Solo A Recipe for Disaster

[Keene Ward]

The sixty-seventh day of winter, 514 AV

Sweat dripped down his face, running its course down the curve of his jaw to splash onto his chest as it continued on its journey to the earth, driven by the invisible forces. Block, strike, dodge, block, dodge, strike. He moved faster than he had at the beginning of the season. His arms darted into their proper positions more often than not, and Keene found his balance to have steadily improved over the course of his training. He swerved, his envisioned attacker moving past him as Keene pulled a knee out to drive it the ribs before hopping away. Block, duck, strike, block, dodge. Keene's feet slid over the sand, stumbling every so often, though it had been awhile since he had tripped on his own during his solo regimens. Catching his balance, Keene jabbed forward, not to attack, but to deter. Atziri had emphasized that there were times a false swipe or a perceived aggression would serve as a more effective defensive tool than blocking. She had upped her own force in strikes and speed as well, incrementally introducing Keene more and more into what it was fight to fight another person.

It was something face paced and as dangerous as one allowed it to be. Fights were chosen, not inevitabilities, however as a Warden's initiate, many of his fights had already been chosen for him. While he had yet to lose in the simple sense of life and death, Keene had suffered plenty at the hands of others. His magic was not enough, and as it stood, his fists where hardly a substitute, let alone an augment. But that was what they were intended to be: a last line of reliable defense. It was how he approached his training as well, dedicating a fair portion of his time to practice. While alone, it was difficult to capture the intensity needed to perform at an optimal level, but it helped to form the memory and reflexes he found he needed more and more each time he and his master sparred. Duck, retreat, block, block, strike, retreat. Keene clenched his jaw, fully aware that his arms had failed to find their proper positions in time. Keeping his motions continual, Keene attempted the maneuver again, tucking his body down lower as the strike moved over his head, shuffling backwards while still maintaining his diminished height, rising up to deflect a downwards strike with an angled strike at the air, shoving his free arm across his body as his feet shifted to give him ample room, thrusting his fist forward with a twist of his torso only to hop back and shuffle back into the circle.

It was sloppy, but it was better. Keene did the same thing several more times, each time focusing on the positions, the proper locations of where his body should be, rather than the force or the speed. The latter were to be seriously considered in a spar, as he could only adjust for what he could see. Though his phantom opponent had gradually become easier to craft in the darkness of his mind's eye after a season's worth of matches with Atziri to flesh it out, it didn't change the fact that he could only make it as fast as he could react to. It never outmatched him, which was something that Atziri and every other physically inclined being seemed to be able to do. With something he simply could not lose to, rather than trying to beat it, Keene used it to better himself by repetition and attention to detail. It was a tiring, however, and as his heart pounded against his ribs and his breath came in heavy pants, he lowered his fists and shifted down to a seated position, extending his legs into a straddle.

With a wince, he eased over the ground in front of him. The stress of the tightness of his legs allowed only a small amount of motion from his straight back as he let the stretch do its work. Having no longer to focus nearly so much on what he was doing - and wanting to take his mind off of the pain - Keene meditated on the recipe he'd found in library the day before. He had the ingredients he thought might work, though he wasn't sure if they were to be mixed before they were to be placed in his mouth or not. He turned switching from the middle to reach for his left foot, the stretch shifting from his crotch to his side, a much more pleasing sensation. His frown, however, was mostly introspective as he considered the issue of blood. He wasn't certain how much he needed, but he imagined that the ratios were relatively equal. There was also the simple fact that his mouth was only so big. No matter how many supplies he had, he could only chew so much. Shifting from his left leg to his right with a controlled release of air, Keene stared at the wall opposite him, his pensive gaze seeing little as he considered how much would fit into his mouth.

He'd never attempted to see what the maximum capacity was, though he was fully aware he'd never had a reason to. He imagined it could hold a fair amount, though if he were to leave room for chewing, it lessened the overall amount by a fair percent. Shaking out his legs, Keene pulled them in front of him and leaned forward, reaching for his toes. His hands reached about the middle of his shins, but the strain on the underside of his knees was more than enough to tell him he was stretching. Taking his mind off of it, Keene mused over the final addendum to the recipe. "Focus" was yet another part of the equation, though Keene wasn't certain if the man had meant the actual chewing or if it was something more. Keene had chewed plenty of things before, and there had been times his own blood was mixed in with what he was eating after biting his tongue or lip by careless chewing. In those instances, his food had remained food. It had not become "soulmist" or any sort of soul at all. His frown intensified at the stretch and his lack of understanding. Perhaps it had something to do with his djed, or it could simply have been the act of wanting to produce "soulmist" that made it so with the combination of ingredients. The latter, if true, was unfortunate, as Keene wasn't sure he could focus on something he'd never seen before.

[Keene Ward]

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Once he had finished with his stretches, Keene stood up slowly, his breathing having returned to a normal rate and the sweat having stopped running down his skin, though the wetness remained as the heat and humidity of the cave was hardly conducive to evaporation. Padding over to the table, Keene stared at the food he'd collected. Atziri had left out a creature, of some kind, that she had roasted earlier that morning when he'd been asleep. Next to it was a pile of raisins, and a bowl of roasted Waat's Nest. With the ingredients gathered, Keene had only to add his blood. Peeling off strips of the meat, Keene shredded it over the mushrooms, after which he added the raisins, keeping the bowl about three quarters full. With that done, he headed back to his room to grab his knife. It wasn't the sort that was much good for protection, but it cut through things well enough. Standing over the bowl with knife in hand, Keene turned his right hand over, staring at the "x" shaped cross of scar. Placing the blade along one of the lines, Keene sliced into his hand, wincing by reflex as he felt the skin part away from the knife though the pain was absent. With the sizeable cut finished, Keene squeezed his hand over the bowl of food, a thin line of crimson spilling from the clenched first. He let himself bleed for a solid chime, the flow lessoning dramatically over time until it was only a few drips by the time he pulled his hand back to stare down at the mess in the bowl. It didn't look particularly appetizing, but he supposed he wasn't actually eating it as much as just... chewing it.

Looking down at his hand that had begun to bleed again as he let it hang absently to his side, Keene frowned at it. He supposed a bandage of some sort was in order, but he didn't have any strips of cloth readily available. Picking up his shirt that he had discarded before he'd begun his practice, Keene wrapped it around his hand, tying it into a tight pressure against the wound with his left. Flexing his fingers some to test the strength of the makeshift bandage, Keene found it satisfactory. He was no healer, but he just needed the blood not to get all over the cave floor, as it was something he preferred not to clean up later. Returning his attention to the bowl of blood and flesh and plant, Keene took the knife and proceeded to mix everything together. He wasn't sure if it was part of the process, but as things were, he wanted to get an even amount of each ingredient. Mixing them together seemed the best way to achieve that. As he settled into the chair, Keene methodically mixed the bloody contents together for a chime or so until he was content with the product. Using his left hand, free of hampering bandages, Keene scooped up a small handful of the concoction and tossed it into his mouth.

The mix of flavors was, surprisingly, not unpleasant, though to say it was pleasing was going a bit far. The coppery twist of the blood melded with the smoky fat of the meat, accented by the dull sweetness of the raisins and the heady earthy flavor of the mushrooms. As he chewed, however, Keene focused instead on the abstract concept of soulmist. Whatever it was, the whole point of his venture into the ritualistic shadows of the culinary arts was to create and unknown, some form of protection for spirits and their ilk. The steady, crushing pressure of his teeth against the mix of flavors in his mouth continued for a good while. Keene sat still, eyes staring straight ahead as he envisioned Wilhemina, the swirling translucency of her body and the rage filled stare of her eyes. He continued for several chimes that began to stretch longer and longer. His mind began switch focus from his images of ghosts to that of whether his experiment was a success or not. He had no idea to know when he was done, and while the taste hadn't been purely repugnant, he was beginning to find his stomach twisting in spite of his efforts.

Rising from his seat, Keene moved to the fire pit, stooping over and spitting the mess out into the ashes. If he had created soul mist, it looked suspiciously like chewed up, bloody meat. Spitting out what he could of the rest of the flavor, Keene returned to the table, uncapping his flask and taking a few swigs to clear his palate. His first attempt at creating soulmist had only seemed to make him slightly queasy. Frowning down at the bowl, Keene recapped the flask and set it back down on the table, his eyes appraising the contents. There was more than enough for several more trials, though not quite enough to explore every single variable. There was always the chance that the ingredients themselves were incorrect, though meat, fungus, and fruit seemed to fit the proper requisites for the different types of food. In which case, there was something wrong with the process. It was entirely possible mixing things before hand had been a mistake, but for the time being, Keene decided to disregard that possibility as well. He couldn't "unmix" the mushrooms, so it was best to proceed as if that part had been correct as well.

That left the chewing. As far as Keene was aware, he could swallow it if he didn't want to chew, but it seemed to imply that the soulmist would still be produced; Keene preferred to know which orifice the soulmist would be generated from. Sitting down in the chair once more, Keene dipped his fingers back into the bowl to grab another handful of the would be soulmist. This time, he was slightly more reluctant to place it in his mouth, but he did so anyway, jerking his hand to drop the mixture, spilling some of it onto the ground. This time, however, Keene focused on his djed. If soulmist were a magical manifestation, it had to have something to do with djed. Of course, as he chewed, he wasn't entirely sure what to do with his djed. He was mostly certain res had nothing to do with it, though he supposed he could give it a try if his current attempt failed as well. As he rolled the mess around his mouth, Keene let his eyes close, focusing on his djed, the quivering, ever changing fiber that was both him and he it.

[Keene Ward]

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Focusing on his djed was something that Keene had been doing for a long time, but what to do with it beyond turning it into res or encasing his body in a shield was beyond him. He figured that it had something to do with getting his djed to mingle with the djed of the coppery muck in his mouth, but infusing something with what was, in a sense, his soul was a form of magic he wasn't sure how to achieve. For the time being, he simply envisioned the placidly swirling clouds of his essence drifting into the bloody mess as he calmly continued to grind it down with the slow rhythm of his chewing. It was a difficult mind set to maintain, especially with the lack of any change of sensation within him. Usually, the production of res was something he could feel; the feelings often allowed him to determine when he was pushing his limits - thought it was hardly infallible. Even shielding had a lighter sense that parts of him were being lost, changed into something new and serving a different purpose. With the soulmist, however, Keene felt nothing but the small squirm of his stomach at the continued presence of the questionable flavor on his tongue.

He chewed for double the time he'd done before, halfway through finding it very difficult not to swallow the entire thing, though plenty of it had slipped its way down his throat. At some point, the flavor had become familiar enough to the point that it didn't cause him much trouble. His habituation however, did not lend itself towards focusing on both soulmist and the beat of his djed. In the end, Keene spit the poultice out, the act of it far less elegant than before, as he found it was nearly a liquid that, after his initial expectoration, dribbled down his chin. Wiping the mess away with a disdainful frown, Keene took a few swigs of water as the contemplated what he'd done wrong. He'd mixed, he'd chewed, but he supposed his focus had been a bit lacking. Without knowing exactly what it was he was supposed to be focusing on, it made envisioning it much more difficult. He was almost positive it was a form of magic, or a magic tool that required a magic to produce. If that were the case, however, Keene imagined it had to either be projective or introspective. There didn't appear to be a sort of "middle" ground between reimancy and shielding, though it was entirely possible whatever magic he was currently attempting was the middle ground.

If that were the case, however, Keene had little hope of producing results. While still a distinct possibility, Keene shelved the potential for the time being. Instead, he sat in front of the bowl once more, staring with a precise intent at the contents. To create was not necessarily to know. Keene didn't know, but he was intent on creating, and as he dipped his fingers back into the bowl to scoop out yet another handful of the would be soulmist, his eyes bored into the bloody bits, viewing it not for what it was but what it might become. Instead of focusing on "soulmist" and thereby focusing on how much he didn't know about it, Keene turned his attention towards change, fueled by the desire to create a substance to affect ghosts, whatever it looked like or its physical properties were. As he chewed, Keene pushed the thoughts of the taste, the texture, and the odd fact of what he was doing, and forced himself to think only of the end result. The result itself was ambiguous, but the ambiguity was not the concern; the transformation of the material from what it was into what Keene willed it to be was the main component of his adjustment in procedure.

Paying little attention to anything more than his desire to insight change as his law moved in a meditative pattern, Keene continued on with the chewing for a time, eyes lightly shut and mind as clear as could keep it. Focusing on the action rather than the result was much more simple for him, and anytime his mind wandered, Keene forced his thoughts to travel along the continuum of the bloody mass into the unknown, spirit affecting product. When the contents of his mouth shifted from a growing mass of paste into something more smooth and chilled, Keene raised a brow. He chewed for a few chimes after, finding it difficult as whatever had happened to the materials in his mouth had made it sticky, clinging to his teeth like some very viscous honey.

Unable to chew it any longer, and finding the substance to have become quite cold, Keene opened his mouth, holding his hand under it to catch the strange, greenish-white blob that seemed to pull away from his teeth with little issue. Staring down at the soulmist, Keene noted its consistency, something that was between snot and dough, though there was a strange sort of sliminess about it that felt distinctly alien against the skin of his left hand. Not sure what to do with it, Keene stood looking at it for a while, his brain whirring through potential uses. It was, for the most part, a solid, meaning he could smear it across things, shape it into transient positions, or simply do nothing and just hold it. While he performed the latter, Keene tested the strength of the substance by curling his fingers into it. It acted just like a more self-stabalizing mud, sticking to the digits that moved through it, remaining as Keene withdrew them, staring with curious frown as he surveyed the strange shimmer of the cold substance.

[Keene Ward]

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Setting the off-white paste onto the table in front of him, Keene took a moment to examine his right hand, checking the bandage and seeing that the bleeding had stopped. Without being able to feel anything, pain included, it made injuries to that particular limb slightly more concerning then elsewhere. Without his body telling him he was doing something to aggravate the wounds, Keene conducted his motions in much the same way he would have uninjured. As he settled into the chair, he set his injured hand on his lap as a reminder to keep it still for the time being. Turning his attention back to the soul mist that sat with all the regalia of slightly eerie pudding, Keene frowned at it, absentmindedly rolling the residue the main glob of it had left on his skin between his finger tips. He had created the soulmist, eventually, and while he assumed it had been a step towards success in handling spirits, he had no idea what to do with it. Souldarts and soulbeads had been referred to in the journal, but there had been nothing to explain how to make them, nor to detail exactly what they did.

For the first time since Wilhelmina had disappeared, Keene found her absence more of a nuisance than her presence. Without anything to test the soulmist on, he could be sure of what it was capable of, nor how to use it. The mound of slightly glowing goo sat entirely unimpressive, and Keene stared back at it with a similarly mirrored expression. The stuff was cold and had an alien nature to it; from its appearance alone it wasn't difficult to believe it could affect ghosts in some way. What ways specifically, Keene could only guess at. It was possible it was a weapon or a poison of some form, the latter being far more likely as Keene had a difficult time imagining a pale mound of mud to possess a deadly enough force to be considered the prior. He supposed if it were a poison, then it would explain the concept of soul darts. Wondering if the pale substance was something similar to res, Keene moved his hand forward, keeping the right inert, and flicked his fingers upward to move the goop. It was entirely unresponsive. "Alat." Nothing.

Frowning down at his hand that had unconsciously clung to the small balled remnant of soulmist, Keene flicked it towards the wall, muttering "Souldart." with the same even force of an incantation. To his absolute lack of surprise, the ball hit the wall and stuck to its place, like mud. His frown lingered on the small glowing spot amidst the smooth shine of the obsidian barrier before dropping his eyes to the larger, though just as seemingly useless, mound of it on the table. The stuff didn't really fit the name quite like Keene had imagined. Mist was, typically, an earthbound cloud, water dispersed through out the air, like a suspended lake. The unsightly, eerie cold of the product of the past few bells of planning, chewing, and spiting was hardly much of a mist. It was more of a "soulmud" or "soulgoo". Sticking his finger into it, wondering if it required touch to control, Keene clearly enunciated "Soulbead." Of course, nothing happened. "Alat." Nothing. "Daeq... Abase..." Keene hesitated, unsure what the term for "soulmist" was in Nader Canoch. Either way, the muck was as unresponsive as ever, and something about its unnatural chill made continued contact uncomfortable.

Removing his finger from the doughy mound, Keene wiped the excess off on his pant leg, the motion slowed by his musings. Verbal incantations and orders didn't seem to have any effect on the soulmist, nor did gestures or force of will. It affected the physical world in much the same way as anything else, and while it had an unnatural temperature and faint, ghastly glow, there was nothing else to indicate that it could affect the ethereal. The more Keene thought about it, the more he wondered if he had made a mistake, an error in the creation and arrived at something close to the end result but not quite there. It seemed to be just as likely as anything else, and he found that without a ghost to test it on, there was little way of truly knowing anything beyond the meager deductions he could arrive at from pure speculation and minor observation. Dipping his fingers back into the bowl, Keene drew out the last of its contents, placing it into his mouth and proceeding to chew.

This time, Keene focused on the chill and the glow of the soulmist he had produced before. Instead of envisioning the gooey substance, Keene allowed his focus to flit to other forms, maintaining the constants of the solid soulmist's color and luminance. Again, he let his attention fade from what he was chewing and pressed onwards to what it would become. Time passed, though how much Keene couldn't be sure, but when he felt the distinct drop in temperature and alteration in consistency, he spit it out onto the table, a disappointed frown pulling at his lips as it joined to the previous gelatinous mound. The newer soulmist was slightly lighter, more pale with a stronger glow. He wondered if it had something to do with recency or perhaps potency, but it didn't change the fact that it seemed soulmist was a physical entity in spite of what its name implied. With only two trials, it was hardly conclusive evidence, however without a ghost to investigate soulmist's properties further, even if there were a more gaseous form of the stuff, it would be just as useless as the goop on the table.

Gathering the last of the residual soulmist in his mouth by running his tongue over his teeth, Keene spit it into the fire pit. He gazed with a calculated analysis of what he was to do with the remaining substance. Leaving it on the table was inadvisable, but he wasn't sure what else to do with it to dispose of it. Setting about to clean things up and remove his blood from the bowl with a judicial application of water from his flask over the fire pit, Keene decided that the next time he planned on creating soul mist, he would have a ghost on hand to further explore its capabilities. If Wilhelmina didn't return before then, he figured he could enlist the help of those withing the Courtyard. Though, he supposed if it were a poison it was inadvisable to try to harm the ghosts. He frowned as he picked up the goopy mess and headed for the fire pit. If the soulmist did bring about harm to the spirits, he wondered if that would have negative repercussions. He supposed he'd find out when the time came for it.

[Aoren]

Keene

Experience

Skill	XP Earned
Unarmed Combat	+1 EXP
Acrobatics	+1 EXP
Philosophy	+1 EXP
Meditation	+3 EXP
Spiritism	+3 EXP
Medicine	+2 EXP

Lores

•	Lore Earned
•	Acrobatics: Avoid and Evade
•	Acrobatics: Cool Down and Warm Up Stretches
•	Philosphy: A Last Line of Defense
•	Medicine: Impromptu Bandages
•	Spritism: Creating Soulmist
•	Spiritism: The Consistency of Soulmist

Notes :

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