Terras Citadel Underground
Kingdom of Sultros, Kalea 500 AV
The little child held a little shard in her hand, a shale-like rock about the size of a small ball that she had pulled out of the earthen walls that had sheltered and nourished her with the mighty gift of Djed all these years. Four seasons on after she first learned to warp and mold ore with her right arm, and she was already well into testing her abilities without the supervision of an elder. Although she never really bothered to ask for another class with hot steel, she passed about an hour or two a day idly sitting alone with rocks she collected, and amused herself with the molding, shaping, carving, bending and twisting of the little pieces of earth.
Today was no different. An adolescent Makaan sat on the beautifully tiled floor of the Terras Citadel courtyard, by the side and out of the way of commuter and peddler traffic that brought the underground to life. There were no bandits, kidnappers or thugs about down here - the Isur were a filial, virtuous people, or at least so she had been told from infancy. Either way, the children of the Terras Clan frolicked about occasionally, and if you were a girl, you had a special place in the eye of the general public.
And so the little Orehammer sat there by the corner leaning against one of the colossal pillars that braced the ceiling up. She wore a small, simple robe encrusted with little quartz designs and textures. Eccentrics, merchants, peddlers with carts, priestesses and sheriffs walked by and took brief glances at Makaan, often smiling as they caught a second or two of her as she toyed around with her stones.
Makaan's small, pink lips traced with streaks of blue and silver moved slightly as she mumbled a family poem (one of several) in the Isurian tongue about bending Djed. Whether she had classes with Old Helthir, or sat down with sister Altan, mother and father, she was usually asked to recite this simple poem that went, "Tame the spirit, and with it tame the Djed. When the spirit is restless, so is the Djed". Admittedly, it made no sense to her, or at least she failed to grasp the profound simplicity of that mantra. Still, it was already ingrained into her intellect and she recited it again and again, as if it were as second-nature as recalling conditioned memory.
Her little hands worked with the earth, her left hand serving as a support or stand for the stones as her right moved about, shaping and reshaping the Djed-made-manifest as if it were clay or soft mortar. Dust gathered along her palm, but she paid no mind. Her mind moved back and forth between reciting the family poem and humming tunes she had heard from the Terras Matriarchs.
I wonder if Lady Terras likes music?
She drifted, although her hands kept shaping like they had a mind of their own. She formed the rocks into what looked like chips or pointed shards, and although far from sufficing as an arrowhead or spear-tip, could probably serve an archaic man as a simple cutting tool for game meat. Makaan still had no clue on how to finely sharpen and refine a sharpened end or blade, but she understood the general shape and orientation it ought to take.
Blades have to thin out and move toward one point. Less and less Djed as you move toward the tip. The base has to be thick so you can hold it and it won't snap, and the end has to be jagged or serrated if you're really good at it. Djed refined like that can cut through Djed itself. It is the secret.
Her right hand's fingers danced around the rock she held, gathering up dust and powder as she drew her attention to the end of the stone she was now trying to "sharpen" down. Makaan could feel the gentle, warming heat radiating from her right arm, the purple color beginning to distort as small hints of steam began to rise up from the pores of her skin. Already she was beginning to break into a light sweat, and her breath steadily grew warmer and heavier - no doubt the byproduct of all her bending and the sheer focus she was putting into this activity. She stopped for a bit, lowering her arms to her lap to catch her breath for a bit. Izurdin grant me strength. And with the conclusion of that one-line prayer, she continued and soldiered on.
"Maybe I'm doing something wrong", she muttered to herself as she held the bent rock up and gazed at it. Under the pale turquoise light of the underground, it seemed to glow and take on a life of its own. By now she had understood what Old Helthir meant by "feeling the Djed". She could almost feel the energy she passed on into that rock through bending it, transferred kinetic energy from her own body into it. The surface of the earthen shard seemed to move; little particles of the life of Djed danced around on its surface. She seemed to space out as she did this, and unconsciously her breathing slowed and calmed, her heart rate balanced out at slow, steady beats and her eyes purified themselves of all "dust" as she lost herself staring at the rock. Everything else around her seemed to turn foggy, fading out into the background.
Time seemed to slow as she lost herself in this trance-like state, however unintentionally. The sounds of the earth and the trampling feet of the city grew more and more distant, and the heat from her right arm spread throughout the rest of her body - like soft water coursing through her veins and nourishing her body. Her silvery veins ran with bodily heat as little pearls of sweat ran down her face, and her beady eyes lowered their gaze as she lowered her arms and set the stone down onto the ground in front of her with the rest of the rocks she'd been working on.
It was bliss. |
|
by Makaan on July 31st, 2013, 4:33 am 
