[Riverside Isle Park] Djed In The Dark (Huskabar)

by **Razkar** on March 6th, 2014, 1:44 am

Razkar had faced down a maddened Balicani in his time, and stood his ground until it had fallen dead and bloodied. But even he flinched when a rolling, deep-set tide of bitter anger spewed forth from the elder.

Pain and degradation that he'd had to suffer. The humiliation from his peers and the poverty he'd had to endure. And all because his father had made the decision, and in doing so...

Razkar winced again and averted his eyes, chastising himself without a thought of growling his aggression at the wizened barbarian.

What a father does reflects on his son, and thus he must take care to protect him. But Huskabar's father didn't do that. He made his decision and cared not for the effect it would have on his child.

Huskabar sighed as if exhausted and Razkar knew it was not just due to overgiving. He bowed his head in a surprising gesture of respect, further proof that the Myrian was often the last image of what people envisioned his kind to be.

"You have my apologies, elder. I did not mean to offend you with my... narrow view." The human spoke again, advice of the darkest kind and Razkar felt the murmurs of his own past griefs moaning at his mind. He lowered his eyes again and nodded. "In a place such as this, such... nihilism may be the safest course. I have always had my faith to guide me."

Razkar smiled softly and touched a fingertip to the ever-seeing eye painted to his forehead.

"Blessed Myri watches me. Watches us all. Gives us strength." Another sigh, this time from him. "But I have not suffered as you, my... friend. Forgive me."

The smile twisted into something a little more wry and amused. Ah, so, his previous statement about friendship hadn't been quite so etched in stone...

Then more words came: the kind he really could use. The Myrian frowned a touch when Huskabar mentioned fasting as a method to harness the wyrd; he'd always thought that was only for priests and penitents. But apparently it had some practical application, and as far as meditation went...

"It did not come to me easily, I must admit," he said with a scratch of his head, "Trying to... still my own mind. Drown all those thoughts. But... one must learn. Give anything enough time, I always thought, and you can become good at it. But what did you mediate on? Your djed? Your body? Trying to see it, like..."

Razkar's hands wove into the air as he tried to think of the words, puffing becoming fast as a locomotive as he dredged through his mind. How would one even begin to meditate on such an art?

"... clay, maybe? Or is it something else?"

But before the mage offered any more advice or instruction, a warning came with it. The warrior spread his arms, teeth biting down as he held the pipe between them, spreading the cloak across his shoulders so the human could see the grisly lattice-work of scars, burns and tattoos covering him.

"The world has been trying to rip me apart for years, mage," he said, words somewhere between a boast and simple statement of fact, "Go look for its agents now. See where it got them."

His hands lowered and his eyes fixed on the human again; lit by Leth, hidden by smoke.

"Dira walks with us all. One day, she takes us by the hand and gathers us unto her embrace. The Children of Myri do not fear this. When we go to the next place, Dira releases us back to Myri and we are reborn as her children again, to serve her in another life."

He meant the words when he said them, even if some disquiet voice warned him that the human was referring less to swords and arrows and more to pains of the soul. But Razkar paid no heed to them: he had Edreina as his balm, after all.

A seasn later, he would remember them. He would rue them, and he would understand the mage's prophetic warning...

by **Huskabar** on March 6th, 2014, 4:45 am

Eyes of cold empty darkness, nearly black in color, hued only with a faint film of emerald. These eyes peered back at Razkar as he spoke his apologies out on uncaring ears. Oh, this man did seem to be quite a bit more intelligent, than the savage that the wizard had expected, but on the flip side of the coin this being was so naive, and trusting in an odd way. It was a shame that the Myrian did not realize this human was incapable of certain selfless feelings, which involved friendship, loyalty, and even love. There was something broken deep inside the empty shell of a man, and though he hid it from his body language, the wizard paid attention to every single fault of this barbarian. It was clear enough to the sorcerer that this being did in fact have weaknesses, but combat of any kind would be completely out of the question. No, if he ever had the need to cross this bridge, he knew it would take planning, and leverage.

“I forgive you, young warrior,” he said with a soft warm tone to his voice, as his brows lifted with an almost calming gaze. “You are wise beyond your years, and I can tell that you have a strong heart inside of you.” Each word that came from his lips, caused his stomach to churn in pain. Oh, the lows he had to go to in order to stay alive, but gradually gaining this man’s trust was a foothold not to be taken lightly. It seemed that his age, afforded him certain influences, which the dastardly sorcerer was all too quick to exploit. “Religion can be a beautiful and wonderful thing. In fact, connections of all type and manner are beautiful, even the non-divine… May I ask something of you?” he said, with a pair of soft desperate eyes, lined with worn wrinkles staring back to the younger man. “May… I have something of yours…. To remember you…?” Though a plan was not quite formulated in his mind, Huskabar had a feeling that tolkien from this mighty warrior could indeed come in handy some day.

In truth, Huskabar wasn’t much for religion, or the entire concept behind it, but if he knew it could pave his way to power, he most certainly was possessed the potential to believe. Stories of Gods and Goddesses usually made the wizard roll his eyes at the thought. However he decided against it in this particular situation. It wasn’t even that these doubts rooted themselves from a healthy skepticism, but in actuality is was a far more shallow line of logic. The old man did not invest his thoughts or time into much of anything in which he could not see the direct benefit to himself. If he knew of Gnosis marks, and their power, this would most definitely be a very different situation. But then out from the nonsensical religious rambling, a golden word appeared, and the old scoundrel had to immediately hide his devious self-satisfied grin behind a mask of joy and kindness. “I am delighted to be your friend,” he said, noting how this might impact his request.

It was then that a question was posed to him, and though the honest answer did expose the darkness of the mage, he racked his brain for a more tactful way of saying the words, “Well… When it comes to the meditation, I focused on my value,” and what the wizard did not mention was that he held no value for his life at the time. He meditated on being nothing, feeling nothing, thinking nothing, being worthless, empty, pathetic, trash, and it was only when he was completely nothing, that he could begin to become anything. “Find a way to take that idea, and focus on emptying yourself of absolutely everything inside. Then, and only then can you begin to invision your fingers as claws, and make them take shape. I was so exhausted, and hungry when it happened, that I wasn’t even entirely sure that it was not a dream. If you can find it within you to follow those steps, you too will be able to learn to shift your flesh.

It was then, at that moment that he witnessed the littoral display from the Myrian, brought on from his proverbial advice. This was certainly equal parts amusing and frustrating, but more than anything it was informative. It was apparent that despite his strength, power, and combat experience, the Myrian did not yet know the feeling of true soul wrenching suffering. This was a fact that the human gladly stored away in the confines of his mind. After all as the saying goes, knowledge is power, but trust is also power, and most importantly even when dealing with elements of uncertainty, preparation is power. The old man gave a faint smile, and a kind nod to the display before him, as his soft smile spoke not a single word, in hopes of receiving a token from this young warrior.

by **Razkar** on March 6th, 2014, 5:49 am

Razkar was so busy greedily devouring the mage's lesson that he barely heard his first request. Focusing on the idea above all other things... yes, that seemed the best way. Removing your mind from your body, and then refashioning it into... whatever you wished, effectively. But the mind would have to be drawn back and back for you to reach that place. Mediation, concentration-

Hunger. The weakness that would afford you, very physical and keen... but it is a weakening of the boundaries between body and mind, too. Clever.

Then he blinked a few times and saw the wrinkle-ridden, expectant face staring at him, looking more like someone favorite granddad than a duplicitous mage. A token? A gift? He thought for a few moments, immediately wondering what he could afford to spare-

Wait. You go to far. You've known him a matter of chimes, and already you are willing to give him something of yourself? Who knows what a mage could do with such a thing?

“I am delighted to be your friend.”

Razkar fought to keep the smile from his face. He so wanted to believe that this Elder was worth his trust and his respect. He'd taken no other liberties with him, hadn't tried to probe his mind nor work any other wyrd on him.

"You were delighted to lie to me, also. Until you could no longer maintain your mask." Razkar watched carefully for any crack in the wizard's affable features. If it were a mask, he could perhaps spot it. His smile hardened; became more feral, if still pleasant in a certain, savage way. "I know overgiving, elder. I know what it looks like. A token. A gift. No... not tonight..."

His hand vanished under his cloak and if the mage stiffened, Razkar would raise his other to placate him.

"But payment for your wisdom, well..." He held out his fist and when Huskabar held his own palm out, his fingers would slowly slide open and a minor waterfall of glitter gold-rims would tumble into them. "... that is only fair."

Once they were given, Razkar rose to his feet, movements smooth and easy as only the damned youthful could manage. He waited for the elder to do the same and then gave him a short, respectful bow.

"I am Razkar of the Shorn Skulls," he said politely, extending his hand one final time, "Put the gold to some use, Huskabar. Stay off these dismal streets." He paused, as if uncertain of his next words, but plowed along anyway, eyes gleaming for an instant with sincerity.

"Find peace in yourself. Few things are so mournful as a soul wasted away by regret and hate."

Oh, the words of one yet to be scarred in his heart. So honest. So well-meaning. So unknowing, like a man dancing towards the edge of a cliff...

Receipt-50gm

by **Huskabar** on March 6th, 2014, 2:30 pm

The old ears bristled as he heard the very accurate recalling of events spring from the Myrian’s lips, and though the warlock’s first instinct was to smoose, deceive, and explain how his false guise was a necessary protection, but he knew it would be a waste of his efforts. The young warrior had already made up his mind, and made the truly wisest of decision he had yet to make in regards to trusting the old schemer. Oh, how Huskabar had bit his tongue at the thought of such an opportunity slip through his fingers. Even the simplest of trinkets could wield great potential with the proper plan in place. If much further down the road he were to ever disguise himself as the warrior, such a momento would be far too invaluable in terms of proving one’s identity when suspicions would begin to arise. Oh how twisted his foul mind did work, filled with plots and agendas far beyond his current abilities. Perhaps this man was always a dozen steps ahead at nearly any given time, or more likely the case, perhaps he was a paranoid relic who sought out power above all else, no matter what form in which it decided to present itself.

These thoughts were quickly diminished with the presentation of a glistening medley of golden mizas. Of course these did not wield even a fraction of the potential of what he had requested, but the old man knew that these coins could indeed be used to further his own ambitions. He gripped the shimmering pieces tight with his old gnarled hand, before guiding them to his coin pouch, with an appreciative bow of his head, hiding away the devilish grimace that desired to be brought to life. If only his new friend had known how black this demon of man’s heart truly was, he would most likely have done him the favor of prying it from his frail aged body, rather than imparting him with his generosity.

It was then that the younger man stood up, and bowed to the old wicked wizard, and Huskabar held his own bow in return, with a slight nod of his head, only before receiving the greatest gift of all. His name, this kind hearted fool imparted his name on the greedy ears of the all too rotten-hearted conjuror. Razkar…. He repeated that name inside of his head over and over, as the young man attempted to impart some sort of worldly advice. Something about inner peace, to which he gave an agreeing smile, and a farewell to his new friend, Razkar. Oh, this was just too precious, he noted to himself, watching the other fade from view, as the long held grimace finally sprung to the surface. Suddenly he began to look around wildly, making sure there were no observers in the park, and when he realized that he was completely alone, he sprung his hands out before him, knowing he had to act fast.

What he did not tell the other, was that he did indeed have a tiny bit of djed left, and perhaps just enough to practice while the example was still fresh in his mind. He held his hands high up towards the moon, just as he had seen done by the other, and began to attempt this new magic. He bit down on his lip, quickly becoming frustrated, as he began to believe this discipline did not come natural to him. He shook his head, before uttering a single word, “No,” and then pushing with all of his might in attempts to achieve the desired effect, and then a thin silhouette appeared in the light, streaming from his hands. It was then, oh so weak, oh so pathetic, but it was there, and he knew at that moment this discipline was not to be underestimated… “Until we meet again, Razkar of the Shorn Skulls” he said to himself, before collapsing upon the ground in exhaustion….

by **Zandelia** on April 8th, 2014, 11:40 pm

Huskabar :

Razkar :

Any questions about my grade? PM me at any time. Keep Writing!

Closed [Riverside Isle Park] Djed In The Dark (Huskabar)