16th of Spring, 505AV
The Blackened Claws Clan Lands
The air was almost still in and around the Blackened Claws longhouse. All of the adults had gone out to fulfill their duty to clan or city: the warriors, hunters, tattooists and traders all out working. Out in the jungle copse surrounding the longhouse, men who were responsible for keeping the clan's animals went about their chores, feeding and training the various beasts that made their home on the clan lands. The two Witch Mistresses remained inside the clan longhouse doing whatever it was that they did, and the Wild Druid left the previous day on what was looking to be a long task dedicated to Caiyha's domain. Although it was difficult to admit, the wild Blackened Claws clan was having a rather peaceful day.
Vurk hated everything about it.
Everyone was doing something. The adults were busy with their tasks, and the children had decided to - for some reason - all go out to market on the same day. The market that peddled petty trinkets, useless weapons, and pieces of fabric that the vendors insisted on calling fashionable. It was all so much extraneous waste, and Vurk wanted nothing to do with it.
Unfortunately, there was no one to teach him. It was at times like these that the White Tigress appeared seemingly out of nowhere to take care of her clan's son, but even she was gone today. While the clan lands were nowhere near empty, Vurk was left effectively alone with no one to teach him and no one to fight. It was aggravating to say the least, though that wasn't saying much. The short-tempered Myrian found most things aggravating these days, but few things more than being unable to study what he considered his defining talent. At least he knew what to do at times like these.
A few brief chimes of wandering the greenery around the Blackened Claws longhouse yielded what he was looking for: one particular tree out of the many that were nearby, with scratches carved out of its trunk to reveal the paler wood beneath.
Walking up to the tree, Vurk put his hand upon the scratches in its trunk and, for a tick, just ran his hand along its length so he could feel all the little grooves in the wood. The coarse texture of Caiyha's creation felt welcome beneath Vurk's palm, almost reassuring in its familiarity. He closed his eyes. Taking deep breaths, the Claw felt for a moment the tree, which had been his most faithful sparring partner since he was but a tiny boy, and all its gouges and cuts. There had been a time when he thought it strange to try attacking a tree, but this tree had helped him much the same way the clan's elders had, if not quite in the same capacity. It was hard to ignore that connection.
Vurk's contemplation ended. Opening his eyes, he took a step back and brought his arms to his sides, beginning the process of arming himself.
Slowly, the Myrian began wiggling his fingers, feeling the djed that coursed through them. It was faint whenever he wasn't in a Morphed state, especially since he'd stopped letting Mistress Yno paint her special runes on his skin. However, thanks to her lessons, he could undeniably feel what made him Vurk, and he latched onto that sensation with his mind. He flexed his hands, bringing them up before him and interlocking his fingers together as if cupping them to drink from a spring. Then he began pulling his hands apart while his fingers were still trapping each other. Rather than unfold, the digits began to stretch as he pulled on them, not rubbery-like but slowly and steadily. It might have been a relatively slow process, but he'd gotten better at it over the years and would continue to do so.
After a chime of gently pulling, Vurk was satisfied with their length. He unlocked his fingers and instead laced them together, pushing them all together against each other at the fingertips. This part was quicker, as they began to compress into tapered off points at the end of each finger, falling naturally into sharp points as his body began to recognize the shape. This part took an additional half chime, but by the end of it Vurk had four battle-ready claws on each hand, prompting him to grin. He could sense his djed surge through the digits, from the base to the point. It felt invigorating.
Another chime passed and he worked on his thumbs next, gripping each one between the opposite thumb and palm before pulling on them until they were about as proportionally long as the rest of his fingers. With his set of claws ready, Vurk's grin grew even wilder.
"I love this," he said to no one in particular, looking down at his morphed appendages. He wiggled his fingers again, watching as each long claw waved in response.
Then, without further ado, he pounced on the tree.
The Blackened Claws Clan Lands
The air was almost still in and around the Blackened Claws longhouse. All of the adults had gone out to fulfill their duty to clan or city: the warriors, hunters, tattooists and traders all out working. Out in the jungle copse surrounding the longhouse, men who were responsible for keeping the clan's animals went about their chores, feeding and training the various beasts that made their home on the clan lands. The two Witch Mistresses remained inside the clan longhouse doing whatever it was that they did, and the Wild Druid left the previous day on what was looking to be a long task dedicated to Caiyha's domain. Although it was difficult to admit, the wild Blackened Claws clan was having a rather peaceful day.
Vurk hated everything about it.
Everyone was doing something. The adults were busy with their tasks, and the children had decided to - for some reason - all go out to market on the same day. The market that peddled petty trinkets, useless weapons, and pieces of fabric that the vendors insisted on calling fashionable. It was all so much extraneous waste, and Vurk wanted nothing to do with it.
Unfortunately, there was no one to teach him. It was at times like these that the White Tigress appeared seemingly out of nowhere to take care of her clan's son, but even she was gone today. While the clan lands were nowhere near empty, Vurk was left effectively alone with no one to teach him and no one to fight. It was aggravating to say the least, though that wasn't saying much. The short-tempered Myrian found most things aggravating these days, but few things more than being unable to study what he considered his defining talent. At least he knew what to do at times like these.
A few brief chimes of wandering the greenery around the Blackened Claws longhouse yielded what he was looking for: one particular tree out of the many that were nearby, with scratches carved out of its trunk to reveal the paler wood beneath.
Walking up to the tree, Vurk put his hand upon the scratches in its trunk and, for a tick, just ran his hand along its length so he could feel all the little grooves in the wood. The coarse texture of Caiyha's creation felt welcome beneath Vurk's palm, almost reassuring in its familiarity. He closed his eyes. Taking deep breaths, the Claw felt for a moment the tree, which had been his most faithful sparring partner since he was but a tiny boy, and all its gouges and cuts. There had been a time when he thought it strange to try attacking a tree, but this tree had helped him much the same way the clan's elders had, if not quite in the same capacity. It was hard to ignore that connection.
Vurk's contemplation ended. Opening his eyes, he took a step back and brought his arms to his sides, beginning the process of arming himself.
Slowly, the Myrian began wiggling his fingers, feeling the djed that coursed through them. It was faint whenever he wasn't in a Morphed state, especially since he'd stopped letting Mistress Yno paint her special runes on his skin. However, thanks to her lessons, he could undeniably feel what made him Vurk, and he latched onto that sensation with his mind. He flexed his hands, bringing them up before him and interlocking his fingers together as if cupping them to drink from a spring. Then he began pulling his hands apart while his fingers were still trapping each other. Rather than unfold, the digits began to stretch as he pulled on them, not rubbery-like but slowly and steadily. It might have been a relatively slow process, but he'd gotten better at it over the years and would continue to do so.
After a chime of gently pulling, Vurk was satisfied with their length. He unlocked his fingers and instead laced them together, pushing them all together against each other at the fingertips. This part was quicker, as they began to compress into tapered off points at the end of each finger, falling naturally into sharp points as his body began to recognize the shape. This part took an additional half chime, but by the end of it Vurk had four battle-ready claws on each hand, prompting him to grin. He could sense his djed surge through the digits, from the base to the point. It felt invigorating.
Another chime passed and he worked on his thumbs next, gripping each one between the opposite thumb and palm before pulling on them until they were about as proportionally long as the rest of his fingers. With his set of claws ready, Vurk's grin grew even wilder.
"I love this," he said to no one in particular, looking down at his morphed appendages. He wiggled his fingers again, watching as each long claw waved in response.
Then, without further ado, he pounced on the tree.
