Magic is Music

by **Crylon Stonecraft** on December 25th, 2018, 7:45 pm

18 Winter 518

Another day. Another mile. Then another. Crylon for what seemed the umpteenth day in a row found himself bored as he sat in the carriage of the caravan. Waiting. Sitting.

He found something to do with most days, and it was not so bad he found when they stopped. But the sitting and waiting alone with nothing to do, that to an Isur was worse than torture. It was wasteful.

And so with this thought in mind, Crylon found himself wracking his brain early in the morning to try and think of something productive he could do within the carriage.

He had just worked on Glyphing, and so it seemed to him to make sense to mix things up. Reimancy was a possibility, but without any materials but the stone he had harvested earlier he would be limited in that regard... After several chimes of internal deliberation, Crylon finally fell upon something. Auristics. He had been initiated before back in Sultros, but had not really used it much since.

That just left him with the target... Of course, there was little more in the carriage than himself and his items. And, he felt, most of those rather mundane items would not be of much interest.

It was then that the idea occurred to him. Him! He had an aura. It occurred to him it was in fact odd that he had yet to examine his own aura, but surely as a living and sentient thing his own aura would be the most interesting thing around. Plus, it could mean further growing to understand himself.

Of course, he reminded himself, focusing was the true problem. The carriage was not still, and every time they rode over a rut in the ground or other objects they were jarred. He was not sure he could maintain focus enough to use the magic with his current skill.

Last time when using Reimancy he recalled he had used Glyphing. But now with the target being himself, and him not having anything to draw on himself with, it was not so suitable.

He vaguely recalled something about focus, of using things besides Glyphs to focus his mind. He had seen magic users make gestures, flailing and miming their intent. That however did not seem to fit here. Talking? Incanting? Yes, an incantation, to draw ones focus to the task and clear oneself of distractions. Both, he guessed, a means of meditation and focus on a single point. That seemed to fit Auristics better he felt.

Taking a deep breath, Crylon slowly let it out in preparation. Then taking another normal breath Crylon began speaking in common, or more singing he supposed as he tried to carry a tune. As if he was singing to Izurdin himself, he belted out the words. Unfortunately his tune carrying bucket had a hole in the bottom, as he realized when he began.

But still perhaps it was simply another thing to practice, his singing, along with his Auristics. And his creation of rhymes and lyrics...

“Izurdin. Izurdin. I thank thee oh wise god. Izurdin, Izurdin, oh with my words I do laud. Izurdin of strength, your might cuts my path. Izurdin, Izurdin, oh with you at the reins I never fear a wrong turn or crash.”

As he finished the verse, Crylon focused on the djed within himself, willing it to flow outward. Moving out along his throat and out between his teeth. Out of his mouth like a shout to reverberate from him.

And nothing happened. Something Crylon had run into quite often with his magics due to his lack of skill, they did not always come when he called them. But he was patient. He was calm. He would keep trying even if he had to sit in the seat all day singing.

Izurdin taught patience as much as anything else, and he was not above such a lesson, he knew at that moment.

by **Crylon Stonecraft** on June 30th, 2019, 9:56 pm

Crylon let out a sigh to himself as he sat on the slowly moving mode of transportation. For a moment he considered what he had done. What had been the problem. For a half moment he considered if it would have worked, had he properly managed to rhyme.

But then he shook his head and tossed this aside. Magic did not work that way, and it was not his fault he was not so fluent in common as he was in Isur. Rhyming in a new language was hard! No, something else was the problem, this seemed to him much more reasonable than anything else.

For a moment Crylon thought back to his previous thought, and nearly snorted in derision. As if he needed to say specific words or something for his magic to work, silly! And then, having once more been distracted by his thoughts, Crylon realized what his problem was.

He was distracted. Distracted by trying to focus, by moving, by being in a moving thing, so many things he could not control. But himself, that he could control. He just needed to focus, focus on himself and his magic.

What though was him when he was calmest? Most focused? That was the true question Crylon considered to himself... Studying... Working... Forging... Yes, in a forge he was quite focused, that seemed right. He had been working a forge as long as he could lift a hammer, as any true Isur.

That, Crylon reasoned, was the trick. Not to focus on where he was, what he was doing, but on being in a forge. Being in another, calmer, happier place. His place of forging. And within that forge, he would forge magic!

Closing his eyes, Crylon muttered to himself, focusing on an image in his mind.

“Ring. Clang. Bang. The hammer on the forge. The metal on the forge and the hammer upon it. Ring, clang, bang. Iron and ore and metal and... And a door.”

Focused inside his mind, Crylon imagined a door before him. Pictured it truly. A solid oak frame, the door itself made of one solid piece of wood without seam. And a brass door knob smooth and rounded. How would it feel? Cold? Cool, but not cold. Smooth. A hand, his hand, reaching out and turning it. And within... The forge.

What was in the forge? From the darkness of his distraction he focused his mind, thinking into creation in his mind alone the forge. Behind the door... Smooth stone walls, cut from the mountain. For he was below solid stone, below the ground, below where it was quiet and calm like his mind.

“Clang, bang, ring, dong, bong. Ding.”

The forge? Yes, right before him. Ceiling above, walls around, of the same smooth stone, the same as the ground below. And upon it the forge. An anvil, a table turned just so next to it, with tools laid out. A forge, a smithy, for warming and hammering metal. He could see it clearly. There it was.

But the fire was out, and he needed to light it. That was his only problem, nothing else in the world, just the sounds of the forge and working the forge.

WC: 535

by **Crylon Stonecraft** on June 30th, 2019, 10:16 pm

As Crylon continued to build the forge of magic within his mind, he realized another thing.

The ringing and dinging and smashing of metal on metal. It in and of itself was a rhythm, a magic, of sorts. Not the same as singing, as other things, but still music. It was a music he could weave into his magic, the sounds he knew and was fond of.

Focusing back onto the forge, Crylon imagined the fire. But then he stopped. That was not right. One had to build a fire, one did not just plop a fire down. No, that was not right.

Focusing on the pit on the forge, Crylon imagined wood. Solid dry wood that would burn well without too much smoke but giving off lots of heat.

Stacking it across the bottom, Crylon moved with both hands to ready the wood. Then he stacked some more smaller pieces in a cross fashion, and then diagonally. Then a piece of flint and steel, and with one strong motion sparks flared and the fire... Wait no, he reminded himself, kindling. Yes, kindling.

Brushing aside the sparks Crylon grabbed up some bits of dried hay, and stuffed it into the wood pit. Some more on top. Then the flint and steel appeared in his hands once more, and with another strike he lit the kindling.

Focused on the fire, Crylon imagined swimming forward, and watched as in fast motion the fire spread. The smaller pieces catching, and moving downward. And finally the bigger pieces on the bottom catching. His hands whipping upward, as he was moving forward through time faster, to add some more wood to keep things going. And then a push, to resolve himself to the normal progress of things.

Warmth would be washing across his chest as the flickering depth of the fire moved and roared and ate like a living thing. It breathed and lived, and worked when asked to in exchange for being fed.

Now, Crylon thought to himself within his mental image of his forge, to begin the real work.

“Ring, ding, clang, bang. Ting, tang, ding, dong.”

A rhythm and rightness to his spoken words, where he had not found them before in his initial attempt at speaking to focus his magic. A much more potent incantation spoken aloud, because he thought it was so. And so it was.

Then, once more, Crylon froze. If this was his magic forge, the place where he worked raw magic into something... More. Then where was the material? The base substance? The thing to be forged into something else.

Looking about, Crylon reasoned his mind forge must have a storeroom for holding the raw unshaped magic within himself. And yes, there it was when he turned a bit, another door at the back of the forge. This one was not like the first, A solid door but welcoming. Meant to be open. Anyone could see his forge. But where his more valuable things were kept... Rightly so, it being his own mind, he agreed with himself when he saw the door. A solid stout door, with steel frame around the sides, and steel banding along the length of the door to reinforce it. Across in hatches, and then top to bottom in double to make cross hatches. Each time it cross a solid steel nail hammered through holding it all ever solidly into place.

And when he got closer, he saw, a lock on the door. Now this was a proper door when one did not want just anyone going in, Crylon thought to himself.

WC: 599

by **Crylon Stonecraft** on June 30th, 2019, 10:41 pm

For a few moments Crylon wondered silently where the key was. How to unlock the door. Where to find it.

And then, almost comically, Crylon reminded himself that this was his own mind. His own mind forge for magic. He was the key. His will. His focus. His mind and body and himself.

Focusing on a key in his mind, Crylon held up his hand to show a black metal key in his black metalic gem hand. When he put it in the key turned easily, and with a turn of the knob the door opened silently on well oiled hinges.

Where he imagined the forge to be hot, this was some deep underground cavern that was cold and frozen. Not enough to soak into the iron bones of an Isur, but harsh all the same. Picturing it in his mind.

Focusing on his surroundings he saw and imagined it to be smooth obsidian. A once hot chamber, but cooled and cold until leaving nothing but cold obsidian. A wide open cavern, with the top disappearing upward out of sight, and the sides as well beyond sight leaving him in inky blackness.

And before him... Would be where the resources where stored. A table? Cabinets? No... Not quite right, he reasoned to himself. A... Deeper crevase. A hole. A mine. Yes, a mine. Dug out, through the obsidian, till the true prize had been found within. Which was... A mine full of onyx so like his own arm.

But, Crylon reasoned, not onyx in its solid form, not big pieces and chunks. No... Onyx dust. Grains of sand of the black material.

Stepping forward, the mine drew nearer, and he saw then its clean edges. A shaft cut straight downward into the obsidian, eight sided, with clean and equal angles and sides. A shaft dug deep downward, within himself and to the core of his being. His power.

And from the bottom to the top, was a sea, a beach, a vast expanse of black onyx sand. Not a single grain across the rest of the smoothly carved cavern, only in the shaft. Not a single grain above the lip, no it met just even with the surface of the surrounding cavern floor, a smooth unblemished surface of black sand filled to the rim but not a single grain over it.

Reaching in his hand, Crylon stabbed his fingers into the sand, pushing it aside to get a grip, and then making a fist he moved to lift out the handful of sand from it.

And his arm caught fast. Frowning both in his mind and outwardly, Crylon tried to pull again, using his left arm to pull. Nothing, he could not lift the handful of sand. It was but sand, grains of ground onyx, but his hand was held fast as if he was trying to lift a mountain.

With another sigh Crylon opened his grip, and let his hand slide out. And then landing on an idea, a function, an understanding, Crylon bent and between two fingers sifted and grabbed a single grain of the black onyx sand. And he pulled.

Now it was difficult, but with some difficulty Crylon could lift the single grain. Surely then it was not about the weight, for sand was sand even inside of his mind, but rather it was about the measure. The meaning. The intent.

With the single grain of sand in hand Crylon unbent and rose, heading back to his forge.

WC: 582

by **Crylon Stonecraft** on June 30th, 2019, 11:18 pm

The single grain in hand, Crylon headed back out of his storage room, and back into the forge. Slamming and locking the door behind him, Crylon turned to the forge and approached.

Laying the grain of sand on the anvil, Crylon held for a moment, and then moved it to the fires burning on the forge. He let it warm for a few moments, a few more, and then heated dropped it on the anvil.

“Ding. Dang. Dung. Cling. Clang. Clung.”

Raising his hammer, he smashed it onto the grain of sand the same as he would a piece of metal. Willing, shaping it, forging it.

Making it into something new. With his left hand he picked up the grain of sand, looking at it. If the sand was his innate non forged magic, then now forged... It should be magic. Opening his palm, the grain of onyx seemed the same, but glinted in the light of the forge where before it had not.

Opening his eyes, Crylon looked outward, and then focused through his incantation and meditation, he willed himself to look outward. By magic. With magic. To do magic.

Honing his auristics he focused on his eyes, and willed the magic to surge upward and outward. There was a momentary charge, a static tingling on the back of his left hand, and then upward and outward and into his eyes and out from his eyes.

And then within his eyes, outward to his sight, his aura sight bloomed.

Focusing on his own outstretched hand, Crylon tried to focus his aura sight onto himself. His own aura. His body, his excess energy that flowed off him to become his aura.

At first there was nothing, and then a black solid but clear nimbus formed about him. He focused his eyes, squinting, but in a different way. Then he remembered his incantation.

“Ding, dang, clang, bang. Bong, bing, ting.”

His aura was black, and yet... It had streaks within it. White and blue and black of another sort, sliding and sweeping throughout his aura. Like a cloud and yet not, like a sea with mixed currents and yet not. What it meant he did not know. But he supposed in time he would.

Focusing on one color, the white, Crylon grasped and pulled with his eyes, imagined the streak of colors shifting within the colors of his aura to be a rope and him unraveling the one white string swirling within to pull it out and look at it. And then seeing the one string, he pulled and prodded it, sniffed it and tasted it, trying to see what there was to see.

As he did a hazy idea, an image, came into view in his mind, swirling in the not yet banked fires of his minds forge.

WC: 468

by **Crylon Stonecraft** on July 1st, 2019, 12:09 am

For a moment Crylon got the impression of a person. Not himself, but a person. Or was it a part of himself? Or was it symbolic? Utterly at a loss due to his lack of experience in making sense of auras, Crylon pushed the color aside and tried to grab the black string.

But this one proved slippery, not wanting to be pinned down or grasped. It simply was, and did not want to be inspected. Or perhaps Crylon was simply that bad at reading the aura.

But still, he reminded himself, he was seeing the aura itself! Even if he could not make sense of it, or do much with it, or puzzle out what was meant by what he saw, he could still see it. That he knew was better than not being able to call on the magic, when he wanted to, at all.

Pushing the colors aside, Crylon instead focused on the colors as a whole. Perhaps if he could not make out one particular features, he could understand the whole thing.

For a few moments nothing happened, and then as his perspective changed he saw... Himself. Not just himself as he did looking down at his hands, but himself as if looking from an outside perspective. But several at once, melded into one view.

It was like, Crylon realized, he could see himself but all of himself. His back, his front, his sides, his top and bottom, each angle. Within his aura was him after all, and what was the simplest application of himself. His physical appearance, Crylon realized.

Not as cool or magical, Crylon supposed, as some things considering it could be imitated by some properly arranged mirrors. But still, Crylon reasoned, it was something new he had not done before.

Crylon took a few moments to examine himself outwardly, enjoying the oddity if nothing else of being able to see himself from chin to foot on several sides at once without using his eyes, before he let it pass. Letting out a deep breath, Crylon pushed away the aura, willing it to close off. Stopping the willing of his magic to occur.

After a few moments the colors faded from the aura, and then the aura itself faded and disappeared into nothing until he was simply looking down at his hands with his eyes in the normal manner.

With a sigh Crylon laid back across the bunk within his carriage, his simple home during his travels. He was not sure how long he had been working, but at a glance he could see that it was still light out and they clearly were still moving from the motion of the carriage.

Lying back Crylon moved to rest for a bit, before seeing if there was anything else he could do today. But for magic, he was done for the day.

WC: 477

Plotnotes · by **Calla Davin** on August 27th, 2019, 7:30 pm

Special Delivery!

Crylon :

Additional Comments: I really enjoyed reading this thread! It really did feel like I was inside Crylon's thoughts. I also thought the little rhyming chants he did out were funny. Good job!

Please message me if you have any questions about your grade, and don't forget to edit your post in the grade request thread.

Skills	XP
Auristics	2
Meditation	4
Planning	3
Rhetoric	1
Singing	4