6/4 Fresh Seeds, Old Soil

 Artaghh says, "Now my boy, we fly."
 Arlei Therus says, "Ah, thank you, ser! I'll harvest 'flies later."
 Feth Vishkar asks, "Just me and you, pops?"
The young girl is over taken by the sheer amount of information this person is tossing out at everyone like it's normal lost in all the creation of stuff.
(Fenna)
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 Lirien Nina Leverd says, "Boo."
 Artaghh says, "Aye, seems a fine party."
 Lirien Nina Leverd whispers: I'll make ya kiss my toes again when you come back!
 Feth Vishkar exclaims, "Baha!"
 Feth Vishkar exclaims, "I'll see you later, Lirien!"
 Ser Artaghh would lead his son to the frozen north beyond Dawn with a steady, if somewhat eccentric manner of travel. Instead of going through the treacherous cave systems to make his way forth, the knight simply grabbed his young son to his side and lept forth with FORCE from the soil of Dawn, leaping from south to north coast with a vast bound that ended with a loud, resounding clank as his black sabatons found purchase upon the crunchy snow.

And so the pair would proceed forth, ascending the heights of the north's mountains with downslopes, upslopes, treacherous climbs, and one, fearless leap from the snowy foot of the mountain up to the first rung of the familiar, icy peaks. It was a familiar place, one he'd used once for training long, long ago.

Finally, the pair would ascend the steep heights to the small, snowy plain that hung separated and distant against the steep mountain's face, a place altogether separated from the noise an distraction of civilization. The howling gales sounded as if the wales of spirits as the frigid gusts cut against the pairs forms, but Ser Artaghh would lead his young Oscuri son forth with a firm hand and a fearless, missing toothed grin.

Noting the cold with a nod, the knight would glance with his tired, remaining eye at the ashen remnants of the familiar camp the commander had shared in the heights of Artaghh's mystic endeavors. The laughter of Chroma, Chaaca, Freya, and Theodore had given those flames more light than any cold place like this deserved.

"This is the cliff face plateau ma boy. Here, I sat in meditation as Zeriel's siege of Dawn trailed on, sought'a master the mana o'ta spirit realm through inducin' a trance through determined effort. Nae easy for fools an' hotheads'ta truly think abou' nothin', bu' practice makes perfect."

The knight would swiftly begin to gather lumber for the fire as he puffed away at his corn cob pipe, blowing minty smoke into the howling gales as he prepared a fire for the pair.
(Artaghh)
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 The knight would swiftly begin to gather lumber for the fire as he puffed away at his corn cob pipe, blowing minty smoke into the howling gales as he prepared a fire for the pair.
(Artaghh)
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 The boy follows his father.

He'd expected the journey to be short and within Dawn, but he'd been proven wrong. As they go he is suddenly grabbed by his father and ascends into the sky. The sheer power of his father's legs launches them atop snowy mountains.

"W-Woah!"

The boy exclaims in excitement and surprise after, as he was unable to react before. At that point is he released by his father. His feet touch the ground again and he stumbles about before regaining his balance. Then he looks to his father that is continuing on.

They travel up large slopes, climb the sides of the humungous heights, and leap from one dropoff to another. It's a long and arduous journey to the location. They stop at a snowy plateau.

"So this is the special spot you trained at for your powers? It isn't like anywhere I've been! It was so hard to get to, it makes sense!"

He then watches curiously as his dad collects the firewood and prepares a campfire.

"So what are we going to do here, pops?"
(Feth Vishkar)
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 Ser Artaghh would smile as he assembled the fire, igniting the wood with determined efforts and grinding of his black greatsword against a flint for sparks. Any normal flame might go out from the fierce gales atop these high peaks, but this place was magical in its own sort of way. The mana of those that sought progress here, the ethereal embers of Ser Artaghh's lost comrades. remaining as if a light tint upon the plateau's energy, feeding the fire with the flames of the shared passion this redoubt had hosted.

"When I was masterin' the mystic arts, I attended a single lesson on riftmancy from Lady Nyphadora herself in the depths o'ta worldscape, upon her fanciful glade. I learned the foundations'a the study, an' even jus' them were enoug'ta aid me along in mastering the energies o'ta spirit realm. So I'll explain it, an' ye' can begin yer practice even 'fore ye' ge' lessons from Dylerun an' Sors."

Artaghh would pace to edge of the cliff face plateau as he began to fiddle at he straps and bindings of his heavy, nyeshk plate cuirass, sighing idly as he felt the relief from the heavy clank and crunch of the black armor against the snow. As he paced forth with a nod, he'd ignite with the rich, dense sapphire flames of the mystic arts, his musculature straining as its sheer density was magnified by the ethereal energy.

"It all starts wit' the lifestream. Whether ye' are for it or agains' it, as we oft are in Dawn, its an importan' facet'a the world tha' flows e'erywhere. Riftmancy, in essence, is masterin' space time theory in learnin'ta rip two separate parts'a the flow'a the lifestream toge'er, an' forcin'm nex'ta each o'er for ye' convenience. Tha' manifestation'a magic is wha' rifts are!"

The knight would gesture behind him to the heights of the cliff that rose above them, the heavens above and the depths far below them at the foot of the mountain they'd ascended.

"Firs' step'a staplin' two places toge'er is knowin' how they feel, aye? The familiar flow'a its energy here can be attuned to through meditation, familiarizin' yerself wit' its passage an' presence. Ye' cannae see it, bu' its always there."

(Artaghh)
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 "Rift magic!"

The boy hadn't expected his father to bring him out for anything involving riftmancy. Instead he thought they'd be practicing his swordplay or energy magic. Excitement can be seen in his face with the topic being brought up!

As his father moves and acts, so does he. He'd follow them over to the edge of the cliff, remove his coat and shirt, and allow for the rieka within his body to pour outwards. He doesn't care not to brave the cold, like his father.

Initially he peers off to the south in search of the city of Dawn, though he finds it obscured by the eternal blizzard of the biome. But it didn't concern him as he finds his attention brought back to his father as he speaks again. He listens intently.

"The lifestream… Ripping two parts and putting them together..."

He then looks to the heights above that his father draws his attention to far above. They then mention familiarizing oneself to the energy of a place through meditation. Remembering the unique aura a location radiates. It's the first time he'd thought about such a thing...

"So the first step in connecting two places is knowing what those two places are, right? How do I meditate to feel what a place is like? I've never tried or heard about it."

(Feth Vishkar)
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[22:04] Ser Artaghh would smile as he levitated upwards, the glimmering ethereal light dimly touching upon his person as he beckoned his son to the edge of the cliff. Crossing his legs in mid air, the knight would enter his familiar, meditative posture in demonstration for his young son with a bark of tired laughter.

"Conjure yer mana, manifes' the emerald green'a yer reika. Once tha's done, ye' shall assume this position I have upon the snow. Ye' dunnae know how'ta levitate jus' ye', so ye'll have'ta ge' yer pants a wee bi' damp."

The knight would smile as he shut his remaining eye, feeling out for the familiar energies that, as a stream etching out from a vast river, led off to this isolated corner of the island. His shroud coiled and burned as if the steady flame of a hearth, the dense mana swirling in a vortex of gathered energy about the commander's levitating frame.

"It's nae a thing tha's so easy as doin' in a momen', bu' meditation allows ye'ta...free yerself o' worldly distractions, break down to the basic flow'a yer magic through yer circuits. Ye' mus' shut yer eyes, and try yer hardest to banish the cold tha' surrounds ye', the howling winds tha' screech in yer ears, the idle thoughts tha' plague yer mind. An' become nothingness. Flowing energy wit'ou' thought."

The commander would pat his son on the shoulder with a firm nod and a toothy grin as he gave his boy a thumps up of paternal encouragement, nodding steadily to the youth as he turned his head back towards the edge of the cliff, the sights of distant Dawn and Agartha beyond far below the pair.
Tucking his corncob pipe away in the confines of his greaves as the frigid chill soothed the ever present burns of his frame, he'd point out towards the city of Dawn down below with a sweeping gesture.

"When ye' have mastered the meditative trance, the flow'a mana within ye', ye' can work on reachin' ou' wit' yer own agains' the natural flow aroun' ye'. The familiar patterns tha' diversify each branc an' inch'a the lifestream through those tha' touch it by, well, livin'!"

(Artaghh)
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[22:23] "Mm..."

He slowly lowers himself to the ground beneath as told to do. Crossing his legs and allowing for his hands to sit between, he allows for the energy about him to flow freely. The energy about him is grows wilder and brighter as he does so, but in a harmless way.

Allowing for the rieka within him to escape, he feels the fleeing stress of his body. The power bestowed upon him by Azrael was meant to be used. With it came adrenaline and heightened senses. Including his ability to concentrate.

While usually he is one to always be thinking of something, he clears his thoughts. The images of the Divine War which come to his head, his desire to be the best warrior, and anything else. Closing his eyes, his mind is unoccupied. Now, instead of thinking he feels.

It leaves him to do as his father instructs. He listens to the faint howls of wind that move about the terrain of the cliffs. He feels the freezing cold that is applied to his bare features. And with time...

He senses.

The energy of vitality coming off from the forms of him and his father. The freeness of the wind that moves about. The joining of freeness and adaptability in ice to create something ever growing and changing with the temperatures. Even the faintest of traces of energy left behind those that had came to this very spot.

It's all there for him to sense.

In that instance do his thoughts come back and his meditative state is broken. His eyes flicker into being open once again, and he looks to his father.

"I can feel it all, dad. What makes everything around us what it is... It's there when I focus. Even what was here before... It's there."
(Feth Vishkar)
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 Feth Vishkar exclaims, "It... It really is all there!"
 Ser Artaghh would smile as he watched his young son manifested a natural prowess in his sensitivity to the energies flowing around him. It did not surprise him, his parents were both energy magi. The flow of mana must feel right at home to him.

"When ye' have mastered riftmancy, this'll be a fine location for ye'ta meditate upon yer Oscuri dreams an' master the overdrive. Bu' tha' is later, yer studies in riftmancy are of far more import righ' now."

The commander would nod stiff as he crossed his burn scarred, bandaged arms with a steady puff of his corn cob pipe, blowing minty smoke into the howling gales of the mountainous, snowy plateau they sat upon.

"See how ye' los' focus? The key'ta meditation is maintain' it, introspectin', furtherin' ye' mind an' reinforcin' yerself internally. The long hours'a nothin'll do ye' good. Ye' do it long enough in one place, jus' like a familiar smell like cookies fresh made, it'll stick wit' ye'. When ye' have attuned yerself ta' the flow'a the lifestream in such a place, it is far easier fer'a riftmancer'ta piece it an' ano'er part'a the stream toge'er. Easier'ta gather mana too, usin'it'a project yer efforts'ta the spirit realm. "

(Artaghh)
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 He is a natural.

"This will be a good place to come to when I need to think. Mastering riftmancy will take a while, but I'll remember the energy here! Once I learn how to open a rift big enough for me I'll come here and train more!"

The boy would take in a deep breath, as if inhaling the energies of this location for himself. Although mixed with the smoke from the pipe of his father, he takes in the otherwise pure air. He also nods to their words.

"I got excited! But... I'll do it again. This time I won't stop until I remember everything around here."

As he says, his eyes close once again to enter another meditative trance. Concentrating on remembering the sensation of the energies around him particular to their location now. Practice and for him to remember one day, when he comes back. He wouldn't until he learns how to open a rift.

When would that be? It's for time to tell.
(Feth Vishkar)
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Artaghh says, "Tha's enoug' fer one evenin', les' head home kid."
 Ser Artaghh would nod steadily with approval to his young son as he paced with a yawn back towards the burnt out flames of the firepit where he'd deposited his cuirass. Cracking his back as he trailed one of his burn scarred fingers across the metal plating that held his torso together with a sigh.

"This place was once the home of my friends, yer uncles. Chroma an' Chaaca's energy lives on in this place. Attune yerself here, an' they'll always be watchin' yer back, as I will when my time comes."

The flaming shroud of mystic energy dissipating from his form as he prepared to depart down the mountain back to Dawn with a steady, solemn whistle as he nodded to Feth with a gesture to follow. It was time to go home.
(Artaghh)
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 Feth Vishkar says, "Uncle Chroma and Chaaca..."
 Feth Vishkar exclaims, "Mm!"
 Artaghh says, "Aye."
 Artaghh says, "These mountains here are a good place'ta train yer body. I'll bring ye' along on my nex' exercise, ge' ye' started on masterin' yer physicality young."
 Artaghh says, "I know ye'll make me proud Feth."
Ser Artaghh would pace calmly into the grounds of his inherited manor with a light sigh after a long day of teaching, puffing away lightly at his corn cob pipe as he prepared for his usual endeavors. The soil of the estate needed planting if he was going to make any coin, of that there was no doubt. He needed to provide for Feth, the boy would lack for nothing if Artaghh had anything to say about it.

As he prepared to water the fields, the knight glanced at the familiar, several ton granite statue of Azrael that sat atop the house with dignity, watching over the fields and Artaghh's homestead as long as the manor had existed, certainly before the peasant had arrived in Dawn twenty eight years prior. Glancing down to the copper watering can that lay in his burn scarred hand, a toothy grin would spread across his face with a bark of laughter.

Perhaps even a bit of gardening could serve as good training.
(Artaghh)
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 Ser Artaghh would climbs the heights of his household with a bit of levitative aid from his novice grasp of gravity magic, rising to the top with a shake of his head as he stared up at the Azrael statue with zeal. His service to the morning lord had once been purely for Amelie, but Feth had changed that. It was Azrael that had brought the love of Artaghh's life into this world, that had blessed Feth with the shimmering emerald energy of reika.

Gritting his teeth, the knight would begin to flow and condense vast quantities of spirit energy into his scarred right arm, the muscle bulging out far more densely than its left companion as Artaghh's arm looked almost comedically larger than the rest of his limbs. His tan skin reddened with the surge of blood flow as his veins popped, his appendage pushed to its limits by a willful overfluxuation of mana.

A steady ache ran through Artaghh's arm as he gripped the edge of the statue, raising it up with a heavy asa blood vessel popped in his remaining eye from the effort, his expanded right arm straining to lift the heavy nyeshk and granite of the Azrael statue. A weight of Artaghh's oath, burdens, and faith, there had never been a better symbol.
(Artaghh)
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[02:16] Slowly, steadily, Artaghh would shift the statue's edge upon his fingers until only two digits held up the several tons of nyeshk and granite, the commander gritting his teeth in pronounced, enrigored effort as his remaining eye reddened with blood from the popped vessel. Leaping off his roof with a loud crunch upon the distant soil, the commander wouls proceed to sew the soil, plant the seeds, and water his budding crops while baring a great deal of weight upon but two digits.

The weight the commander had dealt with before, he was no stranger to lifting excessive weights to further his own training ambitions. But the balance upon his fingers even with twice the amount of surging mana he should normally manifest flowing like a rushing river through his right arm's circuitry made it a battle of concentration, might, and dexterity to ensure he did not lose his two fingered grip.

The statue's mass would ruin his crops, after all. Coin was coin.

As the sun rose upon Dawn, the knight would wipe the soil from his forehead with a sweep of his green woolen cloak, his fingernails snapped and dripping brown red blood as he balled them in his scabbed palms. Yet as the statue collapsed to the farm plots side, a vast stretch of damp, lumpy soil spread forth against the coasts of the city of undeath, a complete tending and tilling of new plant life to come.

Leaning back against the fence of the estate with a sigh of relief, the knight would light up his corn cob pipe with tired smile as he turned his remaining eye towards the coast, the soreness in his arm a familiar ache of progress in his efforts.

He would seize strength to protect the seeds of the new generation, protect budding green life of Dawn's youth. He would always be there for Feth.
(Artaghh)

Glancing at his disproportionally expanded right arm with a tired smile, the knight thought upon his final adventure with Chaaca Khan, where he'd smashed a blubbery butcher to pieces with his raw strength alone. Opening and closing his seared palm in contemplation, a light would shimmer in his remaining eye as an idea came to mind!

Exerting the maximum potential of one's strength often left the body vulnerable, leaving such death or glory attacks adequate bearers of their names. If Artaghh used one hundred percent of his gathered energy to smash someone into the earth with spirit fueled kinetic shockwave, his body would end up near entirely drained and vulnerable. Exhausting all of one's reserves for a glorious signature attack was an idea for theater and the stories, not war...

But with conditioning and practice, Ser Artaghh's mastery of energy, mastery of the flowing, rich mana of the spirit realm could reduce the costs of such maneuver. If he could smooth his recovery following such a limit exhausting strike, he could strike down any foe that threatened his son.

Anything for Feth.
(Artaghh)