Open A Turn of Events

[Keene Ward]

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The fourteenth day of fall, 514 AV

Mornings still managed to escape Keene's grasp, as the Quarters halls were constantly lit with torches that never seemed to run out and the rooms were as dark as night at any given part of the day. The silence of the island only served to further perpetuate Keene's body taking what rest it required before allowing him consciousness. Thus, over the three days he'd been in Sahova, each had started later than the last. The errand from Risabel had taken its toll, and his body was still sore and itchy from his and Boswell's expedition into the Testing Grounds. As his eyes slowly blinked away in the thick blackness of the room, Keene rolled over onto his back, rubbing the grit and will to remain on the pitiable excuse of a bedroll for longer. As he rose up into a seated position, he winced at the tightness of his skin across his shoulders and arms. The shift in his facial expression also agitated the irritated skin on his nose, eliciting a few drops of moisture from his eyes that unceremoniously pooled in his eyelids without trailing down his face.

Pushing himself up onto his feet, Keene stumbled in the darkness. The rooms were cold enough that he slept fully clothed, finding it was marginally more comfortable to wear his pants than not, as the chill of stone set in quite quickly once disrobed. Blindly shuffling around the cramped quarters, Keene's hand brushed against the door. Pulling it open, he allowed the light of the hall to flood into the space, both blinding him and illuminating the surroundings simultaneously. Blinking back into his vision, Keene retreated back into his room, leaving the door ajar. With the newly introduced torch light, he was able to easily locate his boots and a fresh shirt. Removing his old one, Keene dropped it into the basin on the rickety table at the other end of the sleeping cupboard. Drawing fourth a sizable ball of Djed, he dropped the liquid mass over the article of clothing, transmuting it a wash of water with a quick rotation of his wrist in a swooping mannerism. The basin filled to about half way, mostly submerging the shirt in the newly formed liquid. Having little desire to take any further steps towards washing the shirt, Keene turned back to the boots. Squatting down, he gathered them up, sticking first his left then his right into them, lacing them up with a snug knot.

Finally prepared for the day, Keene shoved his hand into his sack of raisins, tossing a handful into his mouth. Munching on the dried fruit, Keene rummaged in the sack containing almonds, squirreling away a large handful into his pocket. Leaving his gloves behind, Keene pulled the key to his room from his other pocket, making sure to lock everything up as he departed. The hallway was deserted as always, though the sound of voices filtered down from an upper level via the stairwell. Making his way over the even masonry of the floor, Keene finished his mouthful of raisins and drew a few almonds from his pocket, popping them into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully as the sound of the voices grew louder the closer he got to the stairs. There was excitement, something Keene hadn't heard in genuine since his arrival (both Boswell and Risabel seemed entirely too duplicitous to display any emotion that wasn't multi-faceted - the seemingly good natured Boswell especially).

"...they're all down at the docks. Have you seen them yet?" The first voice was jittery and breathy, though if that were due to having run or simply the way the individual spoke, Keene could not tell the difference.

"The docks? That's ten miles from here. I'm not making that hike for a good while yet." The second speaker sounded much like he'd been woken up to be told a story he cared very little about. His cadence was even, and his tone held an acidic bite.

"Well, I'm going back."

"Be my guest."

Keene had stared down the stairs at that point, and the conversation seemed to have come to an end. The breathy speaker appeared to have returned to his room, as Keene's footsteps were the only sound to be heard in the stairwell after the final words were spoken. His curiosity piqued, Keene decided upon what he was going to do for the day. The journey down to the docks was going to be a large portion of it, however, and Keene found himself a bit uncertain as to whether he would be able to make it. Having lived most of his life in the relative comfort of a Zeltivan home with little else to invest his time in than reading and the practice of magic, Keene's physical status left much to be desired, especially when it came to arduous expeditions over semi-foreign ground. Despite his misgivings, Keene had come to Sahova to learn and better understand magic, as it was the only thing left to him. Having come so far, a meager overexertion of his physical abilities was easily justifiable in contrast to the alternative - a meaningless existence. He had to continue moving forward for fear that should he stop, everything would stop along with him.

He swiftly made his way out of the city, the slight jarring motion of his steps creating small bursts of dull pain where the skin on his shoulders was most fragile. The more he walked, however, the less noticeable the pain became, until he barely noticed it by the time be left the Vestibule. The day was very much like the last and the day before. Clouds hung thick over the island, their presence a visual reminder of just how thick the air around him was. The humidity of the island paired with the uncomfortably high heat made keeping one's self dry nearly impossible. With the added effort of movement, Keene had already broken a sweat, glad to have left his gloves back in his room. The leather boots trapped the head radiated from his feet as well as seemingly allowed the external temperature to build up in an unholy union. He had had little idea just how warm the island was going to be, assuming it would be only marginally warmer than the summers of Zeltiva. Instead, however, it was sweltering, constantly. Keene resolved to purchase a more breathable pair of shoes at his earliest convenience (or make some if the need arose, as shops and the like seemed entirely vacant from the Sahoven culture).

As he continued down the winding path, his muscles straining against the decline, Keene's attention shifted towards the horizon. His eyes widened in excitement as he saw what the pair had been discussing. In the distance spun large, serpentine forms rising from the ocean like strange, impossibly large tentacles. His drive renewed, Keene's pace picked up speed. Despite the protests of his muscles and lungs, Keene didn't want to miss the anomalous meteorological event. The velocity, however, did not last long. Will could only drive the body for so long. It was a requirement that grew at an exponential rate, something Keene could not sustain and thus resolved himself to hike at a pace slightly below the average. His breathing had already become heavy, and the sweat had begun to stick his shirt and hair to skin, further aggravating the burns from the day previous.

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[Keene Ward]

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Keene kept his eyes on the horizon. The strange twisters were ever-changing. While some remained as towering pillars, others faded into nothingness. It was as if they had never even existed, only to be replaced a new shoot of swirling mass that took its place. He had never seen anything like it, though the books regarding weather patterns and storm fronts had been mostly focused on the maritime city of Zeltiva. He was certain the tropical atmosphere of Sahova had something to do with the strange sky columns. The funnels seemed to extend from the water (though the actual point where the twisters met the ocean was obstructed by the land he had yet to traverse) and up into the clouds above. The formations seemed benign, simple cumulus that would seemingly have no effect on the water below. His curiosity drove him forward, but his legs refused to move at a pace any faster than his current stumble.

It was strange to find such interest in weather after having been so long apart from his research. He had left it all behind in Zeltiva, and yet he couldn't help but find the hypnotizing swirls as enticing as magic itself. There was a magic in the power of nature, something that reimancy had sway over. Nature, however, was unfathomable in strength, far beyond the capacity of a single wizard. In spite of his past and the consequences of tampering with the wild forces of the natural world, Keene's live had been largely inundated with the study and love of the weather. He did not use the word "love" often to describe his opinions, yet there was no better description for it. There was no other force in the world that could so easily draw him like a moth to a flame, grasp hold of his interest so completely as to push him towards lunacy. Of course, he retained his sanity, though the expansive stretch of land he had yet to cover certainly gave him reason to question himself. The journey was of little importance, however. Though his time on the island had been short, Keene had experienced quite a bit of excitement. To be rewarded with what was surely a rare weather event was something that was enough to even perk the corners of his mouth towards his cheeks.

As time passed, Keene's eyes fell from the sky to focus on the terrain before him. His breathing had become too labored to allow him the leisure of not paying attention to where he was going. The path was ill-worn and disappeared for sections at a time, requiring several ticks of investigation as his footsteps plodded into the earth one at a time, a steady - though weary - march towards the shore. There was little scenery to catch his attention, as the majority of the Sahovan landscape was sparse. Copses of trees dotted the area, breaking up the stagnant rigidity of the grasses. He had managed to grow close enough to the ocean to hear the swooshing rush of the strange, swirling pillars. It floated through the air like a delicate whisper, the only noise outside of the crunch of earth beneath Keene's sweltering boots. It was strangely familiar, though the distance had warped it enough that Keene couldn't hope to place it until he was within a better auditory range.

The sweat that had already begun to coat his skin had begun to sting along his shoulders and nose. Removal of his shirt was ill-advised, as Keene doubted the hidden sun would omit him from the consequences he'd discovered of baring skin towards her face. So he trudged on, the sweat beading at his temples, dripping from his lashes into his eyes when he blinked, and effectively dampening any and all areas where fabric met flesh. It was an unpleasant state, but one that Keene had resigned himself to. It was absolutely illogical for one to remain dry and cool when the surrounding area was a sweltering hot box. As he continued, Keene considered potential solutions to his despicable state. Reimancy was out of the question, as the res required to sustain a constant breeze was far beyond his capabilities, and it was already evident soaking his clothes with water would do nothing but allow for sultry chaffing.

Shade too was a vain grasp at respite from the blare of the sun's stare. The clouds had already done as much, hiding the true rays but creating the insulation for a greenhouse effect in which no amount of cowering could cease the exposure to the dispersed heart. Running hand over his face, Keene brushed off a handful of sweat, saving his eyes from the stinging bite of perspiration. No, shade was not the answer. Nudity was closer than the previous two, but it was only a temporary solution. The sun would merely dig her fingers into the exposed flesh, filling it with her strength so that it blistered and burned, making the body all the more susceptible to her heat. The more he thought about it, the more he came to realize it was inescapable. It was not something so abstract as fate or destiny; it merely was. There was no escape save within the chilled halls of the Sahovan citadel, and with his limited access, Keene's domain was that of the sweltering world outside the walls of the city. The cold would have to be earned, bestowed upon him by whatever benevolence those present in the judgement found appropriate. The only potential reprieve from the heat outside of his quarters were the strange twisters at the docks. They seemed water-logged, and the spray of the vapors being drawn up into the sky were, perhaps, coolor than the sticky sweat that clung to his flesh, offering nothing but pesky moisture rather than the typical cooling effect he had once imagined the salty substance to have.

Still onward he trudged, his final conclusion regarding the heat pulling him ever more towards the docks. No amount of desire, however, could have held sway over his speed. It was steady, but in its steadiness the weary vessel found anything beyond the ragged intake and output of air paired with the rise and fall of leg and foot to be too difficult to even consider. His mind had slowed even, as all resources were gradually diverted onto the focus of perpetuation of motion without an outcome of mortal finality. Each step had become a journey all its own. He could feel what seemed to be each muscle working independently in tandem with their partners, extending, contracting, pulling, pushing. His breath too, however shallow, revealed to his senses the expansion of his lungs within as they gathered what sustenance they could from the meager breaths of air before tossing aside what they could not make use of. Agony was not an appropriate description of Keene's feelings, though an outside observer may have used to the word as a surface descriptor of the figure that stumbled over the sparsely marked path, breath coming in gasps and sweat dripping from every protuberance.

Keene, however, found himself in a strange state of peace. He had reached a point in his journey during which his limbs had seemed to lose all weight. His concepts of pain and struggle had, somewhere along the course of his foolish foray for the docks, disappeared to be replaced with a simple, wonderful numbness. The uneven sound of breath pulling and pushing from his chest had become a tranquil melody to which his precarious march moved in harmony. He was far beyond weary, having reached a new height he could only describe as tranquility. His mind had accepted his body, they were one. They moved as a single, cohesive unit. The unity had given rise to the peace and gentle amity of soul and substance. He continued on in this fashion for a timeless duration, transcended beyond the petty constraints of a temporal existence. The feeling, however, was still bound by both time and the unavoidable outcome of exertion.

The path had finally revealed the docks, the empty harbor with its three piers and vacant buildings. The anomalies still raged unchecked above the water of the ocean. Shouting could be heard from the shore where figures dotted the water line. With his goal in sight, Keene found himself falling from his self-proclaimed height of super-eminence, plummeting into the mortal coils of his flagging body and mind. The pain returned, though what had once been a blessing of exemption from his body's senses quickly augmented itself into a curse as his muscles renewed their protests with shrill defiance, shaking him down to the core of his bones. Each uneven step seemed shorter than the last until he found himself stopped atop the final ridge before the descent into the rocky beach of the only Sahovan harbor. With a wheezing breath, Keene made one last push. His feet caught at the uneven ground, sending his torso forward with nothing to support it. The result ended with a crumpled, groaning heap at the bottom of the rise.

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[Keene Ward]

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He lay on the ground wheezing for a good number of chimes. He'd barely felt the short plummet, as his body had already found itself in a state of torment before the loss of his balance. Letting his burning lungs cool themselves of their struggle by remaining still in his crumpled state, Keene stared up into the cloudy sky. He could the effect of the twisters pulling the cloud matter about in unnatural swirls and spirals, though the changes were minute compared to the greater tornadoes of water that had erupted from beneath the waves of the sea. However much he wanted to investigate, Keene fully understood he had pushed the limits of what he was able to do. Until he was rested some, the only thing he had control over was the direction in which his head faced. He chose to keep his eyes focused upon the grey sky, the rolling cumulus obscured by its milky cirrus siblings. It was deceptively peaceful, the swirling masses of water extending up into the heavens with a steady hiss aside, and Keene was content to let his body gain what rest it needed before he continued.

The shouting still sounded from farther down the way. The strange, seething sizzle of the funnels was much louder at the shore, obscuring the voices to the point of them just being noise amid noise. Not even so much as intent could be deciphered from their shouts, though Keene assumed it was most likely to do with the weather anomaly. Of course, had the shouting be due to a large, carnivorous creature lumbering down the rocky shore, Keene would have been in for a surprised and sudden death. Having little reason to consider the latter, however, he contented himself to finding what relaxation he could in his mess of limbs pressed into the uneven ground beneath him. It wasn't nearly as peaceful as he would have liked it. His shoulders quickly found there were sore not just from the burns but the awkward splay of his arms against the lumps of the earth. Though the burning had begun to subside in his lungs, his back was twisted in such a fashion that his right hip dug into a raised section of the ground below him, pressing into it with a sizable portion of his weight. The legs were the only part of his body that remained a steady blaze of tingling misery, the precursor to what would surely be a terrible soreness come morning.

With an agonizing stiffness that pushed back against his will to move, Keene haltingly managed to straighten himself out. He rested in between his various set of struggles, his sweaty hands slipping out from under him due to fatigue and sweat. Once he had wrested a seated position from the rigid grasp of his body's reluctance, Keene stared off down the beach at the shifting figures before him. His body let out an involuntary shudder as he prepared himself for the final stretch. Though his muscles had used Keene's temporary immobility to bask in the lack of any required action, they were far from the optimal working order. Staggering to his feet, Keene felt his body groan through the ache of his shins and back. Steeling himself towards his goal, Keene doggedly headed towards the figures on the shore. The whooshing hiss of the spiraling water seemed to surround him as he unsteadily limped along the rocky beach. Once more he was stricken by the peculiar familiarity of the sound. There was a comforting quality to it, a warmth that juxtaposed the power and force of the maelstroms made columns. Unable to place it given the current state of his mind and body, Keene decided to focus upon where he would next place his foot rather than the mysterious complexities of his unexplained sensations.

Nearing the company on the beach, Keene realized they were all reimancers. The distinct glow and sensation of res was unmistakable as it was cast out into the wave, disappearing into the watery cyclones with no effect what so ever. He supposed it wasn't so strange for powerful wizards to wish to learn the effects of their magic on something as odd as snaking whirlpools projected into the clouds. Still, he knew full well what sort of trouble could come with using magic to understand and even control the weather. It was inadvisable at best, but Keene had only just arrived on the island. For all he knew it was standard procedure to cast swaths of res into unknown meteorological bodies. It was unlikely, but the nuits of Sahova had devoted their entire lives to the study of magic. The likelihood of them knowing things beyond his comprehension was relatively high. Thus, he made little protest as he hobbled over to join them.

There were a total of five reimancers, though if there were more it wouldn't have surprised him to find them farther down the beach. Two of them were casting res in unison, while a third directed their efforts. The remaining wizards were farther back, resting on the rocks. As he approached one of them called out in a raspy voice, "Get away from them, Pulsar! They don't need any more distractions than they already have!" Heeding the man's admonition, Keene wobbled his way over to the larger outcroppings of rocks where the fiery headed man and his long haired, disheveled looking partner both rested. As he approached, the two paid him little mind save for a sideways scowl from the man. The woman, however, seemed to be asleep with hey eyes open, a strange gape of a smile giving her jaw the impression of coming lose. As neither said anything to him once he'd arrived, Keene grimaced, easing himself down onto a course stone about the size of a large chair.

From his slouched perch, Keene could quite comfortably view both the reimancers and their antics as well as the now towering towers of white water reaching high into the cloudy cover above. The shouting, as he quickly realized, consisted mainly of instructions given by the overseer of the operation, advising more or less res to be produced, the adjustment of control's trajectory, and a safeguard against overgiving. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, the woman's disturbingly tranquil physiognomy suggested she may have used more res than she'd intended. It was a constant danger that was a constant possibility each time magic was used. The potential for disaster was incredibly high, but the return for such risks after near worth the costs. Keene, however, found overgiving a necessity only in the case of his own life in peril. To fall into hallucinations to a mysterious, sea-bound tornado - however irregular an event - was not something Keene imaged warranted such a price to be paid, especially where there was no apparent reward for such antics.

The trio of reimancers continued, however. Their efforts finding nothing by vain emptiness, and with each attempt they lost more and more of their reserves of Djed. The wizards were using gestures, incantations, dances, songs, even the occasional haiku all to no avail. Quickly losing interest in the devolving fool act, Keene gazed out onto the ocean. His breathing had calmed and though it would be quite some time until his body began to forgive him for the brutal journey it had just spent itself on, his muscles had relaxed enough for him to find some small comfort atop of the porous boulder he had claimed as his seat. With his mind no longer having to be fully diverted to the needs of his body, Keene was much better able to focus upon the matter at hand: the swirling, foaming vortexes.

The water in the whirlwinds was unusually white. In fact, it almost seemed as though there was no water in them at all, but Keene found that a bit too unlikely seeing as the things seemed to spring up from the sea. There were constantly new ones forming and old ones dissipating. It started with a dark spot on the water, a seemingly unassuming event that could be explained by a myriad of possibilities. As the spot seemed to darken, the water within it began to spiral, twisting and foaming in a wild churn. With time, the churn began to emit a wild display of spray, rising up several feet in all directions like some strange aquatic flower. Soon after the forceful sprinkling, the pillar emerged snaking its way from the water into the sky at a surprisingly rapid pace. Not all of the event were the same size. Some were meager of height and speed of rotation, while others (especially those who were much farther away in the open waters of the ocean) reached into the clouds and beyond, towering structures of liquid chaos.

The entire beach was much cooler than the path to get there had been. The funnels had kicked up enough wind force to noticeably lower the surrounding temperature, something Keene found himself extremely grateful for. The layer of sweat that had
been sticking to his skin was finally cooling thanks to the steady, salt spun breeze that wrapped itself around him. It was another curious thing about the columns, the wind that was generated was incredibly strong. It was much greater than could be expected from the mere rotation of an unshackled liquid. His brows knitting in concentration, Keene refocused his attention back upon the reimancers. Though he now had a better idea of what the strange funnels were, Keene was far from any form of satisfactory answer. He had, at first, disregarded the strange, frustrated dance of the trio as meaningless folly, however he had not taken into account the entire point of their endeavor.

From what he could tell, they were attempting to draw the water out of the spouts with little effect. Res traveled swiftly over the water only to disappear within the wildly rotating pillars to no avail. Balls of res floated near the smaller spouts, drawing water from the ocean around it (though Keene assumed the target of the attraction to be the funnels that offered only the water at its base as meager compensation). The wizards and begun to grow desperate - or perhaps more desperate than before, as when he had arrived things had already seemed rather hectic. The three of them (their "commander" joining in for their final effort) put forth an impressive wall of res that was shaped into a long, thin string that writhed toward the nearest, massive spout. It rose up shimmering in the mist filled air as the reimancers attempted to alter the course of the tornado. Water from all around the string rose up and attached itself, a mass of off-green liquid that was slowly drawn into what soon became a maelstom. The water gushed up through the spout, dragging the res with it. One of the wizards let out a howl of pain as a flash of fire erupted out of the middle of the water, sending a hiss of steam high into the sky as the water was dispelled, tumbling back into the ocean in a spray that found its way to the rocky shore, pelting them all.

The nuit beside him muttered a low, "Shyke." before rising up to jog over to where one of the wizards had fallen. The woman giggled, a small line of drool dripping from the crevice that was her mouth. Keene merely sat and watched. He was simply an observer in the whole debacle, and he was well aware the effects of overgiving paid little heed to the petty attempts of mortal remedy. As he watched, one of the wizard's arms burst, splattering his comrades with a spray of water that had come from the transmutation of his entire limb. There was more shouting, though this time Keene very easily made out the frantic terror as well as the red haired man's roar to regain some semblance of control over the situation. He found there was little sympathy left in him as he stared blankly at the foolish creatures that had thought to master the will of nature. His patience for those who blindly acted with little thought to the consequences had run out the moment Mella had died. Now there was little else but a small twinge of contempt for the wizards and their pitiable circumstances. Pushing himself to his feet with shaky arms, Keene started towards the shore, choosing a path that led him in the opposite direction of the frantic company.

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[Keene Ward]

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He gazed out onto the water, his clothes whipping about him as the wind cascaded in a myriad of short and long gusts. The sweat had finally dried to leave its thin, salty residue over his skin, and though he was far from cold, Keene found the whipping winds and spray of the sea to be a comfortable shift from the sweltering heat of the overcast island. As the wind and water raged in the spectacle before him, Keene's squinted eyes against the rush of air peered out, grasping at what more details he could discover. The hissing sizzle that whined its way across the open water rang in his ears, and the realization of the root of his familiarity with the noise was finally made clear to him. It was the serpentine hum of winds rotating at high speeds. It had been so difficult to place because he had assumed the pillars were water, and thus the sound of wind was far too removed a potential possibility for him to consider without a more comprehensive contemplation of the even before him. Once he was able to extricate himself from the belief that the pillars were giant, white towers of water and instead massive structures of the air made visible through the sheer force of its power (and, yes, an amount of water within), the reimancer's failure made much more sense to him.

Initially, the thought to use reimancy to control the water within the funnels was sound (though the very idea of using magic, even a joint venture, to do something of the like was far too foolish for Keene's tastes), however the whirling zephyrs were not to be controlled by the likes of the water it pulled up to the sky. Keene knew full well the might of a storm, and the water locked tornadoes were different only in form. Keene's mastery of his res was far too inferior for him to even consider attempting to affect the swirling vortexes before him. Unlike the others, Keene knew his limits, and the open, swirling tumult of the sea before him was quite beyond them. It was odd that he felt as though he should do something. He had nothing to write with or upon to take note of the size, duration, and wind force of the twisters. There was little he could do with his res, other than conduct yet another observation of how quickly it would be sucked up into the vortex. Having no other instruments but his eyes, Keene merely stood and watched on.

The dance of the wind was peaceful, the blustering gusts that ravaged the beach aside, and there was a strange, hypnotizing grace to it. The soft, almost imperceptible fade of one vortex to give rise to another was much like the natural cycle of life. Things were born in the swirling, dark blemishes upon the water, rising up as they grew into their prime, fading into nothingness as they passed on to a new existence, forgotten by the simple minds of the denizens of the world. He found it odd to find such humanity in the simple twisting spires of air. It was difficult not to attribute such human concepts such as power or beauty to such natural phenomena, but to treat them - even slightly - as if they were alive was absurd. The wind moved and the water responded. The fluctuating temperatures, adjustment in pressure, and the like were all determinants that led to the end result. Of course, Keene had little idea exactly which and how much of those influences led to the event, and with his limited access to both knowledge and tools, he doubted he ever would. However, understanding the cause of something had little to do with simple fact that it was merely that: something. It was an impersonal event caused by nature, not some poetic foolishness. He'd read plenty of poetry, and it had taught him next to nothing.

Turning his attention towards the nuits, it appeared the first to fall was in bad condition. He sputtered on the ground, strange black liquid oozing from his mouth and eyes - the assumed ichor Risabel had mentioned. The second who had lost his arm was unconscious, while the third, red haired, nuit sat hunched over dying, though what he was doing was obscured as his back was turned towards Keene. The sun had begun its decent across the sky, having reached her peak some bells ago. And though his curiosity was piqued by the process through which a nuit passed into the next life - if they even believed such things - was not appealing enough to warrent a solitary hike back to the citadel in the darkness. Giving the ocean one last gaze, Keene cemented in his mind its appearance: the sweeping expanse of blue green water dotted with the rising spires of the zephyrs, the spray of the sea glistening in spite of the clouds that rolled above with their heavy, grey masses seemingly sucking the funnels into their girth. It was a mystery he had been unable to solve, yet it did not leave the frustration he thought it might. He decided, perhaps, there were some things that were simply meant to be left to mystery.

Legs much more steady than before, Keene headed off across the beach. The shouts of the nuits had begun again, but he paid them little heed. They had sealed their own fates, and nothing but the gods could help them now. Keene was no god. He was merely a human, a single spark of existence that possessed within him only the powers he had gained through his own experiences, and experience told him getting involved would be a waste of time. He didn't like wasting time. Unlike the Nuits, his was limited, and it was that limit that drove him, that forced him to be more efficient out of necessity. If he were to stop, even more a moment, and consider his life for what it really was, he would fall apart. He was a man made of glass, and though he would much rather imagine himself much more substantial than that, he was a terrible liar. Curiosity was his ally where stagnation was his bane. If he let the glass stand still for too long, it would crack and shatter, thus he had to move on. He had to continue learning and keep his mind from the past.

The more he thought about it, the more comical it seemed. He'd become a cliche, a man burdened by his past, driven to an unknown future for fear of the present. In a way, he was much like the foolish nuits, casting his energy - his being - into a swirling mass of nothingness that did little but leave him weaker each time. And that nothingness was entirely nothing, no human attributes. It was not some personified mass of fear or angst, it simply was. And he wasn't. He had spent much time on the subject of who or what he was without Mella. It had been a long, empty process through which he'd found little. His search continued in every action, reaction, and counter-action. A man, he was not. His understanding of the world was underdeveloped, his constructs too large to fit into the minuscule space that was reality. A philosopher, he was not. The mind, his mind, considered much, but it also understood little. That which confused him far outweighed the few specks of sense he could find in the strange, unfamiliar realm of true existence. What then was left to him but a body and mind void of purpose. And it was upon that he had based himself: an empty vessel cursed with the misfortune of introspection. His directive had been lost, but his functions still remained. What then was left to him but the single characteristic that set him apart, filled him with its own purpose, directed him with strength.

Curiosity. It pulled him along behind itself like a cross mistress, shoving his nose into things many would pass by. It fought him in an endless struggle for its way, and Keene could do little but control the speed at which he hurtled along behind it: a run or a sprint. To stop thinking, to let his mind cease and sink into the abyss he had found himself on that day, was to stop existing. His curiosity was all that he had left, and it could never be sated, a quality - the only quality - that had allowed him to continue thus far. It kept him looking forward, and it constantly whispered in his ear, rising to shout when need be. And, as he started up the first of the many, seemingly endless inclines to come, it was what drove him onward. The prospect of a new chime, a new bell, a new day each filled with eccentricities, anomalies, and the unknown far outweighed the protests of his weary body. His pace was much more sedate than it had been on his arrival, allowing Keene a steady climb up towards the citadel. Each step came with it a promise of novelty, and though he was well aware of his short-comings, Keene was in no way so simple as to think he was any longer bound by them. He was unchained. A mind and body, empty, but free.

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[Keene Ward]

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In spite of Keene's rousing inner monologue that spoke to progress, freedom, and inherent inquisitiveness, Keene's spirits were quick to fall as his breathing became labored and the glorious, detestable sweat once more trailed down his person like water from a spout. The trek had been arduous, though not nearly as taxing as his rush down to the waterfront. He had made it about halfway before the sun had started to set, which signaled his exhausted body to move quicker. He knew little about the wildlife of the island, and even less about what lurked in the night. His pace had not picked up a sizable amount until the shadows appeared. They were cast by three, massive birds who had begun to circle the air above him, their details darkened by their altitude and position against the backdrop of the sun's rays. It was with the advent of the avian creatures that Keene truly began to push himself once more.

His legs, having never truly recovered from the first half of the journey, had slowly seemed to substitute his bone matter for pliable jelly, making the act of trotting - which was his desired form of locomotion at the moment - nearly impossible, forcing him to adopt a limp hobble as he navigated over the despicably rough terrain of the poorly marked path. High above him came the screeches of the birds, their cries sounding closer with each passing chime. They took their time, however, letting their prey struggle beneath them as he scrambled up the path, occasionally resulting to using his hands where it was particularly steep. All the while their bodies rotated around Keene as their point of grounding. The prospect of being dinner for some very large birds was enough to give Keene the adrenaline needed to push his body onward, keeping his eyes focused on the ground in front of him. Looking behind him was unnecessary as the creature let out a piercing trill each time they moved closer on him. He would know when they were upon him.

In his pitiable physical state, Keene was uncertain how much reimancy he could manage without killing himself. There was, of course, no other option should the birds attack. His only effective defense (as waving his arms and shouting rarely ever did any sort of good), reimancy required the effort, concentration, and motor control he wasn't entirely sure he had at the moment. If the need arose, however, he had Djed to spare. The beasts weren't going to get the best of him, as Keene had absolutely no intention of having his life cut short by birds of all things. In fact, he preferred not to have his life cut short by anything, not even himself. The damnable birds, however, didn't seem to share Keene's sentiments, as they continued to draw nearer and nearer. It was absolutely ridiculous to be hunted by birds, at least from the Zeltivan standard. He did suppose it was an entirely different land with equally different rules. For all he knew the looming promise of beaks and talons were a dangerous experiment gone awry after having been released into the testing grounds.

Stumbling over knot of grass, Keene suck his arms out in an awkward brace for impact. Having not been moving at a particularly break neck speed, Keene crashed onto the ground with more bruised ego than bone, though the impact did jar his left shoulder with an uncomfortable pop. Rolling to his back, Keene let out a surprised squeak of effort as he pushed himself into a roll toward the side as massive, feathery wings flapped about. The beasts had taken his moment of stupendous failure to attack. Fortunately, the creature seemed to have meant to bash into his skull with its wings, dazing him; a fate he had avoided by throwing himself horizontally across the scruffy grass. The bird swooped up into the air with a frustrated sqwak, the sound of its wings beating against the air further illustrating the power the creature possessed. Not waiting to check on the status of the remaining birds, Keene scrambled up the path, his heart pounding in his chest after the encounter. His shoulder protested slightly at the increased pace (along with his already embittered lungs and legs), but Keene paid them all little heed. The birds were certainly not going to let him take a rest because he was tired.

He scampered along the path for several chimes before his foot caught yet again. Instead of letting himself tumble to the ground defenseless as last time, Keene readied his res, his ragged breathed momentarily paused as he exhaled a cloud of res from his lips before slammed into the ground with a soid thud. As he had tumbled through the air, Keene adjusted his body so that he landed on his back, having already removed much of the air from his lungs in tandem with the res, the fall did not hurt him nearly as much as his lungs had anticipated. The res floated in a luminescent, pale blue cloud directly between him and the advancing dive of the bird. Aiming the cloud of res with a sharp swipe of his hand, Keene transmuted the cloud into a gust of air that slammed into the bird's chest, knocking it from its intended path and onto the ground. The piercing shrieks of the other birds quickly followed, giving Keene enough time to wobble to his feet and begin running. The fallen bird, dazed, mirrored Keene's unsteady return to his feet, though it recovered quickly from the menial burst of magic and once more took to the air, a foul screech of displeasure projected towards its soon to be victim.

He ran then, something he had thought his body entirely incapable of. Though the wind felt like fire in his chest, and his legs seemed to be structures of locomotion completely disconnected from his ability to feel, he sped across the the ground at a speed that felt like flying. In actuality, it was a slow gallop, but much faster than any speed he'd previously employed since the arrival of the winged creatures portending death. To Keene, however, it was akin to a miracle. Unfortunately, the birds were not worn down from the miles of walking Keene had subjected himself to, nor were they restricted by the irregularities of the terrain. The sky was their domain, and they utilized it to the fullest. Easily gaining on him, the creatures circled once more, their cries shrill and piercing. Hearing the cacophony all around him, Keene halted his retreat, turning instead to face his attacker head on. Out of breath and on shaky legs, Keene released a large cloud of res into the air, it circled around him as he slowly rotated his wrists. The amount of res he'd produced left a substantial imbalance in his Djed, though he had anticipated as much, drawing forth the majority of his stores. There was enough still within him to sustain one or two weak spells before he would have to start using more than he preferred. The birds, however, had little sympathy for him.

The first to attack let out a horrible scream, launching itself at Keene with talons extended and terribly sharp. Winding up his right had in anticipation, Keene released a heavy gust of wind, the cloud of res shifting to expel a substantial burst of res was was quickly transmuted through the gesture. It slammed into the bird, eliciting a short sqwak as it was cast to the ground. Not waiting for the other birds to join in, Keene quickly advanced on the downed vulture-like beast. Using both hands, Keene pushed another portion of his res up into the air before slamming both his fists downward. The speed of the res moved twice what his motion had been and as it was transmuted into a powerful blast of wind. Slamming into the bird with a sickening crunch the animal let out a pained crow, flapping its unbroken wing with an impotent vengeance. The cries of the injured bird seemed to have a promising effect on the others. They backed off some, circling at a safer distance to see what the prey might do. Glaring at the creatures with a cold stare, he let his gaze fall to the maimed body of now heaving vulture. Keene raised his boot up over the fallen bird's gasping head, smashing his foot down on its neck. The body continued to twitch for a few ticks after before falling still. The two remaining birds let out a few ragged shrieks, still circling the scene.

Choosing not to linger over the now lifeless body of his once aggressor, Keene turned to limp away. The birds cautiously descended from the safety of their sky behind him, tearing into the warm flesh of their fallen brother. The sound of ripping meat and cracking of bones did not particularly disgust him, but the fact the birds were one and the same, fish from the same school, made him sick enough to not want to turn round for a glimpse at the gruesome spectacle. He had played his part, and it was now ended. With heavy, dragging steps, Keene headed towards the gates of the Vestibule, the city looming up before him like some ominous beast waiting to devour him. He'd bested birds, but they were nothing compared to the intricacies and mysteries that lay hidden within the holds of Sahova. His role may have been fulfilled for the birds, but his journey on the island had only just begun.

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[Ink]

Fate has dictated the conclusion to your journey...

...And now, only Fortune awaits you.

I am Ink, Mistress of Sahova; and it is my pleasure to award you with this bounty of XP and Lore. If you have any questions regarding this Grade, please do not hesitate to send me a PM. Fret not, I tend not to smite...often.

 

Keene

XP

• Reimancy 1
• Bodybuilding 1
• Endurance 2
• Observation 3
• Meteorology 1
• Meditation 1
• Philosophy 1

LORES

• Waterspouts: Watching Reimancers Fail
• Overgiving: Reimantic Limb Transmutation
• Sahova: Ten Miles From Docks to Citadel
• Even the Birds of Sahova are Vicious
• Beaten, Burnt, Downed, but Not Out
  

With Regards,
Ink