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Changed, but Not Forgotten; [P] Zymr
Topic Started: Thu Apr 2, 2015 6:45 pm (262 Views)
Garold
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So much had changed while he slept. Once the desert was consumed in constant conflict, an ever-changing tapestry of violence as nations were born and died again in an endless cycle. Now it stood strong under one tyrant, a dynasty that had lasted centuries. Dynasties had fallen. Languages and people had been forgotten. Even the land was not eternal. Rivers changes their course. The familiar tableau of a mountain range’s outline against a sunset had been eroded by the elements in subtle ways so that it was alien and eerie. Such was the nature of life. Everything was in flux, and to remain constant was to stagnate and wither away.

Despite this, Garold had believed magic eternal.

He paused for a moment, slightly out of breath despite the glacial pace he was forced to walk at. Even that minimal amount of effort proved strenuous for his body. Air rattled in his lungs and his joints felt as if they were limned with sand. Every step promised a world of pain in the morning, but he was tired of being a prisoner to his flesh. The only solution to the growing list of aches was to gradually exercise and improve himself.

In order to justify taking a break, he pulled a folded piece of parchment from his satchel. Unfolding it revealed a map of central Imythess. Although towns and political boundaries were marked on the image, that was not the true focus of the map. Thick lines criss-crossed the paper, notes written in a spidery script along their length. Leylines. Conduits for magic that ran throughout the world. Magicians working near a leyline could theoretically tap into its power and exponentially magnify their own abilities… at the danger of drawing too much and burning to a crisp. In his time they had not been discovered, but areas of convergence and higher mana density had been found. They had located the phenomenon, even if they lacked the understanding and knowledge of it that modern mages possessed.

However, the leylines had shifted during his long sleep, and with them all mana in the world was altered. Once h could have called endless power on a whim, enough to immolate his enemies and decimate armies. Now sometime he struggled to light a candle. What had once been instinct now required fierce concentration and crutches such as incantations and hand symbols. The few magicians he had consulted about the issue were less than helpful.

So, Garold had decided to investigate the problem at its source: the leylines themselves.

His progress was marked next to the road that crossed the Debon Plains, tick marks indicating how far he traveled each day. It was mid-morning, and if the map was correct, he should reach the largest leyline that ran through the region by lunch. Garold was glad that his journey was almost at an end. The grasslands had little in common with the desert he was so familiar with. Although he did not mind the lack of oppressive heat, he was uncomfortable in the unfamiliar biome. There was no telling what threats could exist here, hidden beneath the waist-high carpet of thick stalks and strands. The sooner he could conduct his experiments and be on his way, the better.
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Zymr
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Zymr stalked through the tall grasslands of the Debon Plains in a form she was less familiar with—a lioness—but her muscles and instincts all reacted the same. Her fur was short and tan, blending her into uneven ground and tall stalks of grass, moving with the wind. Her eyes matched her normal color—vibrant orange—and they scanned the area for any signs of people near.

Always travelling the lands, Zymr had wandered here in her journeys, adapting to the environment and shifting into the feline wildlife that lived there. It was an exercise to strengthen her control. Her truest form, that of an orange tigress, did not blend well with a majority of her surroundings as she travelled. Therefore, she had begun testing herself, seeing if she could change into other forms. It was all new to her. Until recently, she'd been convinced that all she could do was change into her one form, the form she first took when her powers blossomed. However, as time went on, she began noticing she could control her powers and change them.

The hot sun bore down on her back, a light breeze in the air. Zymr blew hot breath out of her nose, then sniffed the air. Her rounded ears twitched at the sound of movement. From what she could tell, it was a couple hundred yards away. Her curiosity peeked as she wondered whether it was friend or foe. Lowering into a crouching position, Zymr crept through the tall grass, following the rustle of footsteps.

When she came to a stop, she watched as an old man in loose robes and a wide-brimmed hat slowly made his way through the terrain. The wrinkles of his skin promised stories of wisdom and adventure, catching Zymr's interest. The look on his face warned her that he might not like human company. However, if he took her as a threat, he might attack. She wandered closer, hoping not to scare him, but remained in her feline form after weighing her odds.
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Garold
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As he continued walking, Garold settled into a rhythm he had perfected over the last few days. He didn't quite move at a shuffle, but his strides were short and steady in order to avoid aggravating his joints. He used a short walking stick for support, a length of tree branch nearly as gnarled and aged as he was. He shifted the hand he held it in at regular intervals so as to not wear out either arm too quickly. It was humiliating to be reduced to such a state, but there was no point in complaining about fate. The years and health of his youth were so far in the distant past that there were very few alive that still remembered it. Magic might be able to return him to his prime, but not permanently. His body had grown too accustomed to this new state of being while he slept to be swayed. The few healers he had consulted guaranteed that an attempt to reverse time could cause more damage than it healed.

Still, he could not help but curse time when he was eventually forced to come to a halt, sweat streaming down his face. He reached inside his satchel and pulled out a water skin with shaky hands, fingers scrabbling at the lid as he unscrewed it. The water was warm and brackish, its taste stale and tainted by leather and metal, but the first sip still tasted like ambrosia. He took several deep swallows, just enough to quench his thirst. The temptation to drain the container completely was strong, but he resisted. Garold wasn't sure how long this water would last him, and too much liquid on an empty stomach would make him violently ill. He sighed and re-capped the canteen, thrusting it back into his bag as if hiding it would make resisting its contents easier.

He had pulled out some dried strips of meat to chew on when a flash of motion caught his eye. He didn't jerk his head around, but instead glanced in that direction as casually as possible. The sight that greeted him was alarming to say the least. A large feline was moving through the grasslands with predatory grace, its tan pelt blending effortlessly into the surroundings. Its body was corded with sheets of svelte muscle, and it was easily the size of a horse. More than big enough to kill him. He had heard of the big cats that hunted the savanna and plains north of the desert, but Garold had never seen one in the flesh.

It was terrifying.

The strip of meat fell out of his mouth as he gaped at it for a moment, but he had always been a man of action, and old age did nothing to change that. He pulled on his inner reserves of mana so hard it made him dizzy, power surging through his veins like lava. Garold brought his free hand up, fingers spread wide. They moved independently of each other as they began to move through a complicated series of symbols, providing a physical template for the magical energy to follow. He chanted words at the same time, each syllable sharp and deadly and providing an additional guide for the mana. The power of the spell surged through his body in an ecstatic rush, leaving him trembling as it manifested in a representation of his will. Six balls of ruby red fire popped into existence in a small circle around Garold's chest, orbiting him slowly. They painted the road in crimson light, making his pale robes looka s if they had been dyed with blood.

"Away, beast!" He called out, hoping that the loud noise and fire would scare away the predator. It might be willing to go after one, defenseless old man, but all lesser creatures had a healthy fear of flames. He was hoping they would discourage the feline from attempting to devour him.
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