The fourteenth day of spring, 515 AV
"I won't be back until tomorrow." Keene nodded, crunching on the mornings breakfast with a placid gaze at his master's retreating form. He had woken early with the intention of training, but Atziri had explained that her presence was needed elsewhere and that their spar would have to wait until a later date. Swallowing the mess of berries, nuts, and jerky, Keene made his way over to the sand filled half of the cavern, easing down into it before stretching out his legs and running through his morning exercises. Flexibility had never been a concern to him before he had begun his combat training with the fiery woman whom he shared his home with. After several strains and painful hyper-extensions, Keene had begun to find merit in the daily requirement he had placed upon himself to push the limits of his body's ability to bend and twist. Pressing his body as close to the ground as he could with legs splayed on either side of him, Keene held the position for a chime or so, sinking slightly lower each tick until the strain informed him that there was no more give to be taken.
Finishing through the rest of the motions Atziri had instructed him to practice and refine, Keene situated himself into a more comfortable position: heels tucked under his body, weight evenly distributed between knees and feet, hands set calmly in his lap, and back straight. Res slipped from his just parted lips, swirling down into a small ball before him, shivering pale and blue. With a tap of his finger, the liquid froze into a solid sphere of ice, settling into the sand to create its own divot among the myriad others. Drawing a steady, centering breath, Keene settled in for the next bell or so. Ever since his conversation with Thomas Cosa just over an entire season ago, he had dutifully sat before one hundred orbs of ice just as the one in front of him, staring at it in deep, contemplative silence. He had made some progress, though the majority of it was physical. His posture had become even more steady and straight, and he had found that sitting for prolonged periods of time became easier the more one subjected one's self to it.
As far as unlocking the mysteries of auristics, however, he was in, essentially, the same place where he had started. With eyes fixed on what he wanted to see, Keene let his mind retreat within him, gathering up the ever present clouds of djed, their gentle rainfall cascading through his essence, forging him with every tick that passed. He ushered it forward, a different command than when he used it to shield. He wanted to keep it part of himself, and that desire to maintain wholeness permeated the meditative guidance. It drifted within him, mostly following his will, as he'd become rather practiced at it with both reimancy and shielding. Auristics, while certainly neither of his other two more practiced abilities, was not all that different, or at least, not in theory.
For the first forty-three days, Keene had done nothing but look at the ice, not taking any active roll in attempting to decipher and discern the aura that Thomas Cosa had explained all things had. As nothing had happened over and over again, Keene thought to consider that it was more than likely that djed was involved. If auristics truly was a magic - and as Keene had little reason to doubt Thomas Cosa, the thought of it being some sort of farcical joke played upon him by the sarcastic animator never crossed his mind - it stood to reason that it was hardly a passive shift in one's natural observation. Thus, he had begun to practice applying his djed in various ways on the forty-fourth day. These techniques had spanned across a myriad of possibilities ranging from shield's over his eyes improperly tasked to "observe" to "res-spectacles" in the hopes that the transmuted djed might have some after-effect. Around the eighty-seventh day, Keene had turned inwards, working his way around his djed, attempting to employ techniques completely foreign to those he already knew. Eventually, he had begun to feel the natural flow of his soul, his essence, winding and weaving throughout his person as his person.
By the hundred first day, Keene had managed to affect the flow, adjusting how much djed, or more specifically, what kind of djed, was directed towards his eyes, his ears, his tongue, and his skin. It was an odd sensation, like a tingling itch that did not demand a scratch. The first time it had occurred, Keene had thought it to be the magic itself, but had been brought back into the realm of reality when the ice appeared exactly as it had been before. Still, out of everything he had tried previously, it had proven to be the only thing that had shown any sign of being a promising advancement in his pursuit of yet another personal magic, and he held to it. The adjustment of djed had begun to wear on him, another promising indication that he was on the right path. And, as he slowly exhaled, djed rising to meet his senses, Keene bore his focus onto the ball of ice.
When he looked at things, there was always the desire to understand, to comprehend, but that simplistic, natural curiosity did not seem to be enough to spark the magic he sought. Where he might have looked with idle speculation, Keene's gaze burned cold, determination to tear apart and analyze shading his eyes far more green than grey. His focus held steady, jaw unconsciously clenched in the effort it took to maintain his thoughts in a single, straight path: What was before him? How did it work? What made it, it? The string of investigation ran quick and sure, something that had come easier and easier as the chimes had turned to bells and days and seasons after that. While, perhaps, he had not yet learned to draw fourth his soul's capability to peer into the essence of another, he had learned along the way; those lessons, however menial in relation to the true prize sought, were not to be overlooked.
Then, it happened. His eyes blinked, the involuntary motion eliciting a slight flicker of irritation at the back of his mind. When the darkness lifted, however, there was a flicker about the sphere's edge. He blinked again, this time deliberately. There had been many times before where the image that his eyes created for him would shift or sway with exhaustion or simply over examination, yet, when he opened his eyes once more, the motion was still there. It was pale, almost the same off-blue of the ice itself, but it swayed in a jerky motion, as if it had once been a melodic, flowing dance but something had clenched a tight fist around it, forcing it to express itself through the gaps in the fingers. There was something else about the orb as well, and the longer Keene continued to stare, his mind consciously feeding djed along several pathways, experimentally testing each to see which was the proper one, the center of the ball held a slightly different aura.
"I won't be back until tomorrow." Keene nodded, crunching on the mornings breakfast with a placid gaze at his master's retreating form. He had woken early with the intention of training, but Atziri had explained that her presence was needed elsewhere and that their spar would have to wait until a later date. Swallowing the mess of berries, nuts, and jerky, Keene made his way over to the sand filled half of the cavern, easing down into it before stretching out his legs and running through his morning exercises. Flexibility had never been a concern to him before he had begun his combat training with the fiery woman whom he shared his home with. After several strains and painful hyper-extensions, Keene had begun to find merit in the daily requirement he had placed upon himself to push the limits of his body's ability to bend and twist. Pressing his body as close to the ground as he could with legs splayed on either side of him, Keene held the position for a chime or so, sinking slightly lower each tick until the strain informed him that there was no more give to be taken.
Finishing through the rest of the motions Atziri had instructed him to practice and refine, Keene situated himself into a more comfortable position: heels tucked under his body, weight evenly distributed between knees and feet, hands set calmly in his lap, and back straight. Res slipped from his just parted lips, swirling down into a small ball before him, shivering pale and blue. With a tap of his finger, the liquid froze into a solid sphere of ice, settling into the sand to create its own divot among the myriad others. Drawing a steady, centering breath, Keene settled in for the next bell or so. Ever since his conversation with Thomas Cosa just over an entire season ago, he had dutifully sat before one hundred orbs of ice just as the one in front of him, staring at it in deep, contemplative silence. He had made some progress, though the majority of it was physical. His posture had become even more steady and straight, and he had found that sitting for prolonged periods of time became easier the more one subjected one's self to it.
As far as unlocking the mysteries of auristics, however, he was in, essentially, the same place where he had started. With eyes fixed on what he wanted to see, Keene let his mind retreat within him, gathering up the ever present clouds of djed, their gentle rainfall cascading through his essence, forging him with every tick that passed. He ushered it forward, a different command than when he used it to shield. He wanted to keep it part of himself, and that desire to maintain wholeness permeated the meditative guidance. It drifted within him, mostly following his will, as he'd become rather practiced at it with both reimancy and shielding. Auristics, while certainly neither of his other two more practiced abilities, was not all that different, or at least, not in theory.
For the first forty-three days, Keene had done nothing but look at the ice, not taking any active roll in attempting to decipher and discern the aura that Thomas Cosa had explained all things had. As nothing had happened over and over again, Keene thought to consider that it was more than likely that djed was involved. If auristics truly was a magic - and as Keene had little reason to doubt Thomas Cosa, the thought of it being some sort of farcical joke played upon him by the sarcastic animator never crossed his mind - it stood to reason that it was hardly a passive shift in one's natural observation. Thus, he had begun to practice applying his djed in various ways on the forty-fourth day. These techniques had spanned across a myriad of possibilities ranging from shield's over his eyes improperly tasked to "observe" to "res-spectacles" in the hopes that the transmuted djed might have some after-effect. Around the eighty-seventh day, Keene had turned inwards, working his way around his djed, attempting to employ techniques completely foreign to those he already knew. Eventually, he had begun to feel the natural flow of his soul, his essence, winding and weaving throughout his person as his person.
By the hundred first day, Keene had managed to affect the flow, adjusting how much djed, or more specifically, what kind of djed, was directed towards his eyes, his ears, his tongue, and his skin. It was an odd sensation, like a tingling itch that did not demand a scratch. The first time it had occurred, Keene had thought it to be the magic itself, but had been brought back into the realm of reality when the ice appeared exactly as it had been before. Still, out of everything he had tried previously, it had proven to be the only thing that had shown any sign of being a promising advancement in his pursuit of yet another personal magic, and he held to it. The adjustment of djed had begun to wear on him, another promising indication that he was on the right path. And, as he slowly exhaled, djed rising to meet his senses, Keene bore his focus onto the ball of ice.
When he looked at things, there was always the desire to understand, to comprehend, but that simplistic, natural curiosity did not seem to be enough to spark the magic he sought. Where he might have looked with idle speculation, Keene's gaze burned cold, determination to tear apart and analyze shading his eyes far more green than grey. His focus held steady, jaw unconsciously clenched in the effort it took to maintain his thoughts in a single, straight path: What was before him? How did it work? What made it, it? The string of investigation ran quick and sure, something that had come easier and easier as the chimes had turned to bells and days and seasons after that. While, perhaps, he had not yet learned to draw fourth his soul's capability to peer into the essence of another, he had learned along the way; those lessons, however menial in relation to the true prize sought, were not to be overlooked.
Then, it happened. His eyes blinked, the involuntary motion eliciting a slight flicker of irritation at the back of his mind. When the darkness lifted, however, there was a flicker about the sphere's edge. He blinked again, this time deliberately. There had been many times before where the image that his eyes created for him would shift or sway with exhaustion or simply over examination, yet, when he opened his eyes once more, the motion was still there. It was pale, almost the same off-blue of the ice itself, but it swayed in a jerky motion, as if it had once been a melodic, flowing dance but something had clenched a tight fist around it, forcing it to express itself through the gaps in the fingers. There was something else about the orb as well, and the longer Keene continued to stare, his mind consciously feeding djed along several pathways, experimentally testing each to see which was the proper one, the center of the ball held a slightly different aura.