Allegory

[Nimvahlis]

Theme Song : Remembrance Day Sylira Wildlands Three Bells before Midnight 19th of Fall, 510 AV Thoughts like mercury trickle, trailing along gemstone skin to drip upon the clay. A waxing moon hovered in the cloudless sky. An autumn breeze blew through the trees, chill upon the skin; it filled the nostrils with cool and refreshing air, shocking the lungs with its sharpness. Dark silhouettes of the wildland's large trees swayed gently in the wind, populating the night with an army of ominous dancers. Their leaves rustled loudly as the light rocking continued, giving the time of Leth noise of an amplitude not often heard. It was a night of activity, a certain energy vibrated through the air to touch everything. Cold, dark, mysterious, but alive. Nimvahlis rested on his knees behind a tree, shielding himself from much of the wind. Autumn was coming in force, and the winds and rains would soon be lethal under exposure. Yet the Ethaefal was a day's travel from Zeltiva and then onward to Sahova, thus the inclement weather would bother him little in the days to come. Yet here he knelt, struck by a spontaneous need. Change. Soon he would begin a new chapter, rife with magic and danger. Never before had Nimvahlis surrounded himself with magicians, and neither had he so blatantly endangered himself. Yet he must. For growth, and for Callisto. This deafening distance. His spine shivered, Nim felt the tension and life in the air keenly. The perfect setting. He reached into the sack he carried his few personal belongings in, brushing back the white sleeve of his robe. Out he pulled his paintbrushes, and a set of rare paints he had acquired in his first trip through Ahnatep. His past life rushed up, a zephyr that twirled and spun Nimvahlis' rag doll body. It was only a series of vague impressions, but he knew art. A lifetime devoted to the creation of auras, of showing others what could not be seen. Yet he had rarely painted since his arrival, favoring the ecstasy of magic and discovery. He had surrendered to addiction, he was broken. So what am I now? His hands scooped away some loose dirt, and he carefully lay the paints and brushes in the hole. Bracing himself against the tree as a gust of wind whipped by, he stared down at the supplies. They were almost foreign. "Is this transcendence, or admittance? Am I an artist of the mind, or as helpless to myself as these trees to the storm?" For once, Nimvahlis did not know. His chin fell to rest against his chest, heavy and weary. It was a change, and nothing more. The Ethaefal would strike forth and embrace this newness and all that would come with it. There is no time to cling to old habits. Now was a time of reckoning, where the line would be drawn between the powerful and the powerless. Am I the slave or the master? He smoothed soil back over the hole, ready to embrace this new self, whatever it may be. The world, my dear, ends not with a bang, but with a whimper. An ear shattering shriek pierced the night, drowning out the coalescing thoughts in Nim's mind. He flinched, and jumped quickly to his feet as yet another howl shot through the forest. Ethaefal eyes pierced the darkness, searching for the source of the screaming, yet nothing revealed itself to him. Another joined the chorus, and another, and another. Each sprouted from the forest, and soon Nim saw small shadows dashing through the trees. They almost resembled humans, yet too petite, with bits of dirt falling from their skin. The cacophony continued as they charged toward the wide dirt path, their numbers swelling with each chime. Nimvahlis scrambled as the battle materialized around him, looking for the nearest avenue of escape. One of the small savages spotted him, and rather than attack whatever his compatriots were, he turned on the bystander. Panic raced over his skin, sending goosebumps up along his arms and shoulders. Nim whirled about and grabbed at the lowest tree branch, desperately trying to escape to the trees. His arm hooked around the branch, and his legs dug into the bark as he pushed up. It did not take long, but he was sweating from either exertion or fear by the time he had draped himself over a branch. But before he could find his balance and move higher, the dirt man leapt for him. Its rough hands grasped his arm. Nim reflexively wrapped his legs around the branch, clinging to it as the caricature raked at his arm. Nails dug into his skin, but the creature could not hold onto the arm as its owner flailed it about, and soon lost its grip. Falling the short distance back to the ground, the mimic quickly regained its composure and leapt for its prey once more. Nimvahlis’ leg lashed out at the jumping thing, catching it squarely in the head---one could not evade the clumsiest of kicks while leaping into the air like a madman. The panic and fear that went through Nim’s mind was suddenly laced with a streak of exhilaration as the petite man collapsed on the ground. Though with the degree of combat expertise Nimvahlis had, it was clear the poorly executed, if direct, kick had not killed it. Again it rose, but by the time it had regained its orientation, Nim was up. He carefully righted himself, placing one leg on the bough and pushing up. The Ethaefal stretched, grasping the branch above him for support as he carefully stepped to the next one. Granite lips pursed as he worked, this was all familiar to him; but then again, very few things did not invoke a sense of déjà vu. He stepped out, slowly transitioning the weight to the foot placed on the higher branch. Nimvahlis was not skilled at climbing, but he was not stupid enough to do it quickly. After moving over to the high bough, Nim slowly sat and straddled it so as not to fall. His eyes roamed about the clearing, searching for some sign of the maniac who had attacked him; yet the Ethaefal saw nothing, the assailant having moved on to easier prey. deep breath, a look around, an assessment. The shrieking still permeated the woods, but now there were other noises. Straining his ears against the wall of sound, he heard what sounded like combat: human shouts, the striking of iron, the whinnying of horses. Now Nimvahlis was torn between two options. He could either run to the fight where the others may or may not offer him sanctuary if they were winning, or he could hope most of the caricatures were there and not pillaging elsewhere. Nim was not a military tactician though, he was a magician. Djed mustered itself from the crevices of the soul as the Ethaefal beckoned, reaching up to face the world without. His eyes, the second set, had opened once more. A subconscious and internal battle engaged within, the natural fear and edginess fighting the onset of supreme tranquility. Like an alcoholic’s sigh after a long dry spell, Nimvahlis felt relieved and calm now that he’d brought his power to the fore. As if a reimancer had thrown spheres of fire about the forest, many red blotches appeared in the darkness. The Ethaefal focused on none, but still the auras of several sentient creatures loomed. Though his vision with auristics was limited, Nim could still garner some sense of what lay beyond normal sight. Probing eyes swiveled about, searching for more of the glowering coals that were these savage men. More than a few. A brave new world. Unsure of his plan, Nim clung to his tentative perch in the tree. He calmly watched as a trio of the shrieking things ran almost directly beneath him, like three orbs of fire careening through the forest. They apparently cannot see well during Leth’s rule. It had been the tree’s camouflage in part that had hidden him from the caricatures. He reached out, looking for branches he might break off. Soon he grasped two large, leafy limbs and broke each off at the base. Nim prepared to jump to the ground, but one detail caught him up. White robe. Before departing the tree tops, he pulled the garment up over his head and tossed it onto a higher branch. Engaging his auristics one last time, he cast about for more of the angry blotches, and jumped down. He rolled his ankle. Nimvahlis stifled a gasp as he collapsed to the ground, his camouflage branches lying by his side. With gritted teeth he released the hold on his djed, and pulled his leg up to his chest. Another gust of wind howled through the trees, chilling his naked body as he lay on the damp ground. The incessant yelling seemed to get worse, and Nim quickly moved his foot about. I can still use it, simply sore. A deep breath helped clear his thoughts, and he pressed one hand to his abdomen. Waves of energy washed over him, and for an instant he felt as if his body had been displaced from the river of time. The battered Ethaefal had slipped from the stream Tanroa had so delicately balanced, only to be thrust back in a day ahead. His body aged that of one single day, no more and no less. The claw marks on his hand had began to scab over, and the rolled ankle was reduced now to a minor ache. Not entirely sure it would help, but deciding it was worth a try anyway, Nimvahlis dug his hands into the earth and smeared it across his face and chest before grabbing his branches and moving to the nearest bush. Looking at the portable cover he had fashioned, the Ethaefal realized he wouldn’t be able to cover himself without something to back up against. Problem upon problem. Another howling noise, and one of the caricatures was upon him from nowhere. It seemed to materialize from the bushes, charging forth with bare hands ready to tear at Nim. The assailed Ethaefal rose from his crouch by the bush, abandoning his failed attempt at camouflage. Rife with experience, brimming with discovery. A headache ignited in his mind as he forced himself to weave hypnotic influence as quickly as possible. He extended the branches in a guarding manner, trying to keep the approaching caricature away as he shuffled laterally to it. The throbbing in his head increased as the spider silk webs wove themselves. The image of this short creature facing the tall, branch armed silhouette would flash through his mind. The scent of freshly spilled innards and slick blood seeping from the gash in his chest would fill the mimic’s piteous brain. He would hear his own screams, but of pain rather than rage. Squirming on the ground as the life left him so soon after it’d entered; the caricature would know only a life of misery, pain, and anguish. This power built, stretched and warped as it waxed; when the creature came within a few yards, Nimvahlis released it. Like a bolt it shot through the air and embedded itself within its head. Suddenly the beast clutched at its stomach, looking down in horror. For the briefest of instants the mimic seemed to believe he had actually been wounded by the towering figure. Though in the next three seconds, the beast realized what trickery had occurred and resumed his charge. Nimvahlis had already started running. He pumped his legs, running through the trees and brush. The soreness in both his head and ankle grew, but nevertheless he continued dashing through the night. Like a clumsy shadow he made a run for it, crashing through bushes and saplings; under any other circumstances the loud noises would have spelled his end, but little could be heard among the screaming din of the caricatures. The strained djed that had spun his hypnotic influence began building once more as Nim took his focus away from the path and shifted it toward his mind. His running became mechanical, like an automaton. Again a surge of pain and fear began to weave itself into a web, fashioning a trap to force hesitation upon the next beast he encountered. Not for a second would Nimvahlis fool himself and entertain the thought of making them stop dead in their tracks, a few seconds pause was all he could hope for. A root caught his foot, and Nimvahlis pitched forward. His branches waved wildly, but through frantic work he maintained balance and continued the desperate flight. Suddenly he stopped, ducking behind a tree and crouching. A pair of the mimics were screaming up ahead and were headed this way. The Ethaefal, though inexperienced, found himself having an easier time than anticipated due to nightfall and the creatures’ incessant shrieking. So he crouched behind the tree, pulling the branches up to cover him as best he could. Within his mind he began to reshape the threads, spinning them anew and splitting them into two. A flash of hypnotic input, woven of the sounds of battle and scents of humanity coming from the road, shot forth into their minds like a bolt of lightning. The promise of bloodshed hit their minds hard, and their senses tingled with the realization that it was naught thirty yards away. Both wheeled about and headed toward the battle, which was in all actuality real; the two were not headed toward an empty clearing, but toward whatever was fighting their brethren. Nim waited, crouched behind the bush for a few moments more before dashing off. Pounding temples accompanied each step as his arms pumped, tightly gripping his branches. He angled himself toward the road now, hoping to come out a ways from the fighting. Dark silhouettes of trees whirred past him, and the autumnal winds howled in his ears along with the screeching mimics. The djed in his body was beginning to feel strain, yet another wave of calm pulsed through him as he called forth his magic. Red stains bloomed on the shady night backdrop. Most of the auras appeared to his left about fifteen feet ahead, and to his right he could see naught but the shade of Leth’s dominion. One breath. Two. Three. You’re in a bad way! He emerged from the tree line, pushing through the bushes and onto the worn dirt path. A battle raged on the road, a medium sized caravan held up by the small swarm of dirt men. Humans and mimics fought and slaughtered each other like cattle. One of the latter broke off from the main pack, shrieking and running toward Nim. The Ethaefal, not willing to risk a fight now, turned and ran. One last burst of magic built behind his temples, a feeling not of anger or pain, but of joy. A dizziness accompanied it, a light headedness as if one was dancing among the clouds, but the emotion inside was certainly joy. It built upon itself like water behind a dam, waiting for the floodgates to open so it might sweep away the humanoid in pursuit. With a laugh Nimvahlis released the energy, and it sprung forth like the vernal season, blooming inside his mind with unparalleled colors and life. The dizzying happiness and joy engulfed him, a contentment and pleasure that this poor caricature had never before known. For the first and possibly last time, the mimic experienced a few scraps of happiness. The light headedness caused it to trip and slow, pausing at the strange emotion for a brief moment before returning to butcher the soldiers, who were not running. Elation ripped through Nimvahlis like a tempest. It tore apart the calmness, the depression, and the addictions he had succumbed to. His legs carried him away from the battle and the shrieks and the chaos. As the first drops of rain began to fall, the Ethaefal let out an erratic, choking laugh. After all this time wandering the breadth of Mizahar, he was free. Shaken were the revenants of past lives; this was not some hollow remake of his past life, this was not a caricature. No, this was an existence with a whole new world to explore and experiences to live. Nimvahlis was free of the mimicry, and he was released of his past. You’re in a bad way! Apparently, you’ve developed a soul. ______Fin______

[Ataraxia]

Nimvahlis XP Observation + 2, Climbing + 3, Unarmed Combat + 2, Auristics + 2, Camouflage + 1, Hypnotism + 2, Running + 3, Tactics + 1 Lore Giving up on art | Next time, i'll climb down | Utilizing inborne powers | Fight or Flight | Using all the weapons at your disposal | Casting away old desires | Comments "ehhhhh! ehhhhh! get offff!" lol. Cool thread, I enjoy training threads that double as story events and thus, aren't boring. Nimvahlis is now a dedicated psycho-mage, congrats! You know the drill with questions. Peace out. "ehhhhhhh!"