|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Tue Apr 29, 2014 11:25 am
Woman of Ice – 1198 words
The battle had long been over, but the war was ongoing. Neued was held, tooth and claw and sword and shield, against the Obans. Warriors were fighting every day, and Biroki wanted to be out there with them, blazing his own swath through the desert hellions, charring them to ashes and driving them back to their homeland beyond.
Somehow, though, he'd fallen into the role of manager, and despite his desire to fight, it suited him. What he did here was important, perhaps more so, than what he would end up doing out in the field of battle. He figured that, if the Obans attacked the settlement, he would have plenty of action and could blast them into ashen oblivion before they did any real harm.
For now, though, he was taking a break, having learned in the past few weeks the limits of his body and the necessity of keeping himself well. Even though he was not a senior healer, others counted on his body and mind to be sharp. It was a symbiosis that required the expertise of others and his clear eyes and attention to details. He needed to be at his best, so that he could manage them and they could be at their best.
Unfortunately, breaks meant that he had time to imagine what could be happening out there, beyond the tents. He had plenty of fodder for his rich imagination - there were new wounded every day, and some beds were occupied for the more long term. He had seen plenty of agony and misery and death already, and he did not delude himself: there was more – and worse – yet to come.
To think that it could be his wife on one of the beds, injured or worse, was a constantly chilling thought. He still loved her, and his heart still pined for her, despite her words to him in the aftermath of the retreat. He admitted - freely - that the battlefield was no place for children, and that he should have left the girls with Reshel to help look after Sen'oda. But he still believed - fervently - that this war and the people in it were more important than anything he cared about - himself, his life, his wife, or his girls. People were fighting for freedom, putting their lives on the line - some forfeiting them - for that one ephemeral concept that they had all taken for granted not long ago.
Freedom. The freedom to live, to love, to enjoy the world around them. Biroki had been free to marry a half-ice woman, and raise two part ice children, and be unshunned despite it. He had been free to do that. If the Obans won, what freedoms would be left?
He loved Zuri with all of his heart, and he wanted very badly to agree with her: to tell her that she was right and he was sorry. He didn't want to fight with her, but no matter how much he thought about it, the more he was convinced that she was wrong - His beautiful, ferocious wife was wrong.
Zuri was so strong. She'd crossed the whole of Tendaji to unite with her mother's family. She had traversed the tundra, the mountains, the savannah, and the jungle to reach Ast, and he had made her a home there. She was strong, a woman of conviction. Her opinions carried that strength.
Not too long ago, he had been a very happy wimp. He had allowed her personality to overpower his. It hadn't been a bad way to live - in fact, it had been very nice to have her take control. She had ruled him, she had mastered him, she had been his queen. He would have done anything for her, and he still would. Yes, he remembered, smiling sadly, that had been a nice life (especially in between the bedfurs).
All he'd had to do was accept her attitude towards him.
She had treated him as a weakling, like a child or someone lacking. She had stood, tall and full of pride, over him and he had hated and loved it. He had accepted her treatment of him, and given her only love and adoration, even though inside it hurt how she treated him as less than he was. Despite that pain, he wouldn't have minded submitting to her forever. It was easy and life was good.
All that changed when he had to take life. The moment had been so thoughtless - without thought or consequence, only action. Only dark and firey deed. He did not regret the deaths of the two bandits, and he would not have regretted charring every last one to ashes.
In that moment of violence, he had made the decision to hurt another earthling, to sacrifice a life or more to protect his family from their menace. He had never killed before, and in that moment of death, so too did the weak, timid, sweet Biroki of before die.
It had taken a while for him to really feel changed. In fact, for years, he hadn't felt much different. The changes - the growing up, he supposed - happened slowly. An act of independence here, some defiance there; A change in his posture, in his attitude, the way he held his staff; an increase in confidence and a willingness to say what he meant... these all started to show up, bit by bit.
And then the battle happened, and like an Illo turning into a beautiful Kipepwa, he suddenly metamorphosised into the person he had been becoming. He knew he was different now, and he knew that he couldn't go back to being subservient to Zuri.
He sighed. She would just have to learn to deal with the new him, the equal to her in strength and ability and mind. She would have to get used to arguing with him and not having her way.
Or...
The very thought of an 'or', of waking up without even the hope of her warm body next to his, of being bereft of his lover was heart-wrenching. He felt his eyes moisten at the thought, and he shuddered.
If Zuri died on the battlefield, he knew he would survive the pain and grief. He'd thought about it since the tournament itself, long before the war struck Tendaji, and he knew he would be okay. It would hurt, but he could handle it. He would feel as though she would be with him always, watching him, loving him, connected across lives by their love.
But if their marriage broke apart, he would lose half of his soul forever. It hurt to even think about it. The worst part was that it wasn't even unlikely.
After all, he was no longer the Biroki she had married.
"Hmm." he stood up again and set about reacquainting himself with what needed to be done and delegated and managed. When he started thinking like that, was when he needed to get off his break. Get to work. Try to win this war.
And hope his Zenan Princess would love him still when the dust all settled.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue May 06, 2014 12:40 pm
[ Sorcery and Poetry ; Biroki, Ikuri - 197 wordsIt was good news that Sen'oda had woken up from her years of deep, impenetrable slumber. He was excited at the prospect of having a mother, and asking her questions about the life he could have led.
He knew the story - Jkhom and her friend were found dead, Sen'oda left him with Reshel, and such. Everybody had assumed her dead for so long, and her in her coma was not much more than that.
But now she was awake, and Biroki was afraid. The way she had woken up , screaming, choking, clawing at the air... that would haunt him for a while, he thought, joining the spirit and the dead thugs in his dreams between waking and sleep.
He wanted to help Reshel nurse her, he really did. But he was not the most courageous of men, and the thought of that clawing form kept him away from the hut for a while. And then he'd had to go to war.
She was awake, but he still had never met her. He had tended her for years and occasionally heard stories about her from Reshel, but he didn't know her.
And he was afraid to.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue May 20, 2014 10:45 am
Spitorog Stress - 510 words
Before Biroki knew it, he was running. His feet slammed against the ground, trodden dust and dirt coating his black skin in light, sandy brown. He stormed into the healers tent, skidding to a halt before walking up to the healer to deliver the supplies. He was gasping. His heart was racing. His mind was reeling with fear. He didn't care if anybody noticed his panic.
They did.
” Biroki?” They asked, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. They were a shifter/alkidike hybrid, and had known Biroki through his uncle ever since they had come to Ast. They had known him growing up, and they had even been at his wedding, which made their concern ever more meaningful. ”Are you all right? What's the matter?”
Biroki opened his mouth to tell them, but realized how ridiculous he would sound, swallowing his words at the last moment. That the spitorog was posessed by some sort of evil spirit, or perhaps was a spirit itself was, in the clear light of reason and comfort, absurd.
First, spirits were rare entities and even the woman of the water he had fought was of debatable existence. Second, why would any spirit possess or choose to be a spitorog? It wasn't even a decent totem animal, unless you counted its indestructability as a major totemic virtue.
”Nothing.” he said, taking deep breaths to calm down. ”R-really.” he said, quailing guiltily at their concerned gaze, ”Its nothing.” And it wasn't. Now, anyway. He was not okay. Just... it was not entirely the spitorogs fault. And probably nothing he wanted the healers to deal with.
They were not convinced.
”Look. Biroki. You've done a lot here. If the stress is getting to you... maybe you should go home.”
Biroki shook his head. ”I'm fine.” he said, drawing away gently, ”Really, I am.” The healer gave him a kind pat on the shoulder.
”If you say so... but take care of yourself, all right?” They said. He nodded. He was trying to.
”Mmm...” said Biroki. He began to walk towards the shelving inventory, ”Its not like we aren't all going h-home soon anyway.” he said. He felt bitter about it immediately afterwards. Leaving felt like giving up, no matter how much he rationalized it to himself, and he did not like the idea of giving up to the Obans.
"Seriously, if you're too stressed, you should go home. We'll need you next time, Biroki." said the healer.
"Next... time. R-right." Another battle. Another nail in either their coffins or the Obans. "I'm glad I'm needed."
"Who isn't?" laughed the healer, before they both wen tback to their respective duties.
Biroki thought about what the healer had said for a while. He was right. Biroki was too stressed - he could feel it crawling in his skin. He was listening for hops and croaking in the jungle din, jumping at sounds and shadows.
Perhaps it was time to go home.
Biroki began making his preparations for leaving, almost relieved to have an excuse to go home.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Jun 08, 2014 6:29 am
After the Fight – 1468 words
Biroki rested against the tree, staring up into the fungus-lit understory as he held his wound. It still glowed with healing magic as he healed himself, but he didn't have the energy to do much more. Moving was out of the question. Thinking was out of the question, except he thought anyway. He couldn't help but think: Zuri was leaving.
She was leaving, with the girls, for a far-off land. She hadn't said it was permanent, but, with all the things that had happened between them... he wouldn't be surprised if it was. Zena might as well be the other side of the world. It was the other side of the world. It was so far away, across Tendaji itself. The Jungle alone was vast, but the Tale was vaster still, and Sauti – he had heard – was treacherous. How long would it take to cross Tendaji? How far would the lights of his life be from him if she left? She would leave. He couldn't bear it.
Biroki had never left Jahuar. This was his home, and Zuri had walked into it - to find her heritage, she had said. She'd found her heritage, she'd found him, she'd loved him. He'd married her, and worked so hard for her - he'd made a house, raised their children, and became a man for her. He was no longer the weak, sniveling, stupid, stammering boy he had been, barely able to stop himself from setting himself on fire. Now he was a proper sage, with responsibilities of his own and with some power and respect within the tribe. He was worth something now, worthy of her love.
And with all that... she was leaving him. She had never planned to stay. She had always planned to return to her homeland. And, somehow, he had not given her the roots to stay. He did not understand how that could be... He just did not understand.
The pain in his side subsided as he slumped against the tree. She was leaving him. Why? Why had this happened? All couples fought, he'd seen it, and he'd thought that that was what their argument after the battle had been - a fight. Something they would get over and work through later. This, though... this changed things. She really was angry with him, and she was going to leave him behind. In the empty house that he had built for her and their children to live in together. His eyelids drooped, despair and exhaustion melding in his mind, and he fell into a deep, unrestful sleep.
~~~
He awoke suddenly to realize that, stupidly, he had fallen asleep on the ground. Time was funny in the understory, so he did not know how long he was asleep, but he feared it. Had she gone yet? Was he alone? The thoughts from before his nap burned depressing and cool in his head.
He ached, his muscles stiff from the uneven ground and the hard headrest of the tree. He stood up, wincing as his newly-healed muscles strained to move him, and staggered back into his house. It was empty in the gathering dusk.
Nervous and afraid, he checked the rooms and sighed with relief – the girls things were still here. If Zuri had taken them away in the time he had been asleep, Ikkio – at least – would not have left without her belongings. They were still in Jahuar, then, still in Ast, still learning magic with Reshel. He felt like crying, and he wasn't sure if it was with joy, relief, or sadness: wherever Zuri was, they were still here. Still with him. Things could be normal... for a time, anyway.
Quietly, as normal, he started to cook up something for dinner, something filling and well-spiced and full of healthy greens and vegetables. He was good with spices, and a great cook, and dinner was always an enjoyable experience... at least taste-wise. Ikkio had been horrible when she had been younger, and lately there had been a lot of tension at the table, but dinner still ended up there. They had plenty of food and, despite everything, he was grateful for that, at least, being constant.
The girls came home, and he greeted them, and they ate, but he could tell something was wrong. Perhaps their mother had told them, perhaps they just knew, but they went to bed earlier than they usually did. He bid them good night.
Zuri still hadn't arrived. This time was different, he knew, but he still had hope that she would calm down and come home. A small hope. She had been out late before, and so he did what he had done on those late nights: he carefully prepared a plate for Zuri and covered it with a thick leaf to keep the freshness in. Then, trying not to feel apprehension and despair, he putting the rest of the food away, cleaned up, and then, out of things to distract himself with, he sat at the table, watching the plate.
It had been hours since the fight, and Zuri was still not home. He knew the girls were in their room, but had Zuri already left? Had she gone to Zena without them, perhaps sending for them there? He would not let them leave! He was their father, damn it, and they did not need to go there, to that cold land she had escaped.
Another hour, measured by a candle clock. Zuri was still not home. Well, maybe he would allow them to visit her. She was their mother, even if she left him, even if she hated him... Did she hate him? For so little... did she hate him? They had been words, thoughts, actions... things he honestly felt and had said. They had not been lies. The fight after the battle, the fight here... he had said what he thought. Did she hate him for that? He'd thought that he could at least do that with his wife. He'd thought he could speak his mind. He'd trusted her... and now he was sure she hated him. He slumped against the table, staring at the spot she was supposed to be.
Another hour passed. Even if she hated him, he still loved her. He loved her so much. She hadn't changed much in the years they'd been together – she was still the firey spear-goddess he had met, been overwhelmed with, and married. Well, that wasn't entirely true: She had matured, become a master of her own fate, and a master of his fate, and a mother at that. But so had he! She had helped him, given him a reason and a way to grow up. Without her, he would have been nothing. He snuggled into his arms, biting back his own pain. Without her, he would be nothing.
Another agonizing hour passed. Was she all right? Why hadn't she come home? Had she gone out to take out her frustration on the jungle? Had she gotten into another fight? Was she so injured that she had to stay with Reshel and Sen'oda that night? Biroki knew he had been fierce in the fight, so it was possible. It was likely. Biroki hated that he'd hurt her. He should have held back. He should have let her hit him harder. He should not have won. Maybe then she would have forgiven him for his stupid words. He valued his opinions – new as they were – but he would take them back in a heartbeat if he knew that she was safe tonight. He stared at the covered plate, watching it as if he could will Zuri to appear and eat it.
Maybe, he realized, she was at her mother's house. That would be reasonable. She'd be safe there, away from danger. Away from him.
He felt himself beginning to doze off and gave up on being able to catch her coming home. Maybe she would come home, if he wasn't here. So, finally, well into the night, he went to bed. The roati fur was soft, but he felt its emptiness more. He was awake for a long time, and when he fell asleep, he slept fitfully, dreaming of a life without Zuri. He dreamed of searching for her amid a maze of trees. He dreamed of finding nothing around every turn, and of being lost.
He awoke, as alone as when he had fallen asleep hours before. Morning light seeped dimly through the canopy, and he returned to his pantry, his heart sinking as he saw the plate still there, still covered, its food wet and cold with morning dew. He reheated it over the fire and ate it as his breakfast, dejected and despairing. Everything was falling apart.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Jul 06, 2014 2:34 pm
The Right Time is Now - Biroki, Bhima, Reshel - 219 wordsAfter tending to Sen'oda and waiting for his uncle to return, Biroki went back to the lake and gave himself a proper bath, scrubbing off the inevitable accumulation of dirt and grime that weeks of battlefields and camp with little bathing availablity caused.
He scrubbed himself clean, feeling fear and stress wash away from him along with the dirt. And then he soaked, letting his thoughts unwind in the soft swishing of the lake's water.
What had Sen'oda meant about Reshel being a 'piece of work'? Did she mean abrupt? He'd never been abrupt to Biroki before. He wondered how well his mother knew her own brother, or, rather, how well she knew who he was now. It had been years since she had left, and she couldn't expect to know anything.
He didn't know why he was so upset about it, honestly - not while he was lying here in the pleasant water.
Feeling sleep dance at the edge of his conciousness, he emerged, dried himself off, and made his way home, sliding for the first time in weeks into his bed - a proper bed.
He didn't have time to contemplate Bhima, or his wife, or his daughters, or the spitorog, or the meaning of the universe. Only sleep, as it swiftly and gently stole him away.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 13, 2014 3:48 pm
The Binding of Nem'Ker – 722 words
Biroki dragged the fleshy, spiky, restrained lump of an animal into his house and gingerly put it on the floor. It didn't struggle – merely lay where it was placed, pulsating with it's every breath. It didn't seem to be harmed or hindered in any way by the net that Biroki had thrown over it.
Of course it wouldn't be, Biroki thought, It was, after all, not a mere spitorog but a spirit, a demon come from the battlefield to haunt him. Which meant that he had to bind it magically, and he had to do it fast; before it escaped the safety of the netting.
“You can't fool me.” Biroki said, taking out a pigment stick that a fellow sage had blessed in the moonlight, “I know what you are.” he began to draw a magic circle of binding around the immobilized spitorog, not caring that he was marking his formerly spotless floor. “I don't care what you are, spirit, be you a departed s-soul, a forest entity, or something else.” He completed the circle and surveyed his handiwork. “If you insist on following me around, I will de fang you.”
He took out the sacred objects he had bought that day: A black pebble; made smooth and shiny like a crystal, a knotted rope with beads and feathers; a talisman against evil, a tiny relic from a ruin; oddly shaped and made of ridged metal, and a circlet made of radaku horn; a symbol of binding. He placed them around the entangled beast in the center, one by one: power, from the black pebble; protection from the talisman; strength, from the relic, said to hold up the old ruins that the jungle had buried; and the power to bind the spirit to his will, symbolized by the horn circlet.
Biroki let out a deep breath. He was ready.
He began to chant, summoning magic into the circle, making it glow and spark with the forces that he held within. He hoped he did not stammer during this ritual – who knew what horrors that a stammer or any sign of weakness would cause!
“Evil spirit!” he intoned, “I end now your rampage across Tendaji” what damage it could cause as a spitorog, Biroki did not know, but evil spirits had many tricks, as he well knew. ”Whatever you may be, I have captured you.” Biroki stood, beginning a slow, simple dance around the circle. It felt appropriate to do so – he was actually making this up as he went and hoping it worked.
”I have captured you in a net made by the hands of the living.” he repeated, his movements tracing a second, invisible circle around the spitorog, ”And I have encircled you in a circle of magic. And now...” He finished the dance, ending where he began, ”And in a circle of my own spirit.” he picked up his staff and brandished it, ”I bind you, Spirit, into the body you have chosen.” he thrust down with it once, ”I bind you, so that you will cause no harm.”, twice, ”I bind you, spirit, to my service.” He thrust down a third time. ”...And I demand that you give me your name!”
Nothing, not even a croak, came from the pile. ”I demand of you again! Tell me your name!”
Again, nothing.
”Fine, then!” said Biroki. He was, he admitted, a little disappointed at the lack of anything from the spitorog. He'd been hoping the spirit would fight him and validate the unease he had felt around the creature. But, he thought, maybe he should just be thankful it wasn't turning into a monster and tearing him apart.”I shall name you myself. You are Nem'ker, and you are now bound to me by that name and this ritual, as my servant and familiar!” he thrust his staff downward once more. ”Let it be done!” He let his magic shimmer and glow, adding a little fanfare of his own to seal the deal.
As the glows of his lightshow died away, the spitorog wiggled its way free of the net and sat there, staring at him.
Biroki relaxed. ”It is done.” he said.
Ribbit said Nem'ker.
Biroki picked it up. ”Well, then. You are now my familiar.”
Nem'ker's drooled on Biroki's hands. It was very open to interpretation.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Nov 11, 2014 3:27 pm
Meta Ch. 6: The Final Battle: Loss – 393 words
They had won the battle. More, they had won the war. The Obans had surrendered, and not only was Tendaji free but so was the far off land of Matori. It was cause for celebration: Biroki knew that.
But his heart just wasn't in it. After the announcements, he had retired to the sleeping quarters, drained of all motivation to do anything but sleep for the time being. He struggled to do so through the festivities that dinned the camp, closing his eyes and plugging his ears, but to no avail – wakefulness still stole into his head and took away his peace.
Biroki did not like that he felt unsatisfied. After the horrors that the Obans had brought: War, death, and slavery... He had wanted to take the fight to them: to defeat them here, and then show them how it felt to have one's homeland invaded by oppressors.
But now they had surrendered. This was not going to happen, and he knew he should be happy. Less death and war was good... it was. He knew that.
No amount of reason could quash the rage he felt, though, the bubbling rage that was never truly directed to anything in particular. His affinity to fire and lightning had him dancing to their wrathful beat, and he knew he would never be free of that anger, that dynamic energy, and he hated it... but it was a part of him.
A part of him that, alas, had no outlet. His wife had not come back from Zena – and likely never would. Zuri had left him, alone and bursting with need, and he missed her. How he missed her.
That was what caused his melancholy; amid the victory, he had still lost a wife and a daughter to the cold lands. The daughter that remained was a monster, no matter how she tried to hide it with her sugared smile.
Would that he thought bitterly, thinking of the story that Ikkio had told him, It had been Ikkio that had fallen into the ravine, and instantly he hated himself for the thought. He did love her[, he loved the little monster and hated her.
Dismissing all thoughts of the girls he would never see again, he tossed and turned, trying to find that one hint of comfort that would lead him into sleep.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Dec 17, 2014 6:24 am
The Retreat from Neued – 655 words
Biroki walked in silence, his companion mostly ignored for the time being in place of deep breathing, an attempt to calm the storm of rage and frustration that threatened to consume him. He was angry – so angry – at the events of that day.
They were supposed to have won this battle: They'd had the backing of all of Tendaji: More fighters had arrived at Neued for the second battle than had arrived to the first, galvanized by the sting of defeat and the threat of enslavement. Biroki had been there too - Yes, he had stayed in the back of the battlefield in the healers tent, but he had felt the strength of the people, their pride and the ferocity they would use to defend their homes.
Very few people, it had seemed, were willing to let some outside, unknown force take away their lives and freedoms. Very few, it seemed, were traitors.
He was of two minds about the traitors: on the one hand, he hated them for their attitudes, but on the other he could understand where they were coming from. He himself was a coward, though he dared to set foot on a battlefield. If his magic were somehow stripped away, he would be cringing behind rocks like the others, hiding in a village as far from Neued as possible.
But he had his power and he would not hide.
Besides, it was not the fault of the traitors that they had lost Neued again, even Biroki could see that. Despite the warriors that had come out, and the confidence that they had all felt, it was those same warriors that had lost the battle. Everybody had been fighting for themselves, or for their families, or for something abstract like 'freedom' or 'Tendaji', but they had all been fighting as if they were alone.
Nobody had worked as a team. Nobody had created a chain of command. Sorcerers had thrown their spells with wild abandon, swordsmen vyed against each other for the glory of taking down the Obans, archers didn't choose their targets carefully, guards went on the attack and - perhaps worst of all, healers hadn't been supporting others, but had instead cast elemental blasting spells at their foes. They had been leaderless, orderless, and selfish. And they had fallen: The Oban ranks had crushed their disorganized forces and stormed the camp. Biroki had, of course, fought back with the elemental power at his disposal but even a Sage is not powerful enough to take down an army.
And so he had run. He hated that he had had to run.
He tried to get his emotions under control - he was still running high with magical energy from the fight with the Oban rider – but to no avail. Thoughts and emotions jumped inside of him like electrical currents, demanding attention and retribution. He could not give them retribution – there were no Obans to shock with his lightning.
Instead, he satisfied his feelings by crashing through the underbrush with his staff, heading straight for Ast and home as violently as he could without actually causing a fire.
It wasn't helping. It wasn't helping at all. He still felt as though his blood boiled and his heart ached for a battle... but, as he looked to his companion belligerently in the hopes of finding some release, he saw that she was afraid... of what? Of him? Of the battle?
Her fear calmed him, making him realize how illogical he was being. He could understand if she was afraid of him – he had been terrifying, and he knew it. The more powerful he became, the deadlier he was. He was scared of himself too.
He took a deep breath, turning a weak smile towards her as he tried to hold back the endless wrath once more. Somewhat cooled, it subsided, dormant like magma...
Until the next battle, anyway.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Jan 20, 2015 7:22 pm
Neat Whiskers – 186 words
* * Biroki wondered if he was cruel. He had never thought of himself as such, but his reaction to the Witu said otherwise. In private now, he summoned a flame and scrutinized it as he held it in his hand.
It burned bright, beautiful in the darkness of Jahuar, a light among lights. But he knew it burned, and he knew that, especially after the battle, it hungered. Now, more than ever, he needed to control his magic. He needed to prevent it from destroying and causing pain, as it clearly wanted to.
It was an entity, all to itself, and it needed to be treated as such. He needed to control it. He needed to leash it.
He hoped that next time he trained with Sauron, he would have enough control to keep the man from being seriously hurt again. He had a responsibility, one that grew with every day, and that was how he satisfied it.
He put the fire out with a thought and moved on, a new determination brewing in his heart: Sage he may be, but he would not be his magic.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Jan 20, 2015 8:26 pm
Helping the Healing Sage - Biroki, Sawenah - 137 wordsIt was both warming and chilling to think that someone as young and as out of place as the girl could be practically working her feet off for the good of Tendaji. Warming, because she cared. Chilling, because not even the young were safe from involvement.
Since when, he thought, had he started thinking of people her age as 'young'? It hadn't been that long ago, had it? But there had been something vulnerable about her, something that brought to mind a lost child. She was a mix of so many races, far from home...
He hoped that taking her to Ast would help her. He hoped he would have a chance to do so before something else happened.
In the meantime, he would let her sleep, and hope that her tomorrow would work out well enough.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat May 09, 2015 7:39 am
Heat and Hope ; Biroki and Makani - 267 wordsBiroki wondered at the young blind man in the healers tent. Makani was not a healer, and yet his energies were so firmly directed towards that goal to make him one of the most dedicated healers in Neued. Biroki knew his stuff, but compared to the boy, Biroki was an amateur, a mere helper. It was embarassing, disheartening, and excellent all at once.
Embarassing; because Biroki should have been more devoted. His mother – his own mother – had been in a coma for years without any sign of waking. And yet, he had flinched at the sight of the downed warriors, some who would never wake, some who might yet open their eyes to a changed world. Biroki didn't know what to think of himself, there. Biroki didn't know what to think of them.
Disheartening; because a mage was the most devoted out of all of the trained healers and monks and soul linkers and scholars. It should not be that way, Biroki knew.
Yet, it was also excellent because with someone so devoted, and yet out of his element, everyone – including Biroki – was inspired to do better, to be better, to act better. Every time Biroki saw Makani ministering to the patients, he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride, and he knew the warriors felt it too.
As the tide of war began, again, to surge and sweep in, Biroki knew – deep in his soul – that with soldiers like what they had, and healers like Makani, they would win the war. The Obans would never know what hit them.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Mar 13, 2016 8:57 am
Meta Ch. 7: The Rising Storm: Of Storms – 319 words
Peace. Biroki knew that, even at the end of a battle, it was false. The storm in people's hearts would go ever on, crashing and shrieking and dying. But, in the aftermath of the battle, amid the bloodied and the wounded, the despairing and the victorious, Biroki felt it. Perhaps for the first time, he felt it.
He was a storm – that was the nature of a sorcerer, to be the storm that one's enemies felt, to destroy. But he no longer felt stormy – he felt calm. In control. He had found the eye of the storm, and at it's center, he knew, was the key to controlling it. To not being controlled by it. To master the storm and turn it's wrath only on those who he needed it to be turned to.
How the Matron had escaped harm, Biroki did not know. His fire had, most surely, swept into her ranks. Had she hid behind her sisters? Had she used them as her shields? They were not Biroki's tribe, and Biroki did not care. Biroki had done his part, had burned the foes of his tribe, had protected his people, and that was what mattered.
He wondered if young Aylin's magic was like his own – he doubted it was the same kind of storm. Magic was different for each person, but he could already see the difference between her uncontrolled lightning calling and the feelings that fueled his own magic. But, perhaps, she had a central point, an eye of the storm where she would be able to control it.
He had to return to her and teach her this control.
Biroki left before many of the others, before even the exile of the Alkidike. He owed it to his student to teach her what he now understood, and he owed her, also, promptness.
The war was over. It was time to return home.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Jul 04, 2016 3:36 pm
Class Solo: Emergence of Lightning– 1950 wordsThe blue-green sky was streaked with charcoal-grey clouds and flecked with searing lightning and crystalline rain. It glowed, a mere thick curtain over what had been, moments before, a bright daytime sky. It was so unreal, and yet Biroki crouched on a bough, witnessing the beauty of the tumultuous sky with his own two eyes as he clung to an ancient Jauharan tree trunk for support. The storm howled at him, attacking him with slicing claws of wind and rain, trying to frighten him off, but Biroki stood fast. He was silent. He was unafraid of its wrath.
The storm was a part of him. It had always been. Once, he had been but a small cloud, weeping and wibbling and occasionally shedding a small spark. Eventually, he had grown greater in power, and his storm had grown more destructive. It had sought to rule him, to whip his temper into wrath and lash out against his will. He'd fought it, binding it down and bringing it under control. He'd had to – Biroki had chosen the path of the Sorcerer, a class of destruction. Just as a sword could be turned to terrible deeds, so too could magic. In other words, magic was his weapon, and a weapon was worse than useless if it could not be controlled by its bearer.
Now, though, he had found that control within him, had mastered the elements that churned inside of him. He screamed into the storm that shook the world around him, singing along with the thunder in celebration as he stood tall to receive the storm's power and force. His clothes were soaked, his skin warmed by the impact of rain and wind even as it's heat was quickly stolen away in the onrush of falling water and air. He ignored it all as he sang to the sky in it's wordless, wild song.
He had grown up. He had matured. In his life, he had changed as dramatically as an illo becoming a wadana. He was not the stammering fool who set fires on accident anymore, nor was he the boy that Zuri had married. That boy, the one who had loved and who had been loved by her, had grown beyond that long before either of them had realized it.
Nor too, was he the man she had left, or the one that his daughters... his surviving daughter... knew as their father. No, he was not that bitter, angry, young man. His soul no longer bled so freely from wounds of the hear. Nor was he the weapon of flame and death that had scorched the Obans and had nearly murdered a man in the woods for threatening his family. The extremists would not recognize him either, as the enemy that had sent searing magic into their midst (if they bothered to care). He was different, indeed, a different man, than he had ever been before.
Thunder shattered the contemplation of the rain and cracked the flickering sky. Biroki called to it, reaching out beyond the confines of the tree's leaves, watching as moonfires - heralds of lightning - began to glow around him. His wet skin shone black and glassy in their eerie light. They were the storm's warning and reply. It had agreed to test him.
Biroki shivered in anticipation, feeling the air grow tight around him as he summoned lightning magic into his hand, watching as it arced and crackled with the rain's fall. Suddenly, the sky rumbled and spat light and, with a sound like tearing light, the sky sent down it's retort. It was a column of searing light, direct as an arrow loosed from a bow. It was raw power made real, alive in a sense that living things could not be, seeking it's target, that which would mate it with the ground. It found him, and he caught it in his hand.
Time slowed. His magic danced with the raw element inside him, lighting his veins in a beautiful, intricate display of the artistry of life. It vied for supremacy, and he fought back. It was testing him, asking him a searing question: was he worthy to tame it's force? If he was not, then one of two things would happen. He would release it's power into the tree he held, letting it find it's way to the ground while using his magic to keep it from stopping his heart and praying to the spirits that it did not shatter the tree on the way down. Or, it would char him from the inside out, leaving nothing but a burnt husk to fall to the ground far below. But, Biroki was certain, he was worthy of taming the storm. He was here to prove it to himself.
His magic won out – it surrounded and suppressed the lightning, escorting it through his body and into his outstretched hand. He knit the energy together until it stood on it's own and fed off of itself. Biroki watched the ball of lightning in his hand, awed and delighted beyond delight. It coiled and writhed, and he was aware of it's every nuance, controlling it's shape with his will. It was beautiful, this undulating egg of light and force... Beautiful and patient. He let it go, dissipating into the air with a satisfying crackle as the storm accepted it back into its ferocious bulk.
Soon, as Jauhar's storms did, the rain abated and the sun was uncovered, burning down merrily from the heavens as Biroki decended into the wet, dark, depths of the forest. He still felt energized from the experience, his nerves ringing with the magic he had wielded and the pride he felt, but his smile was, now, calm. In that moment – or perhaps, to be honest, before - he had changed once again, another change that placed him even further from the child he had been. This time, though, he felt whole. Perhaps, he thought, he had finally reached his true self, the self he would bear for the rest of his life.
----------
“That was stupid, Biroki.” scolded his uncle, handing him a cup of warm tea. “You went out into a storm, climbed a tree, and got yourself struck by lightning. What did you think you were doing? What by the stars did you think you were doing?!”
Biroki looked at him, feeling a little guilty as she shivered under the blanket. The fire in Reshel's hut was warming and drying him, but he felt very damp and cold and he could feel the mucus building in his head. He had felt so good up there on the tree, but now... "Haa-choo!" he sneezed, taking the cup bashfully. "I just wanted to see if I could do it... you know. Master that kind of magic."
Reshel shook his head, flustered and clearly upset. “By getting struck by lightning?! Let me revise that, Biroki. That was stupid and horribly reckless.” he shook his head and turned to the fire, prodding it vaguely.
Sen'oda, Reshel's sister, smirked under her own blanket. “Sounds like something I would do.” she said. Her voice had a raspy whisper to it and her body beneath the blanket was still slightly frail, a skeleton of what it had once been though the years had started to fill it back out again with muscle and flesh. Her face, though, was lively, energetic, and very impish.
Reshel shot her a look. Technically, she was also Biroki's mother, by spirit if not strictly by blood. Sometimes, Biroki considered Sen'oda as such, but for the most part, he still thought of her as Reshel's sister. “I didn't raise you to do things like that, Biroki.”
“What, you raised him to be a boring homebody pansy?” she said, smirking, “Just like you?”
“I raised him to be an intelligent, rational, responsible man.” he said, glaring at her, “I did not raise him to run up into the trees and challenge the sky to a duel!”
"It w-wasn't a duel." Biroki protested, but he knew the nuance of that would be lost on Reshel, "And I'm fine, perfectly fine. It all worked out in the end, so..."
“I'll be the one to judge that.” said Reshel. His face was as stormy as the sky had been, creased with worry and anger and a little bit of regret. “I am the healer among us, after all.”
Sen'oda shrugged. “Like he said, Resh, he's alive and well aside from a cold or whatever from walking out in the rain. Obviously, he handled things.” she gave Biroki a wink, “I'd say that that's a pretty good outcome. Why can't you leave it at that?”
“I can't leave it at that, because who knows what damage that lightning bolt did to him inside? I might be able to fix it now, when it's still new and fresh, but what if I don't fix it and it comes up later? What then?”
"I-I'm fine, Reshel, honestly." He'd channelled the lightning, hadn't he? "But, um..." he looked away, blushing, "It, uh, wouldn't hurt to ch-check, right?" he said, his teeth chattering and bringing out his old stammer.
“Good” Reshel said, cleaning his hands, “At least you didn't have the sense seared out of you completely.” He gestured to Biroki, “Well, get over here. I'll take a look and see what you did to yourself here...”
Reshel's magic flowed through him, questing tendrils of liquid light seeking any damage and abnormalities that should not be there. Reshel's hands felt his heartbeat, and his ears listened to his breathing, his face rigid in concentration as he assessed his nephew's health. Finally, with a neutral grunt, he drew his hands and magic away. “Well, I guess you'll live.” he muttered. His voice had a peculiar tone, half annoyance and half relief. He was wrong. His nephew was safe, but he was wront – that was how Biroki interpreted it, anyway. “But promise me, Biroki, never do that again.”
"I won't." Biroki assured him. He'd gotten the answer he needed. He knew his strength. There was no need to play with the storm again.
“I mean it. You're not a kid anymore. You have responsibilities to the tribe, to your family, and to that nice apprentice you have. If you kill yourself doing stupid things like getting struck by lightning, where will that leave her? Or us?”
"I know..." said Biroki. He had begun to feel pangs of guilt as he had climbed down the tree, and Reshel's words rang true. He had risked himself. Unnecessarily. But I had to do it. he said, sighing at himself, I'd had to...
“Don't do it again.” said Reshel.
"I w-won't!" said Biroki emphatically, "I... Ha-CHOO! I promise!" he snuffled meekly from his sneeze.
Reshel looked at him for a moment and sighed. “Good.”
----------
The next day, as he sought out his apprentice to continue her training, the events of the previous day still blazed strongly in his mind. His veins still sung with power and the feeling of pride and completion did not go away, despite the memory of the cold and consequences. He was, he felt, a true man, now, a new person from what he was before. He had completed his growth and now, finally an adult, could not wait to see just who that would be, and what he would do with it. While there was not likely to be any more stormcalling in his future, there were likely other feats that he would accomplish. But what would they be?
He would simply have to be it and see.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
