Flashback A horse of course. (Closed)

[Wrenmae]

Summer 15, 508 AV


He began with bone.

The horse had been discarded after a dangerous journey through the Kalea mountains. The merchant had found the animal too sick to heal and had left its withered body by the gate. It had died, of course, and the process of decay had already begun. Flies settled on the hide of the beast like black sweat, crawling along the bloated stomach and tufts of grey fur. Wrenmae watched them with casual interest, testing the edge of his blade against his finger. Skin parted smoothly and a red tear dropped from the pad and slid down the length.

Wincing, the child stalked along the side of the horse, tracing his blade along the distended stomach. His father had always taught him to be careful with the parts he selected to maledict, to know the animal before he took its qualities. This creature was discarded, too weak to survive the journey from the Taldera region. If he Maledicted it, he might be carrying its weakness to his construction, bringing it upon whoever took his fetish.

Of course, it was really only an exercise. He was young enough to be daring, old enough to recognize his skill was not significant. Today he would Maledict pieces of the horse and discard them to be found and used by any fool with a mind for magic and a lust for curiosity.

Swatting away the flies, the boy winced as he plunged his blade into the horse’s thigh, tearing ripe flesh and viscera to expose the pale bone beneath. It was an awkward process of extracting the leg bone, cutting and carving at the cartilage and ligaments. Hours he spent near the stone door, hacking at the meat until only a bloody mess and snowy leg bone remained.

Pulling it from the wreckage of skin and muscle, he placed it on the ground in front of him, waiting for it to dry.

[Wrenmae]

The time it took to dry was extensive, the sun only warming the earth around him, leaving splotchy patches of crimson on the surface of what was to be his canvas. During this time, he amused himself by working on other aspects of magic, seeking the solace of practice in extending his useable Djed. Much like a muscle, Djed control only grew stronger the more one used it. While certainly risky, a careful mage only barely pushed at the limits of his influence. Bit by bit, day by day, and even guttersnipe and bastard traitors can raise above their station.

Concentrating, he emitted his res in a cold eel-like shape, wrapping around his arm and trailing between his fingers. Reimancy was really his only offensive ability, and in that way, his only real defense. For a time, he simply played with the res, the feel of the strange material on his skin. In this form, its variation was infinite. In the book he read, some reimancers had shown the ability to master a second element, a third, and even a fourth. Fire, Air, Water, and Earth. He, only capable of wind, was a bit on the novice side for a newly initiated reimancer.

Converting the res into air, bit by bit, he timed how far he could send the wind flying…how much spin he could put on the breeze and how much he could blast. First he collected all his res into an open palm, soaking his fist and punching out ahead of him, converting all of it to wind in an instant. The concussive blast knocked him off his feet, a shrieking reminder of his folly. It left his hand numb and red, the force of the wind irritating his skin, nearly ripping it off. For a few moments all he could do was hold his right hand against his chest and rock, wincing. It didn’t help that the process itself was vastly uncontrolled. The direction of the windblast, trajectory, the whole of it had simply converted. Sighing, flexing his fingers, the boy tried again to work with the production of res. It was frustratingly slow at his level, more like the sluggish tap of a tapering maple harvest than any free flowing liquid. As the res began to gather, he took pen and ink from his pocket and turned his left palm over.

The lines he drew came to him as he designed purpose. The point of this exercise was to make a Direction rune, a shape that would take the Djed and direct it in a specific direction. Not hard, or terribly difficult to create, it no less required a little concentration to get the swirls and lines correctly. On his palm, the ink tickled. It flipped into the lines of his hands and pooled there, still spread in the lines he drew. The glyph was simple. The Djed channeled inside would be emitted outward, straight, in a cylindrical cone toward whatever the palm was pointed at. To think of the glyph as an object would be to see it as a funnel, taking in the energy and redirecting it. Ordinarily, simple training might allow this to work…but the importance in the directional glyph was in application.

[Wrenmae]

In the future, if Wrenmae were to ever lay a trap, he could glyph covertly along the ground, and direct his Djed into a focus a distance away that would travel to the ‘focal point’ elsewhere and release from there. Drawing the shape into his palm, Wrenmae once more focused the energy of Reimancy through his hand. The res seeped into the glyph, emitting out from his palm as he instantly transmuted it. Leveling the palm at the corpse of the horse, Wrenmae used small focused blasts of wind to knock away flies and other scavengers feeding off the flesh. The last he leveled at a bird of prey floating high above him, knocking it askew from its trajectory as it veered aside.

The day passed slowly for him, slowly getting back mobility and feeling in his hand. Above him, birds circled and dipped, seeking perch beside the bloodied horse corpse. Each carrion bird dipped low, soaring just above the bloated corpse but too wary of the young hypnotist to venture closer. Wrenmae watched them, pursing his lips and drawing his legs up to his body. They frightened him, these carbon copy scavengers. Their bodies were almost as loathsome as the carrion they fed from. Bald heads, somber eyes, their beaks were jagged reminders that these creatures were designed to tear bone and flesh.

He looked away, grasping the leg bone and retreating back near the wall of Ionu’s sanctuary. Although he couldn’t hear Alvadas beyond the wall, he liked to imagine he could. The cheers of the people, the laughter, the crooning of fools and the performers that filled the streets. If anywhere were such a home, it would be here.

Laying the largest of the bones down in front of him, Wrenmae pulled out his dagger and stroked it along the length of the femur. It would do, certainly, it had to. Of course, animal parts weren’t the best of surfaces to work on

[Wrenmae]

He started with a shape, the shape of someone holding the bone like a weapon. It was a crude drawing, barely a depiction really. The stick figure held the weapon aloft, makeshift as it was. A circle around the man, chiseled carefully with the edge of his long blade and a line to lead to the next circle down the line. This circle he drew with two people, one who had the club leveled against another’s shoulder. First take the bone, then, use it as a weapon. The illustrations told a story along the pale exterior. It was difficult, carving these shapes. Certainly he might stand to do better if he had an actual chisel and hammer or some other stylized tool. Unfortunately, he hadn’t the money for it. Instead he bent his efforts as sketching the crude circle, drawing another line down the bone to where he depicted a stick figure kneeling, exhausted, swear pouring from his brow. Much in the way the horse had died, overworked, and dying of a weary body outside the gates of Alvadas. Pausing, Wrenmae surveyed his handiwork. Certainly it was a sloppy job. He had yet to improve on his carving and Malediction abilities, at least to where he wanted them to be. Still…perhaps this object would be of some use. Tap someone and steal their energy, not for himself, but overall. It might make the difference in a foot race, or ducking angry merchants with stolen goods in his arms.

Pricking his finger on the dagger, he dabbed blood against the first circle, then the second, then the third, all the while focusing his Djed like a ponderous serpent, leaving through his blood and seeping into the bone. Filling in the shape, wrapping around it, perhaps the Djed would allow those shapes to be the truth of this bone. Not that it was very sturdy.

He felt the exhaustion associated with magic use, the way it filled his arms with a sense of leaden expectation. Exhausted, he lay back against the wall, bone club in hand. He’d need to test it, of course, but on who? Sighing, he slipped the bone into his backpack, sliding to his feet and heading back to the door. Here he would gain entry and once again take to the streets. Here, this scavenger of bones and gristle would be released into the labyrinthine Alvadas.

What remained here to find, he wondered. What remains in quiet alleys?

[Fallacy]

XP Award! Name:Wrenmae XP Award: Carving- 2 Reimancy- 2 Glyphing- 2 Malediction- 2 Lore: The horse who died of exhaustion Cutting away bone Playing with directional glyphs Carving bone Notes: Horse Femur Club- This club features three small designs on it. One circle depicts a crudely drawn stick figure, simply a childs work, holding a weapon high above its head. The next circle features two figures where it appears one of the stick people is hitting the other with the club. The last circle depicts a kneeling and exhausted figure, one who, much like the horse it was taken from, looks utterly tired. The bones effect is not activated until it is swung with the intent to clobber something. When activated the user of the club, after the initial swing, begins to feel weary. This tiredness multiplies with each additional swing regardless if the club hits the target or not. The more swings taken the longer it will take to recover from this fatigue. Each swing takes about 8 hours to recover from. So not only does it multiply the tiredness one feels, but it also takes longer to recover from with the increased amount of strikes. There is no hard limit to how tired someone could get. It could kill them just like the horse, die from exhaustion. However, if the club makes contact with the living target the recipient of the blow will feel just as tired as the user of the club. Things that dont need sleep or do not get tired cannot use the bone or be affected by the bone, but if the user swings at such a creature he still will feel the tired effect. Any questions or concerns about the rewards gained please send a PM