Stepping Out and Stepping Up [Completed]

Loxiel, a young changeling, comes f age and leaves his home, the orphanage. In search of something greater, he goes off to try and find a mentor to help him realise his dream of becoming a hero!

In the heart of Ninraih's jungles, the Fae created the city of Ajteire, protected from the undead by the magic of fireflies and a pact with the Kerasoka. The complex network of trees, vines, and plants helps to keep unwanted visitors out. Read more...
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Loxiel
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Stepping Out and Stepping Up [Completed]

Post by Loxiel »

Here we go! Hoisting his bag up his shoulder, Loxiel stepped through the open door of the orphanage he had called home 10 years, and took in a deep breath.

"You don't have to leave right away, you know." Karya, the tall, seemingly ancient Fae who ran the orphanage stood behind him, leaning on her staff. Though she was supposed to have been a mage of some renown in her youth, she had long since given up fighting the undead and had devoted her years to the orphans of Ajteire. "Just because you have turned 16 doesn't mean I am going to kick you out immediately, Lox!"

The young changeling turned back to her. His dark eyes betrayed conflicting emotions; part of him wanted to run back inside, but a greater part of him knew it was time to strike out on his own. "There will be others who could use my bed, mistress." He said, by way of an excuse. Truth was, he was never truly happy there.

Though he slept comfortable and ate well, it was being surrounded by so many people who could do magic. Even thinking about it made him frustrated. He himself had no innate affinity for any kind of magic, nor had studying it produced any results at all! In a city such as this, filled to the brin with magic-users - from those who could only light a candle with a wave of their hands, right to those that could call lightning from the sky - magical people were everywhere. And he was not one of them.

"I need to go; I am going to speak to the tailor about a job," he lied. But he did incline his head to the old Elven woman. "Thank you for everything, Mistess Karya."

She smiled, but it was a sad smile. "You are always welcome to visit." She said, as he walked away. As he vanished from her sight, she shook her head. "May the spirits grant you a path from your loneliness, young Loxiel."

***

"Sorry, boy. Not hiring." The Fae man had barely given Loxiel a second look before turning back to one of the other people in the shop.

Loxiel was not at the tailors. He had been though. And to the tavern, and the markets, and the smithy, the post service hall ... no one was hiring. He was beginning to think he had been stupid at not securing a job or place to sleep before leaving the Home.

When the sun began to go down, the young shifter was walking with his shoulder's slumped, wondering if he ought to ask one of the families he had spent time with in study for a place to sleep for the night.

"Look boys, it's the shifter."

Loxiel stopped in the street, looking up from the pathway to find a grinning, handsome Fae surrounded by a few friends. It was Vin; a young aspiring mage whose family had hosted Loxiel once or twice over the years. Loxiel had hated it.

The family seemed to all be accomplished magic users, and Vin's father had even tried to teach Loxiel a few simple spells, with no success. Vin, the eldest of the families children, seemed to delight in this and had teased Loxiel whenever the two crossed paths. "How it must be to be so ignorant of the world around you!" He would say. "How will you become anything in this world if you have no skill at all."

Loxiel had never reacted, apart from to flush with anger, which only brought mocking laughter from the young Fae.

Today, Loxiel was in no mood. He gripped his bag tight and pushed passed Vin, shouldering him out of the way when he refused to move.

This did not please Vin, who turned angrily around. "You watch yourself, you filthy Shifter." He spat. "No wonder your mother gave you up. You uncouth scum!" The boy pointed a finger at Loxiel's back, whispering something.

Loxiel cried out as a flash of pain went through his mind; like a sudden, severe headache. He dropped his bag and put his hands to his temple, wincing as the Fae used his magic to cause him such agony. Instinctively, he began to shift; a haze surrounded him, and shadows wrapped around his form. As it faded, a hawk flew upwards, but screeched as the Fae carried on his incantation.

The pain caused Loxiel to lose control of his form, and he dropped back down to the road with a bump, knocking the wind from his lungs. He looked up from the ground and glared at Vin, who was laughing. "Can't even do the only thing he's good at!"

Rage filled him, and, uncharacteristically for him, he jumped to his feet, fists clenched, right towards the young Fae ...
Last edited by Loxiel on September 27th, 2019, 3:08 am, edited 3 times in total.
Word count: 801
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Harroc Crownegrove
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Disciples of Balance, Defender of the Woods
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Re: Stepping Out and Stepping Up

Post by Harroc Crownegrove »

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Harroc was enjoying his time in Ajteire immensely. Everywhere he looked, people lived immersed in the barely tamed ancient jungle. The constant thrum of magic, ancient and new, mixed with the air making colors feel brighter, sounds amplified and smells richer. There was also an itch along Harroc's skin; a constant trickle of power begging to be harnessed as his own essence overflowed. He had taken to wandering through the city's pathways simply absorbing the wonder and vibrancy.

One such wander brought him to a side street just in time to watch a hawk dart into the air screeching in fear and pain; then the hawk became a boy and fell back to the hard-packed earth. A Fae boy shouted, and the fallen shifter jumped to his feet, clearly in pain and about to do something rash. Harroc felt a raging anger flare up driven by his own memories of ignorant folk.

His hands shot outward, ripping eager magic from the ground. Dense roots shot upward, twisting and tightening around the Fae's body up to the chest. In the same moment, he leapt forward, overcome by the need to make right all the times he'd been slighted or mistreated. His body rippled and became the largest wolf it could. His teeth bared in a menacing growl as he landed. He stood there for a moment, hackles raised and jaws open in challenge before stepping directly in front of the now trapped Fae and shifting back into his human form. Harroc's staff whipped from his back and landed against the boy's shoulder. "I was taught that you never attack with magic unless you intend to kill," he said as the roots tightened. He leaned close to the boy, forcing him to lock eyes with his own. "You weren't doing something so foolish though, were you?"
Last edited by Harroc Crownegrove on September 16th, 2019, 7:39 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Word count: 307
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Loxiel
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Re: Stepping Out and Stepping Up

Post by Loxiel »

Before he even got two steps towards Vin, Loxiel skidded to a halt as vines suddenly burst through the floor, wrapping themselves around the Fae boy's body. He was used to magic, having lived in Ajteire all his life, but he had never seen it used so ... violently! He had always supposed that that sort of thing happened along the perimeter, where the ever vigilant militia kept the undead at bay. He had never seen it used so spectacularly inside the city.

Then, just as his mind was trying to process what happened, someone jumped forward and shifted right in from of them.

And this was no shift like he himself could ever perform. This was no small animal, but a huge, bristling wolf, the deep rumble of his growl making Loxiel step back himself.

Vin's friends quickly vanished. It seemed he didn't command as much loyalty among those that followed him around as if he were some sort of hero. And as for the Fae himself, his strangled cries and protests were pitiful. "No .... don't ... I didn't ... I'm Vin .... Vin Tilare ... you ...argh!"

At first, Loxiel just froze and watched with wide eyes. Of course, he had encountered shifters before; Changelings, like he, but he was not part of any family, clan, or even a pack (as some called themselves). They never bothered with him, even when he had tried to approach them in order to help him learn about his abilities. He had grown up blind. The scene before held both fascination and fear ... and though part of him thought this was exactly the sort of thing that Vin Tilare deserved, as a cruel and arrogant young man, he was also young and softer than most.

His mouth was dry as he spoke. "Stop!" He said, in a wavering voice. "Don't ... don't kill him. He's a bully and ... well ... I don't want you to kill him because of me."

Loxiel held his breath, having no idea what would happen now. Would the guards come? Would Vin use magic to defend himself? Could he even focus on a spell in his current situation? Loxiel doubted that, at least.
Last edited by Loxiel on September 16th, 2019, 7:37 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Word count: 359
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Harroc Crownegrove
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Disciples of Balance, Defender of the Woods
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Re: Stepping Out and Stepping Up

Post by Harroc Crownegrove »

Harroc broke his eyes away from the Fae, Vin, to glance at the young shifter. His essence filled eyes slid over the boy's features and another growl rumbled in his chest. The boy had no magic and, likely knowing this, the Fae had still attacked him. Harroc snapped his eyes back to Vin and bared his teeth as he spoke, "It's not my place to kill... rats in the city." With a chop of his hand, the roots and vines twisted back into the dirt and he moved his staff to Vin's chest. Harroc shoved the boy back with the weapon and kicked a foot towards him in a shooing motion. "Go, and be happy you're not in the wilds where the lessons are more permanent."

Turning away from Vin, but keeping his sense of essence around the boy, Harroc turned to the shifter. "Are you alright, where are your friends?" he asked as he pushed a trickle of the earth into the shifter. The magic wasn't much, but it would pull from the dense magic of the surrounding nature and slowly heal with little cost. His grip on his staff kept his knuckles white as he pushed down the feral anger and need to tear flesh his wolf form pushed forward in battle.
Last edited by Harroc Crownegrove on September 16th, 2019, 7:39 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Word count: 214
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Loxiel
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Re: Stepping Out and Stepping Up

Post by Loxiel »

As the vines crumbled, a very dishevelled Vin dropped and then flew backwards as he was kicked, gasping for air. He looked up from where he was, on his knees, a mix of hatred and fear ... but he wasn't stupid enough to try anything. He managed to throw Loxiel a look that screamed that this was not over. Pulling himself to his feet, wincing in pain, his wings unfurled and he took flight, taking quickly off.

Loxiel, however, was not looking at the Fae at all. He rubbed his head a little as the pain subsided, but he kept his eyes on the man before him. He too got to his feet, straightening his clothes. "I, erm, I don't have any friends, sir. Not really." He cleared his throat, trying not to sound and look as nervous as he was. He was also fascinated. "I grew up in the home ... Mistress' Karya's orphanage. No other people like me ..." he looked up at the man. "Like us, in the Home."

He wasn't sure exactly what to say, but it might have all ended differently if this mysterious man had not stepped in. "My apologies, I forget myself." He inclined his head, respectfully. "I am Loxiel, sir. Thank you for helping me. Vin is ... he's a bully. Usually just name calling because I ..." He glanced to the side, as if saying something shameful. "I have no magic, nor have I ever been able to study and use it. That's uncommon round here so," he shrugged, then realised he was rambling. "My apologies, sir." He cleared his throat again. The teen was nervous; he was also tremendously curious; so many questions. But experience had told him that other shifters rarely spoke to people like Loxiel. "I'm afraid I can't offer much as thanks. Actually I can't offer anything, I'm afraid. I'm sorry."
Last edited by Loxiel on September 16th, 2019, 7:37 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Word count: 309
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Harroc Crownegrove
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Re: Stepping Out and Stepping Up

Post by Harroc Crownegrove »

Harroc watched the young shifter as he worked through his reply, noting the clear nervous energy and closed body language. He didn't know what an orphanage was, but it sounded like a place for the abandoned or lost and that was something Harroc could appreciate. When the boy mentioned magic the Druid focused on his essence. Tracing the pathways in the young shifter's body showed essence trails that were gnarled and weak. They resembled young roots forced to struggle in the shade, and yet there was a trickle there. Harroc's own magic had flowed along a pathway, however small, and showed potential.

"I can see you have no magic yet, but there's something there you might one day grow." With a nod, Harroc decided he would teach this young shifter, or at the least get him a knife. "I am Harroc. Shifter, Druid, and Elemental," he said offering his hand to the boy who seemed to firm up before shaking it. He turned and motioned with his hand over his shoulder. "Come, let's get somewhere away from here before the rest of the rats scurry over."

Trusting Loxiel to follow, Harroc strode along the main path before taking a long ramp into the middle trees. He kept them to the larger paths, figuring on the boy being unable to shift for now and his own discomfort with the smaller interconnected walkways on two legs. Before long they came to a large open platform between trunks surrounded by a mix of small dwellings and the ringing of tools. Here Harroc had traded a few pelts and bones to the bonesmith with the plan to collect something later. He pointed at the table lined with gleaming white bone knives and nodded to Loxiel. "Pick something, no longer than your forearm, then we'll get you a sturdier bag."
Last edited by Harroc Crownegrove on September 16th, 2019, 7:37 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Word count: 305
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Mara Whitewood
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Disciple of Ristgir
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Re: Stepping Out and Stepping Up [Open]

Post by Mara Whitewood »

The air in Ninraih was like bathwater; dense and humid even on mild days, Mara felt as though she waded through it more than she walked. After nearly a decade of traveling between tropical Ajteire and the far more moderate Fellsgard, she still wasn't used to the way her hair and clothes adhered uncomfortably to her skin. Then again, considering who primarily inhabited these lands, she had to suppose she simply wasn't made for them.

For all that the cloying climate felt oppressive, it didn't compare to the very real prejudices she faced in Fellsgard. The towering trees and their seemingly mile-wide canopies choked out the sky, and vines as thick as her legs might one day smother them all, but Mara couldn't deny that she breathed easier here than the city of her birth. Having just returned from week-long visit there, she was reminded again how fortunate she was to have somewhere to retreat to when the whispers became too much. She was blind, not stupid.

Up on the parapets connecting the various platforms together, Mara paused to listen. There was a definite sense of activity around her; people coming and going, and voices raised in conversation or a bit of friendly haggling. Accompanying them were sounds of industry: the sharp clang of hammers striking metal, the scrape of a knife against leather, and the delicate creak of wood as a bowyer tested the flexibility of their latest creation. Overlaying it all was the muted susurrus of wind through the branches.

Mara, confident that she was in the right place, started slowly forward. Her staff lead the way, the blunt base swinging gently from left to right an inch or two above ground, searching for uneven terrain or unexpected obstructions. She walked with her head slightly cocked to keep her ear turned to the sounds around her.

Somehow she did not to bump into anyone or anything.

The bonesmith already had a customer when she slowed to a stop by his workshop -- two of them if she sensed correctly. And yet, judging by the words she caught as she approached, it didn't sounds as though either one were engaged with the smith directly. Still, manners dictated she be certain.

"Master smith," she began softly, her free hand dipping into her satchel to produce a pair of thin objects that looked like sewing needles. They might have been sharp and bleached white bone once, but they were looking rather dull and discolored.

"When you can spare a moment, I would like to inquire about replacing these, if you please."
Word count: 430
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Loxiel
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Re: Stepping Out and Stepping Up

Post by Loxiel »

Loxiel glanced up at the man. Why was he being so kind to him? Was it because he was a shifter, like himself? Was it pity, after seeing the spectacle with Vin?

His dark eyes turned to selection of knives. The only one he had ever held was Inya's, so he wasn't enitrely sure what he should choose. With a glance at both the smith and the Druid, he turned back and picked up one of the daggers. Not really knowing what he was doing, he simply let it sit in his hand. It didn't have the same feel as Inya's. What had she said: "A dagger will serve just as well in the right hands as a sword, but you must be proficient, and the dagger must be just right. The grip, the length, the sturdiness, but most of all; the balance. If you get it right, it will feel like an extension of your own hand. That's what you want in a weapon." He put the knife back down.

Conscious of the Druid and the smith, he tried to be fast, but he kept Inya's word in his head. He wasn't exactly sure how he was meant to 'feel the balance', but when he picked up the fourth ... it felt right. Sure it was basic, and in his day-dreaming he had envisaged carrying something beautifully ornate, jewel encrusted and perhaps even ancient; magic made, perhaps. But he was, himself, a plain figure. He wore a simple tunic and trousers that barely reached his ankles. The only thing that stood out was a scarf tucked into his belt. It was finely made, much too fine compared to his basic clothing from the orphanage.

"This one," he said, hesitantly, looking from the dagger to Harroc. "I think this one would be best, but ... I have nothing to offer you in exchange, sir"

His eyes shifted as a woman approached. He had not seen her before; robed, with a strange metal visor covering her eyes. He cocked his head as she spoke softly to the smith. Who was she?

Harroc turned as the woman approached. He said nothing until she placed the needles on the table before the smith and asked for his service. Harroc could sense magic from this one; strong like the midday sun. Certainly stronger than the little changeling he had by his side. There was something compelling about her; her demeanour, and the way she held herself, caught his interest. "I'll pay for the lady's repairs." He said to the smith. "The pelts and such should cover it fine."

The smith nodded. His eyes had lit up at the generous offering for a simple dagger, so repairing a few needles wasn't going to bother him at all. "The dagger is his, and I'll have these," he said, taking the needles with a nod to the lady. "Back in an hour. Good work takes time."

When the smith turned away, Loxiel wanted nothing more than to brandish his dagger and practice fighting off imaginary undead. Instead, he placed it in his belt alongside his silken scarf; a slight smile at the sight of his (now) two most prized possessions. "Thank you. I promise I will repay you in any way I can. You need only ask." He said. Maybe later, he would regret those words.

Harroc nodded, but he was still watching the robed woman. "You've got an abundance of light inside you. Is that why you walk with the staff?"

Loxiel peered from behind Harroc. Another mysterious magic user? It was like he was standing in the middle of one of the stories Mistress Karya had told him when he was a youngling. He watched carefully. What would she say to so blunt a statement?
Word count: 628
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Mara Whitewood
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Disciple of Ristgir
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Re: Stepping Out and Stepping Up

Post by Mara Whitewood »

Mara angled her head towards the voice in mild surprise. She recognized it as the one she heard when she approached, and its location somewhat above her gave her the impression of someone taller. Other than a kind of odd resonance in the measured cadence of his words -- something she has detected in other speakers in the past -- she couldn't deduce much else about the voice's owner without seriously transgressing on personal boundaries. Regardless of how curious she was, she would not lean toward him and sniff the air.

"You have my thanks," she said sincerely, inclining her head respectfully at the same time. Strands of white-blonde hair whispered across the metal visor with the gesture but she made no move to bat them away. "You have been very generous."

She was referring not only to his offer to cover the cost of her repairs, but the cost of the second voice's purchase as well. Certainly she had caught the exchange, although she hadn't thought much of it at the time. Random acts of kindness were exponentially more common outside of Fellsgard she noticed.

As the smith gathered the needles and retreated into the other end of the shop to fulfill their collective requests, Mara murmured a word of gratitude separately for him. She turned her body in the direction of the other two, waiting for the younger speaker to finish making his offer of repayment in order to make her own. Before she could do more than draw breath, the older spoke again.

Mara's brows, hidden by the visor, rose. His observation was wholly unexpected, catching her unaware, a fact that neither of them would miss as she took a moment to consider her reply.

"You could say that," she said after a beat. It was the truth, more or less; the staff helped her navigate a little easier but it served as a conduit at times, too. There seemed no reason to be coy about it even if she had been inclined to be.

Flexing her fingers over the smooth white wood of the staff in question, Mara shifted her grip fractionally. "A torch without a flame is just a stick after all." It was small, but the corners of her mouth turned up just a little, betraying her amusement at her own wit.
Word count: 388
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Harroc Crownegrove
Character
Disciples of Balance, Defender of the Woods
Level
01
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21 / 21 MP
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Race: Elemental and Shapeshifter
Class: Druid
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Re: Stepping Out and Stepping Up

Post by Harroc Crownegrove »

Harroc was watching Loxiel’s rather serious and focused selection of a weapon when the woman first approached. Only idly noticing her at first glance, marking her a Fae given her odd clothing and fair skin. When he concentrated on the fading earth essence in the boy though, he was caught suddenly by a near brilliance from the woman. He only managed not to jump back in alarm through years of rigorous experience in the wilds. After a carefully contained moment of observation, he realized it was not that she was overtly powerful, but that her physical form seemed frail in comparison to her essence. Harroc traced the lines of magic in her and knew she was someone trained rather than self-taught. The channels were rigid, almost carved into her body, and followed a distinct pattern that didn’t quite seem to fit in many places. Harroc’s observation spilled from his mouth unbidden, and then the woman responded with a witticism. He grinned widely, remembering his sharing quips with his mother on long journeys. Harroc loved wordplay, and a response sprang to mind instantly. “A man without a cup will often find his wine overflows,” he said sagely with exaggerated seriousness. “Would you care to sit with us while the bonesmith works? A woman sells sweet drink and fine bread a platform over.” Harroc gestured the direction with his arm vaguely before continuing, “More company often makes finer food after all.”
Word count: 242
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