Flashback The World Wide Web -Sorta [Dravite]

[Azmere]

17th of Spring, 506 AV

Azmere felt the cool mist of the dying rain on his face. He clutched the handle on his yvas with his left hand and allowed his right hand to trail behind him in the wind. He sat ‘side-saddle’ with his legs dangling off the right side of Hephiestian. With his bow across his chest and quiver on his back, the young man felt alive. He had watched a few hunters riding in this strange manner a week past and had been looking for a chance to experiment. It certainly lended more control to the strider but Azmere was figuring out was to impose his will on his companion. Using his entire body for balance, he was finding the riding much easier than expected and decided to try a few commands.

Azmere placed his right hand on Hephiestian’s rump for more stability then nudged his boot into the horse’s ribs. In a normal riding position, this would indicate a right turn. Azmere often used his feet and legs to steer because he needs both hands for his weapon. As expected, Hephiestian veered to the right. Azmere was elated and patted his buddy’s rear. “Yeeesssss!” Satisfied with the riding session, Azmere tugged back on the yvas handle twice which also a non-verbal command. Hephiestian slowed and then came to a stop. The young man dropped to the ground with ease and made a few strides which brought him to his mount’s face. He nuzzled into Hephiestian’s neck and stroked his fingers down the long, graceful nose. The duo shared a moment under the dreary sky and after a few chimes, they separated.

Azmere took a step back with his right foot and pivoted on his boot heel. He took off his bow, removed his quiver then dropped them into the wet grass. The man sank to the earth and crossed his legs. He placed his bow across his lap and closed his eyes allowing his mind to go free of its cares for a time. “Zulrav, watch over me.” It was but a whisper that was swept into the swirling and chasing winds. The storm had passed but there were lingering clouds and free spirits dancing in the breezes. Azmere allowed his mind to detach from his body. He floated up for a moment and turned to see his body sitting peacefully. A quick glance around revealed Hephiestian munching on the short, green clovers tucked in around the base of the tall grass. These were normal everyday things but known only to a few were the numerous strands of djed gently illuminated a soft blue stretching in every direction containing and connecting everything in the Sea of Grass. Every pavilion, every strider, every glassbeak and even the Wind Knotted Gates outside Endrykas were woven into the intricate web.

Azmere had been shown the way into the web by Asmodeus and was encouraged to explore on his own. He found it to be enchanting and overwhelming while also lending him to the most peaceful feeling he had ever known. Perhaps this is why his Ankal had stressed the importance of small doses and short distances. Asmodeus told Azmere some very disturbing tales of men and women who have gone into the web but never found their way back to their own bodies. He also explained that venturing into the tangle of djed leaves your physical body vulnerable to everything. For this reason, Azmere chose a spot within sight of the tent city. He held his arms out and spun around letting his eyes trace the blue lines out into the Sea of Grass. Azmere reached out to touch the one which lead north and with a thought, he was a hundred yards away with his body to the south.

“Whoa.”

Word Count627

[Dravite]

Beyond the city outskirts, across the golden tide, and past the winding bends of the nearest river, the Windborne pavilion had made camp a good day’s ride from the spring grounds, ready to lose themselves to the lush, green plains of Cyphrus for another two seasons after spending a handful of days within the Emerald district. Windborne weren't like the other pavilions in the sense that they liked to go it alone and remain on the move, never staying anywhere for too long, including the main gathering points of all Drykas. The city had little to offer them other than marriage and trade, and it was seldom they returned to do either.

"What's that?" Taloker asked the boy.
"The river?"
The old man smiled slowly, "it has its own name."
"Moresta River," Dravite corrected himself.
"Life," the blind man chimed, raising a hand as if to reach out and touch the small body of water that lay a good hundred feet away, "close your eyes my boy, and picture your own energy, running through you like the calm waters of Moresta."

Dravite did as he was told and remained seated and crossed legged with his eyes closed, concentrating on the energy he knew as djed, slowly moving through his limbs like warm blood, "here," he heard his grandfather speak as the old man set his large, weathered hands on the boy's narrow shoulders, and shaking, reached out with the fingers of his right hand to find the young man's chest, "centre it here, control it, shape it just like we spoke about."
The wheat haired boy nodded, "like water," he smiled.
Taloker touched his grandson’s cheek and mimicked the smile before getting to his feet to return to camp a few metres away, "concentrate," he reminded the boy before moving out of earshot.

Now a teenager, Dravite was trusted to use the Drykas Magic alone and was allowed to come and go from the web whenever he pleased. Like water, he reminded himself, slipping into a trancelike state that allowed him to look upon the glowing blue strands of the web; he found the broken point that cut their campsite off from the rest of Endrykas and worked to mend it slowly. Dravite pooled his djed to the centre of his chest and tentatively closed finger and thumb together as if to pinch at the invisible energy, drawing it forth like a long piece of string he could strength and weave, forming his own signature knot in the web to set down, intertwine, and thread between the two broken points; strengthening the severed join.

Mending the web was slow work that took a vast amount of concentration and the boy was pushed to work on holding his meditative trance as long as possible without letting the temptations of the web pull him away from his task. With the strands soon mended and his neatly woven knot work set down for other web mages to read in future, Dravite strayed away from his physical form into the depths of the web, following the glowing pathways like a raindrop tracing the silk of a spider's web; he was morning dew goaded by Syna's light to roll down a blade of grass into the unknown.

It stretched on for miles, blanketing the Sea of Grass and connecting those near and far. Dravite had a healthy respect for the web after losing himself once or twice to its vastness and often circled back or retraced his steps to check on his abandoned form; this morning was no different. Though the confidence of trancing so close to home offered the reassurance he needed to travel a little further, Dravite checked back all the same to satisfy that nagging feeling in the back of his mind. Curiosity sated, the ran from his forward stooped form to traverse the web on legs that were not his own, racing across country at a pace no runner could match, and soon, the outline of the city of tents came into view on the horizon.

He kept a safe distance from the high traffic area but wanted to see her one last time before the Windborne pavilion moved out of range of the city and her sharp points, smoking campsites, and brightly coloured washing lines. Visiting Endrykas still seemed so strange to a boy who lived wild as their Ankal liked to say. After watching for a quarter bell he turned back and slowly weaved his way through the web, taking his time to spy on the surrounding wildlife as he went. Soon he had returned to himself, but just as he made a move to man his body once more, Dravite sensed a presence that weighed on his subconscious like a hand on his shoulder in sleep, "hello?" He sent the greeting out into the depths of the web for any who were near to hear.

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[Azmere]

Azmere had to stop and admire the way the world felt when he was in the web. It was like being refreshed without having to drink the cool water. He smiled and waved his arms around him almost dancing to the tune of the wind. After a chime or three, the young man realized in his spinning he had not kept track of his location. Fortunately, Endrykas was a whirl of color that seemed to loom like a carnival in the distance. Azmere knew he had come from the south and decided to run back to where his body lay. He followed the bright lines as if he were chasing a rabbit or butterfly. Twice more, he had to pause and gather his bearings.

Azmere found his physical form resting peacefully in the grass with Hephiestian munching sour grass only a few yards away. He wasn’t sure how long he lingered but he simply stared at himself. His eyes followed the scars he had received so many years ago… it seemed like a different life. It was almost like that scarred young man wasn’t him. He shook his head. He was Azmere Stormblood and the body, scars included, belonged to him. “Scars are just stories that we wear.” That’s what Asmodeus had told him.

The young man became distracted from his memory as a feeling crept into his mind. Was it truly a feeling? Was it a presence in the web? Was it a change in the djed pools nearby? Azmere was not sure. He certainly didn’t have the chops to differentiate much in the web. Of course, that makes the perfect reason to practice. Tangents aside, Azmere began to look around and move slowly away from his body as he searched for what had caused the change. It was like remembering that you forgot something but not specifically knowing what it was. He followed the lines of djed as they wove across the Sea of Grass. A pavilion appeared on the horizon to the east. One of the cords of djed seemed to be vibrating as if it was being tampered with somehow. Azmere reached out to touch the string that was moving in a way that was flickering more than it was moving. Right as his index and middle fingers made contact, a voice rang from the east.

“Hello?”

Azmere blinked. He had never talked to anyone in the web except his grandfather. He was leery of strangers, especially with his body being exposed and alone but the voice sounded young; perhaps a boy in his early teens or younger. Azmere lingered by the shimmering djed line for a several chimes before he decided to respond.

“H-hello.” Azmere looked around nervously. His eyes cast a long glance to the south where his body lay. He couldn’t see his form at this point but knew he was close. He made a point to constantly remind himself to not be lead too far from this spot even though the great beyond of the Sea beckoned to him with warm words and wild dreams. “Who’s there?”

[Dravite]

Never speak to strangers, wasn't a common saying amongst the Drykas; in theory, they were all one big family united by their love that the freedom of the grasslands offered. Strangers were interesting; strangers had something to offer, information, knowledge, and stories. Dravite couldn't quite tell who he was speaking with, or which direction their voice came from, only that he was no longer alone in the web. There was no hesitation when he answered, his voice practiced, young but knowing; this was a boy who had been raised by a handful of men who all had one thing in common, they were or had been leaders. "Dravite Windborne," the young man answered, not realising he was speaking with someone who might recognise his first name, even if the latter had changed.

When Azmere had spent some time with their pavilion while he was younger, it had been under the Blackwater banner, Dravite’s father and grandfather's name. "Are you hunting?" He followed up on the mention of his name, curiosity getting the better of the boy; he knew the hunters from the Windborne pavilion always used the web for seeking out prey. Dravite was fonder of accessing the web for scouting trips, venturing out into the unknown to see what he could find out for himself.

Out of habit he scanned the area before going back out into the far reaches of the web slowly. During his travels he came across a large hare and stopped to watch it for a brief moment as he waited for a reply. Such a strange creature, he thought, with its too-long legs and ears that looked out of proportion in comparison to its small head and lean body. When the reply did find him, Dravite turned in the direction he believed it had come from and followed the interconnected pathways of the web, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man he was speaking with.

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[Azmere]

“Dravite Windborne.”

The young voice now had a name. At first Azmere didn’t think too much of it. He had heard of the Windborne pavilion but never had any dealings with them and to his knowledge, neither did his family.

“Are you hunting?”

That was an odd question. How can one hunt and be among the web at the same time? Azmere’s eyes widened as the possibilities began to flow through his mind. Using the Web to track, monitor traps or even scouting feeding grounds would make life so much easier. He drew an imaginary tick mark with all the rest under ‘Things My Father Never Taught Me’. He didn’t want to be rude to his invisible partner in conversation and he certainly was beginning to like the idea of having a chat so he responded in turn and kind.

“I am not hunting, just enjoying the day and thinking about some stuff.” Azmere moved around a bit exploring the grass and chasing random critters. Spring was such an exciting time for him. Everything was coming alive and reinventing itself. Sometimes, Azmere wished he could reinvent himself but then he remembers the lessons his Ankal has been stressing upon him to learn. Things like ‘Life is the best teacher’ and ‘Once you’ve experienced something, it can never be new again’. Azmere smirked. His grandfather was quite the character and occasionally hokey but his words did make sense. “My name’s Azmere, by the way. Azmere Stormblood.”

Azmere caught sight of a set of tracks and knelt down to investigate. They belonged to a jack rabbit. Rabbits had easy trails to follow. Their huge hind feet and tiny front ones were unmistakable as well as the huge spaces in between the prints. Azmere began to walk along following the prints and then he stopped. He was in the web and should take advantage of its wondrous gifts. Azmere focused on the set of tracks between his boots. The Web allowed for a person to cover a great deal of ground in seconds so traditional tracking should be advanced as well. The young Drykas poured his spirit into the patterned art left behind by the hare and soon after, djed began to pool into the prints. Each set was almost identical to the last yet completely unique and now they all glowed a faint blue which allowed Azmere to follow it at the speed of thought. While the young man studied these things, the boy’s name bounced around inside his skull. It had a familiar ring to it. Azmere wondered if they had ever met. He shrugged to himself and continued to jump from print to print crisscrossing the lines of djed woven across the Sea of Grass.

“What are you doing today, Dravite?”

[Dravite]

Azmere’s name did not ring a bell, for Dravite had been but a boy when his father had discovered the injured teen and taken him in. No longer concerning himself with rabbits and prints, Dravite followed the voice, running along the blue, florescent lines of the web in order to track down its user. The pathways didn’t stand out as much during the day as they did at night, but the boy was used to following them. He smiled when he discovered Azmere’s form and turned to head home. Azmere had sounded older than him, but now he was sure of it.

He had inquired about Dravite’s plans for the day, to which the boy did not really have a response, “Just working with my grandfather Taloker,” he admitted, “He’s blind, but still takes the time to teach me webbing.”

Upon arriving at camp, Dravite noticed his mother glance over in the direction of his trancing form to check that he was all right. The gesture filled him with reassurance and made him feel safe, watched, and cared for. “Have you been using the web for a long time?” Dravite asked, “My grandfather has been teaching me to mend the broken parts with my djed.”

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[Azmere]

Azmere listened to the boy recount what was going on in his life. Like a levy that had finally had finally been weathered and worn down, Azmere’s memory flooded at the name Tal’o Ker. The land beneath the young man shifted and heaved as the world around him changed. Azmere tried to focus his djed to gain perspective or find a way to anchor himself but he was swept away in the memory as everything went black.

Azmere was badly wounded, shaking, starving and leaning heavily on his wounded dog, Abednego. There was nothing to see for the clouds blotted out the moon and stars. The tall grass was sharp and painful as it whipped against the boy’s burns. For days, the two had wondered trying to navigate back to the Moonbow pavilion. Only the gods knew where they had traveled. Azmere could swear they’d traversed the entire Sea of Grass but it could have just been a thousand meter circle that they trekked over and over and over again.

Frightened and wounded was no way to approach the Sea of Grass. Fortunately, a deep voice and an old one called out from the darkness. “Boy! Boy, answer and we can help you!”

Azmere snapped back to the present and was still within the Web. He glanced around and did not see the boy. Then he heard Dravite again only now he was farther away. Azmere was tempted to chase after him but knew he needed to get his bearings. He passed along the djed lines back to where he lay in his peaceful meditation. Staring over his body, he traced each wrinkle and every dimple of his scars with careful scrutiny.

“Have you been using the web for a long time?” Dravite asked, “My grandfather has been teaching me to mend the broken parts with my djed.”

Azmere turned back to the direction where the hare had run and knew that Dravite was there somewhere. “I am new to the web, Dravite.” The young man began to follow the lines which traced the rabbit trail until he came upon a pavilion. Azmere did not want to spook the boy, so he decided to find a round-a-bout way to discover more information. “When I said I was thinking about stuff earlier, part of it is that my twentieth birthday is in two days. When is your birthday?”

[Dravite]

"Birthday?" Dravite wondered why that was important. Perhaps he can't decide how old I am, the boy thought to himself. "Early spring," he then confessed after a moment's pause, "my mother Lazuli Morningsong of the Opal Clan said I was to be a late winter babe but decided to hold out till spring," to this day it was still his favourite season.

The boy's concentration ebbed then as he strayed too close to his form and felt himself return to a semiconscious state. Dravite kept his eyes closed as his body stirred, much like wavering in and out of sleep, it was easier to return to the realms of dreams as long as he didn't acknowledge that he had awoken. The art of meditation, however, was a difficult craft to master, especially with so many distractions to get in the way. "Dravite?" Lazuli called and the teenager turned to look over his left shoulder at his mother and smile, "don't stray too far, my son."
"I won't," he promised, "I'm just speaking with someone."
"Who?"
"Azmere," he admitted.
Lazuli looked momentarily perplexed before a knowing look lightened her golden brow, "say hello to him for me."

It was Dravite's turn to look confused but nonetheless, he agreed with a nod before bowing his head to focus. The more he practiced the art of webbing the easier it felt to join the web, though he found sound the most difficult of his senses to block out. Once returned to the web, the boy apologised for slipping away so suddenly, "my mother says hello," he offered, "What clan did you say you were with?" He questioned, not sure that the man had. He recalled Azmere sharing the name of his pavilion, though not much else beyond that, "We don't visit the city often."

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[Azmere]

Azmere listened to Dravite talk about his mother. He smiled remembering his own mother. The older lad was certain he knew the younger one but was still missing a few pieces. In wide circles, Azmere circle the pavilion taking in the layout, wrappings, tapestries and other various signatures that Drykas leave on their possessions. Some of them looked familiar and some did not. Azmere had to draw deep from the well of his memories. The flash of lightning was still visible to him in his dreams but the days afterwards are blurred and jumbled. He has been told that trauma plays tricks on the mind and sometimes…the mind plays tricks on itself to forget terrible things.

As he drifted back and forth along the outskirts of the encampment, Azmere notice some of the djed seemed to be a bit brighter in spots. This must be where Dravite had said he had fixed some of the web. Azmere was fascinated and watched as the bright spots slowly dimmed out to balance with the rest of the lines. He traced the repaired piece out a ways and wondered what caused the strands to separate.

"My mother says hello," he offered, "What clan did you say you were with? We don't visit the city often."

Azmere smiled and moved about the web with great speed heading back towards Endrykas so he would be closer to where his body was resting. “I am a Stormblood, now, but when I met your family many years ago, I was a Moonbow.” Azmere stopped what he was doing and stared at a break in a web strand. He reached out to touch the lines and believed more than felt the thing. He tried to pull both pieces back together but to no avail. As he tried, he continued to unveil the history he had with Dravite’s pavilion. “I was found by your father and grandfather wandering the Sea of Grass. They brought me back to your pavilion and patched me up then got me home. Your mother is much like mine, Dravite. I remember she had the kindest eyes.” Azmere was growing frustrated with trying to fix the web and decided to try and new approach.

The young man sat down and studied the two ends. He held his palms beneath each respectively and focused with all his might trying to will the thing to connect. While the strands danced about some, which was progress, nothing was really happening. “I was only twelve so that would’ve made you five, I believe.” Azmere focused more and strained his mind to patch the section of web. “How is your father, Dravite? Is he still a giant? That’s how I remember him, at least.”

[Dravite]

Dravite felt warmed by the compliment; his mother was kind, and her rich, blue eyes attested to that. He listened to Azmere speak, trying to connect the dots, perhaps he even remembered the scarred boy he had followed around and played games with as a child, but those days seemed so long ago, almost as old and stale as the memories he had of his father. "Four perhaps," Dravite corrected him, "my father died three days after my fifth birthday during a hunting accident."

Had he been a giant? Dravite wondered, trying to think back. He remembered the man's hands, weather and worn, like the pads of a grass bear's paws. He remembered too his eyes, grey like his own, warm, wise, and trustworthy. Of stature Cyprine had been average in height, but well built, healthy and strong, half a foot taller than his wife with long, wheat coloured hair and a fine beard; one that was frowned upon in their culture, but that never seemed to bother Cyprine. His skin had been dark, not as a result of his genes but Syna's light, of which he favoured over Leth.

Dravite was quiet for a chime before speaking up again, "I'm glad he inspired such fond memories for you, Azmere, he was a loved man," a lie, Dravite thought, none who had remained in the pavilion seemed to have anything good to say about him, in fact to bring the grassland giant up in conversation seemed uncomfortable around the campfire. And so Dravite had grown, forced to believe that his father had been some kind of monster, a parasite within his own pavilion, one he wasn't allowed to acknowledge unless alone with his mother; even she had little to share on the matter, other than the fact that she had loved him with all her heart.

"I should head back," the boy piped up, "I think we are moving on again in a few days and I should do my part to help. It was nice talking, Stormblood, hopefully our paths will cross again one day." And with that Dravite returned to his form and sat for a while in silence with his head bowed before finding the strength to get to his feet and return to the pavilion that made him feel so alien.

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