22nd of Spring, 515 AV
Early Afternoon
Aoren held his hand steady as the tip of his paintbrush slid over the hills and valleys of his right hand. He held his palm turned upwards toward the sky as he drew upon the surface of his own body. He worked with single minded intensity as he did with most things. It was a quiet thing, painting. The simple act of drawing shapes of power upon a surface came with more ease to him than did many other mysteries. The world was somehow quieter when Aoren was drawing his Glyphs. It was easier to understand. It was not so vast a place that he could not swim against the current of turmoil’s river. As he etched the shape of his Focus onto the surface of his palm, he reflected on the thoughts that drifted lazily through his mind. He touched up the details of the Focus painted upon the surface of his right hand. When that was finished he waited a few minutes allowing the paint to dry.
Glyphing was a magic that he had not often used. It was not that he didn’t find what it was capable useful, merely that he had not been in many situations as of late where he could make use of it. It opened doors he didn’t know were closed. It made easier the task that he had in mind and he was glad that it was a tool he had in his possession. He switched his brush over to his right hand and began painting a Focus on the palm of his left. He took his time though he could certain paint the sigil much faster. He had no reason to. There was an almost meditative calm that came with going through the motions. When both Focus sigils were complete Aoren set his brush down gently looking them over diligently. Satisfied he folded his legs beneath him resting the backs of his hands upon his knees. Breathing evenly the Drykas concentrated on the task at hand. He turned his attention inward drawing upon the understanding of himself that he possessed.
Aoren was no stranger to meditation. He often used it to clear his head but not quite on this level. His focus had a purpose. He was not trying so much to clear himself of all his thoughts so much as he was giving those thoughts a purpose. Slowly he tuned out the outside world. In the Within of the Sanctuary he was surrounded by relatively silence but even that had the occasional interruption. Aoren concentrated. He found the piece of himself that was reserved only for him, the island that remained stable no matter how tumultuous the storm around it. It was calm. It was level. From there he directed his consciousness outward spreading throughout the whole of his own body.
Who was he?
.
Early Afternoon
Aoren held his hand steady as the tip of his paintbrush slid over the hills and valleys of his right hand. He held his palm turned upwards toward the sky as he drew upon the surface of his own body. He worked with single minded intensity as he did with most things. It was a quiet thing, painting. The simple act of drawing shapes of power upon a surface came with more ease to him than did many other mysteries. The world was somehow quieter when Aoren was drawing his Glyphs. It was easier to understand. It was not so vast a place that he could not swim against the current of turmoil’s river. As he etched the shape of his Focus onto the surface of his palm, he reflected on the thoughts that drifted lazily through his mind. He touched up the details of the Focus painted upon the surface of his right hand. When that was finished he waited a few minutes allowing the paint to dry.
Glyphing was a magic that he had not often used. It was not that he didn’t find what it was capable useful, merely that he had not been in many situations as of late where he could make use of it. It opened doors he didn’t know were closed. It made easier the task that he had in mind and he was glad that it was a tool he had in his possession. He switched his brush over to his right hand and began painting a Focus on the palm of his left. He took his time though he could certain paint the sigil much faster. He had no reason to. There was an almost meditative calm that came with going through the motions. When both Focus sigils were complete Aoren set his brush down gently looking them over diligently. Satisfied he folded his legs beneath him resting the backs of his hands upon his knees. Breathing evenly the Drykas concentrated on the task at hand. He turned his attention inward drawing upon the understanding of himself that he possessed.
Aoren was no stranger to meditation. He often used it to clear his head but not quite on this level. His focus had a purpose. He was not trying so much to clear himself of all his thoughts so much as he was giving those thoughts a purpose. Slowly he tuned out the outside world. In the Within of the Sanctuary he was surrounded by relatively silence but even that had the occasional interruption. Aoren concentrated. He found the piece of himself that was reserved only for him, the island that remained stable no matter how tumultuous the storm around it. It was calm. It was level. From there he directed his consciousness outward spreading throughout the whole of his own body.
Who was he?
.
