Webshooters, for Real!

[Azmere]

36th of Summer, 506 AV

Azmere sat against the base of the tree with the swirling winds. His eyes were closed and his hands were folded in his lap with his feet stretched out before him. He was relaxed and peaceful listening to the wind whisper along the tops of the dry grass. Syna was obscured by clouds but still shared her warmth with the world below. The sounds of crunching and munching occasionally drifted into the scarred ear of Azmere and it helped him to gauge how far away Hephiestian was standing. Footfalls like subtle thunder pounded up the small incline in a rhythm that was both familiar and comforting to Azmere. The Drykas man noticed the slight weight displacement that favoured the right foot and knew that it was his Ankal; grandfather, Asmodeus. Without opening his eyes, he signed a polite hello.

The older man sat down next to his pupil and took several deep breaths. After a moment, both men were on the same breath and the Ankal began the lesson. “Let yourself go, boy. Drift into the wind as it plays across the top of the grass.” Azmere listened to the words and released hi focus. He relinquished control of his form and soon found that he was standing several yards away from his resting form. He could see his strider and the body of his grandfather as well. The familiar lines of soft blue djed criss-crossed the world around him. Azmere quickly forgot about what was close and began to think about what was off in the distance. He turned to chase a sound but was stopped by the form of Asmodues standing in his path. Azmere fumbled for words and was silenced by a raised hand.

“We can communicate in the Web.” A sly smile crossed the old man’s face. “But you already know that, don’t you?” He was alluding to Azmere’s chat with Dravite last season. The boy’s mother had told Asmodues’ daughter over a brief exchange in the market of Endrykas. Asmodeus was older but always managed to stay apprised of everything that was relevant and even some things that were simply gossip. He reached out and touched Azmere’s shoulder. “I chose this place because two strands of the web always break on this rise. We’re not sure why but it’s one of many spots that require regular tending.” The elder turned and pointed to one such place and in a thought was standing next to it.

Azmere looked at how quickly the space was crossed and calmed himself then touched the broken line and floated in a flash to where the separation had occurred. He looked at the two ends and reached for them but was unable to touch the pieces. His face curled into a look of aggravation but he did not have a chime to dwell on his anger. The old man moved behind him and began to coach as any good tutor would. “No, son. You must feel the djed inside yourself first. Then and only then will you be able to repair what is broken.”

Stormblood

[Azmere]

Azmere listened to the wise words of his grandfather. He calmed his mind and allowed the world to disappear for a moment. The knowledge that Asmodeus was nearby brought great comfort to the young man. It was the same feeling that one has as an infant when his mother is in the room. Azmere allowed this peace to fill him like a jug at a well. The djed was a part of him within the web. True, it comprised the strands that allowed those with the skill to navigate the Sea of Grass with ease and scout in safety but it was also a part of the people. Those who lingered too long didn’t become ghosts in the maze but returned to their most basic form. They become a part of the magic itself; a part of the world.

The young man knew this lesson well because he’d been reminded and nagged over and over again to never stray too far from his body, to never stay in the web for too long. These terms are vague but that is when the strong hand of the Stormwarden come in and lay a firm grip on the rambunctious shoulders of a tumultuous lad. Azmere laid all of these things to rest and simply focused on the feeling of being full. He was complete in his spirit and mind while resting here. A heavy baritone cut into his tranquillity but it wasn’t an interruption so much as it was an addition to the symphony of silence that was playing.

“Repair the strand, Azmere. Treat it as thought you were dressing a wound on Hephiestian.”

Azmere opened his contrasting eyes. The intensity he normally held within the blue and gold was gone to be replaced by purpose and calm. His hands were steady as the slightly weathered fingers reached out to embrace the broken ends of web in this tiny corner. Unlike his numerous attempts to grasp the strands, this process was met with success. The faint blue was soft and warm but not like a rope as he imagined. The djed seemed to be alive as if it had a pulse or breath. Azmere waited not wanting to lose the delicate touch allowing him contact and soon found his own heart beating with the rhythm of the web. One pulse. One beat. Azmere couldn’t see it but the Ankal was beaming pride as he stood but a few feet behind his pupil.

Stormblood

[Azmere]

Now that he had gotten in sync with the broken strand of djed, Azmere could almost feel it telling him how to repair the damage. Azmere continued to focus on the pieces in his hands. His heart beat with the energy flowing from them and through him. It was like he was a conduit for the djed. Without even thinking of what he was doing, Azmere slowly brought his hands together and in an action that was fuelled by both instinct and suggestion, he tied a knot. His blue and gold eyes watch while his hands released the resilient glowing blue djed. The knot became a pulsating light for a few brief moments and then straightened into just another part of the strand. Azmere smiled the grin of a child who had just figured out one of life’s big mysteries. He hopped up and turned around to face his Ankal who embraced him in a tight hug. “Well done, Azmere. Now…”

Azmere pushed back from the large man and interrupted his teacher. This was highly unorthodox and the expression on Asmodeus’s face revealed as much not that anyone else was around to witness the spectacle. Azmere took a step back and held his hand up asking for a moment to explain. He quickly signed an apology and the sign of respect used for Ankal then continued in verbal Pavi. “When I held the broken strands, they… they talked to me.” Azmere paused as he struggled to find the words to describe what had happened. “The cairn, Ankal, is falling apart. The strand showed me where it is.” Azmere took a few steps past his grandfather and pointed towards the west. His contrasting gaze stared far into the distance. The young man knew better than to try to travel that far in the web without more experience. It would be a few hours to ride that far but he knew that his grandfather would be up for the journey.

Turning back around, he bowed his head in respect and waited for the sound judgement of his leader and mentor. The old man folded an arm across his ribs and tucked his elbow against it so his other hand could stroke the weathered skin on his smooth face. Asmodeus was a man of well-defined features; straight jaw, strong shin, thin lips and piercing blue eyes. Even at his stage in life, the eyes were those of a sharp thinker. Asmodeus was often sought by many to resolve issues because of his age but also his temperance. He was one of the few elder Diamond clan warriors who practiced patience and reason as opposed to strictly adhering to honor and stature. This conflicting approach has made him both unliked and revered among the clans. After several chimes, he reached out a big hand and covered Azmere’s shoulder with it. “Let’s go take a look.”

Stormblood

[Azmere]

Azmere smiled up at his grandfather. The man had put up with a large amount of terrible behavior from the young man over the years and was always there to support, correct and redirect. Sometimes, caring is discipline and sometimes…discipline can hurt. The young man moved swiftly along the strands of glowing djed back to the tree where his body was propped up. For a moment, Azmere lingered back a ways to avoid being drawn back to consciousness. He studied the way he resembled his Ankal and the ways that he didn’t. Asmodeus was unscathed aside from a few well-deserved battle scars. His features were a bit more distinguished as well. The most noticeable was the difference in size. Asmodeus was a giant of a man compared to the average-sized young Drykas. As Azmere was thinking this, the elder passed beside him and back into his physical form. Azmere joined him promptly.

He blinked a few times and then began to get up to his feet. He left his back against the tree to help steady his shaky legs. The master webber, Asmodeus was already walking on a solid base to his strider. It was funny, actually because the biggest man in the pavilion had the smallest horse. His strider was only thirteen hands high and a bit on the skinny side. He climbed up and looked back to his pupil. “C’mon boy!” Azmere looked up to him to catch the signs saying to lead the way. He smiled his crooked smile which had developed because of the stiffness of the scars. The young man made his way over to Hephiestian and mounted with practiced ease. Once on the stallion’s back, he touched his heels to the horse’s ribs and off they went to the west.

Though Syna was still high in the sky, she was falling towards the west. Azmere steered his large strider along the grasses and outcroppings of rocks with determination but also patience. He knew to let the creature lead when the way was an easy, open field of grass. When obstacles became present or when they ran past known animal lairs, Azmere would take a more active role and guide the horse towards firmer soil or away from a cluster of hills known to house spearbacks. Asmodeus followed his grandson with great zeal never falling behind but never pushing the young lad, either. He understood the importance of teaching an inexperienced leader to trust himself. The stormwarden had taught several people the art of being in charge but was finding it most difficult with his newest student. Azmere had potential but it was the boy’s own doubt that haunted him. He was never certain that he should be great even though he felt that it might be in his destiny. The Ankal had told Azmere countless times that greatness is not a born trait but one that is earned. Though he works and succeeds at the tasks placed before him, Azmere didn’t risk dreaming as he should. This troubled his grandfather more than anything. It was like there was an influence that was poisoning him to be mediocre.

Azmere pushed Hephiestian hard along the game paths catching a sign or trigger to remember the way. It had been almost two bells when he caught first sight of the object. He slowed Hephiestian down to a trot and began to scout the area carefully. Asmodeus caught up to him quickly and seeing the seriousness on the young man’s face, he too began to look across the landscape. In Pavi, he signed a single word. Trouble? Azmere shook his head and pointed to a huge, malformed tree that appeared to have half of its trunk laid low by a lightning strike. That wasn’t why Azmere had stopped, though. He just had a feeling that something was wrong with the area before them. He looked to his Ankal with deep concern seeded into his blue and gold eyes accented by a loss of color in his face. He signed a simple phrase asking if the land could be sick. Asmodeus did not look pleased by this and settled into his yvas a bit more. He reached up into the sky with his right hand and touched the hurricane of Zulrav on his neck. A breeze blowing by seemed to swirl around his hand and then was gone. When he opened his crisp eyes, the clear blue skies normally seen were disturbed by a storm. He held a hand up for Azmere to wait and took his mare ahead slowly towards the downed tree.

Stormblood

[Azmere]

Azmere watched all of this take place. He had always felt drawn to Zulrav but as of yet had not retained any kind of recognition from the god. He wasn’t sure if it was an issue with his prayers or if the god figured that he saved his life once and that was enough. Azmere was slowly starting to control the anger that would occasionally well up inside of him when he felt scorned or abandoned. I was an immature emotion but it was one that Azmere struggled with and as such was a part of him as much as his scar tissue and multi-colored eyes. Shaking his head, the young boy snapped back to the reality at hand.

His eyes traced the path made by his mentor and studied every move. Asmodeus was making side to side arcs that allowed the wiser man to take in more as well as gave him more time to process the information. After several chimes, he finally reached the tree. He dismounted his mare and waved for his younger companion to join him. Azmere pushed his boots against the sides of his stallion and guided them forward as Hephiestian began to trot. The younger Drykas made a more direct line but still had to navigate his strider around the downed tree and left a wide enough berth so that if something was corrupted it could be seen before being felt.

Once Azmere reached his grandfather, he dismounted and walked to where the older man was kneeling. The pupil’s gaze fell to the decomposing carcass of a night lion. It seemed as if it had been struck by lightning along with the tree. Azmere looked over the mangled, contorted and discolored scar tissue that had replaced a large portion of the beast’s shimmering coat and felt sympathy wash over him like a strong gust of cold air. Asmodeus tapped Azmere’s and pointed to the gash in the lion’s side and then at the mark left on the tree. His aged stare met the eagerness of his grandson’s and he signed not lightning. Azmere was confused. What else could do such damage? Then it dawned on him; magic. Someone had done this. Azmere was about to ask a question when Asmodeus went into a quick explanation about what he thought had happened.

Magic, he signed, created and sustains the web. “Cairns hold the strands together.” He motioned to the tree and signed cairn. Asmodeus then motioned to the scorch marks. “Reimancy did this. This was intentional.” Asmodeus made the sign for a bad or wicked person. Azmere furrowed his brow. “What if someone was just trying to defend themselves from the lion?” It seemed like a logical thing to do from Azmere’s perspective. Asmodeus shook his head and moved a few steps over to his right and began to demonstrate how the attack occurred.

He signed for lion and then motioned to the void created by whatever killed it. “This is one attack.” He then pointed at the tree trunk split asunder. “This is a second.” Before Azmere could ask how, the old man was using his body to illustrate that a single strike could not have hit both targets. He then signed for the lion to be an unintended casualty. “Whoever did this was after the cairn.” Azmere was confused again but knew better than to argue. Maybe that was the bad feeling he had gotten from this place. Perhaps the seditions ambitions of whoever was here last had bled into the ground giving off a foul mood. Then again, it could be that Azmere was anticipating something to be wrong and his mind facilitated the metaphysical response. His thoughts were interrupted by his ankal giving him orders. “You go sit by Hephiestian and enter the web. Fix the cairn in the same way that I showed you earlier and I will keep watch while you are under.” Azmere wanted to argue but knew he dare not refuse such an order. He turned and walked away from the tree and the dead predator until he reached his trusted steed. He sat down on the grass and laid back into the blades allowing his mind to push away the questions while his body unwound from any undue stress.

Stormblood

[Azmere]

As the world slipped into the background, Azmere closed his eyes. The wind mixed its soft whistle with his own gentle breathing to form a quiet melody that lulled him to a peaceful state. He opened his eyes and was in the web, his consciousness having left his body to enter the intricate weaving strands of djed that connected all things in the Sea of Grass. Azmere could see his grandfather looking about the area. His unsettled expression gave Azmere all the motivation he needed to accomplish his task. He trod down to the tree that had been unnaturally shattered and could see the mess he was going to have to contend with clearly.

The tree had been used as a cairn to tie together all the strands in this area. Essentially, it was an anchor for this part of the web. When the physical object gets damaged, the ties holding the strands come unraveled and information cannot travel along the affected lines. Azmere sat down next to a broken grid space. There were two strings that ran north and south and three that ran east to west but none of them were attached to anything. Azmere set about attaching them to one another first and figured he could anchor the whole mass later. As he had been taught, he felt the light within himself and pulled it out like silk coming from his hands. He wove his djed into the existing strands connecting one of the north and south strings to a strand that crossed it. After several chimes of patching this piece, Azmere moved on to the next cross and went about the same process. Half a bell had gone by and Azmere had bound each of the wayward strands except one. Azmere was tired. He felt as if he was too drained to get through all of these repairs. It certainly gave him a higher respect for the Webwalkers who do this day in and day out.

With a willful pride behind him, Azmere generated more of the soft web from his hands. He felt tired but knew he had to finish this last knot. The strings coming from his fingers bound the loose djed to the other pieces of the grid. Azmere could tell the person who had laid the origin was talented because the existing places of union all seemed very clean and well-ordered. The pieces that he had fixed together seemed cumbersome in their arrangement. Once he finished, Azmere felt himself getting dizzy and his hands ached. This had never happened to him before and he wearily made his way back to his body. He was very thankful that he hadn’t gone far from his physical form. Even to cross the fifteen feet in front of him, Azmere had to fight the urge to simply lie down and rest. He was experiencing flashes of light that blanked the world from his vision. Just as he was about to call it quits, he crawled the last few feet until he was reunited with his body.

He snorted and shook back to a conscious state that instantly was shaken by a fit of coughs and a quickly working nose bleed. Azmere looked up to see his grandfather standing over him. The ankal signed for a report. Through raspy words that bordered on the verge of whispers, Azmere filled in his mentor on the situation. “All the strands are together but no anchor. I don’t feel good.” The young Drykas closed his eyes and wiped his arm under his nose smearing the bright red blood along his arm. He needed a nap.

Asmodeus knelt down and placed a large hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It’s alright, boy. We’ll get to that. You rest and after a few chimes of shut-eye, we’ll go home.” Azmere took comfort in the strong touch and reassuring tone of his mother’s father. He sank against the grass and took to snoring almost instantly. Azmere would later come to find out that this was his first experience with overgiving and serve as a warning every time he enters the web.

Stormblood

[Tribal]

G R A D E S

Azmere

Experience

• Observation: 4
• Socialisation: 3
• Meditation: 2
• Webbing: 4
• Riding, Horse: 2
• Land Navigation: 1
• Investigation: 1
• Logic: 1

Lore

• Webbing: Blue pathways
• Webbing: Using djed to repair the web
• Webbing: Used to protect the Sea of Grass
• Webbing: Used to navigate Cyphrus
• The voices of the web
• Magic: The power of Reimancy
• Webbing repair and the effects of over-giving

Notes

Great thread, Azmere. Haven't given you any penalties because of the nature of the thread [flashback], but I did fit a lore in for next time.