Closed Weaving Souls (Praetorian)

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Not found on any map, Endrykas is a large migrating tent city wherein the horseclans of Cyphrus gather to trade and exchange information. [Lore]

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Weaving Souls (Praetorian)

Postby Colt on October 14th, 2013, 3:21 am

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30th of fall, 513 a.v
not quite noon

It was a quiet day. At least, as quiet a day as one could find in the center of Endrykas. The sun was just shy of her peak when Shahar reached the near-center of the Topaz district, doing his best to keep to the side of the paths to avoid the majority of foot traffic. The walls of the surrounding tents felt like they were closing in on him, and the hustle and bustle of the crowd did nothing to ease that tension. But he forced himself to concentrate, to focus, to push down the claustrophobia that thrashed and screamed inside like a bound animal. He needed to do this.

The man at the Raised Sun had said that the Loresinger pavilion was very near the center of Endrykas, that much Shahar knew for certain. Beyond that, however, had remained a mystery until he’d had the good sense to ask for more specific directions. And if the young woman’s advice was correct, he needed to turn left here, right here, go around this tent…

… was that it? He paused, allowing himself to take a breath. It wasn’t directly facing the main path, and the area near it was much more open with a lack of moving bodies. Shahar mentally toiled over the directions in his head.

Slowly, cautiously, the hunter approached the golden pavilion, praying that it was the correct one.

Hello?
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Weaving Souls (Praetorian)

Postby Praetorian on October 18th, 2013, 5:02 am

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While his sons and daughters attended to their duties as members of the Watch, Wilrok Loresinger, a man well past his prime, sat in silence. His physique was taut beneath the wrinkles, arms braided by thick cords of muscles seemingly untouched by time. He was sitting upon a simple enough pillow, but the patriarch somehow made that cushion appear to be the grandest throne ever known. With a straight back and slightly raised chin, he was a man that would command respect even in so deep a trance.

His deep brown eyes were open but unseeing as he stared out across Endrykas and even further in to the grasslands. His idly moving hands sang without Pavi and betrayed no emotion. Instead, they appeared to be repairing... something. Abruptly, the elder man's wizen face pinched with distaste. Some lazy or incompetent Webber - a quick spreading of the different lines of Djed flowing through that singular instance told him that the last repair had been made by a young fellow of the Emerald Clan when the tent city had passed it, but that was some years ago - had muddled the lines so that now Lorick was having trouble telling an Ass from a young maiden and her daughters, washing clothes in a small stream. With a final tug, he severed the tangled strings of Djed and ethereal light. Disturbed, the Web sang and groaned, vibrating and dancing as it fell into place.

But then, it did not stop.

There was a gentle vibration, like the curious growl of a dog as a stranger approached and the beast was unsure as to whether the two-leg bore a gift or a biting blade. Someone had entered his pavilion, he realized belatedly, sprinting across the lines of the Web until he returned to the ones that marked his place of living. He realized, with a start, the the one who entered had either never been Webbed or had been Webbed so long ago that the Djed had since dissolved and broken away. Makes sense he would come see me... But surely one of the Sapphire would be more suited... Ah... Old man, you are slipping.

Realizing that he had been pondering the stranger from within the Web itself, Wilrok separated himself from the lines of Djed and attempted to cram himself back into a mortal vessel. Perhaps it was age, but he found it harder to leave the Web as of late. Glassy eyes melted as he blinked, turning in place to be able to see who had come to visit.

The Pavi greeting was hesitant and unsure, but met with curiosity and question, "Welcome!" Wilrok said and signed, smiling so that his face appeared to be a piece of wrinkled cloth. Hands made knobby by time and adorned with deep green veins moved fluidly, asking who this stranger was and what his purpose was here.
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Weaving Souls (Praetorian)

Postby Colt on October 18th, 2013, 5:18 pm

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Shahar’s steps were slow and careful as he circled the tent, as if it was instead a nest of glassbeaks that would spring to life and devour him at the slightest disturbance. There was a break in the cloth ahead, suggesting an entrance of some sort, and Shahar was cautious as he came alongside the open flap and peeked within.

An older man was sitting on a cushions, posture proud and commanding even as his eyes were closed. Shahar panicked; was he asleep? What was he supposed to do? Should he wait? Should he wake him up? Should he come back later?

He remained rooted to the spot, staring at the dormant man in dismay. Then, suddenly, the man twitched. He blinked, unfocused gaze sharpening with some struggle that Shahar could not comprehend. Something went through him, and then he was looking around, gaze settling on Shahar.

He smiled with his greeting, and the hunter eased somewhat. Still, the man had question and curiosity on his hands, and so Shahar dipped his head in greeting.

Greetings, he said with deep respect. I am “Shahar Dawnwhisper.” He trailed off in both word and sign, but continued after a moment’s hesitation. You are “Wilrok Loresinger?”
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Weaving Souls (Praetorian)

Postby Praetorian on October 19th, 2013, 7:58 am

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The older man nodded, making an expansive motion that confirmed his own identity and rewelcomed Shahar as a guest of his pavilion. Sit, he commanded simply, yet another mannerism of an Ankal. When the Ankal spoke or decided upon something, others followed him without hesitation. He made a motion telling Shahar to wait for a moment, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. With the ease of a man in great physical standing but touched by the years, Lorick rose, crossed his pavilion, and retrieved a large cushion. After placing it before his own, he motioned for Shahar to take a seat once again.

If did not sit, the old Webber would be offended to a degree, temper flaring to the point that the younger Drykas would have to speak well in order to keep himself from being ejected from the pavilion. If he had the foresight to sit despite his far from normal lifestyle, Loresinger would ask, in a single simple gesture, what the wanderer needed, and how an old man could be of assistance.
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Weaving Souls (Praetorian)

Postby Colt on October 25th, 2013, 2:44 am

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The man gave the Pavi equivalent of confirmation, and Shahar felt a small weight lift from his shoulders. I greet you, Ankhal.

The Loresinger curtly bid him to sit, and Shahar blinked at him blankly. He was still lingering just outside of the pavilion entrance, and Wilrok had neither gestured for him to come in nor suggested that he sit outside. Sit where?

Before he could give motion to his question, the Loresinger Ankhal had risen from his position and was in the process of journeying deeper into the pavilion, leaving Shahar to stand awkwardly at the threshold. In due time, the aging Drykas had returned with a cushion, and once he had returned to his seat Wilrok placed the cushion before him and made the same gesture. Sit. And this one, at least, was clear.

Shahar dipped his head respectfully and slowly stepped into the pavilion. He was a tall man, at least in comparison to most, but he seemed to shrink once inside. His posture became hunched, not out of laziness, but out of tension, as if he feared that the walls of the tent might close in and swallow him whole. He spared a nervous glance around him, but after a breath he steeled himself and approached the Loresinger. He mirrored Wilrok’s position on the cushion, and took a moment to place a very respectful thank you upon his features.

I need––I desire––I request… he paused to find the right word. “Instruction.” He made an expansive gesture, one that encompassed everything around them but was wide enough to indicate something more, something beyond the walls of the tent. I desire to learn “the land, home.” To tie, weave, to make together. “To Web.”
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Weaving Souls (Praetorian)

Postby Praetorian on November 21st, 2013, 10:59 pm

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"Weaving in the Web is not something to learn lightly..." the old man warned, firm hands betraying his age, all of the time across all of those years he spent immersed in the Web. "But, if you are adamant," a fist in his palm signaled that he would tolerate no flippancy with this art, "then I will teach you..."

If Shahar was sure, Wilrok would not to himself and tell the younger fellow to relax, to empty his mind of all that this realm had so that it would be easier for him to be drawn into the Web.

After a few ticks, when he felt Shahar was fully prepared, Wilrok would begin to pull at the young man's Djed, urging and guiding him gently into the line of the Web he himself had been using earlier. He spun and wove until finally, he felt the man's consciousness enter the Web as well. To Shahar, the Web would manifest as something unique to him, it could be light, sound, or even some sort of sensation. In any case, it would be overwhelming to him at first.

The old Webber would give him several chimes to adjust before speaking in a voice that was everywhere and nowhere. "You must journey deeper on your own... I will guide you if you start to get lost..."
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Weaving Souls (Praetorian)

Postby Colt on November 24th, 2013, 6:55 pm

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The Loresinger watched him, contemplation tight in his gaze, and warned of the gravity of Shahar’s request.

I know, said Shahar, still with a great deal of respect. But, important.

But Wilrok would teach him, it seemed, if this was what his heart was truly set on. The Ankhal, then bid Shahar to relax. The younger man felt a bit of surprise; just like that? Was there nothing that had to be done in preparation? Though it was not what he had expected, he quickly pushed those thoughts aside and did at the Loresinger asked. He took a deep breath, and on the exhale his shoulders dropped and his abdomen eased. He slumped for a moment before remembering that he was in the presence of an Ankhal and straightened, doing his best to remain sitting up completely without tensing any of his muscles.

When he nodded his readiness, Wilrok began. It was a very strange feeling; the Ankhal was moving his hands, as if touching something invisible, and Shahar felt it. As if his arm or foot was being pulled away, except it was neither of those because both of his arms and feet lay still. Something was stretching, and though it wasn’t painful it was a feeling that was alien to the hunter, as if Wilrok was pulling on the very fibers that made him him. And then in heightened, growing in strength and intensity, and more of the stuff that was Shahar was drawn out in every second. He blinked, but something else was filling his awareness, a sensation unlike any he’d felt before. It superimposed over his vision, even as he tried to blink it away, and it grew stronger and stronger until he even hesitated, trying to slow the change, but Wilrok’s magic was steady, sure and immutable. With a quiet exhale, Shahar was pulled into the Web.

At first, he didn’t know what happened. His sight was completely gone, not like his eyes were closed but like he didn’t have eyes at all. Everything shook and shivered, and he with it, and noise assaulted him from everywhere. He didn’t know where, or even what he was, and so he did the only thing he knew to do: he froze. He hunkered down, or at least this… place’s equivalent of hunkering down, and let the noise and the vibrations of Endrykas wash over him.

Calm. Focus. Nothing’s happening. Calm. Focus. Nothing’s happening. He repeated the mantra to himself, over and over, as the din of all the people and horses and sheer volume of events that made up this city, this spot, began to fade and blur into each other, as the tracks of the animals fade into the vastness of the Sea of Grass. If he focused on the whole, the pieces became easier to ignore.

Shahar eased, then slowly opened his… er, awareness and carefully assessed his surroundings.

He was attached to something, something strong and stable. It was shaped like a thread, but the cords that made it were almost completely without fraying. Shahar was clinging to this thread, and realized with shock that he was no longer shaped correctly. There was no physical medium through which he was attached to this thread, only a feeling. There weren’t any words in Shahar’s vocabulary to describe it, but the closest he could come to justifying what he now existed as was “spider.” The Web, for what else could it be but the Web, shivered a his touch, with his own and but also by the hands of many others. The Web was being plucked and moved by the passing of many people and creatures, each with their own unique sounds that radiated from the Web in all directions, like ripples on a lake. He felt them coming towards him from all sides, but there was only one source nearby. Curiously, Shahar went towards the source, which was deep and powerful in timbre so that it almost shook him. He examined it, and then it spoke, causing the hunter to retreat in alarm before realizing, to his shock, that the thing was Wilrok. Shahar lingered, then approached again, circling, examining the thing that was now Wilrok. Was that was he looked like, then? No longer a person, but something that trembled with the force of his own soul to such a degree that he trembled the Web to which he was now tied.

Then the other vibrations, those too were ripples that came from things, from sources. At this revelation, Shahar turned from Wilrok and began to traverse the small pond of the tent they were in. Over there was a pot, which made a tiny, almost insignificant ripple, and then there were the grains inside it that made a bit of a stronger one. But their ripple had been other places, and they made a brilliant, miniscule strand of thread that twisted into the whole and then went somewhere else, where the pot of grains had been before it had been right there. Shahar leaned close to the strand, following it in amazement to the center of the pavilion where it was joined by a much stronger thread, a thread that could only be a person. The hunter followed that one now, in a circle around the tent, then to the entrance. He looked outside, and then there were more threads, so many threads of so many different people. He looked back and forth between all he could see, felt all the vibrations high and low of so many different people and creatures that had passed this way.

There, that thread was the strongest of them all. He darted over to it, examining it, circling and giving it something like a poke. Who had made this one? Ooh, it had gone into the Loresinger pavilion; was it Wilrok’s? No, the sound was higher than Wilrok’s, who was low-tuned and strong. This one was a bit higher, a bit faster, with an altogether different feel. It felt good to the touch, aligning with Shahar perfectly, and the Dawnwhisper realized with a laugh that it was his own thread.

“It’s mine,” he said in wonder, finding that Web-speak was somehow easier than voice-speak. “I came into your pavilion here, and this is me doing it. I remember it. But, what are these other threads? They are other people, aren’t they? Why didn’t I see anyone else when I came here? Why is mine stronger?" There were so many questions inside him of why, how, where, is this it, and he almost tripped over his own words to get even a few out. If there was a way of signing within the Web, his posture would have been one of wonder, amazement, vast curiosity and torn in all directions.
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Weaving Souls (Praetorian)

Postby Praetorian on December 2nd, 2013, 6:31 am

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OOCThat was incredibly beautiful and, as horrible as this sounds, you actually taught me a little. Gosh darn it stop being awesome!

And it is Ankal, not Ankhal. :P


"You cannot see until you've been shown. When you were younger, you did not see the tracks of animals in the dirt until someone showed them to you, until someone taught you how to read them. The Web is the same. Now that I have shown you, you will be able to see if you focus hard enough." The elder's voice rumbled and thundered through the Web, demonstrating his strength and control over his abilities. "And yours is the strongest because it is yours..." He hesitated, searching for the best way to describe it. "Through the rest of the Web you see connections, strands, figments. Only whispers of what is truly there created by their Djed as it is tied to the Web. With you, you see all that is there because you are all that is there."

If they had hands to hold, Wilrok would have taken Shahar's. Instead, he simply twined their traveling Djed together for a moment and, with gentle guiding, led them to the edge of Endrykas, where the Striders ran and danced with one another. In his old age, sitting and watching the Striders as they moved and interacted with the Web without even being conscious of it was one of the most beautiful sights he could be gifted with. "If you look, you can see how each Strider is bound to the Web and to one another as they form herds. But, if you look closely enough, you can almost see another thread, dancing in the breeze so forlornly." Of course, it was all images for the breezes had no hold on the ephemeral and ethereal world of the Web, but it was how Wilrok saw it. "That is the beginnings of the Bond they will make with a Drykas." Abruptly, one of the strings grew brighter than the others as a young colt drew power from the Web in order to outpace its companions.

He hoped that the sight of so many things working in unity would be as breathtaking to the young man as it was to him. "Now. There is still much for us to discuss. You will lead us back to my pavilion."
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Weaving Souls (Praetorian)

Postby Fantasy on January 23rd, 2014, 3:53 am

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XP Award!

Name: Shahar

XP Award:

  • Magic: Webbing +2
  • Observation +2

Lore:

  • Wilrok Loresinger: Ankal of the Loresinger Pavillion
  • Webbing: The threads that connect Endrykas
  • Webbing: The difference between people and objects
  • Webbing: Recognizing one’s self
  • Webbing: To be shown is to see

Notes: I granted you two points in webbing despite only having one post where you really explored it because it was just so in depth and detailed. I absolutely loved this thread and it’s a shame that it never finished. If you have any issues please PM me, and remember to edit your grading request please!

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