An Empty Courtyard [Solo]

[Rorugir]

Timestamp: 28th Fall 511 A.V. Night Block had just ended, but that didn't matter much in the courtyard. Located deep within Tenten Peak and with only a small bench located in the middle of it's tiled expanse, it never attracted many visitors, day or night. Most Lhavitians never even knew it existed. That's why Rorugir chose it to practice reimancy. The isur had stumbled across the courtyard on one of his daily wanderings, and the possibility for solitary practice had occured to him immediately. Bordered by tall skyglass buildings on all sides, most without windows, it seemed a perfect place to practice skills not normally used in range of others. Namely, magic. Rorugir had always been interested in magic, which might have been due in part to being born in the Pitrius clan, who'd always been involved in such endeavors. Reimancy turned out to be his main magical discipline, though he'd always had an interest in Magecrafting, in which his father was a prominent practicioner. In any case, Reimancy had become increasingly common in his studies as he grew older, although, up until now he'd only been able to channel one element, and not very quickly, either. He hoped to change that, soon. The isur hobbled into the courtyard, awkwardly walking as if carrying something. He approached the center, where he happily released the bundle in his arms. Several dozen rocks, found in the Misty Peaks, tumbled to the ground. The isur spent a moment separating the rocks into three rough groups, then took a couple of steps back. Taking a moment to brush his hair, which was longer than usual, out of his eyes, he began to concentrate. And now... ...it was time to do magic.

[Rorugir]

Rorugir began by tapping into the well of djed available within himself. The reserve of magic, of the primal energy that welled within him, that dwelt within his bones, his marrow, his flesh and his skin. Untouchable in pure form, but able to transmuted into matter. That was what Rorugir planned to with now. He'd been taught the magic of reimancy at a very young from a over-zealous father, stars in his eyes as he looked at his young child. A desire to see his son succeed, to perpetuate the family line both symbolically (as well as physically) had driven him to inflict wounds on the young boy's hands, then invade Rorugir's young body with his own fluid Res. The only thing he remembered from this early traumatic memories was the feeling of invasion. And the convulsions. The convulsions he would never forget. Nonetheless, the traumatizing act his father had committed had served it's purpose. From that point on, Rorugir had been able to access the magic of reimancy, the control of the four elements. Of course, having not much mastery in the subject, he'd only been able to command one element. But that one element had served him well. And the element of earth would serve him well again. Rorugir concentrated on his djed, willing it into physical form. The res came slowly, but it came still; a thick liquid, almost unreal in it's ethereal form, began pooling in the palms on his callused hands. It was not really liquid, instead existing in a strange intermediary between fluid and gas. It hovered above his hands, floating serenely just above his bluish skin. Rorugir allowed a faint smile to pass over his face, then concentrated on the res. It responded to his mental thoughts, spreading out along the breadth of his arm in a rough approximate of a spear; then, concentrating even harder, Rorugir forced it into solid form. The outermost layers became a solid, hard, rock, forming a spear of earth that levitated just above his skin. The innermost portion was still res, so Rorugir could still control it. He turned his head, eyeing the first pile of rocks. He focused...and then, harnessing his magic once more, mentally sent the spear flying towards the pile. It hit its fellow rock with a loud crack, sending pieces of the rather flaky granite flying in every which way. The rocks were near-obliterated, or, at the very least, had been spread out among the courtyard enough so that little to no trace remained of them in their original spot. Feeling the exhaustion of using magic settle lightly on his bones, Rorugir nonetheless smiled. Success.

[Rorugir]

And now for a different exercise. With a focused stride Rorugir approached the second pile of rocks, which had remained unaffected throughout what had happened beforehand. Once again, Rorugir called upon his djed, which flowed willingly into his hand. This time, however, he did not form the Res into a solid form - instead he let it drop from his hand, and into the rocks below. It melted into the granite, flowing into it's pores and cracks. The Res, while separated from his body, was still a part of him, and Rorugir could feel the Res as it moved in and between the rocks. He felt it flow, ebb, and work it's way through. As it sunk into the rocks, he could feel the rocks themselves, feel them like they had merged with his Res. Which, was what they had really done. The Res had attracted the earth to it. Rorugir pulled on his Res, throwing it upwards. The rocks soared into the air, pulled in turn by his Res. They hovered at eye-level, bound by Rorugir's command. The isur nodded approvingly, and decided to take it a stretch further. He concentrated on the individual portions of the Res, pulling them apart from one another. The rocks soared away from each other, no longer a cohesive whole but their own separate entities. They whipped around Rorugir's head like stars around a sun, each on it's own track. But then, here was where his magic failed. Rorugir had not stopped to consider how hard it would be the concentrate on each rock individually, and he began to lose focus. One here, one there - and suddenly all the rocks came crashing down. Rorugir cursed as the his mental grip failed and the rocks fell to the ground with a loud crash, once again disturbing the quiet of the empty courtyard. One came down on his foot, making it throb painfully. Mental note, Rorugir thought even as he hopped to and fro, Don't overstretch yourself.

[Rorugir]

Maybe it was time to end it there. His foot was throbbing painfully and Rorugir's mood was the worse because of it. He felt magically drained as well, feeling the effects of even such minor reimancy. He had just resolved to leave when the voice in his head spoke. No, don't stop here! Rorugir tensed when it spoke, his mind immediately going to insanity. Was that what it was? Before he had time to react, it spoke here. You know you can do better. Go farther. Do more. You are wasting so much potential! Rorugir's brow was furrowed in thought, and then abruptly his face cleared. He...he knew what this was. The voice of one of his instructors, her face long since forgotten, came to him. The Sweet Whisper. That nagging feeling all wizards went through one point at another, the urge to do more, to cast more magic. It came at a time in which the mage was already drained of magic - and was responsible for a lot of overgiving, if he recalled correctly. He remembered hearing such dire warnings in his classes and promising to never give in to them. Now that he was actually feeling its effects, however - it was damn hard to resist. Come on, the voice prompted gently, Show the world your power! For a moment there, he almost did. He lifted his hand to channel more Res and everything. But the image of his grandfather came crashing down on him, followed immediately by the image of a funeral in the dark halls of Sultros. The sight and sound of his father lamenting the death of such a good father and wizard, one who was unmatched in the skill of Magecrafting. The one who expended too much magic in his last project, had overgiven so severely the only option was death. Rorugir's breath stopped for a second and he staggered back. His arm fell limp to his side and for a bell he was motionless. Only breathing raggedly, in and out. In and out. And then, suddenly, he turned, and left the empty courtyard. A couple of the Shinya gave him looks as he passed them in the street, perhaps noticing the dark circles around his eyes, or his haunted expression, or the tired way in which he walked. The isur knew full well about how suspicious most people were of magic, and perhaps the Lhavitian guards smelled a mage. But, if they did or not, they didn't stop him, and so Rorugir paid them no heed. He didn't care about them. All that he cared about was the voice had stopped speaking in his head. A mage staggered home, wearied but more assured of his skills then ever before. FIN

[Aural]

Player: Rorugir XP: Reimancy +4, Organization +1 Lores: Surviving the Initiation, Refusing the Sweet Whisper Other: The Shinya you passed on the way out of the courtyard will be keeping an eye on you for the next few days. Additional Notes: Great writing Rorugir. This was a very straightforward thread and my first experience with Reimancy so I learned a lot right along with you. Let me know if you have any questions, comments, etc.