Call of the Wild [Rivin]

[Sivan]

61st of Searing, Year 122 Steel
Kalzasern Territory, Northern Wilds

Sivan carefully performed the martial gesture Laurevere called twisting the wind and brought the blade back to a guard, the edge of his steel facing up and underlining his eyes. After a beat, he stood up straight out of the warrior's crouch and turned the blade so he could offer it hilt-first to Rivin. It had been a simple enough dance of steel, the forms habitual for him now. If he hadn't mastered it, at least it was the one Laurevere found least wanting so Sivan was comfortable teaching it to Rivin.

"Once your muscles know the movements, it can become a meditation," he said, pushing errant wisps of hair out of his eyes. They always seem to come loose when he bound it back to practice. "Not the same as some of the more magical ones, but you focus so much on your breathing, your posture, and your gestures, that your mind doesn't have room for much else. I think, also, when you start to imagine the people you might be dancing with... well, it can be a healthy way to channel aggression before it becomes uncontrollable violence or... other passions."

Urs liked to incite some of his "Dratori passion," but so far he hadn't done anything that had harmed his lover. From what he gathered, that was rather what Torin enjoyed with his man. There were kinds and kinds of love and affection, kinds and kinds of ways to express it.

The elf didn't know if Rivin would take the blade; he had a strange reactions to things, weapons being one of them. But they could always focus on other meditations, and they were out where there were more wildling spirits to commune with. And his keen eyes had already caught a few herbs and flowers he might gather while Rivin practiced his meditations and negotiations with nature spirits, though the dog days of summer—such as they were in Kalzasi's environs—made him more interested in swimming in the nearby creek. He didn't know if that was wise, though, considering Rivin's reactions to nudity.

[Rivin]

The hike out into the wilderness had been eye-opening for a young man who has spent his life locked indoors, often underground. When he had been allowed outside it had always been behind high walls or else inside a locked vehicle. The journey he'd made in a caravan had been in the depths of frost and he had spent as much of it as possible inside the wagons, hoping not to be noticed.

The freedom of being able to just Go Outside, as far as he wanted with no one to care or even notice was...

Well, he was vaguely terrifying, like finding oneself in the middle of deep water with no land or boats in sight. A part of him kept trying to get him to bolt like a hunted animal. Since he'd tricked his way to freedom, the animal instincts that had been so heavily suppressed his whole life had begun to poke out in odd ways that he often did not like.

In the little clearing that Sivan had stopped them in he could wrap around his mind the idea that he was in a grove behind the walls of some country manor or other. It helped, and even if it felt like a crutch, but he was in no way above using whatever was needed to feel safe. The illusion was aided by the fact that the elf was showing him 'forbidden' techniques. He had often fled into the deepest parts of the grounds of whatever estate he was currently housed in to practice his own forbidden arts.

As his companion moved, golden in the sunlight pouring between the branches, Rivin tried to imitate the movements with his own body. The lecture made sense, Rivin often lost himself in the movements of his body when he was running over rooftops or up walls. There was a peace in the body's parts all working together without thought. Noticing that Sivan's hair was getting in his eyes with sweat, the Lysanrin instinctively Summoned a tiny wind sprite from the air around them and had it blow gently at the irritation to keep it out of his friend's way.

When the blade was offered he did take it, but frowned at how clumsy he felt with it. He tried to move his body in the same way while holding it but with little success.

"I think I need smaller weapons, and two of them. One for both hands feels...bad, uh, unbalanced." He shook his head, for Sivan looked very balanced when he moved with the sword. "I am used to my hands being independent. I should find a place to purchase my own weapons but I don't know what is good quality from not."

[Sivan]

"Thanks," he mumbled for Rivin's direction of the air sprite.

Sivan nodded slowly at Rivin's feedback.

"That makes sense," he said. Then, "Honestly, I don't know whether I am suited to this blade or I just don't know any better. This is what Laurevere has been teaching me, but he also uses a shorter, straighter sword. It's fit for fighting in closer quarters, but he will also use it in his off hand while using that in his strong hand. It changes everything, so I haven't gotten there yet. I suppose if I hit a wall, he might suggest some other weapon... but I work with a blacksmith... my friend Torin. I can get you smaller weapons. High quality for a fair price." Already, he was imagining what Torin might make for Rivin, and he supposed he ought to have Laurevere give Rivin a lesson or two in case his superior expertise might lend itself to informing Rivin what sort of smaller blades might best suit his natural style.

Rivin's sprite kept teasing his hair, and he waved it away without thinking. The wild spirits adored him; he could speak to them even without his Rune, and he had brought them another. He had a reputation hereabouts with the spirits for dealing fairly, and some even spoke of how well he treated those spirits who worked with them, how they grew in power and complexity.

...she comes...

So wrapped up in the idea of arming Rivin to suit him, Sivan didn't pay any heed to the whisper on the wind. Exael did. Perhaps Rivin's aidolon did as well. But Sivan paid no heed to Exael's stirring. His celestial brother came and went as suited his whims.

[Rivin]

"I have been thinking of what you said, that knowledge of violence can help curb violent urges." He realized, as he spoke, that the tiny air mote he'd employed to keep the elf's hair from his eyes had begun to make a nuisance of itself. Air spirits could be particularly playful, to the point of annoyance. Releasing the creature and sending it away, he could have sworn it pouted at him before obeying.


"I would like to be in control of when I commit violence but, I think I am not opposed to the idea, should I need it."

Fostering an attitude of pacifism had been one of the many silent requirements to living his life as comfortably as possible during his enslavement. But now that there was another option, Rivin did not think it was his nature to be passive.

"I would enjoy going to purchase my own weapons, but, perhaps yes, your teacher could help me understand what would suit me well." The Lysanrin noticed when Sivan hesitated over naming his smith friend, but was not astute enough to understand what the hesitation meant. Perhaps if he could watch them interact, he would know. As they kept talking of types of arms with the pros and cons of each something stirred at the back of his mind. He was used to spirits moving through the world, sometimes trying to get his attention and others only getting on with their own business but this was something... else.

Turning his head from one side to another, getting a full look around the clearing he frowned faintly.

"Did you..?" He narrowed his eyes, one hand reaching out to rest lightly on the elf's shoulder. He was trying to let himself grow used to comfortable touch. It felt good to touch, casual and easy, with Sivan, at least, so he let himself do small things like this. Refocusing on his companion he said,

"Are there bigger spirits in this wood? More...complex?" He knew that spirits could be ancient and very complex, but he had never encountered any himself, except his own aidolon, and Sivan's.

[Sivan]

"Then we will introduce you properly to Laurevere," he decided, "and then to Torin when you know what weapons you want." He nodded and smiled, that being decided. In the meantime, the little forms he was teaching would certainly make for mental exercises as well as physical, and having to teach a thing required Sivan to understand it in a new way; he supposed Laurevere would comment on that as well. The man seemed quite psychic when it came to things martial.

Sivan heard it too, one of the myriad voices out in the wood. Perhaps he was too complacent, or perhaps Rivin's nerves were wound tighter, but he would address it though he felt no alarm. He nodded.

"I heard it," he affirmed. "There are wiser, more ancient spirits in the woods, though they tend to be deeper... farther away from civilization." He said that with a sort of emphasis. Spirits just had a different sort of civilization, of ecology, no better or worse than other races. Some people said human civilization, or elven, though he wasn't always certain what to say in a cosmopolitan city like Kalzasi.

She comes... she comes!

It was strange. Only a few spirits caught up the chorus. Most were silent and, upon closer attention, Sivan found most of them were silent with anticipation. Whoever she was, it seemed likely she could commune with the spirits as well, whether Dratori, summoner, spirit, or other.

A blue-white mote of light quickly flashed and grew, Exael stepping out in his truer form, all feathers and scales and liquid stone.

She is a woman. Powerful. He "looked" in a specific direction, though he lacked eyes; wary, though not frightened. Sivan chose to sheathe the blade rather than incite violence for no reason.

Finally, she appeared—a woman, dressed in a motley that made her blend in with her surroundings, her face streaked with woad and other such things. The wild spirits babbled their welcome. She had come.

"Hello," Sivan said in Common as that was the lingua franca in this region, though she could have been from anywhere. "I am Sivan; these are my aidolon, Exael, and my friend." He wasn't sure Rivin would appreciate sharing his name with a stranger so he elected to allow him that freedom. The woman merely observed them quietly.

[Rivin]

The voices are clear now, more than one of them. They come from all around, echoing like an audible version of fireflies signaling in the night. Rivin's pupils dilate and he looks around the clearing, trying to take Sivan's lack of apparent worry as reassurance. Exael's physical manifestation has the opposite effect. The Celestial believing it needed corporeal form meant something important was happening. Surely it had nothing to do with Rivin himself. This was something for Sivan, so maybe he should just...

The Lysanrin had only backed himself silently as far as the tree line before a figure became visible. Pausing beside a tree trunk, body ready to vault into it's branches, he stilled, wound like a spring, and waited as the elf greeted what appeared to be a human woman. He blinked at his introduction; not sure what else to do he gave about half of a formal bow but did not speak. His vocal ability seemed to have decided to give itself up in exchange for fixated concentration on the new being. His Summoning senses were not telling him that she was a spirit, but there was...something. Perhaps she had an aidolon too. Sivan was the only person Rivin had spent any time with who had one, and Rivin had grown used to feeling them as separate entities. The minor spirits that had heralded her coming also greeted her, joined by a chorus of other that had kept their silence as she approached.

Between Sivan and Exael, he was probably safe, and, if he was not, well, he'd go to sleep and wake up safe. Probably...

He could concede that there were things more powerful than his own aidolon, but if none of the three powerful beings who intended to keep him safe could do so, worrying about it was little use. Staying by the tree, despite realizing that hiding in it would almost certainly do nothing, he waited.

[Sivan]

The woman glanced at Exael, then at Rivin, taking their measure. Perhaps she had a little smirk for his caution, but then she moved closer to Sivan, speaking so softly that Rivin's caution meant he couldn't hear what passed between them. Exael stood guard, but did not move against her.

It is better to be feared than loved, Sivan recalled from reading somewhere. That made sense for a wild creature, the which the woman surely was.

Sivan was known among the wild things, it seemed, and she had come to see for herself. She called him the Spirit Savant, which had apparently been coined by a clever spirit who understood language. And she had come to offer him a gift of the wild. He conferred briefly with Exael, and the aidolon nodded its statuesque head. The elf turned back to Rivin.

"It's going to be all right," he promised, calling out to him. "But it's going to be... strange."

The woman plucked a hair from his shoulder and held it out to him. It belonged to Huntress, and he nodded to her, taking it in hand. Then he began to strip down to his skin. He had given Rivin what assurances he could, and certainly the wild spirits seemed excited and approving. She stalked around him and traced something between his shoulder blades before walking around to face him again. Sivan began to move a bit as if that stretch of skin itched, and then light began to pierce through it.

Out of nowhere, she reached back and slammed her open palm into his sternum. Exael caught his aidolon, who, after a few moments, began to scream. Exael eased him down to the ground and then crouched over him like some splendid gargoyle. Sivan's body began to writhe violently, and his scream became something more of a howl.

He will become the Wolf, Exael said calmly. Then he will become himself again. The Rune of Animus is upon him.

[Rivin]

The women was... the Wild was in her. It was a concept Rivin barely understood, something older than any research he had ever read. Something of the Gods and, perhaps, something older than most of them. The fear did not leave him, but it was overawed by a sense of helpless fascination, like an animal scenting at something it can't figure out, blinded even to dangers that might lurk near.

She spoke to Sivan for a time, voices low as the clearing hummed with spirits. More gathered all the time until it felt like the space should be full. Then Sivan spoke louder, though not loud, and it took Rivin a moment to realize it was to him the elf was speaking. Rivin could not see the hair that was taken from, and then given back to his friend, and did not understand what followed. For a few moments a sharp worry that the woman was about to mate with Sivan filled the Lysanrin. He thought he should look away, but his pupils dilated and a feeling of wicked interest swelled in his chest. It was not until he saw the light piercing through the elf's skin that he realized this was a culmination of a different kind.

The light was familiar, though he had never seen it before, it was wholly like, and wholly individual from the Rune written into his own skin. There was no mistaking it once he saw though. His own skin ached in sympathy, though it might not be painful, and he shuddered, wanting to look away, unable to do so.

The child that was still at his heart wanted to protest. This Woman of the Wild came and wrote her power into Rivin's friend. Would she stay and see that he was cared for? His sickness might be long, or awful, or both, as Rivin's had been. But it was done.

Her hand reared back and Sivan flew. Exael caught him and that quelled some of the worry. Sivan had someone to care for him. But then the screaming started and Rivin, despite all else that he was feeling, stepped out from behind his cover before his intellect could catch hold of his instinct. The animal part of him struggled to get to Sivan even as Sivan struggled and writhed on the ground. Rivin met the Woman's eyes and though there was nothing friendly in them, there was nothing hostile either, so, carefully, slowly, he edged around the clearing until he could crouch over his friend. He nodded to the aidolon, grateful for his explanation, and then, he could but wait.

[Sivan]

...one of us...

...Karhu...

...ahh...

There was a howl that tore through the aether, Wolf hunting, answering Sivan's call. The gathered spirits shivered. Karhu smiled, a ghastly thing; her teeth were straight and strong, but stained pink by blood or berry.

Sivan moaned as his bones crunched wetly, every single muscle contracting to reform his insides. They writhed under golden skin to horrific effect. Then the skin took on the texture of velvet or horse hide, but only briefly as golden fur poured forth from every pore. Bloodshot blue eyes found Rivin's, full of pain and fear, though as he focused on his student, his friend, the fear began to wane, leaving a sort of beatific calm behind despite what his body was doing to itself. His irises swelled, the blue going pale as the sky, and paler still to glacial ice.

His face broke. His teeth fell out, pushed out to make room for wicked fangs as he developed a lupine snout.

It was quick, all things told, except that its violence was something to behold.

Exael keened, just barely audible. He shared the pain, perhaps helping grant the peace to weather the experience.

Wolf was present then in the clearing. It was with Sivan, or what remained of Sivan. The look in the golden wolf's eyes was not elven, but rather something wild. Wolf's howl tore once more through the aether, and Sivan's muscled bunched for an instant before he shot off into the trees, running with the spirit. Karhu, more animated than they had yet seen her, howled as well and bolted toward the treeline as well.

Exael assumed a meditative pose, not quite touching the ground. It glanced in the direction the wild ones had gone, and then back to Rivin.

And now we wait and hope his will is strong enough to resist.

[Rivin]

The whole of the transformation was horrific, so much so that Rivin struggled to watch, struggled to keep his bile where it came from and his feet where he'd planted them. As bad as receiving his own rune had been, as much as it had rended his mind his mind and even his soul, it had not broken his body.

Then Sivan met his eyes and he had something to concentrate on that wasn't wholly horror to him. The pain and fear caused echos in him that the Lysanrin was not prepared for. He cared for the well being of his friend, but he hadn't realized that care went beyond a conscious and intellectual choice until that moment. When even Exael began to keen quietly Rivin's mind began to shy back, his consciousness seeking retreat from what he was experiencing. His vision began to narrow, darkening at the edges and a familiar and dreaded rushing sensation began to rise through his body. Knowing what was about to happen he forced down the overwhelming panic and made himself take a deep breath, close his eyes before they could film over in red and sink towards the meditative state Sivan had been teaching him.

He had practiced as often as possible with the new techniques the elf had been showing him. It made sense that someone raised by a whole race of beings who experienced the irrational rage response to strong negative emotions would know better how to calm and control the reaction and Rivin had thrown himself into the learning with all his spare time. As he had nothing to do the majority of the time, he always came to his lessons eager for what came next.

Now, it appeared, his effort was paying off. The rushing feeling retreated. It felt slow but in reality it took only moments to push back the fear reaction and regain control of himself. Opening his eyes again he was able to meet his friend's gaze and hold it, even as his face warped and his pupils stretched themselves to points. When the form Sivan now wore raised itself and bounded away, followed by the Wild Woman, Rivin's first instinct was to leap after them. He could probably have kept up, for a time, but Exael's voice called him back after only a few steps. He felt torn between following the wild hunt and staying. In the end it was the knowledge that Sivan was who he was there for and if Sivan did not return, no amount of chasing the animal he had lost himself to would bring him back.

Reluctantly the Lysanrin walked back to where the aidolon sat above the ground and joined him.