55 Summer 515AV
He was alone in his thoughts, and the night was still, and dark. His room was too stifling and dull. He required the breeze on the wind and the steady, low chatter of city life around him. Leth had risen, and with him came his celestial form; graceful, statuesque and glimmering. He hated it. Despised what it stood for. And in the silence of his room, the memories returned, sinister and brooding and uninviting. The ethaefal could hardly find the solace he needed to practice his craft.
He shoved the daggers into his belt, laced his boots and stepped out the door of his room, locking it behind him. Maddoch fell into a steady gait, his hands in his pockets, and his gaze flickering toward the warm glow of the lanterns that dotted the streets. He found it idly amusing that the cacophony of the outside world was far more comforting than solitude. The sea breeze whistled through the trees, smelling faintly of salt. The echo of voices drifted out the polished doors of various establishments. He wondered idly what Caelum was doing at this moment.
He felt eyes linger on him as they always have; gazes that followed him because he was different. But after fifteen years, the ethaefal had learned to ignore the attention his celestial form brought. But where he was far more relaxed in his Svefra body, in his celestial form, he was on edge, and wary. Trust could not be extended to anyone, not even in the city of blue men.
Maddoch’s pace quickened as he passed through the gates, the last rays of the setting sun falling below the dotted horizon.
The dusty road extended ahead of him as far as he could see in the encroaching darkness. He stepped off the path and strode beneath the boughs of the trees that loomed above him. He strayed far enough to be shrouded by the foliage, but close enough to see the road and the amphitheatre from his vantage point. Here, he could practice in relative safety, without the prying eyes of bystanders who would likely be alarmed at blatant displays of magic.
He settled against the groove of a tree, nestled between upturned roots. With his back pressed against the bark, he closed his eyes and crossed his legs. He inhaled deeply, and exhaled with a low hiss. Helena had been insistent on the need for meditation to stabilize the mind and the body. The energy and willpower needed to split the astral body from a limb was one that was often strenuous. And so he always began with this; eyes shut to the world and ears open. He listened to the wind as it whistled through the trees, rustling branches. He heard the sudden flap of wings and the steady chirp of another.
Maddoch breathed again, his palms extended, as he focused slowly on the djed in his veins. Brows furrowed, the djed accumulated in his left arm and he slowly pried the astral limb from its organic host. He’d done this same routine dozens of times before and yet the effects still felt very much the same. His arm went slack and limp, remnants of pinpricks gliding up his shoulder, as the astral projection was raised high. His eyes scoured something easily grasped, and he directed the astral limb to pick up a stick. It was a good size, easily capable of being a makeshift dagger.
He was alone in his thoughts, and the night was still, and dark. His room was too stifling and dull. He required the breeze on the wind and the steady, low chatter of city life around him. Leth had risen, and with him came his celestial form; graceful, statuesque and glimmering. He hated it. Despised what it stood for. And in the silence of his room, the memories returned, sinister and brooding and uninviting. The ethaefal could hardly find the solace he needed to practice his craft.
He shoved the daggers into his belt, laced his boots and stepped out the door of his room, locking it behind him. Maddoch fell into a steady gait, his hands in his pockets, and his gaze flickering toward the warm glow of the lanterns that dotted the streets. He found it idly amusing that the cacophony of the outside world was far more comforting than solitude. The sea breeze whistled through the trees, smelling faintly of salt. The echo of voices drifted out the polished doors of various establishments. He wondered idly what Caelum was doing at this moment.
He felt eyes linger on him as they always have; gazes that followed him because he was different. But after fifteen years, the ethaefal had learned to ignore the attention his celestial form brought. But where he was far more relaxed in his Svefra body, in his celestial form, he was on edge, and wary. Trust could not be extended to anyone, not even in the city of blue men.
Maddoch’s pace quickened as he passed through the gates, the last rays of the setting sun falling below the dotted horizon.
The dusty road extended ahead of him as far as he could see in the encroaching darkness. He stepped off the path and strode beneath the boughs of the trees that loomed above him. He strayed far enough to be shrouded by the foliage, but close enough to see the road and the amphitheatre from his vantage point. Here, he could practice in relative safety, without the prying eyes of bystanders who would likely be alarmed at blatant displays of magic.
He settled against the groove of a tree, nestled between upturned roots. With his back pressed against the bark, he closed his eyes and crossed his legs. He inhaled deeply, and exhaled with a low hiss. Helena had been insistent on the need for meditation to stabilize the mind and the body. The energy and willpower needed to split the astral body from a limb was one that was often strenuous. And so he always began with this; eyes shut to the world and ears open. He listened to the wind as it whistled through the trees, rustling branches. He heard the sudden flap of wings and the steady chirp of another.
Maddoch breathed again, his palms extended, as he focused slowly on the djed in his veins. Brows furrowed, the djed accumulated in his left arm and he slowly pried the astral limb from its organic host. He’d done this same routine dozens of times before and yet the effects still felt very much the same. His arm went slack and limp, remnants of pinpricks gliding up his shoulder, as the astral projection was raised high. His eyes scoured something easily grasped, and he directed the astral limb to pick up a stick. It was a good size, easily capable of being a makeshift dagger.
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