The Path of Greatest Resistance -pt. II

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The Wilderness of Cyphrus is an endless sea of tall grass that rolls just like the oceans themselves. Geysers kiss the sky with their steamy breath, and mysterious craters create microworlds all their own. But above all danger lives here in the tall grass in the form of fierce wild creatures; elegant serpents that swim through the land like whales through the ocean and fierce packs of glassbeaks that hunt in packs which are only kept at bay by fires. Traverse it carefully, with a guide if possible, for those that venture alone endanger themselves in countless ways.

The Path of Greatest Resistance -pt. II

Postby Azmere on January 13th, 2016, 2:14 am

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Azmere felt his strength wane while contemplating what to do with the dangerous woman. He felt a strong sense of duty to apprehend the fiend and return to the tent city with her half dead due to being drug behind a horse. On the other hand, his people desperately relied on hunters and trackers for survival even beyond the search for food. How beneficial could this be to his race? Certainly, the young man was split on this decision. He was spacing out and starting to forget his captive while in the midst of deliberation. To reassert her offer, the woman shifted her weight then cleared her throat. She clutched the broken hand. Her cloak was soaked with blood and her darker skin was a tinged with grey. Azmere turned his contrasting gaze upon her. He still had no decide but the set of his jaw might have told otherwise.

The woman leaned forward. “New trade.” She said with a rushed breath. “I give stars. You…see path. See no lie.” The last word was nearly inaudible because a lump had crept into her throat. Fortunately, Azmere had very good hearing. “See no lie. I go.” She nodded and smiled weakly. The Drykas was starting to think she may fall victim to her wounds before he would. He might be able to attain this new skill and still return her to face justice for her crime. He would have to be careful not to give his word and then break it. The man had no issue with receiving payment for returning a criminal to those she had wronged but not at the cost of his honor. It took several chimes for him to wrestle with this new proposition. The woman knew he was working things out in his mind and sat patiently. Azmere approached her with slow, steady steps. It probably was received as the walk of an executioner since the girl seemed to cower back on her haunches and the tremble in her eyes reflected her dread. The truth behind the slow march was he was still not feeling quite right. His wound had clotted but the pounding of blood against his skull was incessant.

Azmere twisted the club in his hand and used the flat of a talon to lift her chin so that she had to look at him. He had no idea how tired or angry he looked. He didn’t think about those types of things in general let alone during such a tense situation. Once he had her attention, he did his best to not feel bad for causing her lower lip to tremble. The warrior didn’t imagine someone who kills from the shadows ever dreamt of a glorious death in battle. She started to protest but Azmere held up his empty hand to silence her. “I no kill. You give stars.” His silencing hand shifted to a Pavi sign that was something between however and only. “I no see. You dead.” He gave a slight lift of the club causing a visual strain on the tendons in her neck. She nodded against the pressure twice to acknowledge her agreement of the terms. At the end of her second bow, there was a brief but clearly defined smirk. She buried her face down and away from the sharp objects protruding from lethal stick that busted her sword hand. Very softly she spoke about his weapon. “No club. Put down.” While her face was still facing down and out, her eyes peered back up at him. She was asking but Azmere wondered if it was worth it. “I give stars. How?” She maintained her submissive position and soft tone while giving her answer. “Peace. Stare. Both peace. Both stare.” She didn’t know how else to put it. Azmere seemed to comprehend the answer enough.

He studied her for a moment and nodded swiftly withdrawing the club back to his side. He looped it over his belt and motioned for her to stand. Struggling, she managed. It was hard considering that she was holding her hands before her but a strong hand on her arm certainly made the task more manageable. Azmere walked with small steps that didn’t cause his boots to leave the dirt. He used the shuffle to maintain a wide base making sure to never cross his feet. The woman was unsure as to what was happening but followed along with his shuffle. After several chimes, the painstakingly slow pace brought them next to the hefty strider. Azmere had been anticipating this and exploded in a flurry of movement. He released his hand from her tricep then went into his yvas bag and removed the rope. He turned and showed it to her. He was thankful he kept his stance wide because the rapid succession of actions made him dizzy. “No club. Tie hands.” He nodded and hoped his display of agility and forward thinking was enough to deter the assassin from trying to argue. She hesitated and then nodded extending her hands for him to bind.

The Drykas started with the hand that was busted and made sure to wrap high into her forearm muscle. He coiled the rope seven times before looping her left arm and pulling it down. He alternated four more loops by a figure eight before encircling both arms. The coils and loops were tight but not so much as to torture the girl. He knew the extra wrapping on her wounded arm would actually help stop the still flowing blood. Once he felt confident in the twisting and wrapping of her hands, he tied a knot that pulled against itself. It was similar to how he had made thorn rope when he was a kid but this was doubled just for extra measure. He released the short end and wound the remaining rope around his left arm before laying the end into a tightly sealed fist.


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The Path of Greatest Resistance -pt. II

Postby Azmere on January 13th, 2016, 2:18 am

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He looked to her and nodded. Azmere was feeling more and more unsure of this plan. His reason started to scream at him that this was all a trick. It was too late. The archer had given his word and regardless of company, he would keep it. The woman had remained still through the ordeal of being bound. She had winced a bit when he was tightening the last knot but never whimpered or cried out. Azmere respected her bravery and stared into her eyes as he waited for direction. The deadly female lifted her eyes to meet his. She locked on and searched his gaze for a chime. “No blink. No fear.” Azmere shut his eyes for several ticks then lifted his increasingly heavy lids to see the starbursts drilling into his stare. “Begin.”

The woman whispered something in a language that Azmere did not understand. He heard the word ‘Iraso’ very clearly but the rest of them seemed to muddle together. As he watched her eyes, the starbursts began to move and rotate around her pupils which had entered a state of miosis which is when the irises constrict hiding as much of the pupil as is needed. The whirling and shifting of colors and lights began to play tricks on Azmere. It was as if he could see a light growing deep within the black of her stare that was very similar to the strands of djed within the web. The light slithered and twisted inside the eyes of the assassin almost taunting the Drykas with its motions. Suddenly, the starbursts went a bright white that made Azmere’s head hurt but he could not look away. The woman reached out and grabbed his shirt drawing her body close to his and lifting her face so the space between them was only half a breath. The glowing intensified and the djed-like snakes exploded from her and into Azmere’s open gaze. He had never experienced anything like this in his entire life. All he could see was light. All he could feel was air. Paralyzed he stood clinging to the rope that bound this woman. She pulled tighter on his shirt pressing their noses together. Azmere heard the word ‘Iraso’ again.

He fought the urge to collapse with sheer power of will. He tried to blink but could not and started to feel his eyes burning from the reception of whatever like or magic was being crammed into his sockets. The word ‘Iraso’ rang in his ears once more and Azmere focused on the origin of the sound even though it was easier just to feel her breath against his lips as she continued her chanting. The warrior strained his powers of perception until he could start to see shapes through the burning light. Something was wrong. His whole body started to heat up as if burning from the inside out. He had been fried as a child and bore the scars even today but that pain did not match this. The Drykas tried to think of what to do. He fumbled for his club but found his body sluggish in its responses. Slowly, he extended the fingers that held the rope but it was like they were frozen. More ‘Iraso’, the sensation of being cooked washed over him and made his knees sway. Azmere opened his mouth and let out a fierce roar.

As his eyes felt like they were melting and running down his cheeks, the grandson of a Stormwarden found enough strength to break the spell that had held him motionless if it was a spell at all. He flung the rope from his left arm and pushed his arms up and out. Blindly, he found the narrow shoulders of the woman who was now singing and screaming her incantation. His hands danced like spiders along her collarbones to her neck and then up along her jaw on either side. She swung her bound arms up trying to knock one arm away and then the other but her strength just wasn’t enough. Azmere walked his hands to her ears and then her cheekbones. In unison, he jammed his thumbs into her eyes. Now it was her turn to scream and shriek she did. The light stopped flowing and Azmere snapped his eyelids closed only to see a burning light of reddish orange as the image lingered now burned into his mind.

Regardless of his pain, he did not release her. Using pure grip strength, he dug his fingertips against her scalp and behind her ears while driving his thumbs deeper into her skull. An immense pressure built up against his action from her eyes and the woman swung her arms about only to uselessly club at his chest and biceps. She kicked and even tried to drop her body into dead weight but always found herself held in the vice created by Azmere’s hands. He now knew she had tried to kill him with her magic. This would not stand. In the wake of another roar that shook Azmere’s frame, he pushed his thumb in until he felt a pop beneath each one and the pressure fighting the large digits ceased. An animalistic, blood-chilling scream filled the air and pierced the Drykas’ eardrums clean to his brain then the assassin went limp. Azmere felt a splattering of blood on his face but didn’t bother opening his eyes. He simply dropped her where she was and tried to move away. He was done. Exhausted, hurt and now blind the man sank to his knees and swayed with a cold wind that lifted his face. “Father of Storms…help me.” This prayer was no more than mouthed words of dry air and ended abruptly when Azmere’s cheek crashed onto the earth.


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The Path of Greatest Resistance -pt. II

Postby Azmere on January 13th, 2016, 2:19 am

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Azmere awoke with a start. His eyes shot open but he instantly closed them to try and stem the burning sensation that pierced his skull. He made a noise that was far distinguishable and slid his hands along the cold ground until they came to be next to his shoulders. Squaring his frame, the Drykas used this base to push himself up onto his hands and knees. The stinging cold of the air led him to believe that Syna was nearing the end of her run over this place. Slowly, almost as if afraid to discover the unthinkable, Azmere raised his eyelids. The initial blur of light and dull color reassured him that his vision had not been taken or lost in the violent exchange that had taken place with the deadly woman. Pain shot in random pulses like needles through his eyes and into his head causing his gaze to flutter closed again. After altering his weight distribution, Azmere lifted his left hand and rubbed his face using his thumb, index and middle fingers to massage his eyes and the tissue around them. The action didn’t alleviate the uncomfortable sensations but it did seem to thin or spread it out which provided some relief.

He struggled to move around finding his limbs both stiff and cold. The Drykas rocked back and forth until he could build up enough momentum to kick his feet beneath his center of gravity. A chill ran up his spin and caused him to shake. The feeling did not pass quickly lingering even as he stood up. There was no sign of the femme fatale anywhere. Surely, she was blind. How could she have just left? Though it was winter, one of the biggest threats that caused injury and poor decision making was that of dehydration. Trembling and still unsure of what happened, Azmere squinted against the snow’s reflection of Syna’s dull rays. Hephiestian was only a few feet away using his hoof to clear some snow away from a bit of green weeds. The archer staggered at first but soon found his legs. He moved round the horse to where his water skin was kept, removed it from his bag then drank greedily of its cold contents. This time, the chill radiated along his insides but rather than being unwelcomed, this was an awakening.

Azmere replaced the skin and closed his eyes. He put his hands together and reached up as high as he could stretching the muscles in his arms, back, shoulders, core and legs. He then folded at the waist and leaned down to touch his toes further stretching his hamstrings. The Drykas straightened back up and twisted his shoulders completely to one side and then to the other while keeping his feet planted. An audible pop was heard the first time and the two more after he changed direction. His body ached but with his blood flowing like normal once more, Azmere felt a renewed sense of purpose. Blinking almost constantly, his eyes burned and felt strange but his vision was back to normal as far as he could tell. He scanned the area for signs of his departed attacker. Her dropped blade was gone, the horse over by far off structure was gone but the cloth she had worn over her head and shoulders, the one soaked in the blood from her shattered hand remained. Several quick steps brought him within reach and with a graceful dip, Azmere lifted the sash and tucked it into his belt. This would be his evidence that the elder’s killer had been served some justice.

Azmere made his way over to his bow and slipped it over his head and arm allowing the weapon to nestle against his back. He turned on the heel of his boot to make his way back to his strider when a blinding flash swept over his vision and caused a misstep. The Drykas dropped to one knee and reached up grasping his head. The seering pain of a headache ripped through his skull as if it was pressed between the bottom of the Suvan Sea and the bow of a large ship. After a tick or three, he rose and walked slowly to the handle of his yvas. Hephiestian seemed content even though the snow was becoming thick on the ground. The swirling fluff in the air was going to make getting home more difficult. Regardless, the warrior was feeling partially fulfilled though he was still troubled by some of the images in his dream. He would have to find some kind of way to have them interpreted lest the unknown and disturbing portents make him mad.

Azmere climbed atop his steed and turned several times making sure he had gathered everything that was his. Once this was done, he turned his mount towards the tent city and spurned him onward with a simultaneous kick to the flanks. The powerful stallion charged ahead with his hooves biting down into the snow and frost. They quickly reached a hard gallop and the wind which beat against them caused Azmere to lean down against the horse. He tucked his cloak a bit tighter around his face and fought to keep his eyes open amidst the blasts of snow and frozen moisture that fell from the sky. It didn’t take long for the thumping of the hooves to resonate within his skull where he had been clubbed. Azmere fought the pain and the dizzy spells for almost two bells before he had to slow Hephiestian to a moderate trot. The pace was simply too much to uphold.

The rider knew they still had almost a quarter of their journey to go. He used the lull in momentum to steal another drink of water before leading his companion up onto a higher elevation. It wasn’t a great difference but enough that the curb was harder and easier for the horse to pass. Azmere felt the water rekindle his spirits a small amount and urged Hephiestian to ride harder. He leaned down and pushed his strider once more. The archer knew somewhere deep inside he had only enough strength for another bell, maybe two and then he would have to rest. Resting in the safety of his people’s city, the pavilion of his family were the factors that drive him to flirt with exhaustion. There was news to be delivered but also the promise of a warm fire and safe borders. Azmere tucked his face and gripped the stallion’s mane guiding the beast along a path that lead back towards the Run; towards home.


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The Path of Greatest Resistance -pt. II

Postby Azmere on January 13th, 2016, 2:22 am

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Azmere brought Hephiestian around some rocks which were nearly covered in snow. The Drykas had remembered them from his journey south and took heart because it marked that he was nearing where Endrykas was going to be settled for the winter. He pushed his stallion hard and found a flurry of color illuminated by braziers and campfires. His people were still flowing from the north but many had already established camp. The rider slowed his horse and felt his body relax. Even though he was still a few miles away, Azmere started to release all of the tension from his day. He ached from the fight, the magic and the blow to the head. It would be a miracle if he managed to make it to the festival tomorrow night.

Several tents clustered to the east of the city were decorated with white wrappings and tapestries. Azmere turned his strider in that direction and slowed the trot to a walk. His eyes burned as if he had been staring in Syna’s gaze unabashed for an entire season. In the waning of his strength, flashes of the devastating light as well as the face of the assassin began to track across his sight. He shook his head to try and maintain his focus. Weaving amidst the pavilions, he managed to catch a glimpse of the white ring enclosed by two swirls; home. Naturally, Asmodeus was in the forward group and it appeared the camp was completely set.

The young Stormblood traversed around another pavilion and then brought his mount into the area his ankal had set aside for their family. Once the heat of the fire touched Azmere’s bones, he dismounted nearly crumpling to his knees. He managed to catch the yvas bag and regain his balance and his legs but took several ticks to gather himself. He lifted the yvas from Hephiestian’s back and dropped it to the ground. Azmere patted the beast and removed the blanket rolling it up in a not-so-neat coil. He dipped at his knees and grabbed the yvas by the handle. Through a clenched jaw and whatever will was left inside of his body, Azmere managed to drag these things off to the side of the largest tent. As he released his hold, his knees decided to stop functioning properly and he found himself resting them on the ground. He swayed a bit as the waves of fatigue washed over him.

A sweet voice pierced his thoughts.

“Az?”

It was, perhaps, the only person he cared for more than his grandfather; his mother. She came next to him with soft hands on his neck and drew his cloak back. A gasp escaped her lips when her son looked upon her. She nearly dropped the pot she had been carrying but managed to save it as the tiny woman drew back a step. She signed a single word to her boy and when he saw it, he hung his head. Eyes. Azmere had no way of telling what that crazy mage had done to him. He had adapted to the massive scarring on his neck and face as well as made peace with his gold eye. Dark thoughts in his imagination ran wild with visions of what new horror he had been transformed into by the strange light that had nearly killed him. A firm hand gripped his shoulder from behind and squeezed reassuringly. Azmere’s head sank further with his chin falling down to his chest. He was tired but he also didn’t want to be a further embarrassment to his grandfather. Asmodeus had lost a bit of status for dealing with Azmere in the kind and loving way that he has displayed over the years. There were many who felt the scars to be a bad omen. Then there was the incident with the Topaz clan and the bad influences that Azmere chose. For years, he gave nothing but grief and it seemed the gods were not done punishing him.

The firm grip shifted some as the man attached to it slid down next to his pupil. Azmere sighed and closed his eyes. He knew these consequences were the result of his poor choices and he never denied deserving any of it but his time felt like a low blow. The archer was trying to right a wrong done to an innocent person. Azmere pushed his body hard and withstood a brutal assault which still has him disoriented and his reward is to have his mother recoil at the sight of him. With great reluctance, the younger man turned his face to the older man and opened his eyes. The gentle gaze of Asmodeus never faltered as he watched Azmere.

“What happened, son?” The ankal’s voice was calm and quiet. “Come sit by the fire and tell me of your day.” Asmodeus reached his hands under Azmere’s arms and lifted him to his feet. They walked over by the fire and sat down on a horizontal log. Azmere’s mother, Analia, came over and sat down next to him. She curled up against him using her frail hands to draw his big arm around her. Azmere recounted the scene at the Opal pavilion to which Asmodeus nodded. It was no big shock that he had heard of the murder. Azmere continued and described how he had used the web to find the horse riding south and then how he had come to a dead end with the crossing tracks. As he went on through the narrative about being ambushed, Analia began to peel through her son’s hair separating the blood-caked locks to get a better look at the wound. The sound of her clicking her tongue against her teeth let everyone knew she was going to fuss about it. Azmere turned to her and took her hands in his. He stared at her a moment and then put her hands into her lap. He resumed his tale and watched his grandfather’s chest swell when the battle description slide into the cold sky with the embers of the fire. Asmodeus had some doubts about his successor but combat was not one of them.


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The Path of Greatest Resistance -pt. II

Postby Azmere on January 13th, 2016, 2:27 am

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Azmere grew quiet and yawned. When he finished he rubbed his ears because there was a pop deep within each lobe. Shaking his head and leaning into the warm touch of his mother, Azmere continued on with the information he was given about the assassin’s magic. Asmodeus’ face grew dark even in the fire’s reflection. Analia wrapped her slinky arms around Azmere’s to comfort him but also to comfort herself. When he started to tell of how the femme fatale tricked him; lied to him, he shook slightly. This was not a tremble of fear but of anger at himself for being so easily fooled.

“The light…” he started but had to sign as his eyes shut. He flashed through Pavi so fast that anyone not sitting right next to him would not be able to distinguish the changes. He described the djed transfer with pain, burn, numb, unstoppable, endless and torment. “I thought I was going to die.” A soft whimper escaped the thin, pursed lips of his mother which triggered Azmere to respond by laying his hand over hers. He gave her a kind look but it was also one that showed his fatigue. She laid her head against his shoulder and nodded that he should continue.

“You didn’t give in.” The deep voice of Asmodeus broke into the cold silence.

Azmere met the gaze of his mentor with a confident stare. He signed for no and then never. He smiled a bit. “It’s not my time.” To this, Analia burrowed against her son out of relief but also warmth. Snow continued to fall but it did not dissuade the fire’s light nor its warmth. Leth was hiding behind clouds fat with snow but a gentle radiance was present. Asmodeus reached over and poked the fire with a stick then looked back to Azmere.

“How did you defeat this woman?”

Azmere’s face became devoid of expression. The brutality had disturbed him a bit but he was working through it using detachment. His tone lingered as cold as the night and empty as his belly.

“She tried to burn my sight…” He exhaled through his nose causing his nostrils to flare slightly. “So I crushed hers.”

The trio sat by the fire in silence for a while and watched the tinder reduce to coals and then to ash. Analia went to sleep first, departing with a gentle kiss on her boy’s forehead and signed my heart then touched his chin. Another bell ticked past and the two men sat without speaking or looking at one another. Azmere was amazed that he wasn’t more tired but being back seemed to make him anxious more than anything else. His grandfather rose and touched the young man’s shoulder. “Sleep, young man. Tomorrow will have troubles of its own.” Azmere agreed and followed his ankal into the pavilion and went to sleep.


++ + + + + ++


2nd of Winter, 515 AV



When he woke, the day had begun without him. The light from Syna indicated it was closer to lunch than breakfast. Azmere had to admit that he felt very relaxed. Even his eyes felt better; rested. He moved to the edge of the tent and peered out of the flap to see the camp and the city bustling. People, horses and animals were everywhere moving with daily duties, the extra work of setting up for the season and also preparing for the festival that was going to take place once Leth shoved Syna from the sky.

The Drykas found his strider moving along with a mare from another Diamond pavilion. Having nothing to do and no plans for the day, Azmere sat and simply watched the two animals interact. It was interesting to note the similarities between striders and people. It certainly reinforced the belief that striders were all the spirits of Drykas who had passed. Azmere found his stress and worries melted away with each nay, whinny and knicker that Hephiestian exchanged with the smaller mare. It was almost like they could be understood if one listened close enough.

Azmere blinked and when he opened his eyes again, there was a swash of soft blue behind his strider and one behind the mare but further away and curled as if it had been turned or twisted. Squinting, he refocused only to see more of these bands of color floating in the air. They were broken but seemed to all sit on the same swirling and crossing line. Suddenly as if hit by another tree branch, Azmere knew. He knew why his mother had gasped. He knew why his eyes had hurt so bad. He knew why he had passed out beneath the tree. Azmere shivered but not from the cold.

He had stars in his eyes.


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The Path of Greatest Resistance -pt. II

Postby Jasmine Stormblood on February 10th, 2016, 2:01 am

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XP-
Rhetoric: 1 XP
Socialization: 3 XP
Logic: 1 XP
Intimidation: 1 XP
Knot-Tying: 1 XP
Observation: 5 XP
Negotiation: 1 XP
Prayer: 1 XP
Unarmed Combat: 1 XP
Endurance: 1 XP
Acrobatics: 1 XP
Body Building: 1 XP
Riding: 2 XP
Land Navigation: 1 XP
Pathfinding: 1 XP
Storytelling: 1 XP

Lores-
Analia: Azmere's mother
Acrobatics: Stretching
Body building: push up
Endurance: Fighting through the pain
Pathfinding: new ability


The Clan is Strength.
The Clan is Life.
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