The fourth day of fall, 515 AV
The steady rise and fall of the ocean's waves rocked the sturdy wooden vessel in a lapping lullaby. Gentle spays of salty mist drifted across the mostly vacant deck of the ship, dampening everything in a thin layer of briny dew. Everything but a young man with book and quill in hand, eyes focused on the pages as he dipped his quill in a moment of steady peace. Keene sat, body and book shielded from the spray of the ocean, squinting slightly under the light of the moon as he examined his handiwork. Though his time on Sahova had been put on hold due to forces beyond what he was privy to, his pursuit of knowledge and practice of skill was hardly stifled. On the open waters of the ocean with nothing but the rolling rise and fall of the blue-green waves in every direction, Keene had found that the members of the ship were not comfortable with the few wizards - nuit and otherwise - practicing their various crafts. The captain had said it was too dangerous, and anyone caught casting spells of any substance would be thrown overboard. The general response had been one of minor disgruntled acquiescence, as everyone was fully aware that what the captain had ordered was reasonable.
That did not, however, mean that there was nothing for the researchers of various fields to take part in, Keene included. His hands felt lighter without the leather vambraces that had become like a second skin to him, but it was something he found to be more of a feeling than an actual truth, as he was still perfectly able to wield a quill with just as much proficiency as he had been able to before, not that that proficiency was laudable in most respects. Though he had only been on the ship a few short days, Keene had set his efforts towards furthering his understanding of the far more magically benign world of glyphing and, by some extent, animation. At first, he had tried to craft an entire new alphabet, but he had found that the letters and correlations were too contrived to be functional. His symbols had shifted somewhat, Master Rayage's words remembered in explanation that glyphs could be used to pen Nader Canoch, to give a spoken language form.
His quill scritched over the paper, ink left behind at an angle as he moved over the page. It was difficult to keep his hand steady in tandem with the gentle rock of the ship, but even with a slightly wobbly scrawl, it was more than enough to practice. He had begun to link certain symbols with the overarching concepts of the ancient tongue, and while it had taken him the better hours of the past few days, shifting from solitary perch to perch as the deckhands and passengers alike moved about the deck and within the ship's hold, he had begun to find a familiarity in the various combinations of dots, curves, circles, and lines, some even eliciting in the forefront of his mind vague reminders of what it was he aimed to convey. Progress, then, had acted as a steady lure, pulling him along as he slowly but steadily shifted the off white papers of his practice book to a dusty grey, his inks put to use and quills finally finding more use than once every now and then.
With fingers stained by the incessant use of pen and ink, Keene stared blankly down at the pages before him, nib hovering over a small blotch of darkness were the ink had dripped onto the paper. Nen. He could see it, exemplified in the simplicity of a single dot. Taking quill in hand, he gently pressed out another small dot, finding that the glyph, while basic, was only the beginning. He pulled two lines together, an angle with nen in its crook. Abase. Life began from youth, from the young, thus nen was pulled forward. The various scribbles of runes before all faded from his focus as Keene continued, quill moving to his thoughts rather than the commands of his mind. He had spent so long staring at the ink that it had become familiar to the point where the gentle rock and sway of the ship seemed to come not from the massive hull of wood where flesh lay housed in safety from the elements, but instead from the very pages he had filled, lakes of muddy darkness upon shores of murky beige.
Water. Adra. The quill made a dip, a curved "u" settling on the page. Keene's lips turned in a slight frown. The flow of the marking was certainly indicative of fluidity, but it lacked substance. It was abstracted... Yaq. Weighting the rune with a dot in the middle of the "u's" cradle, Keene found adra. Found. The idea was strange to him, that a craft was discovered over created. Still, it wasn't unwarranted. His progression of shielding and reimancy alike had been grounded in fact but had expanded through experience and, essentially, the more airy "feeling". Thus, as the quill continued to move and drew Keene's thoughts back to the task at hand, Keene found it was not nearly so strange that his fingers felt more possessed than his own as he focused on the next logical progression of the runes had begun to find their way onto the page.
The steady rise and fall of the ocean's waves rocked the sturdy wooden vessel in a lapping lullaby. Gentle spays of salty mist drifted across the mostly vacant deck of the ship, dampening everything in a thin layer of briny dew. Everything but a young man with book and quill in hand, eyes focused on the pages as he dipped his quill in a moment of steady peace. Keene sat, body and book shielded from the spray of the ocean, squinting slightly under the light of the moon as he examined his handiwork. Though his time on Sahova had been put on hold due to forces beyond what he was privy to, his pursuit of knowledge and practice of skill was hardly stifled. On the open waters of the ocean with nothing but the rolling rise and fall of the blue-green waves in every direction, Keene had found that the members of the ship were not comfortable with the few wizards - nuit and otherwise - practicing their various crafts. The captain had said it was too dangerous, and anyone caught casting spells of any substance would be thrown overboard. The general response had been one of minor disgruntled acquiescence, as everyone was fully aware that what the captain had ordered was reasonable.
That did not, however, mean that there was nothing for the researchers of various fields to take part in, Keene included. His hands felt lighter without the leather vambraces that had become like a second skin to him, but it was something he found to be more of a feeling than an actual truth, as he was still perfectly able to wield a quill with just as much proficiency as he had been able to before, not that that proficiency was laudable in most respects. Though he had only been on the ship a few short days, Keene had set his efforts towards furthering his understanding of the far more magically benign world of glyphing and, by some extent, animation. At first, he had tried to craft an entire new alphabet, but he had found that the letters and correlations were too contrived to be functional. His symbols had shifted somewhat, Master Rayage's words remembered in explanation that glyphs could be used to pen Nader Canoch, to give a spoken language form.
His quill scritched over the paper, ink left behind at an angle as he moved over the page. It was difficult to keep his hand steady in tandem with the gentle rock of the ship, but even with a slightly wobbly scrawl, it was more than enough to practice. He had begun to link certain symbols with the overarching concepts of the ancient tongue, and while it had taken him the better hours of the past few days, shifting from solitary perch to perch as the deckhands and passengers alike moved about the deck and within the ship's hold, he had begun to find a familiarity in the various combinations of dots, curves, circles, and lines, some even eliciting in the forefront of his mind vague reminders of what it was he aimed to convey. Progress, then, had acted as a steady lure, pulling him along as he slowly but steadily shifted the off white papers of his practice book to a dusty grey, his inks put to use and quills finally finding more use than once every now and then.
With fingers stained by the incessant use of pen and ink, Keene stared blankly down at the pages before him, nib hovering over a small blotch of darkness were the ink had dripped onto the paper. Nen. He could see it, exemplified in the simplicity of a single dot. Taking quill in hand, he gently pressed out another small dot, finding that the glyph, while basic, was only the beginning. He pulled two lines together, an angle with nen in its crook. Abase. Life began from youth, from the young, thus nen was pulled forward. The various scribbles of runes before all faded from his focus as Keene continued, quill moving to his thoughts rather than the commands of his mind. He had spent so long staring at the ink that it had become familiar to the point where the gentle rock and sway of the ship seemed to come not from the massive hull of wood where flesh lay housed in safety from the elements, but instead from the very pages he had filled, lakes of muddy darkness upon shores of murky beige.
Water. Adra. The quill made a dip, a curved "u" settling on the page. Keene's lips turned in a slight frown. The flow of the marking was certainly indicative of fluidity, but it lacked substance. It was abstracted... Yaq. Weighting the rune with a dot in the middle of the "u's" cradle, Keene found adra. Found. The idea was strange to him, that a craft was discovered over created. Still, it wasn't unwarranted. His progression of shielding and reimancy alike had been grounded in fact but had expanded through experience and, essentially, the more airy "feeling". Thus, as the quill continued to move and drew Keene's thoughts back to the task at hand, Keene found it was not nearly so strange that his fingers felt more possessed than his own as he focused on the next logical progression of the runes had begun to find their way onto the page.
