41st of Spring, 513 AV
The air was crisp and clean in the small clearing, the sun shone brightly and clearly in the sky and various birds chirped happily. Truly nature held its own beauty, one that Cyrus was rather irritated that he could not capture with words. Perhaps it was too arrogant of him to believe it possible to properly translate the natural wonder of the world into mere mortal words, however if that was the case then he would not be ashamed to be called arrogant.
The tall warrior stood in the middle of the clearing, a clearing that he had been frequenting as of late to practice his reimancy. It was also the place where he had met a rather beautiful reimancer by the name of Azcadelia, an encounter well worth having. It had taken him a couple of days to recover from the sparring match, and the events that transpired later that night but now he was ready to get back to practicing.
His fearsome greatsword was lying off to the side, leaning against a large rock, joined by his gauntlets as he found liquid res was always easier to generate without obstruction. The bald man was, as always, garbed in his banded mail armor which was rare for anyone to see him without. His face possessed a focused look about it, his dark eyes narrow upon his outstretched hand.
A small ball of liquid res formed around his palm, a minor exertion in comparison to the true extent of his powers. He willed the tiny glob of precious liquid to rise out of his hand and form a tiny sphere. This exercise was not about pushing himself to his limits, if his match with Azzy had taught him any thing it was that control was the most important thing when handling magic in combat. So Cyrus would focus on res control today, moving the res to his will.
The man willed the tiny orb to ignite and glide upwards to float before his eyes. The exercise was near effortless, such little amounts of res were nothing for him at this stage of his experience. He ordered the ball to make a few complex motions in the air, which took a little more effort and concentration. This was why he was starting small, so that their would be little danger and to maximize his control over the res.
After a few cycles of movements through the air Cyrus flung the tiny ball of fire away, letting it sizzle into the ground.
His control was no where near where he would like it to be, but magic required patience and practice. No one became a master wizard over night, or at least that was what his mother had often said.
