13th Bell - 31st Day of Spring, 517AV - Pridesun Pavilion
It wasn't just that he had the power, it was deciding how to use it. He'd always thought power to be a thing unseen, a motivator of men in their minds, or their purses. Money, reputation, money, fear, money... well, that was the Sunberth way, at least. He with the largest purse had the most power, and the scarred man had always assumed that was how the world worked.
Mages were unusual, though. Most hid themselves in his city, denied the truth of their abilities, wore rags and passed under all notice and acclaim, but when cornered... then the power would emerge. Power beyond gold or steel or rousing or chilling words spoken by men of influence.
Konrad had that now, and had been supping so deep and long it was no longer just tasting. But the more he practiced and saw his power swell, the abilities of his djed expand, the larger the question loomed.
Yeah? So, what now?
That afternoon, with his traps emptied and his chores finished, Konrad had the same answer: keep practicing. A man could have natural talent with a blade, but only through practice, drill, and experience would he become great with it. Konrad had seen this apply to everything, even the enigmas of djed and magic.
So he was in the grass beyond the solemn, sullen Pridesun Pavilion, paying no heed to those morose once-fanatics, concentrating only on the breath in his lungs and the nameless swell underneath them. Underneath all of him, really. He didn't even need to close his eyes to feel it anymore. But breathing helped. A single deep breath, sending wind rushing down to what felt like his toes-
Out.
-and as he exhaled, he willed the res in his bones and blood and soul to come trickling up through his arm... into his hand... and drip upward as if the rules of nature were being mocked. But it was no aimless dribble: soon it was a trickle, a flow, a ball of black-flecked greenish liquid coalescing into a rude ball, like a swampy planet seen from afar.
Konrad waited until it was fat as a playing ball from back home, and then he closed his eyes. Some things needed... assistance, he supposed would be the word. Torvin, that clever and very dead mage who['d initiated him, had taught him the basics of this craft, but had died before he could teach much else.
Shame, that, Konrad thought, not for the first time. Should have kept him alive for longer. But, hells, he was leaving and still had my coin. What else was I supposed to do?
Much of it was what he worked out for himself. Sometimes painfully, often rife with mistakes, and yet... he was progressing. Two elements were now for him to play with. The flame and fire of his beginnings in this djed, and now-
Splash.
-Konrad chuckled as the mental command whispered through his skull and the ball became opaque... or at least the surface of it did. Like a world covered in ocean, but below it were forests and chasms, shimmering under the first layers of djed he'd willed into water.
Water that began to drip and drop onto the ground like from a hole in a bucket. Konrad frowned but didn't speak. Such was the way of this wyrd. His power over his res was one thing, but once he commanded it into an element, that control was... lesser. Far lesser. And so he watched the water drip, one hand raised to the side, tethering the spinning, dribbling, lightly sloshing ball of water and res... and the other moved under it.
He expected heat. Like it was molten or at least boiling, but... no. Just water. Simple wetness splashing over his hand, pooling in his palm and then falling off the edge to join the rest spattering on the ground. Konrad licked his lips. He was thirsty. The heat of Winter - may you ever piss with pain, Morwen, you useless bitch - had given way to the heat of Spring, with less stifling moisture in the air, but still... no respite.
Only the rivers around the western part of the Sea of Grass ensured there was still green and lush foliage to gaze upon, and sustain the animals therein. The south... no, there was nothing. Konrad had seen that all Winter, and wouldn't want to again. Deserts had more life, for the creatures there were used to it, could adapt to it. The fauna of the Sea of Grass had no such skill, and had died as sure as the grasses. They just took longer to do it.
Konrad pushed the thoughts aside and cupped his hand, filled it with water. It was water after all... wasn't it? He raised his hand and peered into it, seeing his twisted reflection in the tiny mirrored pool. He raised it up more, and he supped...
"... huh."
It certainly satisfied as much as the contents of a waterskin. Konrad smiled and set his wet hand on the other side of the ball, then raised them both, and the ball with it, still dribbling as his mind slowly fed the water with res. It was barely half the size he'd started with, and now it was arcing up like a watery Syna, until it was over his head.
Konrad Venger, man-killer and mercenary, cutthroat and torturer, laughed like a child as a rain fell on his face. One of his own creation. He laughed and one final command bid the rest of the res-
Splash!
-to transmute, making the whole ball a perfect sphere of water, holding its form for just a moment, until-
Splash
-it fell on his face like someone had dumped a bucket on it. He sputtered and coughed and licked his lips, tongue dipping into wet scar tissue and crevices of mutilation, eagerly seeking out wet relief. He wiped his face and yes, it was water. On his face, in his mouth, in his stomach... and he was fulfilled. His thirst was quenched.
"Now that's bloody useful," he murmured to himself, and then reached for his 'skin. Something more than water sloshed in there, and progressing though he was, Konrad hadn't quite worked out how to make that yet.
Mages were unusual, though. Most hid themselves in his city, denied the truth of their abilities, wore rags and passed under all notice and acclaim, but when cornered... then the power would emerge. Power beyond gold or steel or rousing or chilling words spoken by men of influence.
Konrad had that now, and had been supping so deep and long it was no longer just tasting. But the more he practiced and saw his power swell, the abilities of his djed expand, the larger the question loomed.
Yeah? So, what now?
That afternoon, with his traps emptied and his chores finished, Konrad had the same answer: keep practicing. A man could have natural talent with a blade, but only through practice, drill, and experience would he become great with it. Konrad had seen this apply to everything, even the enigmas of djed and magic.
So he was in the grass beyond the solemn, sullen Pridesun Pavilion, paying no heed to those morose once-fanatics, concentrating only on the breath in his lungs and the nameless swell underneath them. Underneath all of him, really. He didn't even need to close his eyes to feel it anymore. But breathing helped. A single deep breath, sending wind rushing down to what felt like his toes-
Out.
-and as he exhaled, he willed the res in his bones and blood and soul to come trickling up through his arm... into his hand... and drip upward as if the rules of nature were being mocked. But it was no aimless dribble: soon it was a trickle, a flow, a ball of black-flecked greenish liquid coalescing into a rude ball, like a swampy planet seen from afar.
Konrad waited until it was fat as a playing ball from back home, and then he closed his eyes. Some things needed... assistance, he supposed would be the word. Torvin, that clever and very dead mage who['d initiated him, had taught him the basics of this craft, but had died before he could teach much else.
Shame, that, Konrad thought, not for the first time. Should have kept him alive for longer. But, hells, he was leaving and still had my coin. What else was I supposed to do?
Much of it was what he worked out for himself. Sometimes painfully, often rife with mistakes, and yet... he was progressing. Two elements were now for him to play with. The flame and fire of his beginnings in this djed, and now-
Splash.
-Konrad chuckled as the mental command whispered through his skull and the ball became opaque... or at least the surface of it did. Like a world covered in ocean, but below it were forests and chasms, shimmering under the first layers of djed he'd willed into water.
Water that began to drip and drop onto the ground like from a hole in a bucket. Konrad frowned but didn't speak. Such was the way of this wyrd. His power over his res was one thing, but once he commanded it into an element, that control was... lesser. Far lesser. And so he watched the water drip, one hand raised to the side, tethering the spinning, dribbling, lightly sloshing ball of water and res... and the other moved under it.
He expected heat. Like it was molten or at least boiling, but... no. Just water. Simple wetness splashing over his hand, pooling in his palm and then falling off the edge to join the rest spattering on the ground. Konrad licked his lips. He was thirsty. The heat of Winter - may you ever piss with pain, Morwen, you useless bitch - had given way to the heat of Spring, with less stifling moisture in the air, but still... no respite.
Only the rivers around the western part of the Sea of Grass ensured there was still green and lush foliage to gaze upon, and sustain the animals therein. The south... no, there was nothing. Konrad had seen that all Winter, and wouldn't want to again. Deserts had more life, for the creatures there were used to it, could adapt to it. The fauna of the Sea of Grass had no such skill, and had died as sure as the grasses. They just took longer to do it.
Konrad pushed the thoughts aside and cupped his hand, filled it with water. It was water after all... wasn't it? He raised his hand and peered into it, seeing his twisted reflection in the tiny mirrored pool. He raised it up more, and he supped...
"... huh."
It certainly satisfied as much as the contents of a waterskin. Konrad smiled and set his wet hand on the other side of the ball, then raised them both, and the ball with it, still dribbling as his mind slowly fed the water with res. It was barely half the size he'd started with, and now it was arcing up like a watery Syna, until it was over his head.
Konrad Venger, man-killer and mercenary, cutthroat and torturer, laughed like a child as a rain fell on his face. One of his own creation. He laughed and one final command bid the rest of the res-
Splash!
-to transmute, making the whole ball a perfect sphere of water, holding its form for just a moment, until-
Splash
-it fell on his face like someone had dumped a bucket on it. He sputtered and coughed and licked his lips, tongue dipping into wet scar tissue and crevices of mutilation, eagerly seeking out wet relief. He wiped his face and yes, it was water. On his face, in his mouth, in his stomach... and he was fulfilled. His thirst was quenched.
"Now that's bloody useful," he murmured to himself, and then reached for his 'skin. Something more than water sloshed in there, and progressing though he was, Konrad hadn't quite worked out how to make that yet.
