Shadows and Memory

Shadows and Memory

Postby Vanidor » Tue Dec 24, 2019 7:04 pm

Some nights prior, in the deepest point of the night, under a moon that was waning into a bare crescent

He stood as he had a year past, the first time he had actually stepped foot from his sanctuary despite a fleeting promise to be available for a quite curious visitor. This time his garments were bound in a leather sack, and hung from a nearby branch. And then tucked into the shadow of a nearby tree trunk. His sword he had thrust into the loamy earth at the edge of the circle, keeping an every wary eye upon the sapphire that sat at the pommel.

Vanidor exhaled deeply, purging his body of air for a moment and causing a great gout of steam to rise about his features. Pallid this year, even by his standards. Then with an inhale, he stepped into the circle of stone and wood, feet lifting across the boundary into this sacred space of his. The air was colder here within the circle, thinner even, and it caused the his flesh to pebble and tighten. Another breath. And then into the slow and long practiced step of his.

Try as he might, however, the man could not bring to mind anything to be mindful of as he stepped his way into the new season. He really needed to feel strange earth under his feet again. To step beyond the barriers of his hidden home and taste the chaotic air of Myrken. There had been tremors, of course, but ennui had kept him sitting upon his cold throne, the walls of his home shut tight. Not even the playful nature of the Tressym had caught his eye, before they fled to warmer regions for the winter.

Another breath, and his step picked up pace. Placed just so, and he could just... Go. There were others of his kin beyond the veil of these worlds, he knew. Some that he had not seen for a number of human generations. If he intoned just right, changing the pitch of his voice. It would be easy. And yet, as his toes dragged through the lightly dusted earth, he did not adjust the timbre of his voice. Nor did he step fully in the proper way. It WAS a one way trip, after all.

And truth to tell. He was not quite done with this world. Even if he felt the measure of the ages upon his shoulders. He never did finish his conversations with Glenn. Or... What was his name. The man who had become governor. Ah, Aeden, but he could not remember. Was the boy still alive even? What had happened to Ariane, to Lamai. The creature that had called itself Phlynn. Phynn? He was agitated, that he could not remember.

Pause.

He breathed again. Deep and filling. Vanidor calmed himself, easing back into the ritual nature of his prayer. By the time he completed another circuit, the man had steadied himself enough to step from the circle with a clear mind. It felt as if cobwebs had been brushed from his shoulders and removed from his hair. Back then, into the chill he stepped.
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Vanidor
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Location: Under the desert sky.

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