[Epic Quest] Oddities (Wrenmae)

[Wrenmae]

Morning found the mage curled up in his clothes and gear, party to the dying embers of his fire and the chuckling tweets of birds beyond the shattered window. Blinking against the shards of daylight through the window, Wrenmae yawned and stretched. The night had been cold, and he had the feeling that he had been elsewhere through most of it. His arm still throbbed, but it was a calming sort of thing...and far better than not having an arm at all. Wrenmae rewrapped the bandage, flexing the hand in question a few times to make sure he could still use it. He offered only a grim smile as it worked, confident only that he seemed to maintain full mobility.

He used the morning to focus himself, attune his magical discipline before heading out. As usual, he started with Voiding...easily what had become the most calming meditation exercise he knew. Picturing the shape behind nothingness, trying to think of nothing at all, Wrenmae held out his palm in front of him, feet crossed almost ceremonially. It was hard to bring such magical practice to bare, especially when his mind still reeled from the aftermath of the evening. After several moments of trying, he finally gave up and tore a page from one of his traveling books, taking ink and pen before drawing across its parchment expanse. Like Seidaku had taught him, he followed the lines half on instinct and half on geometric guesswork, filling the page with a circular design and inner shapes to accommodate the necessary Glyph work.

Slowly it took shape, stenciled lines and graceful designs that swept the page. There was peace in that, some sort of artistic calming that swept the events of the previous night from his mind and allowed the boy to concentrate. When the shapes were done, Wrenmae laid the design down on the ground and lent concentration to the ink. He used them like riverbeds, pouring his Djed within to help him stabilize a connection, calling again to the Void to grant him its presence, that little point of nothing in Mizahar.

It came slowly, merely a pinprick...a dust mote of sheer shadow. Wrenmae smiled, the strain of the magic popping sweat from his forehead. Here was progress, Seidaku's teaching still important to his forward progress.

He held it as long as he could, at least till he could feel his Djed tiring. Letting it go, the paper exploded into crisp ash and spent possibility, leaving only the charred remnants as a stale aftertaste in the air.

Gathering what he could of the left over supplies, Wrenmae moved to the door with his knife, determined to do away with the body and use the summation of its parts. It was the least he could do...of course. The strong eat the weak.

But there was no wolf when he opened the door, only the morning creeping on the ground and brightening the sky. His kill was gone...and left no trail of blood to follow or impression of what had happened. Only faint whisps of...paper...danced in the air, everything else spirited away as though by some magic phantasm.

Wrename put a hand on his left arm, assuring himself the wound was still there. He did not make up the monster that had attacked him, and it had left its mark on his arm.

Still, the longer he waited the more he might invite the rest of the pack to return. Hefting his bag, Wrenmae stepped out into the forest, heading in any direction really, he had no alternative way to go.

The question of the wolf still toyed at his mind however, where it had gone and what manner of creature could take such a large monster away without leaving a trail...all of it was mystifying. The paper in the air, dancing on the breeze...was it coincidence? Surely not out here, unless he was closer to a city than he thought.

Passing beneath the trees, he had the impression of how far he was form Kalea. The ground did not rise in jagged daggers toward the sky, nor did the chill of winter permanently layer the air. He was somewhere else entirely, that much was certain...but where? There was no one to tell him otherwise and so he hoped, beyond measure perhaps, that he was on his way to Sylira.

There were answers in the far off city of Sarhova perhaps, places he had heard of in Alvadas and Lhavit. Ultimately he was moving, traveling and listening.

He would find his way.

He would find a path.

As the sun rose higher in the sky above him, Wrenmae hefted the heavy pack again and made for some distant point...hoping that across the next swath of trees, there would be a clue to his destination.

[Wrenmae]

Travel didn't sit well with the storyteller, not after hours of it. To pack all his supplies together was agonizing, a reminder he was not as powerful a traveler as his horse used to be. Straining his back, Wrenmae walked with pace after agonizing pace over the the hills and tangled roots of the forest. Since the little shack, not a hint of civilization had made itself aware.

He found himself wishing he could just fly places, or be stronger, or anything really. Out here he was practically nowhere. Looking up at the trees yielded no results. They were thick, crowding the sky with wooden arms and tired woven skin. Beneath them the boy plodded, muttering to himself for the sake of keeping himself going.

As the day grew older, sun casting long dying light over the land, Wrenmae set his back against a tree and took a break. To refocus his mind he turned back to the Void, a constant teacher of nothingness, importance, calm.

Calling it into Mizahar was easier the more he did it, the point of nothingness dancing just above his open palm. As the afternoon grew longer and Wrenmae recuperated the stress of the day, the tiny point of Void kept him a vigilant partner, always open and asking nothing in return but concentration to maintain.

Although exhausted, he could provide it.

Anything to get his mind off of his situation, the way the trees kept closing in on him and the path became more familiar the farther he traversed...as if the forest itself conspired to keep him lost.

[Phoenix]

There was something to be said about Wrenmae's survival skills. Wandering lost through the forest, the boy was able to survive to a degree that even those more well versed in wilderness training hadn't been able to do; Was this a sign that someone was looking out for this poor and seemingly cursed boy after all? Days bled into nights, the trees sheltering the forest below from the elements above cutting off a few hours of daylight. The setting sun couldn't penetrate the thick boughs. At first, this took Wren by surprise; the sun glided across the sky in a stately fashion, only to suddenly drop out of existence. However, night only surprised him that way the fist few times; the mad scramble to find a camping site and building a fire and the slight panic that came along with it was not a desired feeling. His first night out in the wild, Wrenmae had seen what lurked in the shadows and he didn't have any desire to meet anything else. Though he had no idea where he was or where he was going, by his tenth day of Travel Wrenmae found himself closer to civilization than he knew. Sunberth was only a days walk ahead of him, if he stayed in the direction he was going. In the last few days, the boy had really gotten the hang of this 'roughing it' thing; he had even managed to make camp before darkness fell! In good spirits, with all his belongings safely in his pack as he sauntered along the small and infrequently used game trail, lost in his own thoughts and stories, Wrenmae failed to hear the rustling behind him. It wasn't until something big and brown flashed across his peripheral that he looked up, startled, and immediately began to run. Yep. It was a bear. But a strange bear. Usually, bears attack when their cubs are threatened, as they are as scared of humans as humans are of them. However, this one matched the frantic pace of the young man with ease, it's curious black eyes focused on Wren's face as they both ran. As if it knew him, had been looking for him, and now that Wren had been found, was unwilling to let him out of it's sights. Knowing he had no chance against it what so ever, Wren's only thought was to get away. And get away he did. As a saving grace, there was a tree line ahead, a broad and well traveled road showing between the rapidly thinning trees. With a last burst of effort, Wrenmae pushed through to the road and away from the bear. He ran full frontal into a passing caravan, but the bear still didn't follow. Only in retrospect, as his adrenaline died away and he had time to think about it, did Wrenmae realize that the bears actions weird. Not only that, but had it's head looked a bit too small for it's body? He hadn't ever seen a bear in person before, or if he had it had been before his ability to remember such, but he had the distinct impression that the creature that had chased him from the woods looked like a drawing of a bear made by someone who had never seen the creature in person before, only in texts. But that was preposterous. A living bear couldn't have been drawn. And it had definitely been living. With more to think about than when he took that fateful boat ride, Wrenmae continued along the path towards Sunberth. oocLeft it open ended and gave him an excuse to ask where he was to the caravan that he ran into. Feel free to post as much as you wand and end it where convenient for you.

[Wrenmae]

He subsisted on a diet of berries and whatever animal was foolish enough to come into eye contact. Ragged, run down, feeling the weight of Djed exhaustion pushing him, a bear was hardly his primary expectation of the afternoon. It followed him, loping like a deer with unerring interest and no matter where Wrenmae tried to move, jumping gulches, climbing through tough overhang, even throwing himself across an engorged stream, nothing seemed to impede the creature from its passage.

Wrenmae considered hurling something at it, perhaps utilizing other abilities, but he was out of Djed, completely dried up of the energy to move and leap as he had before. The days in the wild had trimmed him, narrow chest heaving beneath the heavy pack as he hurried ever forward. It was a break in the trees which drew his attention, the distant whinny of a horse. Pushing himself forward, he strafed in front of the bear and toward the noise. His arms pumped along his side, and he gasped raggedly with each step. The forest closed around him, reaching arms and animated claws that grasped at him, pulled him back.

Pushing forward, almost entirely out of his mind with desperation, Wrenmae broke the cover of the forest, leaving the bear far behind him. It didn't occur to him then, the shape of the bear, nor its curious activity. Later he would wonder on it at length, back in the protective sea of verdant green. For now, he skidded to a stop as the caravan held its position.

Horses carrying the ramshackle cages of slaves greeted him, tough, scarred men leering over their mounts at the strange individual to leap from the bushes. Wrenmae gasped, trying his best to communicate the need to calm to his lungs. His knees shook and his whole body ached, and now he was tasty bait to people who likely wouldn't tell him the way to civilization anyways.

One nodded to the other, both leaping off their horses and drawing their weapons. Wrenmae took a few steps backwards, pivoting on a foot and sprinting back into the forest. He heard the shout of pursuit behind him, but he ran regardless, tripping over heavy hidden roots and pelting through a line of sporadic trees.

The slavers were hard on his trail, easy reserved of strength lending them the ability to close on the lone storyteller. Gritting his teeth, Wrenmae hooked a hand under his pack, leaping between a ravine and cutting away from where he knew. The storyteller knew he was getting himself lost again, but sooner lost in a forest he could survive rather than in the cage of some slaver. He heard the hoots and hollers of the men behind him, the cracking of leaves and sticks as they pursued. One took the high road, following him along the lip of the ravine. The other twisted his long sword hand over hand and sprinted forward toward the boy.

When Wrenmae could almost feel the caustic breath on his neck, he pivoted, turning and bringing the weight of his combined supplies into the slaver's body. The blow was surprising, throwing the man from his feet against the slope. Wrenmae let the backpack follow, drawing his long blade from the pack and leaping onto his pursuer.

The slaver had reached for his sword, but Wrenmae drove his blade through the slaver's flesh. Howling, he kicked backward, catching Wrenmae in the shoulder and sending him tumbling across the leafy ground. His hand useless, the brigand grabbed the sword with his other hand and swung it at the storyteller. Wrenmae hurled himself aside, tumbling across the sticks and stones, grabbing his blade and struggling to his feet.

His assailant came down on him, hard, his sword glancing across Wrenmae's dagger and sending him sprawling. Hissing through his teeth, Wrenmae imagined his hand, the unarmed one, shifting. He imagined sharp claws, forcing the stream of Djed within his reserve to react. His hand warped, twisting with sudden purpose as black claws elongated from what were human nails before.

Whistling, the sword came again, but Wrenmae ducked the heavy swing and brought his claws up across the brigand's face. Howling, surprised, even frightened perhaps, the slaver fell away. Wrenmae followed, burying his blade into the man's chest.

Again.

Again.

And again.

Already the sound of the man's partner alerted the boy that he would not have a long reprieve. Retrieving the bloody blade from the dying slaver, he turned on the next. Djed roiled in his eyes, his body pulsing his defiance to die. Minds were weak, minds were tools, with the right amount of suggestion, even a practiced warrior would have trouble maintaining composure.

As the slaver brought his mace up, Wrenmae locked eyes, a spiral of snarling hypnotism lancing across the space between them and reacting with sudden violent intent. The second slaver saw Wrenmae take his left flank suddenly, even had the inner voice to assure him of the illusion. Bringing his mace to the left, he blinked to find the boy no longer there. Instead he was to the right, driving his blade up and through his ribs. Spitting blood, shocked, angry, frightened, the opponent spun his mace again, and his mind screamed the boy had turned his back. Bringing the mace down, the flash was once again over and Wrenmae was grimly beneath his flailing arms, His dark eyes danced with barely restrained malice, and angling his dagger up, he drove it through the slaver's head.

Shuddering, his entire body suddenly loose and unresponsive, the second slaver fell to the ground.

After briefly looting what money and weapons he could from their bodies, he grabbed his pack and ascended the far ravine. No doubt their friends would look for them soon, and the storyteller wanted to be far, far away.

For the first time he felt no remorse with the murder, almost a grim sense of satisfaction...it was worrying, but not as pressing as immediate survival. He might have been lost again, but he'd seen the forest end. He knew he was close.

All that remained was finding another way.

Looking up to the sunlight lancing through the trees, Wrenmae allowed himself a small smile.

He could survive. He was strong.

Secret :

We can conclude his adventure in Bob's thread. Let me post once more and you can wing in and grab him. Thanks for a great story so far!

[Phoenix]

Wrenmae

Experience

Skill	XP Earned
Morphing	5
Land Navigation	5
Wilderness Survival	5
Hunting	5
Meditation	2
Glyphing	2
Skinning	2
Daggers	3

Lores

• Being the Lone Survivor in a Shipwreck
• The Good Luck of finding Shelter
• Learning to Hunt for Food
• Oddities in the wild: Wolves that aren't wolves?
• Surviving an Attack by a Wolf Pack
• Managing to find Civilization
• Surviving an Attack by Slavers
• Beating the Odds

The Order of the Phoenix

We continued this thread here.

Good Job surviving But don't get complacent. Much, much more is going to be thrown at you.