18th Bell
37th of Winter, 516 AV
Azmere was deep in thought and the furrowed look on his brow reflected as much. The scarred man was staring at Grey who was sitting a few yards away on all fours and his head at attention with ears perked. The Drykas grunted in his frustration and the dog started to get up so he could get closer to his master. The ankal snapped his fingers as soon as the weight of the canine shifted then he pointed his index and middle fingers towards the ground. Grey cocked his head to the left as if to question the command but slowly sank back down into the grass which was dry, a bit yellowed and well matted from the weight of the animal.
The pair had been at the current task for several bells and things were not going well. Azmere had spent most of the day helping the Watch keep an eye out for trouble by riding in patrols and scouring the Web. The archer was pleased that the Conclave had elected to keep the horse clans stationary for a while longer than normal. The weather was ridiculously hot. Despite the trend of many reducing their wear to a tiny cloth over their groins, Azmere steadfastly refused to give up his breeches. There were times when he would go shirtless or barefoot but he always wore pants. His grandfather, Asmodeus, always wore pants –always. The passed on Stormwarden was the standard to which all flames were held; the shadow in which all men stood and the guiding light that the Stormblood ankal used to make all of his decisions. The matter was settled…Hai, it was never up for debate.
Azmere reached out and extended his fingers towards Grey. He flexed them in and out as his will called for the shimmering djed to leap from his fingers and cover his faithful companion. The novice mage was almost at the end of his wits trying to ascend his abilities to the next stage. The Drykas was only able to create a shield on an object that he could touch. He stopped his attempts for a moment and closed his eyes. The man allowed his head to sag down and focused on his breathing. In. Out. In and out. Deep breaths brought calm to the hot skin and tired brain. After a few chimes, it was like he awoke from a restful sleep. The man’s expression was even and he stared at the icy blue eyes of the dog. His hand went out and reached for Grey; fingers pointing then curling and repeating until he began to see the cloths of shimmering magic fall upon the pointed ears of his canine companion. He spent the next bell covering the dog’s head and mane but he grew tired and felt his strength wane so he decided to leave things for the time being.
19th Bell
The Stormblood pavilion was filling with its occupants who were filtering back from a long day in the hot sun. Azmere was often expected to anchor the evenings with his family. Whether that meant telling stories or teaching on various subjects related to Drykas culture, all eyes turned to the ankal to take the yvas and guide his herd. Truth be told, the scarred man had been having a rough time being in charge this season. He was so used to being alone and now that his family had grown, Azmere never got time to himself. If one would ask, the archer would respond that he dearly loved each face under his banner –and Azmere meant every word.
But not tonight…
The voices could be heard around the communal fire and they rang like warning bells. The watchman made a rash decision and rolled off of the pad in his tent. He took up his hip quiver, Vihar, his dagger and some rope. One of the patrols had mentioned something about boats down by the shore and the cool breeze that had been scarce was beckoning. Azmere heard Asher call his name for dinner. The right side of his face curled up as he looked over his shoulder. “Not tonight, Asher.”
The ankal dipped out under the back wall of his personal tent. He had adjusted the construction a while ago to allow for a back door. The breeze was arid but there was a smell of water that was missing during Syna’s peak hours. A rustle caused the man to turn and he found the large frame of Grey squeezing through the escape hatch in the pavilion. Azmere chuckled into his hand. The rather large hound was struggling but eventually clawed his way out into the open. The watchman bent down and scratched the dog on the head then he turned and took off running through the grass in his bare feet. He had a limp but it didn’t stop the ankal from sprinting to his heart’s content down towards Lari Lake with Grey trotting and nipping at the man’s heels.
37th of Winter, 516 AV
Azmere was deep in thought and the furrowed look on his brow reflected as much. The scarred man was staring at Grey who was sitting a few yards away on all fours and his head at attention with ears perked. The Drykas grunted in his frustration and the dog started to get up so he could get closer to his master. The ankal snapped his fingers as soon as the weight of the canine shifted then he pointed his index and middle fingers towards the ground. Grey cocked his head to the left as if to question the command but slowly sank back down into the grass which was dry, a bit yellowed and well matted from the weight of the animal.
The pair had been at the current task for several bells and things were not going well. Azmere had spent most of the day helping the Watch keep an eye out for trouble by riding in patrols and scouring the Web. The archer was pleased that the Conclave had elected to keep the horse clans stationary for a while longer than normal. The weather was ridiculously hot. Despite the trend of many reducing their wear to a tiny cloth over their groins, Azmere steadfastly refused to give up his breeches. There were times when he would go shirtless or barefoot but he always wore pants. His grandfather, Asmodeus, always wore pants –always. The passed on Stormwarden was the standard to which all flames were held; the shadow in which all men stood and the guiding light that the Stormblood ankal used to make all of his decisions. The matter was settled…Hai, it was never up for debate.
Azmere reached out and extended his fingers towards Grey. He flexed them in and out as his will called for the shimmering djed to leap from his fingers and cover his faithful companion. The novice mage was almost at the end of his wits trying to ascend his abilities to the next stage. The Drykas was only able to create a shield on an object that he could touch. He stopped his attempts for a moment and closed his eyes. The man allowed his head to sag down and focused on his breathing. In. Out. In and out. Deep breaths brought calm to the hot skin and tired brain. After a few chimes, it was like he awoke from a restful sleep. The man’s expression was even and he stared at the icy blue eyes of the dog. His hand went out and reached for Grey; fingers pointing then curling and repeating until he began to see the cloths of shimmering magic fall upon the pointed ears of his canine companion. He spent the next bell covering the dog’s head and mane but he grew tired and felt his strength wane so he decided to leave things for the time being.
*****
19th Bell
The Stormblood pavilion was filling with its occupants who were filtering back from a long day in the hot sun. Azmere was often expected to anchor the evenings with his family. Whether that meant telling stories or teaching on various subjects related to Drykas culture, all eyes turned to the ankal to take the yvas and guide his herd. Truth be told, the scarred man had been having a rough time being in charge this season. He was so used to being alone and now that his family had grown, Azmere never got time to himself. If one would ask, the archer would respond that he dearly loved each face under his banner –and Azmere meant every word.
But not tonight…
The voices could be heard around the communal fire and they rang like warning bells. The watchman made a rash decision and rolled off of the pad in his tent. He took up his hip quiver, Vihar, his dagger and some rope. One of the patrols had mentioned something about boats down by the shore and the cool breeze that had been scarce was beckoning. Azmere heard Asher call his name for dinner. The right side of his face curled up as he looked over his shoulder. “Not tonight, Asher.”
The ankal dipped out under the back wall of his personal tent. He had adjusted the construction a while ago to allow for a back door. The breeze was arid but there was a smell of water that was missing during Syna’s peak hours. A rustle caused the man to turn and he found the large frame of Grey squeezing through the escape hatch in the pavilion. Azmere chuckled into his hand. The rather large hound was struggling but eventually clawed his way out into the open. The watchman bent down and scratched the dog on the head then he turned and took off running through the grass in his bare feet. He had a limp but it didn’t stop the ankal from sprinting to his heart’s content down towards Lari Lake with Grey trotting and nipping at the man’s heels.