41st Day of Winter, 511 A.V.
A cool breeze swept in from the sea as the young student Marcus sat on the edge of an aged wooden pier. He often came down to the harbor for peace, even with the bustling of the dockworkers. It was a habit he picked up as a kid, coming to see off his brother, and it was one he never really struggled against. This day however it found himself on the docks with a specific purpose, as he glanced down at the apple in his hand. One of the suggestions of his reimancy professor was the studying of shielding, as a companion art. However, his passion for reimancy, and casually-shirking of shielding, had slightly nullified the purpose of the suggestion. This became apparent to Marcus the previous night, which is the reason why there is a streak of charred stone along his floor. He decided it was in his best interests to study this field of magic a bit closer.
Marcus held the piece of slightly-bruised fruit in the palm of his hand, as he steadied his mind and body in preparation for the exercise. The index finger of his other hand came up to press against the apple, and Marcus meticulously began to paint his djed along the surface of the apple. Each stroke was slow and steady, as he carefully focused on the weave of his shield. His fingers traced out each part of the fruit, almost absent-mindedly, as Marcus simply concentrated on the flow of his djed and the threads it was forming. To bystanders, Marcus had taken nearly twenty minutes out of his day to sit on a pier and caress an apple, but to the young wizard, not five minutes had passed. When he had finished this first 'draft,' Marcus kept his eyes shut, and felt his creation with the other senses at his disposal. He identified the weak spots in his weave as his professor had taught, and introduced more djed to help shore up the gaps in the shield. After that was complete, Marcus began again, tightening the weave, intertwining two strands to every one.
Shielding was a powerful complement to reimancy, and in a subtle way. The raw power and risk of reimancy contrasted deeply with the near-meditative and safe nature of shielding, and this Marcus had not learned of this fact unless his first attempts at the subject. He was glad he had not shirked this art as his instinct suggested, and this had reinforced his curious nature. Marcus thought of this every time he came out to practice, and reveled in the scholarly nature of it all. He never had considered himself an artistic type, but with shielding he was able to draw out an aspect of his being that had never had a chance to come through. As he painted over his complete weave, (A layer of djed to seal the intertwining threads he had created), Marcus found himself perplexed by the nature of his art, much as a physical painter would. Fourty-minutes after he had begun, the image in his head had become the reality he created, and he found himself in the curious predicament of not being able to distinguish the two. However, when he viewed the result of his work, the imaginary version became tainted by reality, morphed by false expectations and in this process, the individuality was restored.
Marcus smirked to himself as he viewed the beautiful weaving of ethereal colors surrounding the apple. The next part of this exercise was always the most difficult, but it had a dark sense of catharsis to it, and it tended to help Marcus move onto to the next task at hand. He got up from his seat, his legs slightly asleep from being suspended over the water for so long, bounced the glistening piece of fruit in his hands a few times. He steadily began to produce a slight mist of res around the fruit, enveloping it, until he had admired his work for long enough. He lobbed the apple out into the harbor, igniting the res as the fruit left his hand. As it fell, the shield shimmered beneath the fire, co-existing with mystic flame created from the same source. The crisping apple fell into the water, and the small splash of the surface was the last remnant of Marcus' efforts. He smiled as he admired the moral he taught himself time and time again, and proceeded onto the next section of his practice.
Marcus had escaped to the privacy of the abandoned warehouse he often used for his secretive practices, as even though untrained eyes may not be able to see his creations, he did not want to be seen standing still for upwards of an hour while the ships came into port. His next exercise was a lesson in fluidity, and he worked to steady his breathing as he brought his hands together in front of his chest, arms extended and palms facing inward. With each breath, Marcus exhaled djed, and then carefully willed around his own form as he inhaled. The key to this process was to maintain the cycle, and to make the 'strokes' of djed fluid and precise. His first attempts at this were catastrophic at best, but he had slowly managed to become comfortable with it. This was perhaps due to the fact that he had learned his own form quite well through this exercise; a meditative and insightful experience in itself.
This calm cycle would go on for a sizable amount of time, as Marcus steadily applied a streak of his misty djed in a shell around his body. He was never hurried in this endeavor, nor was he hesitant. His approach was that of complete concentration, and total serenity. One of the primary reasons he pursued these exercises was the simple truth that he would never have been able to develop these skills under reimancy alone. Concentrating on multiple aspects of ethereal matter(s) that one is controlling, while focusing on one's own body as well as any external circumstances is a headache to think about, let alone perform. Yet that skill in multi-tasking and sub-consciously focusing is useless in shielding, and vice-versa with shielding's own set of solemn and trance-like meditative skills.
After an hour and a half, slightly quicker than his usual time, Marcus let out a soft sigh as he returned from his meditative state gleaming with a colorful layer of his own djed. He looked himself over, and still found himself amazed by his appearance, that of which none other than a fellow shielder could see. There would be no fire-show this time however, as Marcus was not exactly eager to singe his casual attire. He walked out of the warehouse, doing his best not to look overtly suspicious, and strolled along the harbor, off to grab himself some late lunch, or perhaps an early dinner. As Marcus glanced over at the bay, filled with ships coming in from a hard-day's run, something caught his eye.
For a moment, he could have sworn he saw the shining apple bobbing on the water. |
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