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[Dravite]

39 Fall, 515 AV
10th Bell, Morning
Endrykas

The sun had been up for hours by the time Dravite awoke; both his wives had already left the tent to begin the day’s chores. The horse lord was still suffering from a chesty cough that was proving difficult to shake. He sat up on the bed of furs and pulled the blankets up around his middle to stop the warmth from escaping and watched the fire pit through the opening into the living quarters from the bedroom. He thought about his meeting with Kavala and the morph she had demonstrated, something he hadn't been too willing to try and recreate since her departure.

Morphing was an ancient but dangerous tradition he had come to learn more about through conversations with members from The Watch and neighbouring pavilions; there was still so much to find out. Not everyone was as accepting of magic as he, and so he had to be care who he spoke with about such knowledge, testing his limits in private as not to raise any suspicion. Dravite peered down at the dark Zith claw tied around his neck before slipping the necklace off over his head to hold in one hand, turning it this way and that as he studied the strength and shape of the object.

Reverence, respect, honour, he reminded himself; no magic should be taken lightly. All things are the same, our perception makes them different, he thought, glancing from the Zith claw in his right hand to his left forefinger. Dravite closed his eyes then, clearing his mind to attempt falling into a meditative state; picturing his djed slowly journeying to the part of his body he wanted to alter; he used the web much the same way, clearing his mind before working with the djed he spun into strands used to make repairs.

When he opened his eyes he focused on his left forefinger once more, imagining that it could change, both in size, texture, and colour. A strange warmth gathered in the limb, but try as he may, nothing seemed to change; perhaps he was overthinking it? Another chime passed, followed by two, three, four more before the horse lord put the Zith claw down and took the limb between finger and thumb, brushing the digits over it as if he were shaping clay; still nothing. The watchman sighed heavily and stared at his hand until his eyes felt dry, "what am I doing wrong?"

Determined, he watched his finger in the dim light of the tent until his vision blurred and all he saw was the silhouette of his hand, concentrating the warm energy in his wrist to the tip of his finger. All of the sudden he flinched, feeling as though he had seen something, a dent in the flesh, a subtle manipulation of some kind that both frightened and intrigued him. Dravite focused on pooling the energy to his finger again and under the pressure of thumb and finger, the tip of his digit transformed as the pink, opaque nail curved, widened and slowly began to take on a new shape.

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[Dravite]

His stomach was in his mouth; anticipation and excitement stirred, causing his flesh to horripilate. Soon he had managed not only to change the tip of his finger, but the length of it too, shortening the limb so that it mimicked the shape and size of the Zith claw. Though the colour of his finger had not been altered, the new shape and size of his finger was a promising start. His surprise at being able to start a very small, basic morph outweighed the dull pain he felt, as if the small bones in his finger were slowly being heated from the inside out.

The only sensation that felt akin to what he was feeling now was the experience of waking up with a dead arm; that moment when the pressure is finally relieved and the blood starts to flow again. It was surreal, confusing, and scarier than he would have ever liked to admit.

With his free hand he took up the Zith claw and applied pressure, testing the strength of the blackened cartilage; hard to touch with a slight bit of give on the softer underside. He squeezed again, concentrating on that strength in an attempt to apply the same setting to his own distorted digit. The flesh itself seemed to harden, the work worn, leathery texture of his hand taking on the strength of the claw, as if his nail had stretched out encasing the mass of his finger.

Dravite felt his nose itch and without thinking, raised his left hand to run against the underside of his nose to scratch at the tingly partition between his nostrils. He had a basic shape that he had been able to strengthen with a lot more concentration, but how was he meant to get the colour right? Try as he may, nothing seemed to happen, even when he held the claw against his own finger, pressing them together as if the dark, almost black colour of the claw would rub off on him, to no avail.

No amount of focus seemed to make any difference and before long the man felt a little niggle on the right side of his head just above the ear; the start of a small tension headache forming, much akin to the sensation of feeling dehydrated. He stopped what he was doing and reached over to replenish his thirst, taking a long drink from one of the clean water skins. Perhaps, he told himself, a bit more meditation wouldn’t hurt; and so, he closed his eyes and worked on trying to relieve some of the pressure that had built up in his head, causing the right side of his head to throb.

During the quiet moment of contemplation, he wondered how much energy it might take to repeat the process of recreating what he had managed to accomplish right now on his remaining fingers and thumbs. One step at a time, the watchman reminded himself, there was no point in overdoing it; he didn’t want to do any long-lasting damage for the sake of trying something new.
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[Dravite]

Soon the tip of the man's claw-like finger began to blacken, taking on the dark tones of the Zith claw, though as soon as Dravite let excitement outweigh concentration, the colour fled the limb, causing him to have to start over. A simple morph took a lot of energy and determination to hold, and the slightest waver in that line of thought was enough to undo all of that work for the novice. By the time Dravite was done with his experimenting and tried to coach his finger back into its original shape, the excitement had subsided as panic slowly welled up, causing his shoulders to fall tense and his stomach muscles to tighten apprehensively; what if he couldn't undo the morph?

This is no time to lose your head, the watchman told himself, crossing his legs and straightening his back to sit with his chin dipped, eyes closed and his right hand rested in the left, palms pointed up with thumbs touching. Meditating enabled him to induce a feeling of consciousness that helped him to block out the dread that tied knots in his stomach and made him threat. Dravite sat imagining his finger as it had once been while coaxing his djed to drift away from the area he had concentrated it to in order to make the initial shift.

As he heard the sound of a familiar pattern of footfalls near and then step into the tent, Dravite slowly turned his right hand over the left, feeling the finger that had not yet returned to normal.
"What are you doing?" Belkaia asked.
The horse lord opened his eyes and smiled up at his wife, "meditating, my love."
"You can't do that while being a bit more useful?" She teased, "The goats won't milk themselves you know."
"I will do that shortly," Dravite promised.
Belkaia moved closer to the man and sat down beside him, "how are you feeling?"
"I'm fine; I think this nasty cough is on its way out."
"Keep your strength up," she smiled, though the gesture quickly changed as she reached up to touch above his lips, "your nose is bleeding," she frowned.
Dravite wiped his nose with the back of his hand without thinking and flinched when he remember his finger, though when he caught a glance of it, the limb seemed to have returned to normal, "it must just be the weather," he lied; he knew exactly what had caused it but didn't want to alarm the woman.
"I suppose it is rather hot," Belkaia agreed before raising her hand to feel the man's temple, "you do feel a little warm, perhaps you should try and rest some more?"
"No I think I'll get up," he smiled and pulled the covers back in order to get to his feet.
Belkaia picked one of his shirts up and threw it at the man, "put some clothes on," she laughed.

Dravite struggled into a pair of leather pants before slipping into the white shirt that would help keep the sun off his back. He helped Belkaia up and held the woman in his arms for half a chime, content to stand there still and silent, moving his hands over the sides of her growing belly.
"I love you," the young woman whispered, "please stop being so reckless; we need you, we'd all be lost without you."
Dravite kissed his wife's temple, "I love you," came his quiet reply.

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[Dravite]

They had decided to name the yearling colt Blaze for the white dagger pictured on his face. He was a wayward young thing, full of energy, who liked to pester the other horses and race back and forth across the plain, giving the older stallions a run for their money. The black mark down his back, painted ears and striped socks made him a true dun and his wild spirit and sure footing suggested his bloodlines were old and strong.

Dravite watered his mount and picked out the stallion's hooves before climbing up onto the animal's back, offering his Strider Cree a good pat on the neck before they set off out of camp. If he had any hope of catching the colt, his best chances were with Cree, who was a master of sharp turns and wicked sprints; this a horse that could spring from a standstill to a gallop at the drop of a hat. The horse lord nudged his Strider, turning him towards the plains where the Diamond Clan grazed their animals. He coaxed his Strider to trot once they were outside of the gates before having him canter towards the herd were all eight of the Blackwater horses, excluding Cree, were grazing.

Blaze lifted his head to spot the man headed his way and dove into the thick of the herd, trying to stay out of reach of the rope Dravite intended to catch him with. The other horses were experts at this particular game and shielded the young colt, playfully dancing back and forth so that the watchman was unable to line up a good throw in the colts direction. Cree, however, had been in training, with Dravite teaching him to shoulder his way into a crowd which work just as well among the small herd of horses.

As Dravite coached Cree to work his way into the fold, Blaze realised his game was up and that his only chance of outrunning the seasoned stallion was to duck away and get a good head start. The dun dashed away from the bossy buckskin, racing towards the slopes where he knew his light weight frame put him at an advantage. Cree galloped after him, shooting towards the young colt like a newly released arrow. As the two thundered up the rise almost neck and neck, Dravite took his chance, throwing the rope around the colt's neck before pulling with all his might in an attempt to slow Blaze down. He was forced to twist one end of the rope around the handle of the yvas to anchor it which would stop Blaze from tearing the rope from the watchman's hands.

Soon the two slowed to a stop and Dravite was able to dismount and get closer to the colt. Blaze had already decided that he wasn't going down without a fight and started to rear, waving his long, elegant, legs out in front of him in an attempt to intimidate the horse lord as if he were some rival stallion. Dravite threw his weight behind the rope to keep the colt grounded, repeating the Pavi command for stop, which he liked to teach all of his horses.

It wasn't long before the watchman was able to hobble the colt, getting the rope around one of his front legs in order to slow him up and stop him from rearing, not that he didn't try anyway. Blaze wasn't used to taking orders from anyone and the loss of his front, left leg confused him. He bounced back and forth, lunging at Dravite, who had to duck out of the way quickly to avoid being knocked down. Once the colt was tired, Dravite noticed him lower his head and sniff the ground as if searching for water or seeking rest. He approached the colt then, planting a hand against the animal's shoulder to help support his weight, "I'm the boss," Dravite told him and when the horse lashed out to bite at him, Dravite quickly pulled on the rope to see that he lost his balance.

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[Dravite]

He almost felt bad about putting the colt on the ground, his leg tired up to keep him from getting to his feet, "that's what you get for trying to bite me," Dravite smirked, "I hope we won't have a repeat of that."

The watchman moved to stand behind the horse at the shoulder before crouching down to run his hand up and down the Strider's back, thinking it important that he get the young colt accustomed to being near people and accepting these sorts of touches that he hoped Blaze would find soothing one day, rather than causing him to flinch every time a hand came near as he currently reacted to such affection.

"Easy," he spoke in a low, calm tone of voice, running his hand back and forth gently, in no hurry at all.

Blaze soon seemed to settle and even closed his wild eyes at one point, black nostrils still flaring after the mad dash getaway he had tried to make. This close up it was easier to examine the colt and check on his current state of health; he was a little on the thin side for his age, though the length of his legs seemed to suggest that he was going to be a big horse, perhaps even as big as Cree one day. He had a small white scar on his nose, probably awarded to him for annoying one of the stallions in the herd he had come from, or being bucked in the face by a moody mare. Other than the lone mark, the colt looked to be in good condition and with a lot of training, might even grow to accept a bit of human attention, and perhaps even a rider one day.

After a couple of chimes Dravite encouraged the colt to get to his feet, but kept his leg hobbled to make sure he remembered who was in charge. When Blaze made the mistake of trying to lash out with his front leg at the horse lord, he ended up on the ground again, this time with Dravite sitting on him in order to both insult the colt and assert his dominance, "we can do this the hard way," the man shrugged, "I promise you I'll have just as much fun."

Blaze snorted, frustrated, and raked his hoof against the grass but Dravite wouldn't allow the animal to get back up to his feet until he was good and ready.

Half a bell had gone by before he was done working with the horse and Dravite led the colt back to camp from the back of his Strider, Cree. The stallion didn't appreciate the little love bites Blaze kept pointing at his neck and shoulder, and at one point, Dravite was almost thrown from the stallion as he lashed out with an unexpected buck, forcing Dravite to grab hold of his mount's mane in order to stay on. His legs tightened around the animal's sides and Cree put his ears back and dove towards the colt open-mouthed as if to put him in his place.

Back at camp the watchman got down from Cree's back and led Blaze to the bucket of water he had prepared before heading out to catch the colt. The dun drank heavily from the bucket while Dravite tried to pick his front feet up in order to familiarise the animal with certain processes all of the others were put through in order to keep them healthy and well trained. The horse lord’s efforts earned him a bite on the backside, just a small nip that seemed more playful than anything, though it was not something he intended on encouraging, especially since he planned for one of his children to ride the horse one day.

When he finally released Blaze, dragging the rope from around his neck to let the colt return to the herd, the animal sprang away from his captor and bucked mid-jump, tearing off across the plain to race back to the mares that barely tolerated him, and the stallions that he tended to mess with less and less as the days went by. Dravite watched the animal's from camp for a time while he brushed Cree's coat slowly, "I'm sorry, boy," he offered, "I think if I were in your place he would drive me crazy too."

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[Dove Brown]

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Name: Dravite
XP Award:

• Morphing 3
• Meditation 1
• Subterfuge 1
• Horsemanship 2
• Hunting 1
• Riding 1
• Animal Husbandry 1

Lore:

• Morphing: ancient and dangerous
• Morphing: fingers to Zith claws
• Morphing: the slightest waver undoes everything
• Lassoing a horse
• Using the yvas as an anchor
• Horsemanship: familiarising a young horse with routine handling

Injuries: A light bruise on the backside where he was bitten. It will stop hurting after a day, be visible for 4 days.
A slight headache for the rest of the day and a feeling akin to cramp in his left hand for the next 2 days, although the hand will work as normal.