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Post by Admin on May 28, 2015 3:32:11 GMT
She looked to the ceiling and lay in silence from several moments before speaking. Without looking at him she shook her head slightly as she spoke. "We aren't kindred. I'm vampyre, but you.... you are something else." She sat up and shifted to face him, though didn't move any closer. Crossing her legs, she leaned down and set her elbows on her knees. She stared at him long and hard before finishing her thought. "I know you aren't a Werekin. What are you? And what do you want of me? You say I am your only lead... lead to what, exactly?"
Her eyes, though soft, somehow, still had an edge to them that showed a speck of her soul. And that sight would not be a pretty or pampered one.
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Post by Jashin on May 28, 2015 13:40:32 GMT
A rumbling chuckle purred up his throat before he could stop himself. He had thought his grasp of the trade language to be better than it obviously was if the chiera thought Jashin was implying they were the same race. Curious that she would choose to use the vulgar term over the formal, or even the proper. Most times those of the so-called Empire chose to refer to themselves as the Blood, whether they were highblood of the Houses or lowblood wilders. While Jashin had no concept of how long a time he had spent in Carmine's sadistic care, he knew that it had been over two decades. In that time, he had learned a great deal about how the Empire worked and what was accepted in chieran society. It was true that they were simply called vampires by the rest of the known world, but that made chierans more prone to pomp and polish in regards to themselves and not less. Did she truly hate what she was that much to distance herself from it by defaming her heritage? Or had she been raised outside of the Empire as a lowblood? The ruins in which she took shelter seemed to suggest the latter. Waving away the thoughts with a paw, he tucked his legs beneath him in an even tighter crouch and studied her hard before speaking.
"My words are not always what they should be, so forgive." Jashin ignored her blink. "An important man and his guard were taken from this region, no scent or mark of their passing to be found. He was not the first. There were others, all simply gone. It has been made more curious by your presence, the presence of a chiera. Perhaps the two things are one, perhaps they are separate. It is not for me to say. I would know what you know of these people, this region. I would also know of the Empire in this place, if you are aware of such."
He drew himself up a bit then, shifting his paws on the floor beneath his knees. There was a cold edge to his voice, but there was also a great measure of pride in his words now. "You speak truth; I am not Were. It I understand well, perhaps not even you would know what I am or where I hail. I am not of the Lesser Races at all. I am divarian."
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Post by Admin on May 28, 2015 21:28:41 GMT
Disappearances...
That's what this was about. More disappearances. Folks had been vanishing in this area, and many others, for as long as she could remember. And from the stories she had heard, even long before that.
"I give you my word, as a Moroveston, that I had nothing to do with your missing man or his escort." Her body tightened and rippled in near mirror tauntness to his own. Her eyes locked hard and full with him to let him see she hid nothing from him in her statement.
Hair the color of the falling night outside, framed her nearly perfect porcelain face like a moon and heavens given life. Like the orb above the earth, she had a look that was both cold and distant while still making you want to reach out to touch her. Lithe legs flowed beneath her like water and suddenly she was crouching on the balls of her feet, one hand poised on the floor between her feet for balance. The other hand was resting, seemingly absently, on her knee. Her body sang with power and she watched Jas as she rose to stand at her full height. "I don't understand the word divarian, but I can tell you that the Were and Kin are not Lesser Races either." She wasn't posturing, or even giving him a look that could be construed as condescending, but it also wasn't to be mistaken as a look of weakness or surrender, either.
She tilted her head and gazed at him as if partly trying to see if he was telling the truth, and partly listening to something beyond his range of hearing. As if satisfied, she took a step towards him and waved at the markings on the floor before him. A small smile touched the edges of her lip as she spoke. "If you will kindly remove your markings from my floor, I think we still have time tonight to see if we can find some tail of where your man and his companion went." She wouldn't step closer, as if unsure how the markings would affect her, and her eyes kept nervously flitting towards the shards of wood within those marks. "And please... I would appreciate not having firewood anywhere but in the fireplace."
Suddenly she spun on her heels and headed deeper into the house. "I'll be right back," was all she muttered in her passing.
Heading upstairs she quickly cleaned off the majority of the blood covering her face and torso. The shredded top was a loss, but at least her pants could possibly be repaired... if she came back. Sliding into a clean blouse and breeches, she put her boots back on, twisted her hair quickly into a sloopy top knot, not wanting to take the time to brush and rebraid it, and headed back downstairs ten minutes later.
Stepping back into the livingroom, her eyes searched out the man and she found herself studying him as if with new eyes. This man could easily have killed her. Why didn't he? Was he really only seeking her help or did he want her someplace else when he finally did slay her. She cleared her throat and started towards him and the back doors. It took every ounce of control not to glance around herself. Would this be the last time she ever saw this place? Would the Moroveston line end here, tonight? She sighed, not realizing it would sound oddly like resignation to the man before her. It didn't matter. In the end, something told her death was her only other option besides helping him.
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Post by Jashin on Jun 2, 2015 20:43:35 GMT
Jashin watched her carefully as she denied having anything to do with the Aisani emissary. Her gaze was steady, though her body vibrated with energy for a brief moment. The chiera stank too much of fresh blood for him to be able to scent any deception, though it was not unlikely that he would not have been able to regardless. The undead did not scent of anything but nothingness, for they did not sweat or change their breathing unless they willed it. The name Moroveston pricked the back of his mind like a distant memory, but it was nothing he could clearly recall. Something about Carmine's elder and sire, Aldemeir Selimnar, using it like a curse. From what little he had been taught of the Empire, House Moroveston was a small and insignificant part of the Imperial Courts. A weak and distant branch of the Blood, though it had survived several attempts throughout history at being removed. The lament that Jashin could remember was that Aldemeir loathed being "forbidden from finishing what had been started," whatever that meant. This chiera--this woman--seemed an extension of that, though there was an air about her that spoke of hidden strength. She wasn't an outright threat, but his instincts warned him to be wary of her nonetheless. She was chiera and an unknown, and her word carried as much weight as the breath by which it was spoken.
She shifted herself into a crouch that nearly mirrored his own, the tattered remains of her garments enhancing rather than hiding her form. Jashin supposed she might have been pretty amongst her own species, though he was admittedly naive in such matters. His amber orbs swept over her in a blank study, neither leering nor ignoring her near-nakedness. She was a hair taller than the divarian in his current, and almost a head taller than most females of the People. The chieran's arms and calves were well-shaped, though her ample bosom and full hips suggested she was meant for breeding and not hunting. Divarian women were compact and trim, and definitely balanced differently than other races. Jashin did not understand the concept of modesty, no matter how many times his anjir attempted to drill it into him. Divarians had been made by the Goddess, and such a thing was to be taken pride in and not hidden with shame. Were the mortal races that much different? Oh, he knew the reasoning behind some garments, those meant to protect from environment or duty or battle. But these aspects Ero had called "fashion" and "decorum" were far beyond his ken. Still, he did as he was told and locked gazes with the chieran woman, without the weight of open challenge.
He was not wholly surprised when she claimed to not know what a divarian was. The People had not been seen walking the face of Enos in large numbers for millennia. There were, of course, the handful of Watchers that were tasked with traveling across the Periphery to remain abreast of mortal affairs. Had it not been for the disappearance of Saris and the Shard, had it not been for the human slavers that invaded, he would not be in the dilapidated manor which he found himself. Jashin managed to conceal his surprise and incredulity when she claimed that neither the Blood nor the Were were of the Lesser Races. Did the Empire still teach that chierans were gods among mortals? Was she that naive about her place in the Grand Skein? He opened his mouth to correct her, but her distant gaze and the cock to her head brought him up short. Jashin's own ears pricked up and strained for a clue as to whatever had gripped her attention so fully for an eternal instant before he realized that she was introspective, not alert.
"If you will kindly remove your markings from my floor," she murmured, making a vague gesture at his array. "I think we still have time tonight to see if we can find some trail of where your man and his companion went."
He could not help but blink at her then. Was she actually offering to help him, potentially against her own people? Or was it some manner of trap? Conclave had made sure he had grasped the histories of each nation that he could better understand their motives and methods. One lesson Master Calsivanus had repeated over and over was an old Ibanti proverb: my rival's rival is my instrument. If she truly was a Moroveston and a daughter of the Empire, it could very easily be that simple. He had seen how blithely Aldemeir Selimnar had maneuvered one opponent against another for his own gain. Aldemeir was not the only one who did such. She was chiera, had just as much potential as any other. Not only that, chiera and divarians were immortal enemies. Chierans were Droa's children as much as the People were Belzha's, and yet Droa was also the Great Goddess' daughter. Droa's betrayal had been a direct affront to the Goddess of Entropy and thus Belzha's two-fold responsibility. Divarians were not only an Elder Race but elder to the Blood, as responsible for the discipline and punishment as Arador was to Jashin himself. It was folly to believe that this woman would see it that way, would accept him as anything but an interloper. There was also that niggling morality that had crept into the back of his mind since being liberated from Carmine's clutches: she had done him no true wrong, done nothing to deserve his distrust beyond being born--taken--into a dishonorable bloodline. Where was the balance? Was there a balance?
"I would appreciate not having firewood anywhere but in the fireplace," she added after a moment of thought. The woman added something under her breath before retreating into another section of the manor. Jashin made to follow until he realized that her gait did not suggest a haste to flee, but a focused purpose.
After she had cleared the room and her faint footfalls had died away, he regarded the array. Scooping up a small chip of debris in a clawed paw, he flicked it absently in the direction of the circle. As it sailed over the far curve he could feel the magick react, the air nearby sucking inward before bursting in the direction of the stone chip. A snap of power quickly followed, turning the slivers of wood into deadly spears that raced after the offending detritus. Wood pelted stone in a rapid staccato before shattering on the far wall, leaving the stone chip to clatter to the floor in an awkward. Such an assault had not harmed the manor in the slightest, but it would have been more than a nuisance for a raging chiera. He chuckled when he realized that most of the lancets had impacted the heavy stone of the fireplace, thereby absently acquiescing to her whims. It had been a subconscious and yet petulant gesture on his part, but there it was. As for the rest, it could not be helped. Magick, once set into motion, could only be redirected or released.
Men will try to convince you that magick is a toy or a weapon, Ero's words echoed his thoughts, a thing that can be used as flippantly as a knife or a coin. To this I say, foolishness. Magick is a feral force, not unlike a thunderhead or volcano. With proper training and care a Hunter can harness these forces, but if ill-prepared he may also be destroyed by these forces. Magick is a gift from the Gods, to be respected and feared. Malivandri's Vice taught us much about what happens when magick, and life, is taken for granted.
Jashin stood and shook himself bodily, reveling in the feel of his old body made new again. It would take getting used to, that he was certain of. While his native form had responded perfectly in the heat of combat, it had been an unconscious reaction to an immediate need. Instinct. Now that the bloodlust had faded, he found his skins to be awkward. His center of balance was lower and his tail made walking interesting to say the least. Much care had to be taken to handle anything without snagging a claw on something, or himself. Thankfully the razor cuts healed quickly enough, and his muscles responded to his will eagerly. Comfort would come with time and with practice. The real issue, he realized, was that this had to be a temporary pleasure. The wider world would not accept him as he was now, no matter how much he wished it. The chierans woman was right in the fact that he appeared Were, beastmen that were no more loved by the other Lesser Races than the Blood. Whether he and the woman were able to recover the Aisani envoy or not, he could not return to civilization or Conclave until he could master his ability to shift.
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Post by Admin on Jun 2, 2015 20:44:28 GMT
As the magic burst free and the shards clattered into the fireplace and against the walls flanking it, a high pitched whine would resound briefly through his mind. The keen would be shrill and sharp enough to stop him mid-thought and rattle him, but not so harsh enough to take him to a knee.
Once the magic and its affects faded, the shrill would abate. The silence, for just a moment, would be almost as sudden and disconcerting. It would seem for a moment as if even mother nature and her night creatures had silenced as well. Then all would return to normal and even the crickets, birds and scurrying creatures in the walls would resume their actions and resulting noises.
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Post by Jashin on Jun 9, 2015 15:17:32 GMT
Jashin rolled his paw over again to gaze at the leathery palm as his mind continued to turn over the prospect of shape-shifting again and again. Divarians had been able to shape their form since the dawn of the War of Children, though it was not a taught skill unless you had been chosen to be a Watcher. He had never been meant to leave Divaria, and certainly not meant to travel Enos as he now was. Jashin had been born into the [Crusader] Caste, not the Guardian or Seeker Caste from which Watchers were selected and trained. The oldest divari had roamed free throughout the Realms, unfettered by boundary or form. Theirs was simply to carry out the Will of Belzha, given the greatest honor in gathering the dead and dying energies in the Tapestry that they might be spun anew by Kokura. Jashin's mother had woven great tales of the Goddess of Entropy just before his night's rest, stroking his fur gently with her voice so full of wonder and devotion. Her only sadness came with the recounting of the end of the Age of Dawnings, when the War of Children loomed on the horizon like an ill-omened star, when the People had gathered together before Belzha to receive the Divine Mandates.
"It was in that sacred place that our Goddess gathered the Ancient People and said to them, 'My perfect children'," his mother hushed in a reverent tone full of love and sorrow, "'the Tapestry has fallen into a great unbalance. The All-Father's Great Work is in danger. Droa's children gather to them a great power too quickly for Enos to bear, consume too much. Droa is My daughter, My responsibility, and I will attend Her as I must. Yet the All-Father has forbidden We Primals and Our Elementals from meddling in the affairs of another's creations, and so that will be the limit of My involvement. Yet balance must be restored to both the Tapestry and the Lesser Races. The chiera do not fully understand their place in the Grand Skein. They are now only concerned with their new-found strength and making effective use of it. You must cull them and teach them the sanctity of the other Races, show them that they must find Harmony. To this end, I will send you out into the Realms. Alas, to do this I must give you form that you might live as they do, see as they do, and better understand how best to guide them. The chiera act as the nandika do as they rut about, drunk on lust and heedless of the forest through which they crash while searching for a mate. They will not come to you as a child to a master, but they must be made to understand nonetheless. A great conflict is coming, My children, make no mistake. Be strong, be swift, and be sure of your path, for I have blessed it and called it righteous.'"
Both Jashin's mother and history had glossed over how the Ancient People had come to terms with their skins, only that they had. Father had recounted him with tales of Ganzin the First-Born's journey across the Realms to complete the Twenty-Seven Trials, that he might understand his body more fully in order to challenge Anzuel the Dragon. His father's tales had never given even the slightest clue as to what Ganzin learned about shifting, only the morals he learned from the various beasts he encountered. As a child it had been enough to know that the Trials had been conquered, that Ganzin the First-Born had grappled with Anzuel the Dragon on the Fields of Mandeiriel. It had only mattered to young Jashin that his hero had triumphed over the great beast and pried from it the secrets needed to end the War of Children and restore balance to the Realms. But now his adult self needed those lessons, the answers to those Trials for himself, that he could restore balance within himself. He needed to find his Harmony. Yet it seemed such an impossible task, to be returned to the man-skins he had known until recently. It made him want to both laugh and weep in confusion: under Carmine's curse, he had longed to have his divari-skins returned to him, and now that he had them he longed to have it undone.
He sighed as the last of his magick faded from the night air. Truly amazing, he thought, at how many thoughts can fit into the space of a heartbeat. Now if only--
A bitter keen crashed into the back of his head like a frigid wave, crashing about his skull and making him teeter forward in its wake. He whirled about and dropped into a low stance, eyes scanning for the source, but he found nothing. The ghostly shrill slithered beneath his scalp like an angry snake, but did not bite deeper as it had in the field. Was this the chieran woman's doing? In the time it had taken him to turn once more, it was gone as if it had never been. A preternatural silence hung thick in the air then, as if a great predator had prowled past and quieted all lesser fauna huddling in the brush. There was no malice in that void, just... nothingness. Jashin's mind was finally able to shake the tingling along his skull, a sort of lingering touch like the memory sting of a reprimand long since given, and the night sounds came to him once again. He growled inwardly at the irritation, the lack of understanding, then found himself thankful that his claws had not bitten into his palms again.
The divarian shuddered then, for he realized that his center of gravity had shifted skyward again. Slowly, oh so slowly, Jashin looked down to his clenched fist... and the fali'sara that quivered in his grip. The weapon nearly dropped from his stunned grip as a relieved breath left his body in a rush, but he managed to sheathe it at his hip after a time or two. The grahidal cuirass rasped annoyingly as he adjusted his ibliha into a more comfortable position about his neck. His gloved hand gingerly brushed the cruciformed scythe at his collar and the divarian felt a little more stable, the leather hushing across the coarse embroidery acting like a talisman to his sanity. It was a disconcerting feeling to not know what he wanted. He supposed it was natural to desire to be as you were meant, but Jashin had always been taught that there was no shame in finding a greater purpose. Still, the question remained as to whether his man-skins or divari-skins had anything to do with his purpose as a Hunter, or even if his life as a Hunter was his purpose. There was no real way to resolve the issue completely. There was only the path before him. There was only this path. Jashin folded his arms across his chest and shuddered as if a harsh winter had gripped his soul.
Great Goddess, he thought, when will I come to an understanding and find my Harmony again?
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Post by Admin on Jun 9, 2015 21:38:29 GMT
She hadn't even reached the top of the stairs and the tattered, blood and gore covered top was torn completely from her body. Tossing it into the bedroom fireplace as she entered her room, she soon shed the torn breeches as well. She untied her boots and tossed them at the foot of the bed and headed for the bathroom to wash off. Soon the water running down the sink wasn't any more different than the vitae that had slid down her throat just moments before. It wasn't long till the water soon ran crystal clear once more and the cloth she had been using was tossed to join the pile of blood soaked material stacking up in the fireplace. She would burn them later. There wasn't time now.
Stepping naked and clean once more towards the closet, she chose another tunic top, half realizing all of the ones she hunted in were of the same dark hue and style, and a pair of charcoal colored breeches. She drew the pants up and was dropping the hem of her shirt sown when a caress, like a hand, warmed her mind. Just as she smiled at the thought of how Devon used to do the same thing to soothe her just before he went into some fight or confrontation, she felt the fringes of the shrill sound that Jas'Shin had. It was like hearing an echo of something loud after it was gone.
Frowning, she grabbed her boots and padded down on stocking feet to see what had occurred. As she rounded the corner she saw Jas pretty much as she had left him, except he seemed to be having trouble sheathing his blade. Silvery blue eyes watched him like a hawk would watch a rabbit for the first time. Anticipating his next move and trying to roll over in her mind whether she was titillated or disappointed when he did something unexpected... like when he suddenly stopped and looked at his gloved hands as if he had never seen them before.
It was then that she also realized he was no longer in his beast form. She walked over to the couch and sat down to begin pulling her boots on. She didn't look up as she tugged at the black laces, but from the corner of her eyes she watched him. After seeing him in his other form, somehow this one seemed... awkward... for him. "Is something wrong?" He was looking at his hands as if he had never seen them before, and shifting his attire as if he hadn't been in them just hours before. It vaguely crossed her mind to wonder where his clothes had gone while they had been fighting. She was sure he had not left to go recover them from halfway across the woods. There hadn't been time.
When she stood up again she raised her arms to begin binding up her nearly waist length ebon hair that had toppled during their struggles and her changing. With one hand holding the dark coil up, she walked over to the fireplace and grabbed a small thin hair stick from a pile of three that was on the mantel and used it to bind the coif tight. She then opened a large box of ebony and pearl and extracted two daggers she slid into the sides of either boot.
She finally turned to face him and watched as he settled himself in his skin and frowned. "Can you not change at will? The Were and the Kin have always been able to. It hurts at first, but practice makes it easier." She had no idea of his past or his lineage. It just seemed odd to her that a great hunter for his people would be sent out with no knowledge of how his abilities worked. Devon hadn't even taken her hunting with him till she could shift to a wolf and back without screaming and giving herself away, or being weak and shaking and leaving herself vulnerable after the changes occurred.
Standing with her back to the fireplace, the blood and gore gone from her, she looked almost ethereal in the moonlight that came thru the double doors and odd window or two in the room. It was hard to believe that the Beast in her had made her look so ugly not so long ago.
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Post by Jashin on Mar 11, 2016 20:09:33 GMT
Jashin blinked at her curious question, her openness. So, the chiera had learned how to change their forms as well? He had seen them control beasts or possess them as extensions of their own minds, but never had he witnessed one become an animal. Certainly not anything resembling a Were or divarian, though the comparison made him brindle a bit. He wasn't about to let her know of the slight, whether it was born of purpose or ignorance. The laws of the People prevented him from speaking to any of the Lesser Races on the intricacies of divarian culture beyond what one might glean on one's own. Doing such a thing could reveal a potential weakness to those that might become an enemy to the People. His capture at the hands of the chiera had proven that point valid. Jashin still had no idea how such a heinous breech could have occurred. Shaking his head, he sighed. While not at liberty to speak on the nature of the divarian form, he felt no obligation to omit the cause of its lack.
"I cannot change at will, no," Jashin murmured, folding his arms across his chest. "That ability was stripped from me lifetimes ago when I first came to these shores. I first must push past those barriers before I can learn of the pain that you speak on."
He could almost hear the crackling of flames and the creaking of smoldering wood in the depth of his mind, and he shuddered. Even now, after all these years and training he had endured to forget, the night Jashin had been severed from Carmine bubbled to the surface to haunt him. She had wrought upon him so much pain, so much misery in his time as her slave. He had fallen asleep many a night hating her in the beginning, wishing that she would die and leave him. Jashin could not recall when he found himself loving her but the desire for her end endured always. Carmine had seen in him that tortured guilt as she toyed with his body and his mind, used it against hims more times than he cared to count or admit. When his wish for her death had manifest itself in Ero and the other Hunters, he had wept in hatred and self-loathing. Amidst the flames and the ruin he had wept for her--the demon that had taken his skins and broken him. He had mourned her even though she had tried to Take him, something he refused to forgive himself for now.
Jashin's lips pursed thoughtfully. "You are correct: it will take practice. I will be whole again."
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Post by Admin on Mar 15, 2016 18:48:35 GMT
She wasn't sure if what she read from him was correct or true, or even where it was being drawn from. But there was pain in him. From the shifting or some memory she was not privy to, she could not have said.
Stepping towards the now drained carcass, she lifted the stag's leg and started to haul it towards the door. It was then she noticed the wood chips everywhere and frowned. "I hope you are not planning on making every room in the manor into your little debris fields. It would be a nuisance." She half smiled. Whatever had caused it had left just enough residue to make her realize magic had been used. But the fact she hadn't heard Serenade warn her also left her curious to what had occurred. Had it been meant for her, surely she would have been warned.
She shrugged mentally and decided the house would let her know if this interloper meant her any true harm. As she headed towards the doors to the balcony with the dead animal in her grip, she glanced to Jas as he spoke of being whole once more. "I can help if you want. I mean... I can try." She frowned wondering where the offer to help came from. "With trying to find your emissary and with your shifting. I am sure the way we do it isn't all that different from your way. Perhaps if I teach you as De... as my Master taught me, it will help." She didn't want to tell him too much more. He already knew more than anyone besides Darius, and of course Marcus. But those two didn't count. The former being her adopted Sire, so to speak, and long gone. And the latter being a hunter and nemesis that the one before her would never meet.
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Post by Jashin on Mar 25, 2016 17:31:06 GMT
Jashin blinked at her jibe, not quite understanding the nuances of her tone. Something twinged inside him like a muscle moving after extended disuse, and he almost apologized. Carmine used to use a similar playful tone during his life as her slave, but it was honey drizzled over the edge of a knife. It was his first real lesson in dealing with the chiera: that they were duplicitous creatures. His former Mistress could be kind and gentle when she wanted to be--usually after one of her savage tantrums--but for the most part she was a serpent. Every chiera was like that, paying one another platitudes and pleasantries while slithering in the shadows for a fine position to strike. Why Droa had made them into such creatures, he did not understand. They were not unified, not one people like the Divari. Of course, he had heard enough tales of what the chiera were like gathered under one banner. That thought made him shudder as if winter had kissed his brow. Which of the two was worse, unified or divided?
Alexandra tugged on the carcass in a manner that almost made him want to laugh. She looked so human, so frail and vulnerable. They both knew that she could have simply slung the thing over her shoulder and marched it out of the dilapidated manor. As she gathered her thoughts, her strength seemed to come to her and she struggled less with her burden. To Alexandra it was no longer heavy, just awkward. Seeing her as she truly was settled his mind a bit and he padded silently after her, leaving just enough distance between them that she could not catch him completely unawares. He could not trust her, not yet and never entirely. Perhaps with enough time and experience, he could see her as a peer. A peer that could easily turn on him and try to kill him.
"The emissary is my priority, my duty," he murmured thoughtfully. "After that I will return to my Master. I doubt there will be time for any experimentation. Perhaps someone at Conclave will have the knowledge. My people were not meant to change. I do not know how... how she was able to strip me of my skins. How does one learn to do something one should not have the power to do? You speak of teaching a fish to fly, or a rock to swim."
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Post by Admin on Mar 25, 2016 19:05:31 GMT
She smiled at him as he watched her pull the deer out to the stone patio and move it to the side for later. It was not heavy, but her hesitation had come from the thought of it leaving a huge blood trail across the already half ruined floor. She had paused and noticed there was no blood trail at about the time he came to assist. Since he was close to her and not clawing at her body, Alexa allowed him to remain as they headed for the balcony.
His words at failing to understand what was happening to him being a possible hindrance to her suggested training, made her smile. "When you teach your children to climb. Do you explain how to contract a muscle, or expand the lungs to inhale a breath? Or do you say 'reach up above your head' and they know what to do?" She set the carcass down and brushed her hands on her leggings. "I cannot explain how to shift, but I can teach you how to relax, calm your mind and feel the shift within you so you can ride the change without the pain of trying to fight it."
She moved back to sit on the railing overlooking the ocean slamming the cliffs base far below. Pulling her leg up she rested her head on her knee and frowned. "You have a Master yet he has not taught you such things. Why is that? Were you not able till you came here? Or was he not willing to teach you? I know many masters who fear their students learning because it will come back to haunt them later. Was that the case with you?"
She then thought of something else he had said. "You say the emissary is your main concern and no time for experimenting. Tell, me, Hunter... how will your emissary fair if you are caught in a change and are unable to protect him because you are all consumed with your shifting. Will he, or you, survive? What would your Master say to you then? I do not ask for weeks, but one night. Tomorrow when darkess shines down, we will see if we can find the trail and claim your emissary back." She watched to see if he understood. Devon would never let her hunt till she could shift without compromising herself. She was still vulnerable, from lack of practice after he left. She chose now to only change to and from her form in the safety of the manor. If she was forced to change in a hunt, or outside that, she would last no longer than any other prey who chose to lay down while being pursued.
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Post by Jashin on Mar 25, 2016 19:48:26 GMT
Such a flurry of questions, he sighed inwardly. One thought finished and the next one begun before I can speak a single word. How long has she been chiera, I wonder, if the haste of humanity still lingers inside her?
Jashin considered all that she had asked and said carefully, watching her fold up on herself like a child studying a new pet. Since leaving Divaria he had felt very much like a foreign animal or curiosity. But that was what he was in all truth. He stepped to her left and leaned against the railing, hand brushing his ibliha to pin it between his hip and the stone while leaving his fali'sara free.
"What do you climb with, chiera," he offered. "To draw breath is a natural part of life, and does not need to be taught. The body knows. But to climb, one needs to know how to use hand and claw and arm. A child does not need to be taught how to reach, either. At birth, they do not know what they have and learn through experience. You can see your hand and your arm, see how it moves and how it feels. I do not have experience in the change; it was never needed. My body has only ever answered the need of it, and only recently."
Jashin folded his arms across his chest and stared at her a moment before continuing. "My Master, and the Grandmasters, cannot teach me what they do not know. Conclave has not had a divarian in its ranks since the end of the War of Children. They have forgotten our words and our ways. Their training may not include how to change my skins, but it has left me far from helpless. I do not need my skins to protect myself, or my charge. I have my steel and my magicks."
It wasn't a challenge, not really. The truth was that he felt very vulnerable, not having control over his own form. A thought floated to the surface of his consciousness unbidden, and Jashin swallowed it back down before it could take hold. Yet it was there, whispering from the back of his mind. Taunting him, laughing at him.
You didn't change until you found the chiera and began the Hunt, it sneered. What do you make of that, little divari?
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