40th of Spring, 515 AV
Early Morning
Aoren walked among the tall reeds of grass just beyond the walls of the Sanctuary. He wore white robes that while simple in their design were of fine quality. The earth beneath his feet was cool in the early morning dawn. This was his habit as of late. He rose with the sun to greet the new days as they came. Sometimes he trained his body. Other times he simply began the daily chores that were his duty around the Sanctuary. On that day his mind was preoccupied with tending to his meditations. In recent days his thoughts had become heavy with the weight of new knowledge. While he did not regret all that he learned, Aoren sought a return to something familiar. For that reason he walked barefoot among the grass, into the wilderness where he could safely pay homage to an old friend. With hands clasped behind his back he recalled fondly the memories of his first steps into a world beyond the mundane.
Drawing upon his djed, Aoren took hold of his spirit extruding it from his palms. Taking hold of the essence of his breath he made a downward forceful motion with his hands. He planted one foot forward and with a focused exhale he transmuted the collective res to wind, flattening the grass around him. With that motion done, Aoren walked around the perimeter of the small clearing that he’d made. He pressed down the edges where some grass still stood tall then removed his outer robe and shirt. He undid the sash around his waist folding each article of clothing with care before returning to the center of the clearing he’d made.
Grasping the strings of his djed once more, Aoren brought a cloud of res outward and winding down the length of his forearm. He took a forceful step forward thrusting his fist in front of him. As he did this he propelled the res forward transmuting it to air. The air was thrown forward into the grass carving a path through the stalks. Aoren twisted on his heel calling upon his res once more repeating the forward thrust sending a current of wind billowing out in front of him. The Drykas man brought both hands up above his head twisting his palms downward as if pressing against a rising force. He spread his feet shoulder width apart drawing in a breath as he did so. He made a forceful kick up into the air that was accompanied by a roundhouse kick. Simultaneously he drew upon his djed once more pushing it toward the sole of his foot to be expelled and transmuted as a forceful gust.
This was familiar to him, the refining of a fighting technique that he had not visited in some time. It had begun when he was a younger man just beginning his venture into the realm of hand to hand combat. He had been inspired to create this method of weaving his reimancy with his fighting skills upon seeing a great windstorm. It had made even the heavily armored knights unsteady on their feet as they ushered people into the gates of Syliras. The element of air was perhaps the element that he preferred to use the most. It was not his first element but it was his most used.
Aoren stepped to the far side of the clearing. He took off at a sprint then pushed down with his legs jumping into the air. Following through with his forward momentum he pulled the weight of his legs over his head. Again he pushed res out of the roles of his feet as he brought one leg out in a kick. As his leg swept through the air he jettisoned the res forward transmuting it into wind. The corresponding slice of air cut through the stalks of grass. He landed stumbling slightly falling into a kneel, the residual res resting at the sole of his opposite foot he billowed outward in a circle around him forcing it out as a gust of wind. It rippled across the surface of the grass as Aoren rest there for a moment. With a heavy sigh he reached up rubbing at the back of his neck. He turned his face skyward breathing in deeply closing his eyes.
As he stood there, the feeling of being watched crept along his spine. He opened his eyes slowly returning them to the earth. Steady on his feet he made his way over to his folded clothing, disheveled as a result of his practicing. He picked up his shirt bunching the hem up so that he could pull it over his head. He spoke over his shoulder.
“It is rude to stare.”
.
Early Morning
Aoren walked among the tall reeds of grass just beyond the walls of the Sanctuary. He wore white robes that while simple in their design were of fine quality. The earth beneath his feet was cool in the early morning dawn. This was his habit as of late. He rose with the sun to greet the new days as they came. Sometimes he trained his body. Other times he simply began the daily chores that were his duty around the Sanctuary. On that day his mind was preoccupied with tending to his meditations. In recent days his thoughts had become heavy with the weight of new knowledge. While he did not regret all that he learned, Aoren sought a return to something familiar. For that reason he walked barefoot among the grass, into the wilderness where he could safely pay homage to an old friend. With hands clasped behind his back he recalled fondly the memories of his first steps into a world beyond the mundane.
Drawing upon his djed, Aoren took hold of his spirit extruding it from his palms. Taking hold of the essence of his breath he made a downward forceful motion with his hands. He planted one foot forward and with a focused exhale he transmuted the collective res to wind, flattening the grass around him. With that motion done, Aoren walked around the perimeter of the small clearing that he’d made. He pressed down the edges where some grass still stood tall then removed his outer robe and shirt. He undid the sash around his waist folding each article of clothing with care before returning to the center of the clearing he’d made.
Grasping the strings of his djed once more, Aoren brought a cloud of res outward and winding down the length of his forearm. He took a forceful step forward thrusting his fist in front of him. As he did this he propelled the res forward transmuting it to air. The air was thrown forward into the grass carving a path through the stalks. Aoren twisted on his heel calling upon his res once more repeating the forward thrust sending a current of wind billowing out in front of him. The Drykas man brought both hands up above his head twisting his palms downward as if pressing against a rising force. He spread his feet shoulder width apart drawing in a breath as he did so. He made a forceful kick up into the air that was accompanied by a roundhouse kick. Simultaneously he drew upon his djed once more pushing it toward the sole of his foot to be expelled and transmuted as a forceful gust.
This was familiar to him, the refining of a fighting technique that he had not visited in some time. It had begun when he was a younger man just beginning his venture into the realm of hand to hand combat. He had been inspired to create this method of weaving his reimancy with his fighting skills upon seeing a great windstorm. It had made even the heavily armored knights unsteady on their feet as they ushered people into the gates of Syliras. The element of air was perhaps the element that he preferred to use the most. It was not his first element but it was his most used.
Aoren stepped to the far side of the clearing. He took off at a sprint then pushed down with his legs jumping into the air. Following through with his forward momentum he pulled the weight of his legs over his head. Again he pushed res out of the roles of his feet as he brought one leg out in a kick. As his leg swept through the air he jettisoned the res forward transmuting it into wind. The corresponding slice of air cut through the stalks of grass. He landed stumbling slightly falling into a kneel, the residual res resting at the sole of his opposite foot he billowed outward in a circle around him forcing it out as a gust of wind. It rippled across the surface of the grass as Aoren rest there for a moment. With a heavy sigh he reached up rubbing at the back of his neck. He turned his face skyward breathing in deeply closing his eyes.
As he stood there, the feeling of being watched crept along his spine. He opened his eyes slowly returning them to the earth. Steady on his feet he made his way over to his folded clothing, disheveled as a result of his practicing. He picked up his shirt bunching the hem up so that he could pull it over his head. He spoke over his shoulder.
“It is rude to stare.”
.