1st Day of Winter, 519 A.V.
Quzon awoke not too long ago, meeting the dawn with great vigor. The beginning of winter meant the start of a week long festival began in Taloba in honor of Myri’s birthday. It was mainly a festival upheld in Taloba, but Quzon chose to keep up the tradition of celebrating the time no matter where he lived. It meant that he would spend the next few days celebrating with combat training and anything that led to self betterment in the name of achieving future victory in battle.
That was why Quzon spent a bit of his time gathering up all of the weapons he owned, displaying each of them on the table within his bedroom. “Okay,” he replied to himself quietly, followed by a long pause while he assessed each of the weapons. “One handaxe, chakram, aclis, hunting knife, dagger, longsword, and set of spiked gauntlets....”
When it came to combat, Quzon wielded reimancy as his primary means of offense. It was what he used to support his Fangmates when he was a member of the Taloban Army, and it was the magic his clan required him to learn to pass his Blooding. In a way, Quzon had no choice but to become a mage.
He was expected to either become blooded or wallow in the dredges of Myrian society, the latter being a humiliation paramount to death. His back was against the wall since he first needed to survive the brutal reimancy initiation during his adolescence to pass his clans Blooding which required the killing of an animal with the magic.
Those memories of the past caused Quzon to glance down at the long faded scars on the palms of his hands. The scars served as the evidence of his past triumphs. “The past is the past. It's time for new victories.” He used those words to motivate himself as he slid the gauntlets onto his hands, taking up the long sword by the handle to eye over the bladed edge.
The longsword was the newest weapon Quzon's arsenal. He'd bought the weapon from the Mercantile the previous day in preparation to train with it throughout the time of the festival.
That was why Quzon spent a bit of his time gathering up all of the weapons he owned, displaying each of them on the table within his bedroom. “Okay,” he replied to himself quietly, followed by a long pause while he assessed each of the weapons. “One handaxe, chakram, aclis, hunting knife, dagger, longsword, and set of spiked gauntlets....”
When it came to combat, Quzon wielded reimancy as his primary means of offense. It was what he used to support his Fangmates when he was a member of the Taloban Army, and it was the magic his clan required him to learn to pass his Blooding. In a way, Quzon had no choice but to become a mage.
He was expected to either become blooded or wallow in the dredges of Myrian society, the latter being a humiliation paramount to death. His back was against the wall since he first needed to survive the brutal reimancy initiation during his adolescence to pass his clans Blooding which required the killing of an animal with the magic.
Those memories of the past caused Quzon to glance down at the long faded scars on the palms of his hands. The scars served as the evidence of his past triumphs. “The past is the past. It's time for new victories.” He used those words to motivate himself as he slid the gauntlets onto his hands, taking up the long sword by the handle to eye over the bladed edge.
The longsword was the newest weapon Quzon's arsenal. He'd bought the weapon from the Mercantile the previous day in preparation to train with it throughout the time of the festival.
