Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

37th of Saun 721

With the bubbling of a fizzy wave, Kisaik was washed onto the shores of Faldrass, not far from Hopetoun Hole. Minus one arm, and plus a fair amount of gifts from his newest friend... well no, not friend. Well yes, Friend, but also something greater than himself. Something much, much greater. About four hundred times greater approximately, if he was any judge of her size. Vindecaldra was an amazing being, and it'd even given him a quest, just the thing he'd been looking for! Of course there were always other errands to run. Saoire still required him to retrieve the turtles to Faldrass, and hew as making some headway there. The Panhandlers were testament to that, as well as the Turtle whislte he'd recovered from the Emerald Tree.

But Vindecaldra, wow, a real honest to goodness Dragon with a capital D! He needed to get stronger, yes, he needed to recover. He'd lost his forearm in the battle with the Aukari, but it could grow back. Couldn't it? Maybe if he concentrated hard enough, stretched the stump of his swordarm enough that it formed another hand. It was worth a try, and he wasn't himself if he wasn't willing to give things a try.

So, as Peter the Panhandler padded toward the shore, going to greet Kisaik, the tunawa concentrated on the bark and the sap, and the fiber. Meditating on them, and drawing on his affinity for plantlife of all kinds. A silent prayer to Ashan, as well as the other Immortals who'd entrusted him with their power. He was humbled and ecstatic all at once. He was resolved not to let down their trust.

But first thing, he needed his sword arm. It was how he made his living, after all!

And for that matter, as the day wore on and he tried to busy himself about tasks, he realized only then just how reliant he was on that one hand. It was severely hampering his abiilty to manipulate the world around him, just by the loss of one hand! His left was slightly clumsy, meant for sweeping and inaccurate motions, or backing up the right. It wasn't calibrated for precision.

So Kisaik sat on the top sands up from the beach, a ways from Hopetoun Hole, as Peter crawled up to him, munching and absorbing minerals and rocks all along the way to Kisaik's side. There, it began gurgling insistently. Kisaik sighed, and reached into his domain bag with his left hand, and crossed over his body to feed the turtle the fruit. It munched happily, yet Kisaik had only to frown at what was becoming a very dismal situation. He really needed a new hand!

He held up the stump of his right arm, and willed it to grow. He concentrated very hard, using all of his knowledge of how plants grow, combined with focus and calm. He ignored the errant tug of his spark, to utilize it's pushing and pulling ability in order to get done what needed doing. He wouldn't be pushed around by his spark. He was the boss of it, not the other way around!

He must've stayed outside, until he felt well baked by being situated on those sands. Yet his new cloak protected him from the worst of the heat, while allowing him to keep warm and nimble. Itw as a nice cloak, he only wished he had a hand to enjoy it with!

Sighing to himself, he climbed to his feet, and took out a small leafy bedroll from his domain bag, placing it on the back of Peter the Panhandler, and then went to sleep. Peter crawled over toward a shady crevice beside some sea rocks, and slept away from the pull of the high tides.

38th of Saun 721

Kisaik awoke to the insistent gurgling of Peter the Panhandler turtle. He was probably hungry, but usually the turtle satisfied himself with the various rocks he slept around, or the sands. Kisaik lifted his head from the bedroll, and almost made to flip the blanket with his right hand, when he remembered it was gone. Sighing to himself again, he took up a cross-legged position on the turtle, as the panhandler wandered the beach, munching on this shell or that piece of sea coral. Then there were small bits of seaweed that he had also learned to enjoy. Kisaik sat, trying to meditate and calm himself, as he regarded his stumpy arm. Strangely enough, the sap seemed to have stretched out from the wound... almost as if it was reaching out to the limb that was no longer there. When kisaik gingerly touched the sappy stump, he found it semi-hard, like freshly formed bark around its external layer. This was strange, but very encouraging and exciting. Perhaps there was more to this Mortalborn business than he knew!

So he maintained his concentration, as Peter combed the beach for food, gurgling and crunching and munching on this hardened rock or that glassy shell. The turtle, he swore, would soon turn a healthy shade of mother of pearl, if he kept up his appetite for 'sea food'.

Kisaik laid his eyes on the wound that still consisted of the stump of extended sap and regrown bark. He counted back the breaks, however many must've passed as he slept to now. It'd been no more than a dozen, surely. Kisaik of course had earned his beauty rest after the epic battle against the Aukari 'hotheads'. Yet as he recalled that violent episode, he tried to push it from his mind. It would stir up unneeded calls to adventure, and his pull to a life of danger had done enough damage for the moment. Right now, he needed to heal, to be strong, and to become what Vindecaldra had tasked him to become. The person his Immortal Patrons required him to be. Who he wanted to be.

He sat upon the Panhandler, Peter, and let him comb the beach, listening to him crunch shell after shell, rock after rock. Peter had a great appetite for such things, and even took a bit of sand into his body as well, which had the added effect of warming Kisaik. It was downright hot beneath the suns, all night and all morning, and he thrived in the heat.

Still, water would be needed before long. He clucked his tongue, signalling that Peter should head over the other way, back toward Hopetoun Hole, where fresh water could be found. The Panhandler paid him no mind, to which Kisaik sighed, and yet allowed him to carry him wherever he would.

Breaks passed in this way, and Kisaik could definitively say that he saw his arm extending, now forming a joint where the forearm met the lower arm, and bent at the elbow. It wouldn't be long before his hand was back, if he could just maintain his concentration just a while longer.

He stretched languidly, and then slipped beneath the covers of his leafy bedroll. There, he slept away another sunny night beneath the sky, while Peter gurgled, looking for a cool place to lay his shell, so he wouldn't turn into turtle soup in the heat of the suns.

39th of Saun 721, Late Afternoon

The tunawa must have slept later than usual, as he felt especially toasty, sleeping upon the shell of the Panhandler, Peter. The turtle hadn't gurgled as he usually did to wake him, rather being kind enough to let him sleep in peace while continuing the rhythmic absorption of minerals and sands as he trundled along, Kisaik soothed by teh sway of his gait along the length of the beach.

Kisaik frowned, and stood up from his bedroll. When he uncovered the blanket, he almost didn't know what he was doing before a new right hand was tossing aside the leafy covering. He'd regrown it! It was tiny, at the moment, ,tinier than it had ever been before, but he supposed it could grow in time. He was far too overjoyed with the miracle of his regrown arm, that he nearly stumbled off of the Panhandler. He did so wiwth laughter and joy, falling onto the orange sands of Faldrass.

After a few bits of basking in the glory of having regrown that terrible wound, he looked at his hand. It was still veined in spots, where scarring had afflicted the regrown flesh. But then, he supposed that was the least of his worries. Scars told a story all their own, and would add to his legend... Legend.

Then Kisaik remembered the gift that Cassion had given him for freeing the fiery Dragon. The Legend of Tunawa Knight, Sir Chip. He slipped the large booklet from his domain bag, and opened to the first page. With an eager flick of his wrist, he pulled a quill out of his hat. There, he began writing down the story he'd tell, when hr ecounted it to his friends and the clan. He dictated aloud, as he wrote it in Xanthean, "I'd heard rumros of a strange driftwood tunawa, washing up on the shores of Faldrass. So I went to the ocean, to check and see what I could find there. Little did I realize, the moment I stepped foot into the ocean's tides, that I would be headed for one of the biggest adventures of my life..." And so the story went.