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Character: Lithian
Stage: Adept
Luck: 73
Creature: Ysali Dragon x 2
Success Rate: 6 - 100

Win x 2: (5 x 2)/2 = 5 exp

Total: 5exp +0 LUK, levels to ?? with ??exp left over, +?? stat points to distribute, +2 ysali orbs

Word Count Required: 600+ (Current: 1,131)
Final Word Count: -

“I spoke with your tutors.”

“Mm.” Lithian plucked at his magic, brow furrowed in focused concentration as he pulled at the water, struggling to shape it into something animalistic. He’d managed the trick often on a smaller scale as a child — carving little prancing hastars made from the steam of his breath, only big enough to fit in his palm — but as of late, particularly in his unused spare time, Lithian had taken to struggling to apply the trick on a larger scale. He stood now on the bank of a river just outside the main city of Serenia, playing with the current and bending his magic in an effort to mimic the shape of a dragon.

“They’ve been impressed with your progress. Say you’re on top of your class and doing especially well with your magic, particularly for someone your age.”

“Mhmm…” Lithian frowned, shifting his stance as he drew out the upper layer of water, trying to mold it like clay with an outward sweep and push of his fingers. Every time he got near to this point, other portions of his water ‘sculpture’ generally started to disintegrate. It was difficult, on the larger scale, to maintain control over so many aspects of a given body of liquid’s shape at once. This time, though, if he could just…get—

“You’re to meet with a new apprentice today. A young girl, Isolde, who is looking to have someone guide her through her first dragon hun—”

A splash sounded, Lithian’s control over his manipulation-in-progress snapping like too-wet parchment under the weight of a rock from nowhere. “I—what?” Lithian’s words tripped over each other as his pulse picked up, confusion rapidly giving way to mild panic. “Give…what? To who? This happened when? And no one thought to warn me about it? Did you arrange this? Ysette—”

Ysette, his sister who had been speaking previously, pursed her lips. “Ysalis Lithian, come now. You’ve taken on aiskala now, have you not? More than one at once, alone? It’s one little girl, and she needs a helping hand. Your tutors recommended you, asked if you would be up for it, and I assured them you would. You can hardly back out now.”

“But—what if—” Lithian gave up on his bending entirely, stepping away from the river he’d been practicing at and picking up his boots. “A new apprentice? What if she gets hurt? I’m hardly capable. It’s enough for me to look out for myself, not someone else’s child—”

“She’s barely four years younger than you,” Ysette clipped. “The same age you’re separate from that friend of yours, Araceli. She’s older than you were when you met the girl. Surely you can find something to talk about, and regardless of that, you can’t genuinely expect grass dragons will give you much trouble, do you?”

Lithian flushed, frowning. When he opened his mouth again, Ysette was already shooing his words away and explaining instead where and when he had to meet this young apprentice. The idea of being any sort of example to anyone unnerved him. He considered himself passably capable at best, and though — granted — he had taken on diabis in the past (not that he had ever spoken of that to his sister), it felt as though it were another matter entirely to have the safety of someone new to hunting in his hands.

Realistically, though, he knew it wasn’t unheard of. Most new apprentices ended up taking on their first dragon fights alone, and so simply having him there at all would be of some help. Thus, eventually, Lithian conceded to his sister’s instructions, and several hours later stood — trying not to fidget — near the main gates of Serenia’s capital, Ashen City, where he had been instructed to meet this new battler in training.

Lithian blinked, pulled out of his renegade thoughts by the inquiry, and looked down. In front of him stood a young girl, pale on all fronts, warmly dressed for the weather, and tall for her age, or he thought, though not overly so. His gangly form still towered over her. No clan yet. He tilted his head at that, stamping down the brief concern brought up by the fact and smiling warmly instead as he offered a hand.

“Guilty as charged,” he said, “and a pleasure to meet you — Isolde, yes? I hear the path of a fighter is unusual in your family…so perhaps we could get to know each other a bit while we walk?” Nodding his head towards the main path out of the city, Lithian lead the way, talking as he walked and making sure not to outpace his smaller companion. “It may be a bit before we run into any dragons, since they generally shy away from the city proper, but it never hurts to be careful, so we’ll keep a look out. Did you…bring a weapon, by any chance?”

It felt almost silly to ask, but without having chosen her clan yet, Lithian worried, and wanted to know what to expect out of the girl. He had to admit, privately, that she didn’t look like much — more bookish, than warrior like — but then, that had been him, too, at that age. Not that he felt he had ever truly moved out of ‘bookish’, to be fair. He wondered what had inspired her to even take the battler’s path, but for the moment kept his tongue to himself, not wanting to overburden her with questions. He was tasked with keeping her alive, not nattering her ears off.

“It’s lovely,” Lithian said as he eyed the blade. Simple, but practical. Not intricate or showy, but fitting for a young apprentice. “I’m sure it will serve you well until — and perhaps even after — you choose your clan. Do you…know what you intend to pick, or what you might choose from?” he asked, turning his attention back out to the grasses as they progressed further out, closing in on the neighboring forested areas.

His clan choice had been so instinctive, sometimes he had to remind himself that feeling so sure of such a major decision was rare among those of choosing age. Some struggled for months, or even years, uncertain of which path to follow and, thinking on it, how could one blame them? It was a lifelong choice, choosing which element to harbor within your body — let shape your magic and very essence to its core — and one typically made very young.

It was difficult trying to imagine what it would feel like not to be sure of such a thing.

Lithian smiled, reminded of his early insecurities as he watched Isolde’s shifts in expression. “It’s not a small thing to choose a clan outside of what your family expects. Good that they are not objecting, then…and admirable that you plan to stick with your instinct. None in my family were peisio, but I cannot imagine having chosen anything else. But regardless, you’ve nothing to fear when it comes to initiating it. It’s natural for dragon magic to seek out and attempt to bind with a clanless dovaa…the power within that soul will want to meld with you, and it won’t hurt. It’s…”

Lithian’s brow pinched with thought as he drew on his own memory of being imprinted with his clan. No words seemed fitting enough. Nothing grand or sweeping enough to cover it properly. Thus, after a pause, he shook his head.

“It’s like nothing else you’ll ever experience. But y—”

Lithian stilled, eyes locked on a distant point and what looked to be a small nest of exactly what they were looking for. When a set of glinting green wings stretched upwards and out, rustling the tall grass around it, Lithian dropped his fingers instinctively to the corks at his waist, unstoppering each of his flasks in readiness. With a glance to Isolde, though, he left his magic untouched for the moment. This was meant to be a training session after all, not proof that he could drown a ysali.

“Isolde, there’s a nest up ahead. It looks as though we’ll have at least three on our hands, but that shouldn’t be a problem. I will draw them out and take care of the first two to demonstrate and keep things simple for you, but since this is to help you learn, I’d like you to do your best on the third and show me what you can do with that blade. Alright?”

With an upwards pluck of his fingers, Lithian drew out the water in his flasks, pivoting his wrist and lowering his stance so that the individual strands weaved together like braided ribbons, eventually hovering behind him like a readied whip, poised to strike. Tempting as it was to simply knock out all three and keep the girl safe, Lithian knew that, rationally, that would defeat the point of the entire exercise. So, he waited for her go-ahead. Even if he couldn’t simply drown them all, the last thing he wanted was to draw the beasts out on them without giving her fair warning.

At Isolde’s go-ahead, Lithian relaxed. A little nervous on the edges, perhaps, but she didn’t seem overtly frightened, and that made things easier. Without wasting another moment, he stepped forward, sweeping his right wrist and palm forward with a snap that sent his ribbon of water cracking outwards into the small cluster of dragons.

Immediately, not wanting to inspire any of them to start spitting poison gas, Lithian drew both of his palms out to each side of him, splayed his fingers to attain a spider grip on his magic, and then pushed. Obediently, his cluster of water split into two even portions before the first two ysali and then, like a watery glove, rippled over their snouts and bodies, cutting off their oxygen supply and weighing down their wings enough to make it impossible to get off the ground. While the third squawked in distress, Lithian slowly closed his fingers inwards to increase the pressure until both of them stilled, and disintegrated into orbs. Then, with a quick roll and pluck of his wrists, he drew his water back to him.

“Your turn,” he said gently. “I will do my best not to let you get hurt.”