Closed Man Eater

[Dravite]

Kavala spoke first of the dangers of over-giving, something Dravite's grandfather, Taloker Blackwater, had touched on during one of their brief lessons, but like Taloker, Dravite had become a weaver of the web, and knew too well the temptations it presented to young men and women across Endrykas. When he was younger the impulse to slip away discretely into the web and wander further than he could have ever dreamed on foot, woke him in the middle of the night; like a night bird’s song, it called to him and would not let him rest until his willpower folded or he learned to suppress the urge to venture away through the zigzagged paths his ancestors had paved.

The man knew nothing of a Konti's gifts, only what he had heard in story and song; but seeing was believing, and Kavala really knew how to put on a show. When she drew close and her hands touched his side, Dravite watched the woman's face for a spell before bowing his head to see the small dip of skin over his broken rib rise again to take on its original shape. The bone had been all but healed through the summer but every now and then something pinched and caused him to catch his breath. It did not feel as if she pulled his woes from him, rather the Konti filled him up as if he were an empty cup, with a warm energy that left him revitalised and more alert than he had been; almost like she had turned back one of the hands on his body clock.

Rejuvenated, the horse lord filled his lungs, breathing in the sweet scent of the Konti's hair, a scent that lingered even as she drew back; one he hadn't noticed before now, for during their close proximity he had held his breath. Life in the city, he told himself, must be a strange and falsely secure feeling. Like Syliras, his thoughts ran away, the safest walls in all the land, and for every house a fighting man, gilded with silver, steel, and gold; the Knights of Syliras are so bold; the little taunt he and his friends used to sing in the summer returned to him. Walls were not for him, Dravite didn't like stone; like a trapped horse, that was the only feeling he could associate to the glimpse he had caught of the walls surrounding Riverfall as a boy.

Kavala asked for forgiveness, but Dravite found none to give, for how could be begrudge someone that took the time to heal him? He waved a hand dismissing her concerns before signing his thanks and summoning both boys to his side. The Konti's explanation of morphing drew ear and eye and it seemed nothing could have plucked him from the spell her words spun. It wasn't until she conjured the strength to manipulate the shape of her hand into the all too familiar talons of a Glassbeak that the spell was broken and Dravite ushered his boys into the sleeping quarters and signed for Belkaia to watch them before he hung up the divide and returned to his place on the fur pelts, settling on his knees.

The watchman studied the woman's hand, hardly believing what he was seeing, "I know some of djed he admitted, through my dealings and reconstruction of the web; I focus it here," he pressed two fingers to the centre of his chest and then tried to imagine what it would be like to run it to the tips of his fingers or toes. He wanted to try it, to know what it felt like and for a brief moment the man looked at his forefinger, attempting to focus his energy to the point with little success.

When Kavala admitted that morphing gave a Mage the ability to manipulate his hair, eyes, voice, and gender, Dravite sat back, a little overwhelmed. He smiled when she told him that many of their people gave in to the seduction of the Strider's form, to run with the wild herds, never to be seen again; what a way to go, he beamed and knew instantly that he must be cautious if he planned to indulge in the art of morphing. He plucked a blade of grass up from the edge of the tarp and found a small stone on one of the pelts that might have been carried in by one of the goat kids who liked to come and go. This is the same as this, he thought to himself; a perplexing notion for one to wrap their head around.

It wasn't until the Konti made water and fire with her hands that Dravite found himself at a loss for words and when she tossed the tiger-eye gem his way, he closed his fingers over the still-warm-stone and marvelled at it, transfixed. Earth, fire, water, air, no wonder reimancy was so dangerous, so seductive, he thought then; a man could fancy himself a god with the power to manipulate the elements as Kavala had demonstrated. The horse lord knew he was not a power hungry being, but what of temptation, where might it take him? History told that those who try to resist temptation soon yield, then would it not be wiser to avoid it altogether? The man mused quietly; the art of meditation must be mastered, he deemed, for a man to fancy himself a god was bound to meet Dira before his time.

"For all the good I believe I could accomplish with such power, it still sounds too dangerous," the man admitted. But just imagine, the little voice in his head chimed, the ability to save the lives of your people when there is no rain, or to turn away wildfire as it sweeps the plain. "Already I fight with myself," he divulged, "Surely this makes me an ill fit for such an ability."

Does this not go against everything you know? For a time he sat in silence with the woman, not uncomfortable in her company, but aware of her presence nonetheless. Zulrav, am I strong enough? "I would like to be initiated," the horse lord finally decided, "I believe I am content with my lot in life and though temptation may present itself, the definition of a good man is only made possible by the presence of immense evil and his ability to overcome the desire to know what those who failed before him have already seen."

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[Kavala]

The Konti enjoyed the quiet companionship. Dravite was thinking and it almost made her smile. He reminded her a bit of her father, who often held solemn vigils around the hearth when he was working on something or thinking about a problem. Kavala simply hoped she hadn’t presented Dravite with a problem. Her motives were unorthodox, but simple in reality. Other mages might hate what she did, but the Konti cared not if they judged her. Most would fear initiating new students, especially people they did not know well. But to Kavala, who knew the value of knowledge and how quickly it was lost, her priorities were not to fear that someone might grow stronger than she was. Her fear was that the knowledge would be lost forever.

There were too few mages. And the Drykas were too vulnerable as it were. If Dravite learned, then he would teach these children and perhaps even the women who looked to him for protection. If others joined his pavilion, then he would teach them as well hopefully and the knowledge would spread – at least for a time – until another djed storm or wildfire or glassbeak infestation cut short the lives before her or even her own.

Life was precious and knowledge should be shared. No one would ever accuse Kavala of being closed lipped with what she knew of healing or magic. She taught any who half showed an interest and in Dravite there were good signs. For one, he thought first that it would be too much temptation. Those were the ones that had the least amount to worry about in her opinion. The ones that worried the most were the most conscious of their weaknesses and strengths and knew how to adjust accordingly. He’d be fine if he could balance whatever element came to him.

She just hoped it wasn’t fire.

His last words rang true to her and she nodded, looked thoughtful, and remembered that she’d already warned him it would be intimate, the initiation. “Ill meet you out on the grass then, past the woven gates, in the direction Syna falls. We’ll perform your initiation this evening, as she sets.” Kavala said, then rose slowly, setting her tea cup back by the fire, now drained of its drink. “I have much to do before its time if we are going to do this. Meet me when there’s a single finger between Syna and Semele.” Kavala said, offering a smile to the children, and then quickly departing.

She fetched Vicious’ Yvas bag and the white fur that padded her back from Kavala’s rump and slung them over her shoulder and set off at a brisk walk. It felt good threading through Endrykas again with all this people and animals. Children ran about and elders minding them called after them. Dogs barked and sleek hunting cats stretched out in the sun ignoring the dogs who were beneath them. The Konti made quick time of it, passing not through the gates but out that direction between some of the Sapphire’s pavilions. She nodded to a few familiar faces and passed through herds that lingered on the fringes of Endrykas. Further out she came to where the land dropped in a natural bowl and then rose again to a small steppe that looked perfect. It was somewhat private from all but Semele and later Zintila and her stars. Syna and Leth might have a peak, but the moon was but a sliver this night, so Kavala thought the timing couldn’t be better.

Initiation could be a simple as carving up the student and impregnating them with Res, but Kavala disliked those sorts of teachers and thought they lost the beauty of the magic right from the start. Instead, she prepared ritual space so that Dravite might understand that it was far more important than a twist of a knife and the invasion of something foreign into one’s body. One was akin to rape. The other was akin to the headiest seduction. She wanted him to grow a soft smile on his face when he looked back and remembered being born into Reimancy. She didn’t want him to frown and grow cold.

From the yvas bag, Kavala took a small spool of twine. She always kept one among her supplies. She walked to what she thought was the center of the steppe and knelt down. There, deep within Semele’s body, she drove a single spike of res born stone and tied a bit of twine around it. Then she paced out five paces and judged the distance to be enough. Then, in a slow methodical way, let her res rise up inside of her and flow outward, coating the dirt and grass and loose stones beneath her feet and inward towards the spike. She let the stonesong fill her as she slowly paced around the spike, the twine keeping her circle neat and even casting res and turning it into stone.

If one looked on, one might say she was creating a huge stone disk that sank into the earth, smooth and unblemished, ten paces across. Five paces from one edge to the center, and another five paces past that to the other edge. She made the stone neither black nor white, but instead a sort of golden infused disk of quartz that was shot through with a multitude of earthen colors the kind she’d seen woven into Dravite’s Pavilion. When she’d paced the circle once, she released the twine and walked inward. Standing now on her circle of res-born stone she had a perfect ritual space. She touched the spike and manipulated it, res flowing again, until she pulled the stone like it was clay and formed it into a brazier that she filled with res-born fire. She picked up the brazier and moved it to one edge. Stone and fire were represented. Air of course was all around them. That only left water. The Konti moved, paced around the edge of the circle to the opposite side from the blazing brazier, and at the edge of the stone ritual circle, formed a second basin she filled with water.

When she was done it as beautiful. Or at least it was to her eyes.

When the space was done, all she wanted for then was paint. On the sea of grass, such things were not hard to come by if one knew what one was looking for. She did. And a short walk later and the slicing up of a plant with a known tint to its roots, Kavala sacrificed a small pouch that formally held medicine for the purpose. Into the fire to slowly turn to charcoal went the roots she’d dug up. She kept them slightly moist with res-born water as the plant root charred into something resembling a charcoal thick long charcoal stick. She made several of them, for she’d use them to not only adorn Dravite but he’d use one to adorn herself. With the sticks made and laid out in the center of the circle along with the fur that once graced Vicious’ back to pad her ride north, Kavala waited for Dravite as Syna crept close to Semele’s awaiting arms.

[Dravite]

Dravite saw Kavala off before returning to the tent to contemplate all she had said while he washed up over a bucket, rinsing away another hard day’s work with the horses which made his skin look at least a shade lighter under all the clay, horsehair, grime, and sweat. He couldn't chase the thought of Kavala's morph from his mind; fingers, he thought, that would be a good place to start with something easy.
"Who was she?" Belkaia cooed, breaking his line of thought.
"Kavala Denusk of Riverfall," he told her without looking back over his shoulder.
"I don't like her."
"Oh?" Dravite turned his head and offered up the wet cloth to his wife, who without pause started cleaning his back.
"No, too pretty," she admitted.
"Really? I didn't notice," the watchman smiled.
Belkaia whipped him across the shoulder with the cloth and Dravite flinched, "you see all," she scolded.
"You will like her a whole lot more this spring."
"So I heard," the woman chimed, "medicines."
Dravite nodded, "she is a very successful business woman, I could learn a lot from her."
Belkaia sunk against the horse lord like a jaded hunting cat, basking across a low hanging tree branch in order to get out of the sun. She dipped the cloth into the water and brought it up to the man's face where she rubbed it over his features roughly, "dreamer."
The horse lord screwed up his face against the assault of the cloth and rose slowly, "all the best men are," he told his wife who smiled up at him deliberately.

When the sun hovered just above the horizon and started to set the sky ablaze, Dravite finished watering the horses and goats before setting off on foot in the direction Kavala had instructed he go. His attire was simple, a loose white tunic that sloped down into a sharp V point just below the neck and skirted the top of his black, leather pants. He wore the shoes the gods have gifted him, choosing to cross the sea barefoot while he enjoyed the last of Syna's warmth at his back.

The platform did not seem of this world, for the horse lord had never set eyes on such polished stone. Fire and water were clearly represented at their respective ends of the raised dish of earth, and the warmth of Syna's light lingered even as she started to tuck herself in beyond the distant hills. The man was not adorned by any jewels or flashy colours in representation of house and clan, though the long knots of matted hair tied back off his face glinted in the fading light where the odd glass bead had been threaded years ago, some by the hands of his mother, and others to celebrate more recent successes.

He moved to stand at the edge of the altar, eyes that flashed silver in the firelight staring ahead at the Konti with the moon bleached hair. Not knowing what to expect, the man stood wordlessly, but then he had never been much of a talker, taught instead that he should speak only when he wanted to be heard as for those who say too much, the message is often lost. Drykas were masters of saying with their hands, eyes, and bodies, things other races of men found difficult to comprehend, and with one look, the horse lord's admission to his willingness to partake was clear; I am ready, said the eyes of the wolf.

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[Kavala]

Kavala watched the figure approach and the fact that he came somehow lightened her spirit. She met him on the edge of the circle, with the charcoal sticks in her hands and two small bags of paint and smiled softly. The Konti was only wearing a long warm cloak that swathed her from head to toe, though bare feet peeked out of the hem as it swayed around her. “I’m glad you came.” She said softly, then lifted the sticks in her hand and opened her palm to offer him a set of them along with the paint, fingers extended, palm flat much like she’d offer a treat to a stallion who’s pension for biting was unknown. She kept two for herself in her other hand.

“Magic is fickle, Dravite. It is part of our souls already in the form of the Djed I talked about, but often it knows its own mind… or perhaps it knows our own will better than we ourselves do. Reimancy initiation is … complicated. It may not go the way you want it and the element you are first gifted with might not be your first choice. My choice was Water and I got Earth. I was so certain it would be water. I was shocked, but looking back it is clear why that was so. And that is just the beginning of it.” She paused, meeting his gaze and making sure he was paying close attention to her words.

They stood on the outside of the stone circle, her feet firmly on it with her toes curled down its edge almost birdlike gripping its upraised circle. He stood before her on the outside. He had not yet been invited into its sacred space.

“I’ve created a sacred space for us to do this ritual in, Dravite. And when it’s done, I will either dissolve it back into the earth as sand or I will leave it depending on how you feel about it. But there are things you must understand before you enter here. The first is simple. I will only let you enter here as you entered into the world… bare of anything but your flesh and your soul.” With that, she reached up with the hand not holding the charcoal and unfastened the latch of the cloak at her throat. It slide from her form and he saw that she stood naked beneath it. She gently let the cloak slip to one side, pooling beside him in a midnight pile of warm wool. The night was cool, but not unpleasantly so, and the firelight turned the Konti’s white and iridescent scaled flesh to burnished pale gold. There were no scars on her body, none-whatsoever, and the fact made the gnosis marks on her flesh stand out all that much more.

“Magic cannot be wielded or truly defended by anything but the strength of your will. If you would accept that, unclothe yourself, step forward, and be welcomed within. I will show you the rest of it.” The Konti said, taking a few steps back and then lifting the charcoal sticks in her hand to study them.

Kavala waited, and when Dravite was ready, she took one of the sticks and stepped forward. “In this, we will always have a bond. You will take something of me inside you, Dravite, and it will live and multiply there, spreading like a wildfire throughout your body and teaching your body to do something it didn’t know it could do. Once that happens, you’ll be changed forever. There is no going back and there is no ignoring it. You will not be the same man who stepped onto this stone disk that you were when you step off it.” Kavala said with a certain knowing look in her eyes.

“And as your teacher in this… not your first magical teacher, but as you first reimancy mentor, I have certain responsibilities to you. I have certain responsibilities to our Gods as well. I want… no demand… that those responsibilities be manifested and made real and the reasons I am doing so be etched on your skin before you accept my gift and become what you will in this sacred space.” She met his gaze again, her blue eyes going so pale in the firelight that their coloring made her look almost blind.

Her gaze seemed to ask him to trust her. And as she did so she stepped forward, lifted the charcoal, and gently pressed it to his pectoral. “We do this together. As I make my intent known, you too have the right to make yours known as well. I will make promises to you as your mentor and you will make promises to me as my student.” She knew it was confusing, and that perhaps he didn’t understand right away, but her intent was to make it clear to him.

She started out easy. If he let her she’d lift the charcoal and begin. Charcoal stick got dipped into black body paint and used as a sort of brush that in and of itself left traces. Her hands were sure and knowing as she traced the shape of a hammer on his left pectoral. It was an Izurdin hammer, though he might not have recognized its shape. “Izurdin. Great lord of the west who dwells in the mountains of Kalea among his people, hear us tonight so that you know I gift this man with the ability to create res so that he becomes stronger for his Pavilion and ultimately for his people.” She spoke as she sketched, adding the details of the hammer as she mused, speaking her thoughts aloud. She moved to his right Pectoral and carefully sketched Nysel’s key and eye symbol. “Nysel, this man dreams things for his people and has nightmares for them as well. I call upon you to grant him the ability to see clearly what his dreams and nightmares are so he can have true power over them through the use of his new found magic.” Kavala said, finishing the touches on the eye and then sweeping it back to link to the hammer on his left pectoral. She added knotwork in the middle, knowing she didn’t need to but understanding that the ritual demanded such things.

Now that he’d entered the space, accepted what she’d offered, she felt free to move around him, to sketch upon him wherever she willed. The Gods who’s names she called were varied. Rak’keli was one of them, so too was Eyris. Both were asked for blessings and both were given sketches of symbols… a winged snake and an interlocking set of links like the glowing mark on the back of one of her hands. She added other words to his body, ignoring his inks already in place and sometimes coloring over them.

Courage. Steadfastness. Perseverance. The Konti paced around him and even lifted one of his feet to leave the word swift on the bottom of one. Her charcoal left markings everywhere, even in intimate places where the word fertility was gently painted. Kavala spoke as she marked and when she knelt before him to etch something onto his knees, he could see her back fully for the first time. Scar tissue lined it, but in a way that was fantastically beautiful. It was as if all the scars on her physical form had been pulled to her back and piled one up top the other onto a raised embossed design that depicted two winged serpents entwined about each other. There was no color to the serpents other than where iridescent scales flashed gold in the reflected firelight. If he knew anything at all about magic and the gods, he’d know it was not a gnosis mark, but instead some other sort of beautiful mark left by Rak’Keli.

They were obviously scars, but not fresh ones… not by a long long time.

Kavala finished and when she was done, Dravite was marked thoroughly with paint, symbols swirling up and down his body interlocking with common words and symbols of the gods and Goddesses of the worlds. Kavala put her little bag of paint down, and nodded to Dravite, eyes roaming over her handiwork.

“You are ready. Those are my promises to you and my promises to Them through you.” She offered, then stood, waiting for him to do the same to her… to make his own vows in return.

[Dravite]

Dravite accepted the items, a charcoal stick and a bag of paint that fit in his hands comfortably. When the man was informed that he would need to undress before stepping into the circle he set the gifts down on the grass at his feet and peeled his tunic up over his shoulders, confronted with the sight of the naked Konti before him. Nudity was nothing to be ashamed of in the Drykas culture, but there formed a small knot in his gut at the sight of her moon-bathed form, one he drank in with his eyes slowly before shedding the rest of his gear.

Taking up the gifts she had bestowed, Dravite stepped up onto the stone disk that still held the warmth of the afternoon sun, which had dipped down below the horizon to make way for Leth’s reign as he took rule of the sky. Magic is fickle, the words danced around in his head as Kavala’s brush touched his flesh, causing it to horripilate as the tiny golden hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. Unlike the sea-born woman who looked unmarred at first glance, the horse lord was decorated with an assortment of scars; snake bites at the left shoulder, two dents on his right forearm where a she-wolf had attempted to take her fill, stretch marks on his back where he had gone through a sudden growth spurt as a teen, and many other weathered marks that told the story of a boy who had been forced to grow up far too quickly, just as many of their kind endured.

Hammer, eye, key, she painted runes and spoke of gods he had never heard of, making her promises as teacher to a agreeable student. He would ask that the altar be dissolved before the night was through; living by the humble belief that none but the gods should leave their mark on the land. He was an easy-going man with simple values, taking what was given and releasing that which his creators saw he could do without. Trust the woman’s eyes had asked for and with palms turned out he gave it to her as a free man, allowing the Konti to paint where she pleased without any restriction set on his part.

Izurdin from the west and the mountains of Kalea, Nysel keeper of dreams, Rak’keli the healer, and Eyris were all represented on his flesh by the time the woman was through, along with the words that wished no ill will but good fortune; courage, steadfastness, perseverance, fertility, all which meant something to the man. As Kavala went to her knees Dravite saw the scars on her back for the first time and wondered what horrors she had suffered in her lifetime; unspoken but clear as the stars strewn across the black cover of night like diamond dust.

When it came his turn to make his promises, hesitation took him; what should he write, draw, say? The man lowered his gaze as if to take on a meditative like state, the same he fell into each time he was preparing to enter the web, but as he lifted his gaze newfound determination seemed to take him and the first stroke of paint across the woman’s left shoulder read protector in Pavi, his own interpretation of Zulrav smeared across her breast.

As he sunk down onto one knee, the long, rounded strokes of air morphed into a long, elegant vine that stretched over the Konti’s right hip and thigh, a depiction of his mother’s favourite goddess, Caiyha; acceptance, grace, devotion he painted near. Around her left leg a coiled snake that wove about the limb symbolised the earth and his knowledge of The Mother, Semele; abundance, tenacity, understanding. At the woman’s back he painted the sun and moon, Syna and Leth in their own right, lovers at distant ends; the moon at small of her back while the sun adorned the nape of her neck. Between them he drew the lines of the Drykas web; connected, eternal, longevity.

Dravite set down the bag of paint but took the brush to Kavala’s face, offering her a small, knowing smile as he pressed it to her cheek tentatively; kin, he scribed below her left eye and let his arm fall away at his side, the brush hanging there between finger and thumb, “All these things I wish for you, every word unspoken, true.”

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[Kavala]

Kavala watched quietly every word and symbol he painted quietly on her skin. They would be gone when she first bathed or when Makutsi blessed them again with rain. But they would still be there, in her minds eye, along with all the scars she used to wear that had migrated to her back under Rak’Kelis Blessing and Caelum’s healing. Dravites form moved in the quickly failing light, at first tanned dark and then a pale bronze in the night. Stars came out, singularly and then in whole clusters until the sky was lit up a different way. The Sea of Grass on a clear night was never truly dark.

When he was done and set his tools aside as well, Kavala nodded her gratitude. His wishes and wants were that of someone who deserved to be taught and she would indeed teach him if he survived the next part. She stepped slightly away from him, opened her palms outward so they were level with his belt line and filled the cupped interlocked digits with Res. The djed formed Res lengthened, shaped, and became a wicked looking small obsidian blade, razor sharp and deadly. She grasped it in her right hand and reached out with her left hand to clasp his mirrored hand. She linked her fingers with his so they were once again facing each other chest to chest, stepped closer, and moved her arm between them. The blade was held close so she slipped it between their already linked hands and cut identical slices in their palms. Once the flesh was parted and the blade was slipped free, she tightened her grip until their flesh was touching and their blood was mingling. Kavala inhaled sharply.

“Stand for me.” She ordered in Pavi in a tight voice that held echos of sacred mysteries, one that allowed no argument. It would be the same voice she used on one of her stallions who was about to explode or showed signs of being utterly unruly. Perhaps Dravite wasn’t such a creature, but Kavala anticipated the worst.

She was smaller, so much smaller, than he was so it wasn’t an easy feat she meant to perform. She stepped even closer, until their bodies touched full length like a pair of lovers coming together. The blade slipped between them again and Dravite would feel its sharp bite several places. His pecks and her breasts, his stomach, and as she stepped even closer, linking the wounds, flesh was parted at their legs. It was too awkward to stand exactly in front of him so she had taken a small step to one side, so her legs slipped beside his even as their pelvises came together and their hips locked. Her small body fit against his, unequally, but not awkwardly enough to prevent her from cutting where she would.

She breathed in his scent and felt his blood mingle with hers as she inverted the knife in her hand and made the last cut, this time to her right hand and his left, dissolving the Res born blade into thin air before she caught his only free and and pulled him even closer. The Konti timed her next move to match when his lips parted and he dragged in a breath. She tipped her head back, rose on her toes to bring herself even, and dragged some of the wounds open further. Kavala caught his lips with hers then, aggressively, and forced a kiss on him through his already parted lips.

Only, it wasn’t a kiss. It was something else entirely. From the moment he stepped into the circle, Kavala’s substantial djed had been converting to Res. It filled her almost painfully full and threatened to spill out anywhere and everywhere. It recognized an initiation when it saw one and had come alive in her body almost like a parasite looking for another living host. So when her lips captured his, res poured forth, filling his mouth, forcing him to swallow like a parched man in the desert drinking water after days without. The cuts in his palms felt invaded with djed, flooding his lands in a similar manner to the cuts on his legs and chest. She wrapped around him, draining herself of the magic and pumping his flesh and very spirit full of him.

For a moment, they were intimately connected, deeper than sex, deeper than a mother and child’s bond. For a moment it was as if he was her, living her life as her djed had carried within her and then passed on to him as res. His body recognized it, accepted it, and it was like some great sleeping beast uncoiled within his soul and lifted its head with an awareness he hadn’t known he’d lacked. Kavala was a master of all four elements, so for several heartbeats he tasted earth and water and fire and air. He knew them for that moment better than he knew himself. And it was as if the beast inside of him reached out and embraced one, accepting it, choosing, and then finally smiling a deep dark secret smile that showed nothing but teeth. It’s eyes glowed inside Dravite’s soul, reflecting the element, and calling it to him.

The Konti held herself too him, kissing him until what she did was indeed just a kiss. Then she stepped back, breaking first the contacts between their legs, hips, and finally their chests. She had fresh wounds that dripped blood as much as his did. But she kept her hands clasped in his, until the last little bit of res had passed from her deeply into him and she had nothing left to give. Finally, then and only then, did she step away from him completely unlinking their fingers.

The symbols they had painted on each other had molded together, blended, smeared and became one masterpiece of art mirrored on two bodies. All that he had wished for her and all that she had wished for him had interwoven and become one force stamped on each of their bodies. She was crying because she found it beautiful, the gifting and receiving, and though she normally would say something, anything, there was nothing to say in that moment. Time had passed, she knew, chimes she suspected, though she glanced up and knew that the stars had moved in the sky.

Bells then, not chimes.

Then she lifted her hands to stare at the deep cuts there and they began to seal on their own. This would be her first set of scars since Rak’Keli and Caelum had involved themselves in the healing of her soul that resulted on the raised embossed mark on her back. She moved to him, taking first one of his hands and sealing the wounds with her Healing before moving on and touching the rest, cleansing them and removing the danger of infection. She ran her hands through his blood and found it beautiful, knowing some of the crimson darkening on his flesh was hers as well. Methodically, like she cared deeply about his well-being, she healed him and then stood finally before him with nothing left to do but teach.

The Konti was quiet for a long moment. Part of it was to get her bodys trembling under control and part of it was because she didn’t want to break the intimate silence. But at last she asked, taking his hands, how he felt.

“Are you alright? Do you feel it moving in you?” She said, bringing his hands together, inverting them, and arranging them into a bowl between them. “Some mages breathe out the Res. Some gesture wildly and it appears. Some ooze it even from their eyes. Do not be one of those mages. It is part of you like a second skin, like a sense of touch or the air that caresses your bare skin. Will it to flow from your hands or wherever you want it to whenever you want it too. Do not let petty things limit you. Fill your hands for me Dravite. Fill your hands with res for me and call your element.” She said softly, her voice cracking, her body still trembling slightly. Part of it was from fatigue, but most of it was emotional. It wasn’t often she got to see a new mage born and he was beautiful, Drykas, and she knew he would be powerful too once he found his wisdom.

[Dravite]

No man goes willing to the jaws of the wolf, and at the sight of the obsidian blade, the horse lord felt the blood drain from his face, leaving his hands and limbs heavy. Steadfast, he willed his heart to silence his fears rather than bow to them, closing his eyes as he accepted the first of many cuts, one that saw hot, red blood wash his hands as if to cleanse the old to prepare his veins for the new.

Never had the touch of a woman come at such a price and where soft skin and swollen flesh pressed invitingly, pain numbed him to the intimacy of their closeness. Fingers folded, bodies pressed and eyes locked, he submitted to her, willing himself to obey her simple command, fighting his natural instincts; that fight or flight response survival instils in all. Be it the pain, blood loss, or fear; Dravite couldn’t quite resolve how he felt in those few, fleeting moments; ticks, chimes, bells? Who knew, the world escaped them as together they built their own upon the raised earth, sharing something more intimate than anything he had known or ever experienced in his lifetime.

When the woman’s res finally invaded his being; the man felt a ship at sea, lost and tossed about by the ocean, scarcely seeing, hearing, or understanding what was going on around him. One sensation remained intact, however, his sense of touch; pain overwhelmed him, crippling and raw, fighting to bring him to his knees while liberation came in the form of their mixed djed which passed through him like a storm, unlocking potentials in him he never knew existed.

When the process was through Dravite couldn’t tell if it was sweat or blood that coated him, perhaps a combination of both? Their painted runes were mixed and smeared upon one another, promises shared, there until the elements deemed they vanish. He felt sick as if his form was overflowing with the strange res, concentrated in his throat, belly and the length of his arms; a tidal wave ready to rush out of him, uncontrolled and as wild as the elements combined.

Kavala had asked him if he was all right, drawing him back to the conscious world, that far away look fleeing as he managed to smile for her. Fill your hands, she bid and the man stared down at his hands which the Konti held cupped together, coaxing him to follow her instructions. He imagined the cuts on his wrists that she had healed, remained, and from them res flowed, drowning his fingers before they became engulfed by flame. The horse lord sucked in a breath and hauled his hands apart to shake the flames from them before clasping them against his body to cool.

Muddy with paint, blood and sweat the man looked at his charred fingertips and tried to still his shaking hands, holding them out to Kavala as if they had betrayed him; just like her, he had secretly longed to master water first, something his people were always in need of, “How do I control it?” He frowned, “How do I use this gift without burning myself or others?” What good is fire…

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[Kavala]

The Konti understood his look and reached out and touched his fingers, taking his hands in her own. "They aren't charred. Look again. The fire IS you. It's whats in your soul. Your eyes aren't used to seeing what's dwelling within and you think you were burnt. You weren't. Fire can't hurt you, not fire of your own making or fire that you make your own." She said, clasping his hands tighter and drawing him over to the burning brazier.

She released her hold on him then and reached out cupping the fire that burned there already. Res filled her palm and ignited, dancing in her hand. "It is a living breathing thing. It has a will. That will is your will. Respect it and you will be respected by it. Your family will never want for light in the dark or heat in the cold. And if you embrace it and practice, you will learn its mannerisms and what it wants. When the Sea of Grass burns you might even be able to save yourself or your family. You will learn it needs three things... heat, fuel, and air to burn. Because you command it you will learn to set backfires and control them so the larger fires can't come upon you and wash over you... there will be nothing left for them to burn through." She said, knowing he might not understand now but he would in the near future. It would save his life or be the death of him. Such was the nature of fire.

"Firemancers are dangerous. They have tempers. They are as volatile as their element. Just don't let the fire own you. Own it instead." She lifted her hand, poured more res into it, and coaxed the fire from a flame to an inferno. Then she cocked her hand back and threw it. The fireball arched up and shattered, turning into water before it could fall back to the sea of grass and ignite the still dry tinder around them.

"Now... how did I do that? How do I handle it without getting burned? I didn't ignite all the res in my hands. I kept a layer of res between my hands and my body." Kavala smiled tiredly at Dravite. "If I hadn't given you so much I could have coated my body with it, ignited the outside layer, and lit my entire form up without a burn. I'm just too drained for that sort of control right now. Initiations are rough on those gifting the res." Kavala said, then gestured as if she was throwing the fireball again.

"You will have a limited distance you can control it too. Throw your fireballs without all the res ignited and keep igniting them more deeply as they go away from you. You'll learn your range and as you get better your range will increase. When you reach the limit of your range, your control over that fire is gone. Other factors take consideration. Wind. Water. How much and how hard you sent it from you. The more you practice the more control you have. Don't be afraid to get burned. You will if you push it. But in doing so you will learn fire and learn what it can do for you." She said knowing he'd either embrace it or shy away from it. Without practice though, he'd never get the other elements.

The other elements will come as you familiarize yourself with fire and learn control. Once you can control fire, everything else is .... easier. Wind, though its Zulravs domain, becomes simple. And then it becomes a game between how much djed you have to convert to res and how far from you that res can be controlled. Every mage is different, Dravite. Every one." She said softly, scooping up another palm full of fire, letting it dance in her hand.

"Fire was my last element. I haven't mastered it yet." She said, knowing she was a poor teacher.

[Dravite]

Firemancers are as volatile as their element, Kavala had explained and suddenly it all made sense, of course it would be fire, one only had to look back over his past to see what made the man tick. He had lost his father and key role model at a young age; he had been raised by a man with a temper, and a mother with too kind a heart. Dravite had loved easy and trusted hard and whenever things seemed to be going right, it all change like the wind; acts that weren't quickly forgotten. His temper was a pit of burning embers hidden under a bed of ash, quick to flare up whenever the right fuel was added.

When he looked at his hands in Kavala's the blackened tips of his fingers were no more; a trick of the light or the mind? He wondered. The Konti's grasp on her gift was impressive, inspiring even; the horse lord wanted to master the gift she had offered him in good faith, trusting he would no abuse, nor waste it. Control it, don't let it control you, he smiled slowly, though that too fled his features as his brow knotted, concentrating on the task at hand.

Dravite stared down at his cupped hands, his teacher's words of wisdom laced both with encouragement and caution. His djed was slow to pool, the res gathered in his palms like leaves catching raindrops. The fire on the brazier seemed to bow against the light breeze defiantly, sensing the res that gathered near. Fire, the man thought and in his hands the shallow flames appeared, causing him to flinch; not sure if it was due to excited wonder or cautious respect, of that he couldn't quite tell. Just making fire of his own accord challenged the man's reality and he couldn't quite fathom in that particular moment how he would then shape it to any degree or form.

Satisfied, but fearful he shook the fire from his hands again and examined his fingers closely, "amazing," the watchman whispered as if he didn't believe he were awake and that speaking in anything other than a whisper might wake him from this strange but wondrous dream too soon.

When the Konti spoke of her drained energy and what these kinds of initiations did to a Mage, Dravite smiled, "I'm thankful, you've done a lot for me today, more than I could have hoped for; stay with my pavilion tonight, eat, rest, regain your strength and fly home tomorrow in Syna's light. When I bring my family to visit you in the spring we shall have much to talk about and perhaps by then I will have more control of this gift you have given me."

The Drykas took up the Konti's cloak and offered it to her, setting the fabric over her shoulders gently before knotting the threaded ties. He stepped into his leathers and tossed the white tunic over his shoulder before moving back from the altar to see its magic undone; it seemed a shame that he would not have this special place to come back to in the summer's yet to pass, but he would keep the memory of this time and place with him until the day he drew his last breath. "I should like to see how the city people live and all the good work you do with your horses. My second wife is not marked by the goddess but she has your kind nature and likes to help those in need, I think the two of you will get along and I'm sure she can learn a lot from you too when we visit."

He seemed to say more now than he had the whole afternoon, though his eyes were heavy and his body strained, the horse lord felt enriched by the conversations and happenings for this day, a day he would not forget quickly. There were so many things he wanted to ask the woman, stories to share, faraway places she must have seen that he would like to hear about, but these would all have to wait for another day. For now the young Ankal was content and looking forward to what the future had to offer.
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[Dove Brown]

Your Grades!
Brought to you on the wings of a Dove!

Please remember to edit your grading request. If you have any questions, comments or concerns regarding your grade, please do not hesitate to send me a PM.

Name: Dravite
XP Award:

• Negotiation 2
• Writing 1
• Hosting 2
• Horsemanship 3
• Riding (Horse) 1
• Animal Husbandry 2
• Planning 1
• Interrogation 1
• Morphing 1
• Rhetoric 1
• Painting 1
• Reimancy 2

Lore:

• Timoth Ironsword: a foreign falconer
• Timoth Ironsword: keeps messenger falcons
• Kavala Denusk: lives in Riverfall
• Appraising a horse's training
• Kavala: can fly using magic
• Kavala: a giver
• Reimancy: a magic of the elements
• Morphing: a magic of shifting shape
• The symptoms of overgiving
• Kavala: marked by Ra'kali
• Fingernails to claws: a beginner's morphing trick
• The basics of Djed
• The basics of Morphing
• The basics of Reimancy
• Vows made in paint
• Event: Dravite's initiation into Reimancy
• Fire: my first element

Name: Kavala
XP Award:

• Writing 1
• Horsemanship 2
• Land Navigation 2
• Wilderness Survival 2
• Riding 1
• Negotiation 2
• Persuasion 1
• Morphing 1
• Reimancy 1
• Construction 1
• Painting 1
• Seduction 1
• Teaching 3

Lore:

• Dravite Blackwater: looking for a Bloodbane
• Viscious: the best choice for Dravite
• Cree: Dravite's Strider
• Cree's Blood: a good addition to the herd
• Negotiation: sweetening the deal
• Dravite: leader of a poor pavilion
• Building an initiation circle with Reimancy
• Vows made in paint
• Event: Dravite's initiation into Reimancy
• Fire: Dravite's first element

Notes: Lovely thread, both of you, and a joy to read, but wow, you packed a lot into it!