Upon the Shore (OPEN)

[Ihendrethan]

The Beach, Zeltiva The 4th Day of Spring, 512 AV 12 Chimes after the 15th Bell Ihendrethan's boot-clad feet danced slowly between the edges of jagged rocks and tide-pools, strewn haphazardly across that particular stretch of the port-city's beach. The area within which the young man stood was overshadowed by an intimidating cliff-face -- a natural edifice of rock that blocked passage south and away from the city. Even if one overcame the cliff, the terrain beyond was a region where the rest of the Zastoska mountain range spilled into the sea -- an area so rugged as to be almost impassable by even the most skilled of travelers. Trying to go north was little different. The only ways by which a person could escape from the narrow strip of land upon which Zeltiva was constructed was to either leave by ship upon the open ocean, or by venturing through the Mirahil pass that wound its way through the Zastoskas and deeper into the interior of Sylira. As his emerald-green eyes turned about and focused back along the route he had traveled, Ihendrethan could see the battered remnants of the docks. Even at his present distance, the young man -- who still looked more a teenage boy than a man of nearly one and twenty years -- could perceive the construction's of dark timber and granite which were the numerous piers of the Zeltivan port. None of the berths appeared to be wholly unscathed after the recent storm, and whilst reconstruction efforts were visibly underway -- more than a few of the piers appeared to be little more than debris and the odd bit of timber upthrusting from out of the foamy water. Ihendrethan guessed that restoring the docks to the full vibrancy they once had boasted would take the better part of Spring, if not even longer. Close by, but still far enough away so as not to intrude upon Ihendrethan's privacy, a few enterprising individuals -- mostly children that were still too young to assist directly in the rebuilding and recovery -- were taking advantage of the sea-life that had been washed ashore by the storm. Here and there they darted about from each tide-pool, filling a sack or container with crabs, trapped fish, or generally anything that could easily be sold for a few coppers or serve as an evening meal. The afternoon sun created dapples of sparkling light through the ambient sea spray drifting about his chilled body. His black-grey cloak, alternately whipped about or clung to the contours of his form beneath the brief gusts and icy bites of the eastern wind. His hood was blown back, abruptly exposing his handsome face and raven-black hair to the full brunt of the Bonesnapper's cold fury. Though Zeltiva had entered the spring season a few days ago, in the wake of the storm the wind seemed to have recovered at least a portion of the strength it had displayed during the heights of winter. The Bonesnapper had come from over miles of icy water, picking up moisture as it tore over the sea until, when they finally touched him, the cold, knife-sharp damp seeped deeply into his flesh and bones and seemed to chill him in places the hottest fire couldn’t possibly warm. Though he hated the frigid weather, Ihendrethan preferred the relative isolation and privacy that this place afforded him in order to practice his more dangerous magics like reimancy -- there was much less chance of something unfortunate happening to his surroundings whilst there upon the beach -- and the distraction of the sea and wind helped force him to practice finer control of his magic. As a novice in essentially all his disciplines Ihendrethan's manipulation of some of his more potentially destructive abilities was at times a little tenuous. With a sigh, Ihendrethan set his staff upon the beach, turned his sight away from the docks and directed it towards his hands instead. Gently, he clasped the two palms together and focused his mind upon the processes internal to his body. He could feel his own Djed -- the primal energy of existence and the essence of all things. Within his form there were three sources of Djed -- the physical body, the invisible soul, and a third source -- a precious internal reserve of Djed that wizards first called upon for use within their arcane arts -- collected as they consumed food and drew additional Djed from what they ate. Once that reserve was depleted, a wizard began the process of 'Overgiving', which often resulted in disastrous consequences for a spell-caster's mind, body and soul. Ihendrethan willed his Djed to gather in his hands and then to manifest physically upon his palms as the fluidic substance known as Res, the 'thing'. Ihendrethan's Res appeared to be a eerie green fluid, translucent and ethereal in appearance that glowed faintly as though from its own faint, internal light. The ephemeral material began to slide across Ihendrethan's palms when buffeted by the cold, incorporeal air of the Bonesnapper, until by Ihendrethan's will it began to slow its progress, fighting the wind. In the end the Res was collated as a small bead of fluid, hovering between Ihendrethan's outstretched fingers. Splitting his focus, Ihendrethan alternatively maintained the position of the Res and began igniting the outer surface of the material and transmuting it into elemental fire. Over the course of half a chime, the surface of the Res ball began to glow in a steadily increasing intensity, turning reddish-gold. Despite the cold, heat started radiating from the sphere and a slight warmth suffused the young wizard's palms and outstretched fingers. The process was going much slower than it normally took Ihendrethan, both due to the cold and wind, which was constantly threatening to snuff out the flame, and Ihendrethan taking greater care so as not to make a mistake during the creation process. The last thing he needed was to accidentally set himself on fire somehow. For the better part of twenty chimes, Ihendrethan focused his energies on maintaining and manipulating the small ball of flame in a variety of ways, causing it do move precisely as directed by his will -- though it never went more than a couple arm-lengths away from Ihendrethan during this time. Eventually, the effort of manipulating the ball in such a fashion -- and having to constantly contend with the wind and cold -- began to take its toll on his waning concentration. Though he felt the urge to continue practicing, Ihendrethan knew that the present conditions were probably too dangerous to push it too far. Unconsciously, one of Ihendrethan's palms moved to rub the back of his head -- the spot where his mother and teacher would whack him hard should she find him doing anything remotely stupid. With some reluctance, Ihendrethan willed the fireball to take one last action -- directing it into the waves. There, it unceremoniously fizzled into nothingness. Pulling up the hood of his cloak, Ihendrethan retrieved his staff from the ground and began making his way back up the beach and towards the docks. As he made tracks in the sand, Ihendrethan idly thought about buying something on the way home to relieve the slight pangs of hunger he now felt.

[Calen]

Those with a particular flair for deftness, or perhaps even those who were only 'average' in their ability might have been to traversed the land surrounding and within Zeltiva with some sort of skill. Some might even go so far as to say that those individuals would have 'danced' their way across the rocks and such. Unfortunately, Calen could be called neither deft nor normal and as such, he traversed the rugged and untamed terrain like some sort of bowlegged kitten. In his youth, Calen might have been able to make his way to his destination with some sort of dignity, but after years of doing little more than sulking and studying, he was noticeably uncomfortable with his body and moving it. In fact, were it not for the fact that Calen's boots had some grip to them, he might have fallen or tripped even more frequently than he already had. In truth, the only reason Calen was having so much trouble was that he had spent so long in his room, barely moving except to utilize the bathroom, that he was exhausted from the simple act of making his way over to the beach. After having traveled a block, and found himself breathing with noticeable difficulty, the hazel haired youth knew that the journey to today's endeavor would not be one he would find particularly enjoyable. So, stumbling along his way, Calen made his way past a crowd of children who seemed to be enjoying themselves by constantly daring each other to make contact with an incapacitated jellyfish they had found. Frowning prominently, Calen made his way past them all whilst biting back the myriad of curses that flew to the forefront of his mind as they mocked his labored movement. Under normal circumstances, Calen might have just turned around and let fly with what whatever foul language happened to pop into his head, but he knew that he had bigger things to do and he wasn't in the mood for wasting what little energy he had left on an outburst of such a nature. It was as he came to this conclusion regarding his relatively low stores of energy that Calen took note of the cloaked individual some distance away. Under normal circumstances, he might not have even noticed him, but it was obvious from the faint glow in the young man's, he assumed it was a young man, hand that he was not usually one who dealt with normal circumstances. Gritting his teeth in frustration, Calen did the only thing he knew made any sense whatsoever, he began making his way over to the fellow with the intent of smacking him in the side of the head. "Honestly! What is wrong with some people" he muttered to himself as he made his way over. Had this been before the storm, Calen wouldn't have cared what the raven haired, he had taken note of his hair color as it became more prominent at his approach, man did, but considering the general opinion of magic lately, he figured he had a duty to remind him where he was. The young man had managed to finish his little practice session without anyone noticing, or at least, anyone who would take immediate action, well, with the exception of one spindly armed, brown-eyed belligerent in an almost identical ensemble. As he came within an appropriate distance, Calen threw his arm back, readying himself for a full body swing at the back of the man's head, aiming for the exact spot he had been rubbing only moments ago. Calen wasn't really sure if the man had noticed him, but he was pretty sure he had; Calen had been cursing profusely the whole way as he approached. It wasn't a particularly hard smack, but if it landed it would be sure to get the man's attention at least, which, in truth, was what Calen really wanted. It helped that the man had turned his back on Calen's direction and pulled his hood on. He had always been inclined to lecturing others into doing better for themselves.

[Ihendrethan]

If not for the sound of the waves masking Calen's approach and the distraction caused by Ihendrethan's mental focus upon the smoked mundi sea-bass he hoped to buy on his way past the fish market, he might have noticed or dodged the sudden blow of the irritated young man who had stalked up behind him. Instead he was completely oblivious, blissfully imagining the taste of juicy mundi against his tongue when all of a sudden all thought of dinner was abruptly replaced with a sharp pain in the back of his head and a dull ringing between his ears. With a dull 'omph' noise escaping his lips, Ihendrethan bent forward slightly and clasped the back of his head with both hands, dropping his staff to the ground. The sensation of being hit on the back of his head in such a manner was so reminiscent of his mother Emerath's chastisements that he half expected her to be standing behind him with her face set in a disapproving frown. Instead, the young would-be wizard was confronted with a completely unfamiliar face when he turned to set his emerald eyes upon the source of his unexpected discomfort. He blinked slowly, trying to steady his focus upon the unfamiliar individual before him and get a fix upon his features and appearance. When he spoke, Ihendrethan's normally warm and friendly voice was uncharacteristically neutral -- he was definitely annoyed and close to actually getting angry due to the unprovoked attack. The only thing that kept him from unleashing a particularly vile string of curses and making several anatomically improbable threats towards his assailant was the good manners he'd had crammed into his skull over the course of the last twenty years. "Okay then... I have absolutely no idea who you are. Or why you just hit me. Would you care to explain, please? Or should we try cracking my staff over your head and see how you like being hit?" Even as he spoke, Ihendrethan bent down and retrieved the now sand-covered staff from the beach beneath him. As his gaze returned to the individual that now stood beside him, Ihendrethan noticed that he had the apparent age of someone in his late teenage years -- or at best he was in his early twenties. He was near to a foot shorter than Ihendrethan's own six feet and five inches, with pale skin and an almost emancipated frame around which his clothes hung loosely. The boys features, whilst not ugly were also not particularly remarkable or handsome either. All in all he seemed like a fairly normal -- if somewhat scrawny and underweight -- kid with no blatantly unusual traits except for the fact that his scruffy hazel hair seemed to stick out in odd angles like he couldn't figure out how to use a brush.