Atharen, A Fantasy Roleplay Forum

10th of Frost, Year 4621

Midhir's eyes opened before dawn had come. Jack was clinging to him like an infant who knew no better. It was tempting to stay there, warm and close, but he was awake and Jack needed his sleep. Incrementally, he extricated himself such that he didn't wake his lover, and tucked the blankets under him to trap Midhir's heat with him. He pulled another blanket over him as well, because Frost was here and he cared. He wasn't supposed to grow too attached to people, but perhaps he didn't have what it took to become a proper monk after all.

He dressed. He slipped outside. He wandered out of the city a bit and found a nice flat boulder to sit upon that was halfway up a bit of a hillock near the treeline. From here, he would feel the sunlight upon his face as soon as it crested the horizon. Bundled up against the cold, he sat down and crossed his legs, assuming a meditative posture. His mind was already alert, so he began to breathe carefully, slowly, bringing his breath under control, and thereby his body, and thereby his mind. It didn't take long to fall into a light sort of trance where thoughts still slid along the surface of his mind but didn't stay long enough for him to attach any specific importance upon them. He still noted the sharp cold of the air that came in through his nostrils, but the discomfort didn't touch him, even as he breathed hotter air out of his mouth.

Eventually, the wolf appeared. It seemed to have a preternatural ability to find him whenever he left civilization behind, but it may have just been a wolf doing wolf things. He didn't ascribe any particular importance to it. It curled up around him, warming his backside. Perhaps it was napping, feeling safe in his presence. Perhaps it was just keeping him warm when he was out in the elements; he sometimes got the impression the wolf thought he was a particularly stupid pup.

When he noticed the sun upon his face, he opened his eyes and rose up out of his trance.

He stood up carefully, not wanting to upset the wolf. It was a wild thing still.

Doffing his coat, Midhir stretched and began to perform his salutations to the sun. It was a physical meditation that made his body more ready for the still meditations, and it also gave him flexibility and strength for his martial training. Just now, he was doing simple things; they were difficult to do properly, of course, but they were not so complex as what he would eventually build into, what people would see as acrobatics and contortionism, perhaps, but to him were all part of the same thing. Body, mind, spirit—they needn't be separated.

10th Frost, 4621

Trouble.

It brewed from the very core of an Entente's hands; from the corruptive elements of the ether they pass through to the air, to their political games they played within the opulent palaces of Ardenserrat; for anyone to be invited by the great Lady Ash herself, was to become a player in the game. The Candor; most of which Caladrin didn't agree with. The gossip had inherited the streets, taverns and inns of such a event known as the Wintry Accord. It was a lucky escape; deeming Caladrin's social anxiety did. Caladrin had been out to cool off from another family arguement; although it didnt stop him from becoming curious. The heterochromatic features in his eyes, were well doned by the golden facemask which covered half of his face, illuminating the bright silver in his eye. The clearing between Amoren was beautiful amongst the morning, although Caladrin's sleepless nights did not help. He had been having nightmares about the whole situation, knowing what he had just witnessed. The Vandikar, the bandits and the way they were brutally killed made him question heavily.

Oh Ulen, if you so great then why are we living in a hellhole, when you promised paradise, you promised to return, so where are you? Are you coward, abandoning your people to live in tyranny, degradation and pestilience? What kind of god does that to their own people? I know. A coward. I'm starting to lose faith in you, Ulen... His thoughts pondered as they were violently tearing him up deep inside. He was constantly questioning, constantly fighting a war. Yet, he resolved his negativity and kept walking along to the clearing.

Little did he know, another male appeared to be meditating along his area, it was the quitest of areas, where very few would come to disturb. He raised an eyebrow and approached quitely; curiously staring at the man as he unhooked his hood and mask. His face was revealed amongst the black and gold gambeson he wore. His eyes trailed to the wolf who appeared to be curled up around the strange monk; he was curious as he watched from the tree, not wanting to disturb him. It appeared he was in tranquility or inner peace as they would call it. He observed closely, noticing the way he casually doffs his coat. He raised his eyebrow as he tilts his head, noticing the robes he was wearing. He could tell he wasn't from around here, but from up in the mountains.

Monks.

Thats what they called him, yet still it didnt serve the reason on why he was here in the first place. A inner pilgrimage? What was there to begin a pilgrimage about? Ulen? The Omen? Why would a monk be interested in such a religion, when practically it is the bane of everyday life. He stopped there as he took a breath to speak "Someone appeared to be wondering in the grove where troubles are often let go off. Or atleast, my troubles..." He said; his voice was dark quiet and yet sounded so intimidating, he smiled as he blinked once staring at him "Don't be alarmed, I'm not like those other idiot mages who scramble at a chance for power and gossip." He paused for a moment as he shook his head "Imbeciles... Every single one of them." He sighed, his look was benevolent, yet there was no crooked nature. This was a place where no one often came, it was what Caladrin would call his own grove. A place to vent and cooldown after heated family discussions and arguements.

He sighed, although it was quite shaky. It was as if the arguement had worried him, but weakness wasn't something he should be showing. Especially, in front of a stranger. He smiled defensively "It appears I may have intruded amongst your virtuous palace of contemporary meditation. Do forgive me, I appear to be having a crisis of faith right now." It was true. He was angry, bitter but his voice didnt show it. It seemed pleasant, but yet there was a sort of baritone darkness to it. It was quiet too. Intimidating. Perhaps he had revealed almost to much to the stranger. It was one flaw that Caladrin had. He often let his emotions get the best of him at times. However, he had been dealing with these constant arguements since childhood. He would've been use to it by now, but when they start involving him, it becomes strenuous on his daily life. It made him question the purpose of the Entente, where they actually doing any good for the country, or were they only bothered about ascending to power? Caladrin looked back at the monk as he crossed his arms, inspecting the monk curiously.

"Tell me... What brings you to this humble grove?" He asked.

The wolf growled a warning well before the man appeared, so Midhir wasn't startled by his approach. The wolf didn't seem too bothered by the man, though, so Midhir kept going through his motions, from Mountain up, then down to Plank, then down to Up Dog, then to Down Dog, and back. It all flowed from one form to the next, the postures memorized by his muscles. He made shapes with himself, getting his blood flowing and his body more awake, more alive. It sharpened his mind as well, though he tried to hold his mind in that state of non-attachment, not reading too much into what the man said.

The man talked a lot, and Midhir continued to move. He didn't know half the time if the man was talking to him or just using his presence as an excuse to talk to himself. He wasn't sure what grove the man spoke of, though perhaps it lay back beyond the trees he had been hiding in when he watched Midhir's exercises. Perhaps Jack wasn't the only one suffering from corruption of the mind, or perhaps members of the Entente were just strange. This man seemed to fit the bill, though Midhir didn't really know much about the Entente except that it was best to avoid them lest they think him some blasphemer.

"I came here for this, sir," he said honestly, then turned himself over in a cartwheel, which would look more harmless than meditative acrobatics. He didn't have a problem with Ulen or the Omen, but he was told they would have a problem with him. Best not to seek trouble, he figured.

Then it looked as though he would do another cartwheel, but he only hefted his hips above his chest so he could hold a handstand. Balance was important for everything. All the clothes he had picked up along the way from the Kullu Monastery had been Daravinian, but underneath were the clothes he had worn in Khadai. Gravity pulled his shirt up while he was inverted, and the man could clearly see the crystalline patches that guarded each nub of his spine.