16th Bell- 82nd Day of Winter, 516AV - Just Outside Endrykas
It wasn't the place itself; it was what it was lacking. Namely, people. Of course, he couldn't shut out Endrykas entirely. It was too large and raucous a place, for one, and for another... well, it wasn't smart to put it too far out of his sight. The Sea of Grass was a roiling mess of dead vegetation, dying animals, and rabid predators. The more of the first, the more the second, the more desperate the last became.
So Konrad did not stray too far, nor keep his sword too far from him... though it was no longer strapped to him.
It felt odd. Unnatural. Made him nervous, like he had to reach out or peek out one eye to make sure it was still there, kukri and dagger and throwing knife arrayed next to it. Wasn't what he needed, of course, but he couldn't help it.
Choke it down. Bloody hurt trying to sit with all that on you.
And sitting he was. In breeches and bare feet, hardened soles ignoring the crackling dead grass under them. He'd padded along cobbles and bricks before as a boy, the prairie held no new terrors for his feet. Sleeveless vest that had become more common on him than the long, black duster that he'd become notorious for in Sunberth, and speaking of notoriety-
The hat stayed on his head. Some things were sacred, after all. And kept Syna from frying his skull like an egg.
See your outline. See your edges. Know them and feel them and see them...
Fortunately, he'd been doing this enough that his own mind didn't roar with amazed laughter at his stupid petching words. More importantly, he knew them to work. It had been difficult, equally unnatural, wrapping his sellsword mind around the words that Ed'yta had imparted to him, the aid she'd tried to give. It had been a long, frustrating bell, and all for a glimpse, a shimmer, the merest dusting of gold after a long day panning.
It was enough for Konrad. Dusting or head-sized nugget, it proved the same thing. He could do this. He could master this wyrd, too.
His breathing was steady, rote, in and out, until the monotony of it drowned out the braying life behind him, arrayed in stables and makeshift pastures and pavilions. The hiss of his breath filling his nose... then a long, full sigh as he emptied himself... over and over... each breath fueling his mind and the image he saw there, of himself.
The edges of him. Skin and scars he knew too well. Tattoos and muscle. All that was real and true in his world, not the djed and magic he'd become to familiar with. Konrad's brow quirked just a little, as if he'd been unpleasantly reminded of something... and that wasn't too far from the truth.
Don't bury yourself in that shyke. Focus.
His Reimancy was an aid, there. He knew there was a well, a whole river of magic under his skin, running through his veins and his bones, invisible and ethereal until he decided to pluck it out of himself. He'd seen it, and it was real.
In... out... in... out... seeing himself... separating himself... floating up from his body, barely feeling the grass, the wind, the hint of static on his tongue that spoke of coming storm, the breath in his lungs-
-the thing clutched in his hand. His example.
The Sunberth man sat with his back to Endrykas, and bit by bit, the world dissolved around him, and he opened his hand.
So Konrad did not stray too far, nor keep his sword too far from him... though it was no longer strapped to him.
It felt odd. Unnatural. Made him nervous, like he had to reach out or peek out one eye to make sure it was still there, kukri and dagger and throwing knife arrayed next to it. Wasn't what he needed, of course, but he couldn't help it.
Choke it down. Bloody hurt trying to sit with all that on you.
And sitting he was. In breeches and bare feet, hardened soles ignoring the crackling dead grass under them. He'd padded along cobbles and bricks before as a boy, the prairie held no new terrors for his feet. Sleeveless vest that had become more common on him than the long, black duster that he'd become notorious for in Sunberth, and speaking of notoriety-
The hat stayed on his head. Some things were sacred, after all. And kept Syna from frying his skull like an egg.
See your outline. See your edges. Know them and feel them and see them...
Fortunately, he'd been doing this enough that his own mind didn't roar with amazed laughter at his stupid petching words. More importantly, he knew them to work. It had been difficult, equally unnatural, wrapping his sellsword mind around the words that Ed'yta had imparted to him, the aid she'd tried to give. It had been a long, frustrating bell, and all for a glimpse, a shimmer, the merest dusting of gold after a long day panning.
It was enough for Konrad. Dusting or head-sized nugget, it proved the same thing. He could do this. He could master this wyrd, too.
His breathing was steady, rote, in and out, until the monotony of it drowned out the braying life behind him, arrayed in stables and makeshift pastures and pavilions. The hiss of his breath filling his nose... then a long, full sigh as he emptied himself... over and over... each breath fueling his mind and the image he saw there, of himself.
The edges of him. Skin and scars he knew too well. Tattoos and muscle. All that was real and true in his world, not the djed and magic he'd become to familiar with. Konrad's brow quirked just a little, as if he'd been unpleasantly reminded of something... and that wasn't too far from the truth.
Don't bury yourself in that shyke. Focus.
His Reimancy was an aid, there. He knew there was a well, a whole river of magic under his skin, running through his veins and his bones, invisible and ethereal until he decided to pluck it out of himself. He'd seen it, and it was real.
In... out... in... out... seeing himself... separating himself... floating up from his body, barely feeling the grass, the wind, the hint of static on his tongue that spoke of coming storm, the breath in his lungs-
-the thing clutched in his hand. His example.
The Sunberth man sat with his back to Endrykas, and bit by bit, the world dissolved around him, and he opened his hand.