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rukhgate2013-01-15 11:21 am
800isenough) wrote in rukhgate2013-01-15 11:21 am
Entry tags:
001
[Rukhs. Dungeon Gates. Magicians.
Magic.
He could barely wrap his head around these terms, to acknowledge their existence as real and fact. Not just some slight of hand or a cheap charlatan's trick. No, there were flying carpets, magic spells that could lift a man of his feet and send him flying in one direction if he resisted, a strange crystal that pushed back when he carefully placed his hands on the smooth surface, and the alien architecture and foreign words that he had to accept as his reality now.
They called him an Indigo Mage, a Strength Mage. He glanced down at his hand; a warrior's hand, covered in calluses and skin hardened and toughened through war and training. Flexing his fingers, he frowned, closing them to form a fist and straining to find his Qi; the energy that brought forth strength from within. But where there was once something, now there was nothing. It was like reaching for a tool, no, it was like trying to move an arm or a leg, only to find...nothing. It was as if his access to his Qi was blocked.
He leaned his head back on the wall he was resting on outside his assigned room 107, closing his eyes in an attempt to block out the sounds and sights around him. He might appear relaxed, but his other hand gripped his twin axes tightly, an indication of the distress and inner turmoil he was feeling. He was still trying to come to terms with all that had happened back home, still searching for answers to the questions that burned within him, a quiet, intense flame that consumed his every being, and now that he was here, in Magnoshuttatt, his problems only multiplied. Quietly, he muttered to himself.]
Can the way of the warrior lead me home, when I'm no longer the warrior I once was?
[Maybe you overheard him? Without his Qi, his senses had been dulled and it was more difficult to notice people, especially with his eyes closed like that. Or perhaps you're wondering why he's just standing outside his room like that, still wearing the Chinese armour he arrived in. At any rate, he looked like he needed someone to talk to.]
Magic.
He could barely wrap his head around these terms, to acknowledge their existence as real and fact. Not just some slight of hand or a cheap charlatan's trick. No, there were flying carpets, magic spells that could lift a man of his feet and send him flying in one direction if he resisted, a strange crystal that pushed back when he carefully placed his hands on the smooth surface, and the alien architecture and foreign words that he had to accept as his reality now.
They called him an Indigo Mage, a Strength Mage. He glanced down at his hand; a warrior's hand, covered in calluses and skin hardened and toughened through war and training. Flexing his fingers, he frowned, closing them to form a fist and straining to find his Qi; the energy that brought forth strength from within. But where there was once something, now there was nothing. It was like reaching for a tool, no, it was like trying to move an arm or a leg, only to find...nothing. It was as if his access to his Qi was blocked.
He leaned his head back on the wall he was resting on outside his assigned room 107, closing his eyes in an attempt to block out the sounds and sights around him. He might appear relaxed, but his other hand gripped his twin axes tightly, an indication of the distress and inner turmoil he was feeling. He was still trying to come to terms with all that had happened back home, still searching for answers to the questions that burned within him, a quiet, intense flame that consumed his every being, and now that he was here, in Magnoshuttatt, his problems only multiplied. Quietly, he muttered to himself.]
Can the way of the warrior lead me home, when I'm no longer the warrior I once was?
[Maybe you overheard him? Without his Qi, his senses had been dulled and it was more difficult to notice people, especially with his eyes closed like that. Or perhaps you're wondering why he's just standing outside his room like that, still wearing the Chinese armour he arrived in. At any rate, he looked like he needed someone to talk to.]
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The second one worries me, because it means we're being raised to magically deal with a problem they can't on their own, and I don't like to consider what the problem could be.
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[He falls silent; but inside a flame has been struck. His pride may have taken a giant blow in recent times, but he'll be damned if he lets himself be used in such a way. His grip tightens on the handles of his axes; he'll fight for the right reasons this time.]
no subject