[Flashback] It's Not the Same [Solo]

[Dextren]

. Day 44 & 45 of Spring, AV 511 Paranoia, it was his traveling companion. It had been following in his footfalls for years now, many years. How many? Dextren couldn't keep track of the years, not anymore. By this point, they were too many, he was just one, and they were running together. Date never mattered because time didn't exist in days, only a cycle of darkness and light. Only in civilization did they keep track of the day and year. Dextren only kept time in day and night, and depending on where he was, season. Now? He had no idea. It was cold as ice, frigid cold. Dextren scoffed at himself as he walked slowly through the frozen forests of Taldera, it wasn't night, not yet, but it was already starting to get colder, darker, dryer. Dextren didn't like this much because it forced him to use his lantern, and that hooded chunk of iron glowing like a beacon in the darkness would show every god and goddess that hated him for who he really was, inside, the beast. The god inside of him, that's who he was, soon perhaps, someday, surely. But he felt very humble right now, the frost nipping at his fingers through those furred mittens, his nose reddening from the sting of chill. His breath poured through his lips like coils of smoke seeping through wooden planks as if a home was burning with children in their beds sleeping, unaware of demise coming to engulf them in the form of a raging inferno like that unleashed by the god of Ivak himself! Why did Dextren think that? The Southern-Borne Vantha peered around himself, the chill that was nipping playfully at his skin earlier was now threatening to bite into his bones. His ass was cold, and he was in darkness. He had fallen again, without even realizing that he had dozed off, especially since he had been walking through Taldera on some faintly traveled path. Now he found himself sitting, leaned back against a tree that reached up high, but offered no arms to shield him from tomorrow's sun. No matter, when tomorrow's sun came, he wouldn't be here to need the shade. The sun was welcomed anyway. Syna? Well, Dextren didn't care if she came down and sucked on his lips for all he cared. She may have been a goddess, but she meant nothing to him. None of them did. With a grunt and a groan later, Dextren had stripped off his backpack and unhooked the lantern from its side. It was full, thank the gods Ravok had lamp oil for sale, else he'd have been twenty days into his trek and blind as a bat. Blind as a bat. Dextren never understood that expression. If bats were blind, how did they see? How did they survive. Foolish. Without his lantern, he obviously would have been as blind as a man walking in darkness without a torch, or a man in the light with no eyes. Either one was correct. A strike of flint to steel and the lantern was lit and sitting next to Dextren. He hovered his bare hands over the iron contraption to warm those brittle fingers of his before replacing his mittens, grabbing the lantern's arching handle, and started his travel again. He didn't know how much time had passed because he didn't care. He didn't keep track of time because he couldn't. Always falling asleep, always waking up, never at convenient times. Odd dreams replacing his current thoughts as if they were one. It used to frighten him, then he adapted to it, then he stopped worrying, then it grew easier. He hardly noticed it now.

[Dextren]

. If Dextren wasn't a Vantha, how odd it was to be a full blood Vantha that was susceptible to frostbite and never has seen Avanthal, he would have been impossible to read. There was a saying he heard once, that eyes were the mirror to the soul. That was total bullshark to Dextren. He knew it was the mirror to emotion instead, Vantha were just built so that idiot could read your mood, for better or worse. Blue as the sky, blue at the sky drenched in daylight. His eyes were blue, like that. Not the deep ocean rich blue, just, blue like the sky, a cyan colored blue. Calming. Dextren had been unnaturally calm for several days now, despite trudging through the frigid north with little more than a tent and a backpack of rations, and an unquenched goal to unleash himself. He wasn't sure how or why, but he was convinced that every step he took was in the right direction because he was guiding himself. Avanthal had to be close. There was something in his blood that told him the city of frost was close, not exceptionally close as in just over the next hill, but closer than it was an hour ago. Nothing lasted forever though. That sky blue tint changed, but more so his heart stirred, jumped into his throat as something made a noise. He wasn't sure what it was, but the snapping of fallen twigs under heavy footfall wasn't easily mistaken. It was something considerable of size. No rabbits, no squirrels. Maybe a deer, hopefully not a bear. Indigo was the chosen color, anxiety pouring into the color in his eyes as the sounds grew closer. They were not rushed, he could hear by their easy pace it was more of a casual walk, perhaps even a stalk. Dextren snuffed the light on the lantern and moved behind a tree that was simply not large enough to completely hide him, but perhaps in this darkness the approaching whatever was as blind as a bat... as blind as a man with no torch during the strength of night, like a darkness that was so strong it felt alive, creeping towards you like a common cat stalking an unsuspecting mouse, then it pounces! Dextren screamed aloud, his fists went into panic mode as they began flailing madly, punching against that shadowy figure, and a few times he even managed to hit the person. Yes, definitely a person, he had been reaching down and even grabbed Dextren. That is what startled him from his slumber. Again sleep had overtaken him at a highly inconvenient time, but he was fighting now, without hesitation or mercy, he punched with all his might, both hands, until finally the man got off of him and took several steps back and worked on cradling his jaw. "The petch is wrong with you man? Stop being crazy before I stomp your head in." Dextren was panting heavily now as he stood up, his hand gripping onto that lantern, it was his first instinct, nearest weapon. For some reason his mind didn't even consider the dagger in his backpack, or even his eating knife, to be a more suitable weapon for defense. "What? What is this?" Dextren already knew what it was. He fell asleep again, probably collapsed in the snow, face first even (it was cold and wet enough for that). This man probably tried to help him up, mistaking for his sleeping disorder for a simple passing out due to cold. Dextren relaxed a little, his shoulders gaining a bit of slack as he sighed. "Sorry, you startled me is all. Are you alright?" Dextren saw through the shadows of night, the figured trembling in soft chuckling. Apparently Dexlen didn't do that much damage because the stranger's sour mood had already dissipated. "Think nothin' of it. How about you light that lantern of yours and we make camp. You look like shyke and I've got me two birds and a rabbit to cook up." Dextren chuckled to himself as he did as suggested, rummaging through his pack, finding the flint and steel, and relighting that Lantern. If he extinguished the light after every possibility of encountering another anything, he might never really burn through his small oil reserves. That was hardly a problem though. Several chimes later, Dextren and his new unnamed acquaintance we sitting on opposite sides of a small campfire with the stranger cooking up some burned-to-a-crisp meat. Dextren wasn't particularly hungry, especially for meat, but he knew he hadn't eaten often enough recently to be picky, so he would gratefully share the meal. .

[Dextren]

. Something happened. Something always happens. Dextren had been sitting by the fire, allowing that gentle flame to warm his bare hands, when everything went down hill. "Well, I think it's time to sleep. Don't know about you, but I've got quite a ways to go before I hit Sylira." Dextren nodded, he could accept this. They were just faces passing by on opposite paths, opposite directions, or so he though. The man reached his hand outwards, into the fire, and much to Dextren's surprise, he absorbed the flame. Dextren was peering down at the smoldering ashes, specks of golden red lie in wait, slowly dying in the now overwhelming chilled air. Dextren felt his own heat bolster somewhat, eyes would have been an obvious orange color now if the man could see color through darkness, which was unlikely. Dextren felt betrayed all of a sudden. This man was a reimancer, but hid it until now. Dextren looked up from that graveyard of lumber and ash to peer at the man, and in that moonlight he saw a strange unnerving grin, and his eyes were watching him. This made Dextren anxious, but more so, ticked off. He felt cheated, lied to. Who would dare lie to a god? Dextren felt a need to watch this man, but in this darkness, he was blind as a blind man... he was blind as a bat (It just sounds better). Auristics, in his short time working with students and professors at Zeltiva, Dextren had always been taught to view Auras through the eyes, Auristics as a visual image, but that never worked for him. He had to close his eyes to focus the djed, and when he saw auras, he didn't see them, no colors, no shapes, but rather as a pulse. There were specific pulses, soft, strong, violent, passive, fast, slow, distant, close, vibrating pulses, elongated, and so on. Each pulse was different for different auras, and when trying to take in everything, Dextren always found himself lost in a sea of vibration. Focus, it required focus, and that would allow him to pick up one aura. This strange man's aura. Dextren has seen, or more so felt, these pulsing auras of singular people, and despite them all being different, they were mostly identical. Like how two different humans had a head and four limbs apiece, so they emitted the same pulsing aura, yet they had minute differences that were so small that it seemed only to be an interference. This however, was different. This man had that same pulse, but something even strong pulsed at a slower, yet much heavier pulse. It was something he once detected in a student at Zeltiva, and not too far from the pulse he himself emitted when manipulating Djed. Which had to mean one thing. This man was doing something, conjuring magic in some way! Under closed eyes, his eye began to burn red, his face flushing with rage as he began to understand (or at least he was certain he understood) that this man wasn't just a friendly traveler, he was a magician! A wizard! A monster of magic. How could Dextren even have trusted this man in the first place? His first instinct was to pound the man senseless, and though he was positively to panic-stricken to do so effectively, his instinct had led him correctly. It was too late for that though, he had to find out what magic he was dealing with. The man's pulses, reading pulses. Dextren found the pulses to be extending directly towards Dextren, even moving inside of him. From there he couldn't read the pulse, yet new waves, identical, kept flowing. It was a stream of djed, or a constant flow. If it was reimancy, it would be one powerful burst that shook his very mind at reading it. This was constant, less lethal. "Why can't I figure this guy out? He's too strong, too powerful. Even for me." Why did Dextren think that? Dextren had made it a habit of his to dissect his own thoughts. When they wandered, it tended to mean he drifted off into sleep and was dreaming up a storm, but he was awake now. Which meant if the dream world wasn't toying with his thoughts, the stranger was! Hypnotism! The man was challenging him to a duel of magic, not in a knock-down, drag-out, brutal war to the death, but of cleverness, craftiness. This was a battle of the wills. Dextren opened his eyes and the pulses stopped, in a way. His head throbbing now, painful waves pulsing inside his skull like the waves of auras he was reading. Well, this was Overgiving, he expected as much to be honest. The question was, how was he going to win this? Brute force was pointless, he had to make a point, to be better by playing fair. The man felt clever enough to show off his reimancy, then proceeded to toy with his mind via hypnotism. He was an arrogant prick, but more importantly, he thought he had Dextren beat. If Dextren failed to realize he was being manipulated by a greater mind, then Dextren lost. Dextren reached out, offering his hand out to the wizard as his eyes faded back into an orange tint, he smirked weakly. "You're right. I think I need to sleep. I don't think I got your name though. I'm Dextren." The man grinned, confident that Dextren was intimidated and wanted to pass the night off like they never met. He reached out and took Dextren's hand and smiled. "You can call me Jon Tieler. Pleasure to meet you." Then it was Dextren's turn to grin. The man couldn't have predicted this, not without a high level of paranoia and/or auristic help. Leeching was uncommon, even among wizards, but the man felt it right away. Dextren was pulling the Djed straight through the man's hand. It wasn't a sign of subordination, it was a trap! Dextren smiled as they stood there, staring each other down, and Dextren hardly moved, physically anyway. His astral though, that was moving. His left arm rested limp to his side as the astral left limb was projected from it and retrieved the dagger that Dextren had hidden in his backpack. He couldn't keep this up long, the extensive use of Auristics has already left its mark, and he was only able to keep going because he was feeding off of Jon's Djed. But he only needed a moment. The environment was dark enough that Jon never saw the knife. It moved swiftly from behind Dextren, and pieced easily into his chest. He reached for it instantly, but Dextren was faster, and from his seated position, kicked outwards, striking the dagger's hilt and pressing it further into his chest. The man screamed in agony as he fell backwards and rolled to his side. Already his hands were shaking from pain, from the Talderan chill, from the moisture of the snow, from the loss of blood. He tried to grip the dagger and free it from his chest again, but Dextren was standing now, and in perfect position to simply step down on those groveling hands with his booted foot. This felt good, besting a wizard as a wizard, though he hated being called a wizard. It implied he wasn't godly. "What are you doing? Don't kill me. I'm just a magic user, never. Never. I never meant any harm. Please, just take your, your knife, and let me go." The man was begging. Dextren sighed heavily as he twisted his foot as it grinded on those fragile finger bones, the man grunted in pain, whimpering like a puppy. "No, no, no. You aren't just a magic user. You can't be trusted. You are an assailant with the arts of magic. You bought my trust with your hypnotism. You made me doubt my own greatness, with your hypnotism. I didn't see it right away because I thought it was a dream. You didn't expect me to better, did you? No, I'm sorry, but you deserve to die." Dextren reached down and placed his hand on the man's forehead, again tapping into Leeching to suck out what Djed he could. He didn't want to suffer from Overgiving, not just yet. He wanted to get far away from this man first, then he could take care of himself. "If... If I deserve to die... die. Then you do... as well." The man grunted again at Dextren once more put pressure on his hands. "We're both wizards... we are the same." Dextren paused a moment, he was thoroughly sickened by this man now. Dextren wasn't a wizard! Wizard were mortals, Dextren was destined for immortality. "No. It's not the same. Not at all." Dextren knelt down to pat the man on the cheek in a mock-affection. "I'm divine." Dextren then finished the job, taking the dagger from his chest and plunging it into the man's body several more times until his eyes closed and breathing ceased. Then he walked away, taking his things, and only his own things. The body would be picked off by animals, scavengers, or maybe another traveler. Who knows what story would be made of that man. The next day everything fell apart. Dry heaving, needing to vomit, but nothing would relieve itself from Dextren's stomach. His head was reeling in pain, throbbing to the rhythm of his heartbeat, or maybe it was his own aura that was beating him down. His left arm was numb, weak, and though he could move his joints, it burned awfully to do so. He was pleased with himself, despite the pain he was now suffering for his encounter, his arrogance. He was pleased he saved Mizahar from an impostor. That man, the wizard, he tried to wrestle with a god. He got his earned rewards. And now Dextren was enduring his own torturous rewards. At least he would live. .

[Growl]

Appreciation Time! Name: Dextren Experience: +1 Leeching, +1 Dagger, +1 Auristics Lore: Out in the Cold, Blind as a Bat, Someone Lurks in the Darkness, Meeting a Wizard, Killing Another Wizard Additional Notes: A nice thread, short and to the point. I didn't award any projection because I didn't feel as though you used enough detail to warrant any experience. The rest of the experience points and lores should be pretty self-explanatory though. If you feel as though I missed something however, feel free to pm me.