Hidden Prayer.

[Thomas Cosa]

57th of Winter, 512 AV

The Quarters, like the rest of the undying isle, remained forever unchanged. Alone, Thomas walked had walked the hallways, checking room after room for any sigh of inhabitance, not daring to begin anything until he was absolutely sure -- he needed an empty room, but perhaps most importantly, he needed to be sure he wouldn't be interrupted.

Luckily, most of the rooms had seemed empty, and after patrolling the halls for a pair of bells, Thomas convinced himself that they would stay empty -- or so he hoped. Quietly, the pulser let himself into of the smaller rooms, and begin checking immediately for any signs of occupancy.

Breathing heavily, Thomas swallowed nervously. His eyes could only catch so much.

"Ok. Calm down. Just breathe, and look," he nodded, slowing his breathing to a rhythmic pace. He had excused himself for a meditation. It was a believable lie, or at least he imagined so at first. Wizards meditated, he reasoned. Even world users, he argued. But still, wouldn't a wizard just dismiss his attendants for privacy? Why didn't he take Stranger, his seemingly ever present companion, on his walk? He doubted very much they would ever discover the real reason for his leaving, but Thomas also didn't want them questioning his behavior.

Even as a world mage, it wouldn't be long till the crazy rumors would begin to trail him if he couldn't reasonable explain his each and every behavior. Thomas knew he would need to start reaching out, playing the game of politics they played so well on the isle if he hoped to continue here in relative safety.

"Breathe out. Calm. Calm," he began, closing his eyes, slumping against the wall.

"Calm."

"Calm."

"Calm."

He repeated the word again, trying to reign in his nerves, control the nauseating wave of angst that was threatening to overtake the pulser. Nothing was going to happen, nothing was going to happen, nothing was going to happen. He would be fine. He just needed to check the room, and he would be fine.

Just breathe. Release.

Check the room. Sense the room. Be sure, be safe.

Just breathe. Release. Be calm.

Thomas relaxed his shoulders, his posture, his body. He breathed with his mouth, sighing in time, in rhythm to his biological clock. He stayed himself, allowing his senses to open, to be more, to see more, to know more.

[Thomas Cosa]

The coolness of the centuries old stone soothed his body, in a way meditation never could. His body eased into the wall, his legs sprawled out lazily. He relaxed. Paranoia still threaten to drown him in imagined dangers, but before he could be completely sure of the security of the neatly kept prison.

Still dedicated to keeping the metronomic timing of his breathing, Thomas pulled his legs inward, arms held loosely around, pushing his legs closer to his chest. The mage breathed, again, slower, as he rested his chin on his knees -- again, not incredibly comfortable for some as inflexible as he, but Thomas needed the anchor. Still new to the constantly developing and always enthralling world of auras, the pulser wizard needed the uncomfortable tightness of his position to remind him of his body, of himself; it would be all too easy to lose himself in the beauty and mystery of auras, and far too easy then to fall into overgiving.

"Breathe," he reminded himself, settling into his knees. His chest pressed against his legs withs each breath, his arms tightening with each inhale, loosing with every exhale.

Closing his eyes, he readied himself; each breathe causing his Djed to rise and bubble, his stomach warm from the magic. Warmer and warmer with each passing breathe, the magic pushing at his being, wanting to explode a pallet of senses, colors, and tastes on to a very dull and boring world.

"1"

"2"

"3"

Opening his eyes, Thomas willed the magic to spill out of himself, smoky colors filling even the darkest corners of the empty room. Everything became sharper, brighter, more intense. Nothing was alive, nothing was thinking or feeling, the auras of the inanimate were always the easiest and simplest to read; in most cases, they simply became more of what they were, at least to Thomas' senses. The small pile of hay smelled of hay, of warmth, a pleasant sense of comfort washing over the pulser -- it would be soft, if he touched it. He could feel that. The stone, he knew already to cool, practically screamed it -- it was far too obvious, it's aura the same from brick to brick -- or it should've been.

Thomas frowned.

Even here, he wouldn't be safe. It wasn't secure, and he made the mistake of coming here.

[Thomas Cosa]

The purple static marked the stone brick like a target, an everchanging weave of magic, violet and iridescent, sprawled out like a spider's web; the aura's pattern seemed to ripple routinely, pulses bouncing inwardly, towards the center of the Witness golem.

Thomas sighed, relief extinguishing his paranoia, if only for a moment. The Witness type had grown more and more common, and even expected in some parts of the Citadel, but at least Thomas knew what he was working with; it could only hear and repeat after all -- it had no way of reporting it's findings, no center of mass collection or alerting. It was just a parrot -- and all Thomas had to do was keep quiet, and no one would be the wiser.

With a shudder, he stopped his magic, having already collected what he needed -- he had found the golem, already have built and animated several of it's kind before, he knew what it was capable of, and could judge exactly what kind of danger he found himself in -- if any at all.

Yes, he had made noise coming in -- but he could have been any apprentice. It had been a whisper if anything, and nothing alerting anyone to his self.

He was safe relatively, he decided, and here he could pray.

[Thomas Cosa]

Thomas drew in a deep breath, arms tightening around his legs, pulling his body closer together; it made the pulser feel smaller, less noticeable -- not that it really matter either way. The Witness golem had, at most, two ticks of useable recording, if it had even managed to catch his voice at all. The witness types had to be checked almost daily, or whichever wizard trying to pinpoint whatever it is they wee looking for was going to have a long time of listening to everything the things recorded.

He expected his recording would be passed over, or at least, he hoped.

He sighed, closing his eyes.

"This place is making me crazy," he thought, nestling his head between his knees, "And I know, even if you haven't showed me anything, I know Sahova will kill me, he smirked grimly, knowing his chances of continued survival as a pulser weren't great; "Hai, even if I turned nuit, it's not like I would be doing myself any great favors. I could work more, sure, and I wouldn't tire or eat or sleep," the animator huffed, disgusted even by the idea. Going nuit just wasn't something he was interested in -- and he doubted very much he ever would be.

"Even if I considered it, I know it wouldn't be me anymore. You can't break yourself of from the cycle, from life like that. I don't think I'm ready to lose my humanity, even if it'll by me more time or prestige or whatever," he mulled, "But does that make me weak, Seer? Should I be willing to do anything to get to my best future, my best destiny? Should I even be here, if I'm not willing to sacrifice?"

He didn't know. But She would. She would have to -- She Saw everything, She knew the consequence of every action, the answer to every what if or would, could, and should.

And that's why Avalis was his chosen goddess -- not just because she marked him, or because She Saw in him something he hadn't even seen in himsel, but because he honestly believed She alone could guide him to being the best Thomas. The best person he needed to be.

"I am Yours to guide, as ever. Just show me what I need to do, and I'll do it."

[Strange]

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Thomas Cosa

Skills

Skill Name	Experience
Meditation	2 XP
Auristics	2 XP
Observation	1 XP

Lores

Auristics: The Body As An Anchor
Witness Golems: Only Record Audio
Avalis: Guiding Thomas Into The Best Person He Could Be?

Comments :

I liked this thread. It's the definition of short and sweet. It was also some very realistic praying and I know that sounds like an odd praise but Thomas seemed so very sincere. I could tell he was really hurting but, at the same time, he still had faith that things could work out. Keep up the good work!

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