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Razgriz

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About Razgriz

  • Birthday 08/25/1996

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    dragging casuals to fridgetanamo
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    freeing joe son

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Tahnok-Kal Attacks!

Tahnok-Kal Attacks! (149/293)

  1. IC: Ageru Shiki (Fort Kizuno『Shiki, Daughter of Sasaki』) :I do see.: And yet I don't. It's not just sight. It's feeling too, but... How to describe it? How do I even register this? ... I grumble, and a settling of the earth passes through the roots, shaking branches above and sending waves through the still water behind— I need to get a handle on this before the lesson is wasted. :It's...: putting words to an abstraction. It's less tactile and kinesthetic, and more ephemeral, experiential— The arc of Will a brushstroke upon the canvas that is the world within my Mind, the unrestrained flow of energy, direction, and meaning that passes through the lines it drew—her soul flowing from the reservoir that is Her, into the Space that is Me. It's not how I've always accessed my own. It's not charging deep within ones' own body as conduit from Mind to Soul— it's not driving an augur and spigot through the weepy willow's bark. Instead. it... I can only say it flowed. There was no impetus. It was like a natural path had always existed, not carved through the trunk but instead flowing like spring water. I felt the energy move as she indicated, rather than pushed— its guidance connecting it to the frame her mind drew, and allowing it to permeate until it reached the boundaries. I couldn't see this. But I could sense it. I could feel it, even if I couldn't reach out and touch it. And yet I nonetheless do. There she is, right in front of me, plain as day with sword in hand. She's wearing an elegant kimono where once stood practical, unfrilled armor, its willow-leaf patterning gently rippling in the winds that shook the branches above, mirror images of the same woman. Her eyepatch is gone, instead a sky-blue blaze sitting in the socket. I realize it's the raw energy of her Soul, the same we forge our swords from— and as it is Her, it fills the gaps that her body can't. I'm meeting her gaze in full for the first and only time. The picture etches itself somewhere beneath the bed of the lake, where faces and names are kept. And then I look down upon the blade I've never made, but know as its maker does— And yeah, I see everything. The whole of what was visualized, the Understanding that the soul filled— I can trace it with my eyes as her palms lift, bringing the sword into full view. It's, plainly put, a masterwork (O-wazamono). Everything about it I see is definite, reasoned and intentional and not a hint out of place, as it quietly hums with power inside my mind. I know that its edge is honed through enough that the errant leaves in the wind might fall upon the blade and be cut. I can read the gentle curve of the structure, the sugata, from tsuka to tsuba to kissaki— hilt, guard, tip. The blade itself mimics metal on closer inspection, its hada appearing in the minute channels of Soul that fill the boundaries— a pattern akin to her fingerprints, to the many rings 'round the trunk of the willow. Most beautifully of all, those tiny channels, streams of Self, converged down the length of the cutting edge, estuaries conforming into the mighty river of her blade's hamon. The pattern within the lines was a rippling wave of mist, specks of pure white within the stable cerulean field, like dust made of diamond caught in the current. They lend the cutting edge a greater luminosity than the spine. They are the seat of the blade's most important refinement— raw force turned into a precise instrument. It's everything I need to emulate, in pragmatic terms. That's what I know to focus upon. The process I've felt, the framework being drawn from memory, and the easy filling of that frame with energy, water into a vase. It's a world away from what I have been doing. I feel the difference— it lacks pressure, lacks force, lacks the turbulence of ambivalence crushing the structure. I felt it all through her process. I need to be able to feel it without her guiding hand. That's the priority of this exercise. But... I can't help myself. When I see the creation before me, I can only think it a work of art. The culmination of countless hours refining skill, precision, clarity of that which resides deep within ones' being, brought into the fore through pure expression. It's a painting, it's a sculpture, it's... a sword. Beautiful simply in how it's shaped like itself. Metallurgic arts and Psionic arts occupy the same slot in my head, when I am confronted with craftsmanship like this. There's beauty in the skill, in the exactness of proportion and fine detail, in the purity of the form. That kind of crystal-clear image is one I've beheld only... "Hold tight!" echoes Sasaki, in far-off thunder. Once. The lake ripples again, and embers rise and fade away again from the charred grasses. With a thought, I motion my hands to rest upon the flat from beneath, between Kilanya-Senshi's. It's not a real manifestation, and real ones are unable to be wrested from the Menti who produce them. Those are long-understood rules of the Disciplines, the nature of our connections with the weapons. They are our souls borne into the without, but they naturally must be linked to the within. What's happened here isn't that. It's more like recalling the process, I believe. The way you know how to do something you've done a thousand times, down to the smallest elements, without actually needing the tools in your hands or a stance to stand in. A feeling your mind, body, and soul all remember perfectly. It's so much more efficient than my own, in this way. What she holds is an image of everything I've said. It is the memories, it is the process, it is the sap, it is the Soul. As much as she is the tree, the blade is her representation. A painting she cannot forget the strokes for, a carving she sees in the grain of all wood. While we are in the recesses of the mind, an image like that holds tangible weight, value you can know and feel. And I take it into my own grasp, rising to meet the boundaries of the Imagined Soulsword with ginger reverence. I am holding something priceless here— and if her hands deign to fall away, I know letting it drop would be a slap in the face to all the work that led to its creation. We are in the mental realm. This is the only place I could hope for a chance to so thoroughly interact with an Image like this. If allowed, if able, I: have to do it properly.:
  2. IC: Rudra, 小さい竜 (Chiisai Ryuu) The Hero of Naho Bay Hmmmmm. That stuffy leff-tennant had been quiet an awful long time... some logjam in the chain of command after all? No good. If they wouldn't play ball, he'd have to take the ship and get the whole thing moving himself. What a pain that'd be... But surely, Mata Nui would lend his favored son another boon? In his grip, the not-really-a-Toa's head rolled, stirred... and a groan escaped her lips. So she was alive! My eternal thanks, Great Spirit! This I can work with! He shook the young woman again, more vigorously now, definitely coaxing her as he called out to Ageru Tazera in a bellow thick with tension, a thunder of the oncoming storm rolling through the hull. "Hey hey, what's the hold up? They care about her or not?" If he could get her eyes open, get that eye contact between the two crewmates again... he'd be able to really squeeze her for it. Since she clearly had more attachment to this girl than her immediate superiors, probably that faceless voice of their commodore that only wanted to spout platitudes from afar and do nothing but delegate when faced with the lives of her subordinates, He needed to attack that to get to her, his only mediary for that side of the table he could really trust this bit to work on. So all the more reason to wake the harmless, maskless thing up— remind Tazera of who she was really fighting for. Did he dare push his luck further? ...Surely, Mata Nui would lend his favored son a bolt of reason for these foreigners. Really, why was it a question they had to grapple with? He had her Right Here.
  3. IC: Jolek "No worries, bro." It felt familiar, his rock-hard knuckles tapping against a friend's of similar mindset and conditioning. Once, this had been a daily occurrence. Once, it had been the signifier of a promise, just as much as this one was a friendship. The Lesterin seemed to have clear heading now— the fog of confusion that had knotted up his face no longer seemed to cloud his bearings. What the man had said was non-committal, sure— But this wasn't the first time Jolek had seen a renewed purpose and drive alight in the direction of this "Seprilli" even today. He'd find his way there, doubtless. He'd dig up whatever past was worth finding from the new memories and shape his future with it. Learn. Grow. Experience. This would be a journey in far more than mind, far more than miles— The kind that he was supposed to go on, before he began spinning his wheels. What the karz had happened to that? "Good luck."
  4. IC: Jolek "Well," he began, running back over what he'd known. "Just today I had a girl blaming some Pirate named Lokhar for getting from there to here." It was a name that'd popped up a few times before Hakari, but not so often that it seemed like he was the end-be-all answer to everything. If his pugilistic cohort recognized him, then it'd speed along the same lines as last time— maybe Jol's last name would help him out here too. If not... "Point of order being that it sounds like it's pretty far— past that fog you see way out on the cliffs. Need a ship for sure to get there." Back to general terms. There was only so much help he could give here, and not simply due to his own gaps in knowledge, either. More to the point— "That'd mean taking a hike to Ga, same way I sent her." he conferred. "It's not like we've got much of a port, let alone any Navy— couple of docks, really. The naval minded are packing their things and going north. You..." There were a few guards he could send this guy to to compare notes, but he'd not known any of them well. Gyrahn, A Skakdi of Earth, had invited him for drinks wiuth the fellas once, but been politely rebuffed as the fa-Toa was walking home. They'd not spoken three words since. Lasavra, a normally flighty wind Lesterin, seemed to close off whenever he caught her muttering about the sudden memories of Seprilli, like she didn't trust him listening in. The Rumbling Brothers, a Fe-Skakdi that Fought as much as he Drank and a Fe-Lesterin that Drank as much as he Fought, already didn't seem to like him— "too quiet. It's weird that he doesn't make a fool of himself a little." he'd overheard, before both gave him the side-eye as he'd ambled through the training area, before returning to packing their bags. Effectively, he didn't think any of these weirdos would help, and the others would barely know his name if the man dropped it. May as well just go the more direct route, in Jolek's opinion. "Your chances are much better if you swing up there and get through an actual crew."
  5. IC: Ageru Shiki (Fort Kizuno『Shiki, Daughter of Sasaki』) I see her eye close as she begins to reach out to me, and in turn I close mine. With the process beginning, there's no sense focusing on the world outside ourselves— distractions would take away the time we already don't have. Already, I feel the first probing tendrils of her Mind finding a path into Mine through my natural barriers, the sense of raw self that exists beneath even active shielding. Slowly, carefully, the sensation of Other advances through my tiny shell of Me, towards my mind. It's a little hard to put into words. My breath barely defeats the urge to hitch, only because of my self-control. Or maybe only because Kilanya-Toroshu Renshi Shishou Sensei is doing so less forcefully than she could, had she no care for my well-being. I suppose it’s egotistical of me to talk myself up in the face of this inexorable force upon my mind— "Ngh." I feel the probing stop, settling into me. Somewhere, a door opens. I look inward, rushing to greet my guest. Or perhaps I’m beckoned. I don’t know. I just know the urge moves me to my inner self. :There.: I fall upon the scene that fills me, deeper than sight, sound, and scent. It's not a memory. It's something etched into my Mind on a level deeper. This is where I am. The house of the soul is deeper still, but this is the world I call mine, rather than a snapshot of the world I live in. This is my inner world, presented before me once again. The lake of light that is my Soul, my inner Power, has settled into placid waters now, some fifty bio away from me. The surface, if anything, is more a boundary to the paths I take reaching it— like a well carved into my mind, reaching down into the energy of my soul. Already, I can see faint glimmers of the energy I had formed into a blade brightening the surface from a still navy to a gently rolling azure. The grass surrounding the waterfront is charred. That fire has burned me. It's burning me now. It burned so many that I can never forget, no matter how hard I try— But trying is sacrilege upon the holy gift I was given by the Sisters, and by the will of those who were sacrificed when I was spared. I have more to focus on, though. This landscape, and the rolling plains it's nestled between, are nothing new. I've always smelled the ash, and tasted the grasses upon the wind, green, brown, or black. My Toroshu is making contact now, her roots settling and passively drinking what she cannot Watch from even this state. My feelings carried in my body shake through the earth, unchecked thoughts on the wind and water. Our consciousness, that which Dictates and Thinks and Considers, is only so much of even the minds of the Dasakan people, so in tune with the planes of mental space and energy. I have to look at it. I cannot avoid that. For them, I can't. For Mom, I can't. What is there always has been, and always shall be. I cannot ignore it— just as I cannot ignore Her, newly set within. I just hope there is nothing she discovers that preturbs her, as I turn my inner gaze upon my most honored guest. I feel my searing eyes tear themselves away. An old, winding Willow Tree in the Lakefront plains, swaying gently in the wind that carries her voice of Thought all through me. This is… an alien sensation. As though I’m feeling the crashing wave of thunder through my boots and into my chest, rather than a distant storm’s rumble. It’s wholly divorced from Ideatalk. That is people showing their hands to the table— this is grabbing and shaking mine. wholly different, and very surprising. :We are linked.: The wind rolls, the branches creak, and the roots… I feel beneath me, yet Within Me. It is a careful, gentle, and clearly restrained Voice of Dominion, but even that rocks me to my core. I shudder, my mind shaking off the tingle of foreign presence within the paths that it she has carefully dug. :I hope you do not find the experience disorienting.: The sway of the curtains of leaves... feels apologetic, despite being composed and serious. Behind me, the lakebed stirs, then stills. I offer a wan smile— her hopes have gone less than answered, but I'll start adjusting to it soon. I'm already getting used to feeling the tethers, so I suppose it's of little worry, ma'am. Small price to pay for how worryingly easy that was for you—even though I'm not necessarily resisting, didn't it take all you had just to not punch straight through me? No. I snap myself of that train of thought, even as the feeling inevitably rumbles through the earth and ripples through the waterfront behind me. I walk forward, or maybe I float through the tailwind, or maybe slide along the grasses, or maybe I don't know at all, but regardless— I bring my mind close to the splinter of hers that she has, feeling an eager buzz among the leaves and a certain resolve in the steady push of the wind upon me. Making this form of contact, I remember, is only the first step— establishing the link that lets us get anywhere at all. A leaf breaks away from its branch and lightly settles onto my brow, brushed there by the wind. With it, a questioning sensation, not quite worried, but needing to be sure. Needing to hear, feel, Know my confirmation. "I'm getting through, aren't I?" would be the words, "If you can't hear or feel this, then we're going nowhere." the unspoken chance she is pretty confident she's avoided. I smile, appreciating all this, and make my las few steps forward, placing my hand on the knurled, winding bark. It quietly hums with the mental energy she is holding away, the sense of "another" that I feel on my mind— Just as the soil, grasses, and lake are Ageru Shiki, the mighty old Willow and all its winding branches are Ageru Kilanya. For a moment, I remember another with this sort of gentle strength— And for a moment, all I can see is Sasaki. It passes, and I return. I don't even know if I truly went anywhere. Memories are fickle in this place. Can't let them get in the way. "I hear you." :I'll manage.:
  6. IC: Jolek "It's..." Oh lord. This guy needed help. "It's more like scooping it. I never got anywhere punching water." ... Well. It'd been a few years. It might feel good. Lord knew his armor could use a break from soot. "Honestly, you oughta never punch like you're swimming. Don't think swimming like you punch* is too good either." *Unless very bad at punching, but fix that.
  7. IC: Jolek "Nah. Not worth it. Nearly drowned once."
  8. IC: Jolek ... The pause hung, churning in the air. He had approached this one every which way— come to and left each conclusion. "Hard to say." Seeing what had happened to him? No, not really. To reconcile half a childhood with an entirely different half a childhood, an identity and personality forged from the void, however nascent, with whatever had entered it and experienced dissolution... it all looked like it was twisting his new acquaintance in a knot. Like the synthesis of was and is was as torturous as it could ever be considered cathartic. ...Seeing the house he'd been living in, and remembering the faces of those that had claimed him theirs? Yes. To know who he was to them, to feel what they felt when they'd all but burst into tears at the relief of retrieving what they thought irrevocably lost. To understand the ties that bound them to him, and he to they— the network of pulls upon his person, links of life and memory that had been in one swoop shattered. To know, and be whole in knowing. To look upon his blood, and share their joy. But it never seemed like that was going to matter. "More like I haven't known enough now. You know? Memories." Forget those lost. Where were those he should have made?
  9. IC: Jolek "Yeah." He nodded simply. Speaking again, he answered the questions, all rhetorical until the last, in sequence. "Yeah. I have, but not for this." Inscrutable. Focused more on listening along than clearly conveying. "Yeah. I am."
  10. IC: Jolek "Yeesh, is that what that looks like in real time? Steady. Steady." he blurted openly, bounding off the wall to plant a hand onto the staggering Lesterin's shoulder. Though concern flitted across the features of his Pakari, it was marred by confusion and consternation in equal measure. A melange of tight frown and narrowed brow that couched his eyes as he took in the sudden outburst from what was formerly a tight-wound stoic of a man. "Maybe I should be glad I've still been in the dark— So that's you remembering this Seprilli and Zay-Kazz place for sure. Really is everyone..." Except him. If the names were enough to trigger it, then by now, he could prove that this had nothing to do with him. Well. In fairness, he already knew that. Just ruled out something unlikely. But still, that was then, whatever had happened. Compared to this, happening now, it was a mercy to forget.
  11. IC: Jolek "Nah. I'm good with directions." That one flippant, devil-may-care, assured by an adolescence of proof. "I've been... Here. Here and In There." This one none of that. Ponderous, strained. Faltering, as though there was more that needed, or maybe desired dictation. Yet couldn't, regardless. "Ga and Ko once, too, but only passed by." An afterthought, and not pretending they weren't. If he'd been pressed by his counterpart, he would've barely been able to name anything he'd done in either. When he pressed himself, for that matter, he could only come up with an idea of "something about a school?" He wasn't hiding anything— it wasn't him. However vexed it might leave the Lesterin, This was It. He clicked his tongue. "Signed on before I could fill the gap. Bombing and all— Speaking of, I should ask the same:" His eyes met the Lesterin's again, finally. Still narrowed, searching, they weren't hostile— just direct. Following a lead that was personal, not professional. "Lotta Lesterin and Skakdi we've got on call have had new memories turn up out of the blue on them lately. You from that..." "Seprilli...that's the island I'm originally from. It's the homeland of all Lesterin. I'm not sure why, but I remember it now." "Seprilli place too?"
  12. IC: Jolek Still staring in the direction of home?, the Fa-Toa's eyes narrowed for a moment, coming to a conclusion with an unspoken process. "...Nope." Maybe before he'd washed up, but that would have just been like all his family's stories to the conversation they were having now— secondhand. A beat later— No, two— Three, the— "Never been, actually."
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