[Closed Thread] Ship to Sahova

[Graffius]

58th of Summer, 511

Wooden planks groaned, protesting against prodding seawaters as Navad sat cross-legged in placid isolation. The rocking motion of the ship was soothing and the cool temperature along with the moisturized atmosphere of the room below the ship pacified his mind. It was a much needed moment of calm. Sunberth had been very tiring. Centralized within the dark bowels of the vessel, droplets of hydric air cleansed his skin. His shirt was removed and the tourniquet, a remnant of his shredded cloak had effectively mended his wounded arm with clots of blood. Fingertips ran over the dry crimson cloth. “Still weak.” A sigh ushered his voice. It was drowned out amongst the whisper of hushed waves. For a moment he closed his eyes, ran his fingertips through his thick tuff of hair and allowed his mind to wander amuck in the valleys of foreign lands - a planar sphere of his inner being as he tapped into an intricate tapestry woven of Djed. A surge, and pinprick and soon he’d feel the familiar substance rushing through his veins. A mess of papers were sprawled out before him, aged paper, texts of Djed usage. All of it was studying material he had accumulated over a vast amount of time. Unfortunately because of his trip to Sahova and the rushed manor in which he was forced to depart, much of his valuable books and literature had to be left behind. He still had enough however. "Mmmmm…” Grumbling from the core of his gut, his shaky limbs lifted from his lap and fingers outstretched as he gesticulated circularly with his palm. Dust of Djed began to sprinkle outwards from his boney fingers, floating through the air, each singular gleaming spec of dust melding with another until a sheet of hovering Res was formed. It looked similar to clear glowing water, churning and shifting as objects behind it rippled. Slowly he’d take his time and allow the liquid Res to accumulate across the sheet, adding to its thickness while trying to maintain its rectangular shape. He’d nod to himself, satisfied with the shield and allow his eyes to open, observing it for a moment. Hovering, clouds of gaseous light seemed to smoke off its form, illuminating the ill-lighted room. Beating, a heart of arcane power, a ball of Res hovered a foot away from his left hand. He lifted it accordingly, aiming it towards the sustained shield as swirls of reds overtook the pulsing sphere in various shades. A gentle roar sounded, and the ball combusted into fire. He’d test the shields durability and record its perseverance. Rearing back his index finger with his thumb, he’d motion, flicking forward while the ball responded and catapulted towards the floating wall of ethereal energy. Instead of absorbing the flaming Res as he’d hope, it instead connected with it, dissipating into the air as cracks sprawled across the shields surface. It still sustained itself though, but soon, with another prod of force, it’d collapse. Instead of forming and firing another bolt of energy towards it though, he'd instead add more Res. The process was slow, but after a couple of minutes, the cracks within the shield began to mend and once again it was a fortified wall, its only limit being his own prowess over the art of crafting shields. "A single shield is weak and will absorb only one to two impacts. Weak impacts... However, if stacked with another shield of its form, perhaps more could be absorbed and effectively lengthen its sustained life."

[Graffius]

With scratches of a quill against parchment, Navad watched as each line of black ink bled into dark letters across his journal. Its pages were worn, heavy with past add-ons, rudimentary pictures drawn to diagram examples and various notes scrawled to the side, creating an ultimately messy instructional manual for personal use. Wordlessly, he continued to write across vermiculated pages. More so than the creation of elemental substances using Res, I find it exceedingly difficult to form Res into a solid object which would prove invaluable for the deflecting of attacks, sealing entryways or any other method I fined, deemed valuable for solid Res use. When creating such an object, I feel a somewhat overwhelming force across my hands as if something is pushing against my palms. This isn’t in itself the reason for my shields instability however, more so it is a trigger. While experiencing this, my concentration seems to inevitably falter unless I remain completely focused on sustaining the shield. This is impractical however for use and takes a great deal of concentration and time. Dropping the quill to the ground, he brushed his notes aside and fixated his attention back to the hovering shield of Res before him. It was perplexing, the level of difficulty which challenged his competence. Now, he’d try to stack another with the intent of merging it to the original shield. With the wave of his hand and after Djed began to form, moments would pass while he shaped another shield, straining to maintain the same rectangular shape. Electrical buzzing would be heard and the former shield thinned, pieces of it beginning to flake off in the form of shimmering dust as Navad’s attention was diverted towards the creation of his secondary shield. “Why..” Deviously his gaze close inwards towards the shield as its power waned; he looked at it as he would an insect, scoffing at it with a sneer in annoyance. Why was its lifespan always so short upon the creation of a secondary shield, was his mind simply not used to the task? Thoughtless however of the merge perpetual demise, he attempted to form a link of Res between the two shields before merging them completely; as a close proximity was maintained momentarily between the two shields, they seemed to oppose one another, the former deflecting the other backwards. Consciously, he could feel his concentration begin to weaken. “A constant annoyance.” Scorning himself, he closed his left palm and the secondary shield collapsed inwards upon itself, ceasing to exist no longer. He had no other choice, if he continued to attempt merging the two, both shields would perish. For now, he’d have to work with a single shield at a time. For now he’d test its durability once again, and afterwards, he planned to examine the difference of stationary shields opposed to painting the Res directly across his body. Next step, Res absorption. “And the accumulation of stolen energy from a direct opposing force of arcane energy..”

[Graffius]

An ambient light encircled the small room, radiating waves of ghostly blue from its epicenter. A rectangle of planar origin hovered a few inches above the slimed wooden floor, resonating, and the subject of Navad’s experiment. Never before had he used it in battle, in earlier times he had simply painted the Res across his body. It granted mobility coupled with all the benefits of Shielding itself but took time to apply. Altogether, though a great tool, after shattering – recreation of its properties was too time consuming. Realistically because of this, isolated and detached shields were generally more effective. Pushing off from his hands, he stood, stretched his limbs and inhaled with his nostrils. Already he had tested the limits of a mobile-attached Res shield and realistically the results had been disappointing. Without straining himself and feeding the energy, the shield had cracked with a single blow and after yet another strike from a weighted longsword, had shattered. A heaviness of iron overcame his body and a river of resisting wind manifested, roiling around him turbulently. It pulled and pushed, tugging his body with sudden gusts- quickly, he stomped his foot downwards and garrisoned his stance. Briefly the shield flickered, threatening to suffocate with a lack of Res. With the flick of his wrist, he spewed more Res from his fingertip which soon was absorbed by the shield, effectively adding to its strength – life support. Convulsing with a breath of life and gathered forte, the wind energy was drawn to a focal point within his hand as if compressed by some non-existent force. He’d extend his palm towards the shield with a hand crammed with potential lingering force and release his psychokinetic grasp on the wind. A flower in bloom, the wind expanded suddenly and blew backwards, engulfing his arm in a reverse cone-shape before thrusting forward with a powerful vacuum. Briefly it sucked him forward upon releasing from his arm. Never before had he used his control of wind as an offensive assault on its own and just as a means to aid his pyromancy. The results surprised him. He raised a brow and his eyes were filled with curiosity. Striking the wall of Res, the wind acted much as a powerful battering ram would and slam into the shield with blunt force. There was no absorption though and instead, splintering began to quickly appear across its smooth surface, cracking and warping the energy. “Unfortunate...” On the positive side atleast, the shield remained intact. Turning his hand, the shield disintegrated as he released it and sat back down in front of his books. Placing his quill to a space beneath his former writings, he began to write once more and document his findings as his ears deciphered the gentle sounds of the midnight ocean outside the boats wooden walls. I was correct. A sustained shield seems to harbor more strength than one applied directly to the castor, however even then I am unsure. What I am sure of is the creation of a sustained shield, with practice, can be much quicker in erecting a barrier. To form a shield around oneself, one must allow an allotted time for Res to overtake his body, however in the heat of battle, a trained and disciplined Mage could easily and quickly erect a barrier to counteract hostile threats. Realistically as well, energy consumption is relatively the same. On another note, I have experimented with purely wind oriented control, something I have lacked to test in my former studies. Although lacking the gradual and lasting effect of fire, a powerful blast of wind, in itself, seems to be very effective. Not only does it cause a great deal of blunt trauma, it also has potential to push back anything in its path. Interesting as well, it seems to have a vacuum effect once casted and released, drawing other items forward a bit. I plan to experiment more with this at a later time.

[Graffius]

“But, what of water? The ocean peaks my curiosity. No element is quite as abundant.” If Djed was the web that connected all things, then the creation or perhaps, summoning of water would be possible. Fire, Water, Wind and Earth; already he knew how to tug upon two of those strings and at an early age he had learned to shape Fire and Wind respectively. Earth was planned for another time. But he would save that for a later date. A pause of silence and a clash of waves against reinforced wood, Navad let the senses of the ocean fill him. It was time to dabble and learn and he’d waste none of his precious time. If only solitary places such as the bowels of this boat were easy to come by – soon both he and Liel would arrive upon the rocky shores of Sahova and his experiments would be forced to end. In a moment he would check to see how the girl was doing. Ignoring his musings, Navad would allow the sensations of moisture upon his flesh to overtake his senses. He’d breath in, a deep slow breath and let his weighted eyelids close as the astral form of his awareness dived deep into the depths of an extraterrestrial ocean. Cool droplets of water, the sound of rushing white waves and the raw shapeless power of formlessness. Without a thought, his hands began to slowly caress the air before him, molding in a spherical shape while a glowing purple spec of Djed sparked to life within the center of his palms. Suddenly the moisture within the room began form together as normally invisible pebbles of cool liquid absorbed into one another, forming much larger droplets. Visibly, like a moth to light, they began to spiral inwards towards the glowing particle of Res, collecting like a ball of snow with the glittering dot as its core – an apple of water. No interference would take place and he’d allow it to grow as an isolated yet volatile ball of liquid. “Good.” A whisper, he spoke to himself, casting, feeling splashes of frigid water clashing with his skin. As he channeled the energy into his grasp, his muscles tightened. Slowly though, even within his seemingly successful attempt, he could feel his planar consciousness being stolen away from its secluded ocean. In a disappointed response due to a knowing of inevitable failure, Navad sneered. “Failure.” On cue with his words, the sphere of water collapsed within his hand, splashed downward and was absorbed into the wood below. Even amidst his dissatisfaction however, he considered the experiment a success and could already visualize future applications if he continued to train in its channeling. Perhaps on Sahova he’d find a tutor to further push his education forward, but he would be cautious in his approach. He wasn’t a Nuit and Sahova was not his home; already he could foresee complications that would need to be overcame. Nothing in life came easy and the same concept applied for un-life. He’d sigh and for a moment he planned to document his findings, but he was feeling particularly lazy at this moment and his practice had sapped his body of energy. Soon afterwards, sleep overtook him while the gentle rolling waves outside lulled him to slumber. He’d document his experiments tomorrow.

[Liel]

__________ _ Meanwhile, Liel was sitting in her own quarters. Lo and behold, she was sewing and mending the Ethaefal’s ripped garment. Boys will be boys, apparently. Quickly, she wet the end of the thread with her mouth, slid it gently through the needle’s eye, and pierced the dark fabric. It looked old, worn. She wondered how much the Ethaefal paid attention to his clothing, and suddenly felt a little more useful. Somebody had to take care of him, right? While he was off creating fire hurricanes in alleyways and murdering street thugs, who would make sure that he was alright? Now I understand why mamma was always fussing… Securing the subtle knot that held the thread in place, she began to stitch the hole shut. The bottom of the garment had been torn, so she had cut it neatly off and used it to patch up the holes. Plain sewing was simple—she had watched enough Konti women do it to understand that it was in-out, up-down. The silver stuck out against the black, but it was the most she could do, for now. She worked the needle in and out of the fabric—just a running stitch—and made sure that more thread was visible on the top than the underside. In a way, it was relaxing. She began to feel the boat’s movement, and she smiled softly, ruefully. Was it only yesterday that she was on another boat? Her stay in Sunberth had been incredibly short—less than an hour—but it hadn’t been in vain. After all, she had found what she came here for. Right? Her thoughts strayed to the Charoda and his beautiful Seahorse. A dull ache in her chest began to snake its way over her consciousness and she willed it back—she would not be sad, not now, not when she’d finally found the Ethaefal. But she missed Sume and Kyaluti so. She sighed, whispering a prayer to Laviku to keep them safe. She finished stitching three patches on, before giggling. What would Tealli and Lakara think of her now? Their little sister sewing an Ethaefal’s garment on a boat to Sahova? She shook her head and gazed outside through the small porthole. This was simply the beginning (the beginning to being a man’s seamstress…?). She sighed. She was here. She had nowhere else to go now, she had handed her life to the Ethaefal’s hand as he stood in the alleyway. She had handed her life to a man as he had taken somebody else’s. There were too many thoughts. She inspected the garment. She tugged at the patches—then she realized that those stitches probably would not be able to stand any more flamethrowers. A resolute expression in eyes of argent indigo, and she reworked back over them. He’d better appreciate these double running stitches.

[Liel]

__________ _ ‘In a way’? No—it was most definitely relaxing. The double running stitches were finished now, but for good measure she decided to double-darn it. From what the murmurs on Konti Isle of Sahova were, she heavily doubted that there would be a market to buy fabric from, and she wasn’t sure how long they’d be staying there. So she worked the needle back, creating a parallel, closely-spaced row of double stitches around the garment. The result was cute, she thought—three little black squares framed in silver. She had half a mind to stitch freeform designs inside the squares, but the Ethaefal didn’t seem like the flashy dresser type. Instead, she focused on the cut hem of the garment. If anything, he could still use this as a cloak. She folded the hem back evenly, wishing she had a hot iron to press it in place. Making sure it was balanced, she began to work the needle in and out once more. At least now, he would have no worries about ripping the poor old thing even further. It was a long and tedious task, and her small hands weren’t used to it. Give her poisonous plants and a mortar and pestle any day—stitching was hard! It required more patience than hammering away at something, and not half the adrenaline that experimenting with herbs and toxic items did. Her fingers were getting tight and sore from the pressure of having to be so delicate, and she was losing focus. She’d gotten three-quarters of the way before she set down needle, thread and fabric, and gazed back out at the window. Her chin rested daintily upon her hand, eyes heavy-lidded. Sighing. She traced tiny patterns against the glass, before she heard wind blowing. Her brows furrowed slightly and she took a closer look outside. No, it wasn’t windy—the sound was coming from somewhere else. But she was too tired to investigate. With a small yawn, Liel made her way over to her bed, laying down. Just a few moments, she told herself. Just a little while.

[Liel]

__________ _ She woke up a little too late—there was no trace of Syna's smile. Eyes wide, she lit only a single candle that had been provided. The room was growing cold, and she pulled on her grey cloak. She looked around sleepily, a little girl lost. How long had they been sailing? Had the Ethaefal come in yet? She glanced at the small wooden desk—his garment still lay there. With another yawn, she picked up the needle and thread, re-inspecting the double-running stitch she’d already made. She only had about a quarter to go. But she was tired, and right before she had done enough to tie it off, she pricked her finger. A spot of crimson showed, and she let go, afraid to stain the garment any more than it already was. There was a small water basin—she washed her finger and looked for her medical kit. Rifling through her waterproof bag, she found it (or elements of it) stuck in tightly sealed glass jars. She almost laughed, thinking that it was crazy, travelling so far with these little glass jars. They’d become almost dearer to her now, infused with the scent of mutual experience. They’d travelled far with her too. She found a clean cloth and some ointment. It wasn’t large at all, so she kept the ointment sealed, but chose a small cloth and bandaged her finger. She did not want to risk any infections, no matter how small. Picking the garment back up, she resolved to focus, slightly annoyed at herself for having pricked her finger. But, she reasoned, it was to be expected—she’d never really stitched before this, and only watched her mother and aunts and sisters. She’d never had to mend any clothing before—her mamma would always just shop for new clothing. She cut the thread, knotted it securely, and dipped a tiny droplet of wax to fasten the knot in place. Holding her work up in the candlelight, she could not help but smile. The garment was patched with three silver lined squares, and now had a shimmering, silver stitched hem. She had half a mind to go and surprise the Ethaefal with it.

[Liel]

__________ _ So she did. But not straight away. Unexpectedly excited by her success (she figured the battle wound was a necessary sacrifice to greatness), she began to look for more things to sew. Her dress was a beautiful one and she didn’t want to touch it—it had served her wall—but her eyes landed on the fabric of her waterproof bag. Contents spilled out on her bed, it looked dismal and upset, not even glowing in the soft light of her candle. And rightly so—it had undergone a great many trials, and the material was not as easily washable as her dress had been. It had been over land, sea, and rough shipmate’s dirty planks and floors. It deserved some love, she thought, a wry smile on her features. She picked it up. She’d have nothing to patch it with, but the holes were small enough to stitch together. She could also use some of the scraps from the Ethaefal’s garment to thicken the weakened lining. She sat down, fingers now used to the repetitive motion, and began to careful stitch the tiny holes together. She wanted to make sure it wasn’t obvious, so she’d turned the bag inside out and worked from there. It only required four looped running stitches. She did this five times to five small tears she found. Securing each knot with a droplet of wax, she found the largest scrap fabric and cut around it to fit the inside of her bag. She folded both ends of the scrap, just as she did the Ethaefal’s hem, and stitched it so the edges were hidden, a simple double running stitch to clean it up. Then, parallel to this, she stitched it onto the bag itself, taking care not to overlap her previous silver line. The bottom of the bag was left unlined—she was not yet sure how to line it—but the walls were now thicker and there was less chance of her little glass jars breaking. Cut, knot, wax, dry. Finally, she was done. She did not want to use too much of her thread, so she packed the spool and needle away, picked up the scraps, re-packed her bag, held the Ethaefal’s mended garment in her arms, and shut the door quietly behind her. On second thought—I’ll bring the bag. There were some unruly characters on this ship. The light from her candle bounced along the floors, and with the garment draped about her other arm, she kept herself steady. The boat was getting rougher. She found the Ethaefal’s room. She knocked. She wondered what he was doing—after three or four knocks, curiosity got the better of her, and she opened the door. It opened soundlessly, and she cast her light about the room. It was a mess. It was also damped. Liel, a Konti, sensitive to water, felt the humidity of the room and she wondered. Then she froze. On the bed was not the Ethaefal, but—and here her Anthropology kicked in—a human? A Benshira, or a Chaktawe—she wasn’t sure. He was asleep. She stepped back hurriedly, afraid, and moved towards the doorway. She was out. Her hand touched the knob to quietly close it once more—but she paused. The small cuts on his face were identical to the Ethaefal’s… And so was the placement of the injury on his arm. Was this—could this be his alternate form? She had studied madly on the Ethaefal after her nightly flee from the Myrian in her room—and she had often wondered, was that Aon? And this—was this the Ethaefal? But another issue was at hand—the hastily bandaged wound. The cloth looked dirty, makeshift—infections would be all over this one. She needed to treat him. Understanding that this was the flame-wielding Ethaefal (yes, she’d admit to perusing his notes very, very briefly), she stood beside him, peering down. “Please, wake up,” she said, gently touching his shoulder. “You’re hurt.”

[Graffius]

“Wake up.” Navad’s eyes sprang to life with the rapidity of a bear-trap and muddled visions of a decaying dreamscape clouded his conscious train of thought. In an instant his forearm had bolted forward and his hand clutched Liel’s thin neck, an action prompted with a sudden rousing coupled with fear. Slowly though as reality began to take stead of the dream, he released his grip, tilted his head downwards and panted. “Forgive me Konti. I thought… I thought you were someone else for a moment there.” Sweeping his arm, he brushed aside his parchments of recorded experiments in a self-scorning manner and stood upright. How much longer would he have to endure these endless strings of nightmares? Even worse, he could never recall the finer details of their makeup. His nightly rests had devolved into paroxysms of helpless weeping and sweat. So far he had deciphered Eyktol at the very least from the murky waters of his mind. “I’m hurt…” Quietly he had repeated Liel’s speech as his fingertips trailed along the blood spattered flesh of his forearm. It was true; his time spent in the ruffian city of Sunberth had left him a bit battered. His intellect had saved him though and the makeshift tourniquet had fully exceeded his expectations. Either way, he had mingled with danger, too close for his personal tastes. She was correct. “You’re right.” Perhaps his smile and artificially crafted warmth would be a fitting apology for strangling the Konti as he woke. He turned to her, planning to indulge her nurturing please, for now. She was delicate and, even to his surprise, his threatening approach previously had left a sour taste in his mouth. “I assume that you have medical experience? Many of your kind I have been so… Generously graced with during my travels all seem to have atleast the smallest knowledge of Healing. I had always assumed it was a cultural inheritance...” Navad squatted down and lowered his towering form to her level, speaking in a soothing whisper. “So if you would be so kind child, would you please address the wound upon my arm? It is distasteful in appearance and a nuisance…” Crafting another smile, Navad ran his fingertips through Liel’s colorless hair.

[Liel]

__________ _ She had scarce time to gasp as his strong fingers tightened about her throat. Eyes wide with shock and confusion, her first instinct was to claw at his hand -- both of hers to his single one. But he released, and she dropped down, kneeling by his bed, face cast to the ground. Webbed fingers stroked her tender neck. Eyes swivelled up to meet his own. Was she a fool to think it was only his outward appearance that had changed? Then again, she had no doubt the Ethaefal would have reacted in the same way. His human form was just as tall, she noted. Just as beautiful -- but she caught herself and attempted a shaky smile. "The Konti are known for their willingness to heal," she said weakly, gently. She was afraid to move, but he moved closer to her, squatted on the floor... ran his fingers through her hair. It is he, but it is not he -- She locked eyes with his own, a vivid green of forests and emeralds. Benshira, she thought. Not Chaktawe. But -- Had he spoken? What had he said? His fingers through her hair and the thudding in her chest and she willed her mind to motion once more, grabbing the bag by her side a little too quickly. Her cheeks were abloom and she inhaled, smiling as kindly as she could. "Hold out your arm, please. Call me Liel," she said, unsure of whether or not he would remember the encounter at the library. The Ethaefal refused to call her anything, save Konti -- but perhaps the Benshira would be different. She would gently remove the makeshift bandage, wet her cloth with the water from the basin he had, clean his wound, and continue to dress it. She had with her some Caesia powder, which she would sprinkle upon the bandage, before wrapping it tight. Stealing shy glances at his face, it became more real to her than ever before. This truly would be one hell of a journey.