 26th, 2015, 10:37 pm

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The eighty-seventh day of winter, 514 AV

Keene stood on the plateau, the air around him heavy with the impending storm. He had sensed it: the taste, the feel, the whisper of the empty cavern as he'd woken from his sleep. The gentle chill from the mark on his back had responded to the impending change in weather. He'd been drawn out and up towards the single spot on the entire island that felt like his own place - not in the sense of ownership, but that of a comfortable state of being. He could feel the wind itching to dash across the plains, pent up in the sky and held just short of release. There was agitation there, just slightly, but it was mostly a heavy sense of anticipation: there was to be a storm, and the skies had all the intention of it being a full blown monsoon.

It was with a strange feeling of exhilaration that he stood on the edge of the precipice, staring out into the darkened pallor of the world below. He was changed. The world was changed. There were things he knew about himself, about life in general, he'd never thought he'd come across. There was the unbearable ache of loss, the burning fire of rage, the feverish allure of desire, the emptiness of despair, and even the soft embrace of love. These things swirled within him like the storm that the charged air promised him, twisting and tugging at his heart, coloring his views of the world in a way he had not thought possible. They were both entirely unwanted and coveted at the same time, and as the thunder rolled across the sky, so too did it reverberate within him. Ever since his encounter with the god of storms, when it rained or when lightning filled the sky, he was filled with an inexplicable excitement, his own emotions leaping fourth from him as if beckoned by swirling winds and whipping rains.

The process was exhausting, but Keene had found that exhaustion was entirely a beneficial state of being. It allowed him rest and a quiet of the mind. Thus, as a spike of purplish white peeked out from behind the clouds preceding another boom of reverberating sound around him, Keene let his eyes close as res drifted from his finger tip. The rain began as a light mist, drifting from the weighted clouds like an ethereal curtain of moisture, alighting on his naked body like the most gentle of kisses. A caramel skinned grin passed through his mind, rough hands moving slowly over his skin. Then, with a hiss, the rain began to fall in earnest, as if signaled by the next crashing blow of the thunder that sent shivers down his spine and filled the air with its power. A body, broken and limp, filled with ice and void of life lay before him, his heart cold and unfeeling as the blades that permeated her bleeding, watery flesh.

Rain drenched him in a matter of ticks, the wind, in its joy, whipped the drops around him as his res spread out around him. The water was cool, battering against his skin with a suggestion of numbness. Emptiness then, the blank stare of a woman who's fire had been enough to light the souls of a hundred more blankly gazing into the nothingness she had become. His fingers tightened, pressing against the scars on his palms, the subtle rise of the skin where the wounds had stitched themselves back together. Res swirled around him, mirroring the pattern of the gathering winds that playfully threatened to throw him from his perch atop the cliff. He remained resolute, bathed in the darkness of his own creation, only partially aware of the storm that had surrounded him. Cracked skin over a face with desperation in the bleeding eyes, a pleading voice asking the most simple of request. Despair filling him entirely, staying his hand for better or worse. When the thunder sounded again, Keene roared with it, his res whirling around him as it gathered the rainfall, pulling it from its path to wrap around him in a massive bubble of water.

He could feel the storm responding, throwing more and more rain his way. The powerful, ethereal entity curious to see what the single mortal creature might do with even a fraction of its own strength. Lost, lonely, afraid. A child drifting through the expanse of nothingness. The thunder sounded once more, ordering him to do what he would with his magic lest the winds carry him away. Throwing his arms to either side of him in a sweeping motion, the pale blue res twisted away from him, the water following behind like two swirling snakes illuminated by the flashes of lighting that descended from the firmament to crash down upon the island below. He stepped back, right hand arc upwards and in front of him while the left swooped under to mirror the motion. The watery res responded, tendrils wrapping themselves around him, both moving clockwise about his pale frame. With a thrust of his elbows, Keene pulled his hands apart from each other along the horizontal. The res shot upwards in a thin sheet, carrying with it the water it had collected as it rocketed up into the sky.

Lighting, thunder, the glow of red res mixing feverishly with his own pale blue. Muttered words, a frantic transmuting of heat and air and water. They had always wanted control, dominance. But Keene had found that Zulrav's children were not puppets. They were not creatures to dominate through will alone. They were alive and conscious of the power they possessed, the power that was rightfully their own. As his res spread out into the sky above him, Keene's fingers splayed on his heads, swirling the res, water, and air into a vortex above him. The clouds drifted from their course, confusion and furor filling the air around him. He felt the storm's heart, it beat to a rhythm unknown to any man. As the clouds gathered above him, Keene let himself become immersed in the sway of the motion, eyes shut against the bite of the rain, mind as one with the raging force of the storm's might.
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by **Keene Ward** on March 10th, 2015, 12:20 am

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The clouds of his own soul seemed to twist and turn with the influence of his res as much as the ones above him. The world, his world, was charged with the buzz of the lightning's influence. Fear, exhilaration, rage, loss, power, loneliness... The emotions boiled up from within him, influencing the movement of his res as the sky wrapped itself around it. Then, there was a heat. A blinding, awful heat and the crack of wood snapping beneath the force of the lighting's blow. Keene's eyes snapped open, grey-green gaze hypnotized by the licking flames of the storm's fire flitting over the trees below him, defiant of the rain's dousing touch. The res above him still swirled, bits of it twisting and pulling out of the sky. He released his hold on the elements, water crashing down around him, finally free of his influence. The storm above him roared with appreciation, taking delight in the deluge, throwing more and more of itself into the downpour. His res remained, drifting in the sky. Heat and air, a supercharged line of destruction. He saw it, staggering through the sky, the air near bursting as it careened to his left, smashing into the muddied dirt with a scorching blast.

The mud splattered against his skin, some of it burning him, most slapping harmlessly against him. Lighting. The res above shivered, Keene's intention clear. With a hiss of effort that was mirrored by the now crashing tumult of the rain around him, Keene's res shot out of the sky. Fire, the temporary state of being, mixed with the ever present breath of air, swirled through his mind. The passing nature of fire could cling to its existence through its partnership with the air, filling the ethereal element with a new purpose, a new structure. As the res descended, the hair on the back of his neck rose with static anticipation. Another flash of lighting, a roar of the thunder, then his own hands clapping together. An explosion of the light filled the skies, lighting flying all directions, illuminating the clouds with its twisted grandeur as the entirety of the res he'd created blossomed in a pure white tangle of superheated air. He could feel the tingle through his entire body, his skin near bursting with the rush of energy, shouting for no other reason than to expend what he could.

The storm returned in like, thunder filling the world as if the sky itself was quaking. The winds howled a cry of wild fervor, sweeping over him, knocking him from his footing and forcing him to stagger back words. The storm was pleased, and it requested more. Keene obliged, res sizzling from his fingertips as he charged back towards the edge of the cliff, the winds wrapping themselves around him as he pressed onwards. His hands were thrust forward, res zigzagging ahead of him out into the darkness of the maelstrom. It started with the tips most far from him, a white hot fizzle that erupted into the crack of lightning that stopped a foot before him. He could feel it, the storm, its powerful charge both around and within him, the lightning filling all of his senses from the burning buzz of its flavor to the overwhelming roar of its sound. Both he and the storm delighted in it. The winds buffeted him from all sides, threatening to carry him away.

He almost willed it. It was different from the darkness he'd thought to succumb to before on the wooden floors of his home in Zeltiva. To be thrust up into the heavens amid the whirling clouds and heat of the twisting lighting was to be freed from the world he had found himself in. It was an escape, a swirling, raging release from everything and everyone. In the moment, his plans and goals were discarded. The whisper of the winds and the roar of the storm held more sway over him than he himself, and he could feel himself melting into the wild ferocity of the forces of nature. When his back slammed onto the ground, however, Keene was pulled back into the howling reality of his life, water crashing down around him and thunder and lighting filling the sky above.

The mud pressed cold against him, but he remained there, rain flooding its way over him, the slight slant of the plateau allowing the water to run down and over the cliff, rushing around him like a stone in a stream. He could still feel the buzz of the electricity in the air and snaking through his own body. His heart beat quickly, the exertion of his magic keeping him from rising for the time being. Breathing came slowly to him, eyes still shut against the advent of rain. The storm raged on above him, his contribution well received, but as was the nature of the weather, it was in the past and the storm was in the present. It pressed onwards, and so too did Keene. He raised himself up from the ground, the wind pulling at his sodden figure. As he stood, Keene let the storm whip around him. He could feel it sniffing out his magic, looking for the taste of the crystal white lightning he'd produced. The element had been simple: clearly defined by the storm's example. If it requested more, it was a gift that had been freely given, and Keene had spent enough time on the island to feel compelled to trade.

He could feel his djed rolling within him. The mark on his back as cool as the breezes mixed with his own soul, influencing both who he was and what he was becoming. Keene had never thought to gain the attention of a god, let alone one so closely woven into his past. They had always been distant: real enough, but hardly anything more than strangers never met. Yet, he had met one. He had been touched, his very djed marked, by the ethereal hands of Zulrav. While he had not heard the god's voice since, Keene had little issue feeling the god's presence, whether it be through the vicarious whispers of the breezes, or the thundering boom of a storm. His life of isolation, whether for good or bad, had ended. The breezes were his constant companions. The moved to fill the void that Noven and the others had left; poor substitutes for some, but acceptable enough for others. They were, in a sense, his comrades. They asked little of him, but they were always there, always listening, always feeling.

Letting his eyes open as the rainwater rushed down his face, Keene stared out into the near solid sheets of water tumbling through the sky, moments of perfect stillness in the flashes of lighting. Each time his life had drastically, there had been a storm. It was a dualistic mark, one of ending and beginning, a precedent for change. It was the first time, however, that amid the rolling waves of the whipping rain Keene did not feel despair. There was fear, plenty of fear, and uncertainty for the days to come. He had dedicated himself to power, to the pursuit of it that he might grow strong enough to both protect and destroy what he saw fit. He had found a connection stronger than anything he had ever thought to exist in the muscled arms of the tanned man from across the sea. He had lost those whom he had held close, whether consciously or not. He had learned much, much more than he had even imagined there was to learn, and there was still so much to do. As the res bubbled beneath his skin, djed swirling into the pale blue liquid, Keene's eyes stared out into the grey shower before him, glinting with both determination and resolve. His path before him, however obscured by the hands of Fate and Time, was his to walk. It was not to be a lonely journey, not any more, but there would be trials and hardships he could not foresee - and had not foreseen. Whatever would come, he would meet it head on and conquer it. He had come close to breaking before, but never had life been enough to snap him, and he refused to allow it.

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by **Keene Ward** on March 10th, 2015, 2:11 am

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Streaks of blinding white danced around the sky in reply to the storm's purple. Keene moved them as he saw fit, not daring to touch that which was the storms, but augmenting the display of lights, drawing his own lighting along in wild explosions of light. His arms and body moved in unison with the magic, feet splashing into the few puddles that held against the rush of water that slid from the plateau. He danced in the rain, his spells flitting through the drops, hissing snakes of heat that lasted for a tick or two before fading into the darkness the clouds cast once more. He allowed himself to let loose his frustrations, his emotions, into the sky with each crackling snap of the lighting, the air whizzing around it with a hungry excitement before rushing back to him, tugging at his fingers to bring fourth the element once more.

The storm above roared with approval, and the pale skinned figure atop the mountain he guarded so stoically darted and dipped over the rocky terrain, lighting both natural and arcane sending flashes of clarity, outlining his thin frame and the wildness of his eyes. He was a storm all of his own, res drifting around him like the winds that moved at the behest of the darkened skies, lighting at his command as much as the rolling thunder above. He could feel every last part of his body, charged as it was with the invigorating side effect of the lightning's influence. More, more, more. He had to create more, to make his mark on the air before him, around him. To shine one last brilliant expression of his existence that neither he nor anyone else might forget.

He wasn't sure when he had lost consciousness, only that when he woke, the storm had reached a point at which the winds had been worked up into a frenzy, their attentions wholly focused on the wild, fervent paths they followed. His mouth tasted of metal, and the surges of energy that had careened through his body had been replaced by a heavy sluggishness. Moaning quietly enough that the sound was instantly swiped from his mouth to be carried away on the frantic winds, Keene pushed himself up into a seated position. He was partially shield from the storm's force by the earth of the mountain behind him, which at some point he had managed to reach before slipping into unconsciousness. The tree wavered in the storm, its flapping body catching the initiate's attention. It held strong, a defiance of the tearing winds that buffeted it, clinging to the earth it had been placed it. There was a small warmth of pride in his stomach that Keene allowed to remain. His splitting headache and the disorienting flurry of the rain made it difficult to expend any more energy than was necessary.

Keene had not doubt that he had overgiven. Losing himself to magic was incredibly dangerous, but that aside, he felt unburdened. In a way, he wondered if he had not transmuted his own weighted memories into the brilliant displays of magical prowess. They were still there, of course, but more distant. More manageable. He had withered them down enough to store them away, for there was nothing he could truly forget. Mella, Boswell, Wilhelmina, Noven. They were a part of his life, his history. Pain, in all of its unwanted glory, was more than suffering. It was knowledge gained through the sacrifice of one's own comfort. It was a driving force, pushing and pulling one towards an end perhaps unforeseen, but there none the less. His pain was not to be forgotten, not was it to be cherished. It was a tool, like anything else; a tool to shape him, if he allowed it, to become more than he was.

He drew his legs up towards his chest, huddled against the rage of the storm that had fully thrown itself into the role it was intended to play. Emotions were not efficient. They were not safe or predictable or particularly useful. There were some emotions, however, that Keene found more difficult to manage: yearning, rage, and love. The last was nameless to him, but it was a hollowness in his heart that he thought of the hotheaded man who had filled him with such feeling. Noven was dangerous, more dangerous than anything he had ever faced, but that danger had its own allure. Without him, it was easier to control himself, to stay his emotions and mute the power of his memories over him. He had to grow stronger, to steel himself, that one day he might meet the man again and test himself.

His lips turned down into a frown, eyes closing gently. He knew he would be bested. It was a fight he could not win, but it was not of a nature that he could not try. He had never felt so overwhelmed, and he had put off thinking for too long. There were so many things to think about, so many more than he had ever had to busy himself with in Zeltiva. Life was full of surprises, of wonders and horrors, of tragedy and joy. It had taken him longer than he would have liked to realize that. Secluded as he had been, Keene had thought himself perfectly able to manage his thoughts, his feelings, without allowing them an outlet. Such was not the way of the world, it seemed. Atziri and Noven both had given him an outlet through which to channel the pent up emotions, and it did him good to take advantage of it. It was weakness to feel, yes, but it was foolishness to let the feelings grow until they burst without control. Magic allowed him that release as well, as did storms. There were many ways for him to cope, to learn, to grow.

As he turned his eyes to the raging skies, Keene's stare glimmered in the flash of lights that tore through the air. Progress could not be made without sacrifice. He had held to his ways, and those ways had nearly shattered him. He did not require his emotions, but he would not ignore them. They were a part of him as much as anything else. To display them was unnecessary, but to allow them outlet was. While he had progressed in his physical abilities, Keene intended to push himself farther in that regard. There was little better way to channel his mind than into the strikes and blocks given to him by his master. As the thunder rumbled above him, Keene let his back relax against the stony earth behind him, letting the winds whip over him. He had been exposed to so much change, he supposed it was surprising it had taken him this long to adjust to them. It would be a journey, a trial in and of itself, but he believed it would be stronger for it. Wiser, even, perhaps, if he were successful. Change was to be embraced, lest it crush those in their tenacity.

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by **Orin Fenix** on May 9th, 2015, 12:35 am

Grades are Served

Keene Ward

Skill	XP
Observation	2
Reimancy	3
Meteorology	2
Philosophy	1
Endurance	1

Lores

The Comfortable Place
A Changed And Charged Man
Noven: Can't Get Him Out of My Mind
Noven: Could This be Love?
Reimancy: Water Bubble
Reimancy: Water Tendrils
Reimancy: Storm Manipulation
Para-Element: Lightning
Reimancy: Lightning Bolt
What it Means to be Touched by Zulrav
Storms Are Harbingers of Change

Extras :

Don't forget to edit or delete your grade request in the grade request thread.

If you have any questions or concerns about your grade please feel free to send me a message.

Solo A Child of the Storm