Eidolon
Murderface Murderface
The crickets had stopped. While chirping, they provided a steady, soothing sound that helped ease the young Mystic into a state of sleep and recovery. However, as the sound of that chorus faded in the coming light of dawn, something in his mind began to stir, churn, and shift, drawing him out and free of the torpor. It was the a minor victory in the face of defeat: the worst of the living quarters turned out to be the only place Creed would be able to get a good night’s sleep.
Some days, however, it felt all too short. Today was one such day, and when the light of day came and Creed rolled from his nest of a cot, his mind was blurry. Milling about in such a blur, the lean figure fished about his trunk to find a clean outfit, but managed to only find one that had a single day’s use. A bit of shaking and smoothing later, he slipped into the attire and glanced around the quarters, seeing most of his compatriots were still asleep. Perfect.
In the quiet of dawn, the division grounds were nearly empty: only night patrols and the gate guards to ensure peace remained present in the tranquil grounds of the Tenth. This sparsely populated division meant only one thing to the golden-eyed youth: freedom to run. Tip-toeing out of the barracks, a small smile took the still unshaven man’s expression as he was greeted by the morning’s cool breeze.
This time of year had a crispness to the early hours, the cool of night not entirely faded and yet, the warming light of the Sun was slowly settling in. Such a sensation on the bare skin of his face and arms was invigorating. With the sensation of nature coursing through him, the youth leaned forward and coiled his quadriceps. In just a few moments, the view of the living quarters was gone, and the long-legged strides of the shinigami were carrying him in a blur through the division.
Four hours he ran, until the Sun was fully over the wall of the sprawling city. By the time he was forced to stop due to the increased numbers of shinigami filling the division, his skin was slick with his own sweat and his body was radiating heat from the furious work of his muscles. The last lap took him back to where he started: the entrance to the second unranked barracks.
Now the cots were empty, as soon morning drills would begin. Creed quickly stripped of his drenched outfit, fishing out a slightly less dingy, yet not all together fresh replacement. He made a mental note that they’d all need a wash soon. With a deliberate series of motions, the figure displayed his limberness, stretching out the whole of his form before muscles cooled. Just as he lifted up from the final exercise, a gong sounded in the area. It was time to go.
The first of the chores today were led by the youth’s current squad leader. It was a man Creed had little respect or little reason to like on a personal level. None the less, it was someone that the leader of the Mystics had appointed to lead a squad of shinigami, a superior officer, and he vowed to do as instructed even if his personal investment wasn’t there. Darkening that tension, though, was the fact that this particular man was leading the mission that nearly wiped out five young shinigami.
Eishou, ruffling his short blond hair, smiled at the circle of shinigami now sitting in radius with himself. "Glad you could join us, Creed. Now, while he prefers to start the morning with a vigorous physical regimen, I would like to remind you all of what is important to us: meditation.” Green eyes flicked about the group, searching expressions and positions.
"Some of you seem to accept this, others seem at odds with the potential use.” The leader’s eyes were locked on Creed for the latter part of that sentence. "But I’ll tell you why. A warrior at peace with most importantly himself, and nearly as grave his environment is able to achieve and aspire to much more than some brute who delves into combat for blood or simply hopes to protect transitory desires or beliefs.” With that, the muscular man adjusted his position into a meditative pose.
"Now, please join me. And remember, all paths, though of different origin, come together in their progress through the here and now into the will be and has been.”
Creed hated to admit it, but, what the man said made sense. There was only one problem with the whole practice and today would not be any different than the rest had been. He, himself, was the obstacle in the way.
Obeying his orders, the youth adopted a comfortable position, aligning his body so that he might glimpse beyond the veil of the tranquil gardens. In the first minutes, his mind was expecting. Expecting to see specific images, or phantom memories lingering about. Images of the Arcanists he joined long ago, the trials, tribulations, or impressions of great personal contact drifting by as eidolons. But Creed knew better.
Expectations only thickened the veil. If you put limitations on the world you are in, you diminish, lessen, and confined not only what you molded, but yourself. It took nearly ten minutes, but finally, his mind eased and opened, the constraints relaxed, and reality did not change, simply, the Mystic was better able to perceive it.
The flashes were intense, confounding, overwhelming. Images of a tranquil man, holding beads, and meditating against a distance sea. A sense of peace and calm prevailing over all creation. But it could not last, it never did. Echoes and intercuts of a cataclysmic fury broke through, a visage too horrible to place into words, the maw of death and destruction itself unchecked and cleansing the world of all things pure and beautiful.
It snapped the youth, knocking him physically back and against the ground in a disturbing motion. The circle was broken, eyes cracked open and the leader of the group stared pensively at the somewhat grungy Mystic.
"Yet again you fail at the very basics, Creed.” It was a chastising and biting tone. "Please step away from the group and tend to . . . other matters. Perhaps a day off taking care of personal matters.”
Sighing, the boy heaved himself to his feet in an acrobatic motion. How dearly he desired to kick the look right off Eishou’s face. To make vulgar gestures or scream foul curses at the man. Instead, he turned away and sprinted for his cot, a bitter taste of blood on his lip to provide the restraint he required.
[1,128]
Some days, however, it felt all too short. Today was one such day, and when the light of day came and Creed rolled from his nest of a cot, his mind was blurry. Milling about in such a blur, the lean figure fished about his trunk to find a clean outfit, but managed to only find one that had a single day’s use. A bit of shaking and smoothing later, he slipped into the attire and glanced around the quarters, seeing most of his compatriots were still asleep. Perfect.
In the quiet of dawn, the division grounds were nearly empty: only night patrols and the gate guards to ensure peace remained present in the tranquil grounds of the Tenth. This sparsely populated division meant only one thing to the golden-eyed youth: freedom to run. Tip-toeing out of the barracks, a small smile took the still unshaven man’s expression as he was greeted by the morning’s cool breeze.
This time of year had a crispness to the early hours, the cool of night not entirely faded and yet, the warming light of the Sun was slowly settling in. Such a sensation on the bare skin of his face and arms was invigorating. With the sensation of nature coursing through him, the youth leaned forward and coiled his quadriceps. In just a few moments, the view of the living quarters was gone, and the long-legged strides of the shinigami were carrying him in a blur through the division.
Four hours he ran, until the Sun was fully over the wall of the sprawling city. By the time he was forced to stop due to the increased numbers of shinigami filling the division, his skin was slick with his own sweat and his body was radiating heat from the furious work of his muscles. The last lap took him back to where he started: the entrance to the second unranked barracks.
Now the cots were empty, as soon morning drills would begin. Creed quickly stripped of his drenched outfit, fishing out a slightly less dingy, yet not all together fresh replacement. He made a mental note that they’d all need a wash soon. With a deliberate series of motions, the figure displayed his limberness, stretching out the whole of his form before muscles cooled. Just as he lifted up from the final exercise, a gong sounded in the area. It was time to go.
The first of the chores today were led by the youth’s current squad leader. It was a man Creed had little respect or little reason to like on a personal level. None the less, it was someone that the leader of the Mystics had appointed to lead a squad of shinigami, a superior officer, and he vowed to do as instructed even if his personal investment wasn’t there. Darkening that tension, though, was the fact that this particular man was leading the mission that nearly wiped out five young shinigami.
Eishou, ruffling his short blond hair, smiled at the circle of shinigami now sitting in radius with himself. "Glad you could join us, Creed. Now, while he prefers to start the morning with a vigorous physical regimen, I would like to remind you all of what is important to us: meditation.” Green eyes flicked about the group, searching expressions and positions.
"Some of you seem to accept this, others seem at odds with the potential use.” The leader’s eyes were locked on Creed for the latter part of that sentence. "But I’ll tell you why. A warrior at peace with most importantly himself, and nearly as grave his environment is able to achieve and aspire to much more than some brute who delves into combat for blood or simply hopes to protect transitory desires or beliefs.” With that, the muscular man adjusted his position into a meditative pose.
"Now, please join me. And remember, all paths, though of different origin, come together in their progress through the here and now into the will be and has been.”
Creed hated to admit it, but, what the man said made sense. There was only one problem with the whole practice and today would not be any different than the rest had been. He, himself, was the obstacle in the way.
Obeying his orders, the youth adopted a comfortable position, aligning his body so that he might glimpse beyond the veil of the tranquil gardens. In the first minutes, his mind was expecting. Expecting to see specific images, or phantom memories lingering about. Images of the Arcanists he joined long ago, the trials, tribulations, or impressions of great personal contact drifting by as eidolons. But Creed knew better.
Expectations only thickened the veil. If you put limitations on the world you are in, you diminish, lessen, and confined not only what you molded, but yourself. It took nearly ten minutes, but finally, his mind eased and opened, the constraints relaxed, and reality did not change, simply, the Mystic was better able to perceive it.
The flashes were intense, confounding, overwhelming. Images of a tranquil man, holding beads, and meditating against a distance sea. A sense of peace and calm prevailing over all creation. But it could not last, it never did. Echoes and intercuts of a cataclysmic fury broke through, a visage too horrible to place into words, the maw of death and destruction itself unchecked and cleansing the world of all things pure and beautiful.
It snapped the youth, knocking him physically back and against the ground in a disturbing motion. The circle was broken, eyes cracked open and the leader of the group stared pensively at the somewhat grungy Mystic.
"Yet again you fail at the very basics, Creed.” It was a chastising and biting tone. "Please step away from the group and tend to . . . other matters. Perhaps a day off taking care of personal matters.”
Sighing, the boy heaved himself to his feet in an acrobatic motion. How dearly he desired to kick the look right off Eishou’s face. To make vulgar gestures or scream foul curses at the man. Instead, he turned away and sprinted for his cot, a bitter taste of blood on his lip to provide the restraint he required.
[1,128]