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 Posted: Wed Nov 30, 2016 11:25 am
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Posted: Thu Dec 01, 2016 9:28 pm
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Posted: Sat Dec 24, 2016 10:01 am
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Posted: Tue Mar 14, 2017 10:03 pm
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Posted: Sat Aug 12, 2017 10:43 am
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Posted: Sun Aug 27, 2017 8:05 am
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Posted: Sat Nov 18, 2017 11:22 am
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❧ To Horizons Uncharted ❧
( Class Choice )
Ozzrick rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, building friction at the tips of the calloused digits before giving a push of internal focus and for a moment, the glimmer of a flame danced there. Small, but enough to match a candle and useful in a pinch. He closed his fist and the light snuffed instantly. Though his mother had never been a practicer of any art beyond dancing, a life of growing up alongside and within a circus came with experiences — and learning opportunities — not afforded to some, if in unconventional ways perhaps. From a reasonably young age, despite his mother’s lack of talent for magic, he had shown some natural promise for it.
But, he lacked the drive for it.
He wasn’t bookishly inclined. He was literate, but only sufficiently, and had not the interest to sustain the patience to sit still to read when there was so much else to do in the world. Studying was for sissies. Thus, regardless of whatever potential he might have had for it otherwise, Ozzrick had never gone to much length to developing such skills. There were those among the troupe who would happily have tutored him in it in their own way, but he hadn’t the focus.
Instead, there had never been much question in his own mind where he would focus any time he spent honing a talent. Wherever he went in his travels, he did not expect to escape the ever present — if sometimes less apparent and pressing — dangers of the world he called home. So, despite his mother’s early choice of avoiding developing any art of war herself, he fully intended to be versed in practical combat.
Once, he had thought that he might hone his swordsmanship along the way carved by the troupe—and he had begun to, of course, practicing when he had opportunity on top of all else he was engaged in. But as he had aged, it became progressively clearer to Ozzrick that he would not be remaining with the troupe indefinitely. While he could dance, he was not a dancer like his mother. Though he could perform, he was not a performer in the way most of their troupe was. Or, not in his own mind at least. These options were before him, certainly, but it was not where he wanted to take his life. As much as he loved traveling with his troupe, he wanted to see yet more than that, and without the confines of someone else’s direction as to what was next on the destination list.
Thus, though he still participated in certain shows, he had been working to turn his focus to other tasks while with them—and honing his personal interests in the meantime. Ozzrick crouched, dipping to grip and lift the dual blades he had been practicing with for some time now. They were real blades, no doubt, but unsharpened, old, and of no special quality. All value in earnest came from the personal association he had with them. The time that had gone into working with these particular strips of metal. He was still studying them when the front curtain of the shared tent opened, and he looked up to see his mother.
Isamene Brisbane was a character to behold, even in her ‘later’ years, though Ozzrick — despite never being told in quite so many words — had reason to suspect she was only fifteen or so years older than himself. Wild, dark brown curls which fell thick and loose about soft, deep tan skin and dark green eyes. Ozzrick had apparently inherited his hair and eyes from whatever man had managed to make his way into her bed once upon a time—but he was happy enough with what he had gotten, and pleased more still that at least during the time he could recall, his mother had typically devoted her interests to those without the parts to implant future siblings within her. Not to mention, in most recent years, her uncharacteristically steady attention to Naysha, which had by some miracle persisted for now nearly six years.
It was a relief, in any case, not to have to cast permanent suspicious eyes on whoever trailed for fear of imprudent conduct or future siblings.
Isamene was humming, fingers in her hair pushing back stray curls as her skirts lapped about her ankles. “Oh, Oz, you are in here!” Her eyes flicked for but a half second to his weapons before focusing on the long mirror she’d come in for and settling herself in front of it. “Come here and help a girl for a moment…”
Oz stood only a second before setting his blades down and progressing to her back. When she gestured, he held whatever indicated, acting as a stand in hairpin mannequin for the time being at least.
“You’ve been training with Kivran for quite some time now.”
“I have.” He stood, watching her fingers as they made small braids with certain segments of hair and waiting for her to speak again.
“You enjoy it, working with him?”
Kivran was a swordsman among their troupe. Not ‘legendary across the nations’ or ‘renowned far and wide,’ but certainly of high respect among all those who knew him and a number beyond. Ozzrick suspected there was more to his history than he spoke of openly, but he had never opted to inquire further. It was suffice enough for his own purposes that he got on well with the man and he’d been willing to share however much he knew of blades that Oz could absorb thus far.
“I do,” Oz said.
His mother’s eyes studied him through the mirror’s reflection, and after a moment, she smiled. “I suppose I never thought you would become a dancer, despite your talent for it.”
Oz shot a wry smile at the glass. “A ‘talent’ for it, have I? Among our own I would have classed myself as a suitable stand-in, but marginal at best…but I’ll take a mother’s compliment for what it is, thank you.”
Isamene smiled, though her eyes lingered, studying him before she sighed. “And you won’t be taking up a sorcerer’s path either I take it? You know we have the resources-”
But he was shaking his head. “Too much books and butt sitting for me, I’m afraid.”
“Mmm…you should speak with Kivran when you find the time,” his mother said. “If you are serious in pursuing a swordsman’s path as you seem and as he thinks, he has something for you. But Ozzrick…”
He blinked. “Yes, Mother?”
“Do make it one of your serious choices.”
Ozzrick chuckled. “I suppose I’ll try.”
Kivran, as it turned out, had the very gift Ozzrick anticipated he might: a pair of blades, crafted — Kivran insisted — by one of the finest smiths Oba had to offer, years before either of them had been born. They had been a gift to him, he said, from the man who had first taught him.
“They’re cursed,” Kivran added as he watched Ozzrick inspect the blades.
Oz thumbed over the base of a hilt, squinting at what might have once been an inscription. He snorted with a smile. “Cursed, ai?”
“With adventure.” Kivran nodded. “No one who takes those up has ever lead a boring life. But…” After a clap of his hands, he gestured to Oz. “If anyone I know wasn’t looking for one.”
They felt good in his grip. Well balanced. Real blades, and a pair to keep of his own. After letting himself hold them just a moment, Oz gave a dip of his head and a flash of teeth. “Can’t say that I was. I think it’s a curse I can handle.” Sheathing the blades, he held out a hand. “Thank you, Kivran…I hope to live the curse as well as you have.”
After eyeing him a second, the older man scoffed, catching at his hand and then dragging him forward with a jerk into a hug. “There, don’t go making it sound like I’m dyin’ or nothin’. Or that you’re leaving immediately,” he added. “Try having those at your hips a few years before leaving your poor mother all alone, ey?”
All but immediately Ozzrick laughed, which wasn’t evidently the reaction Kivran had been hoping for, but no matter. “Oh come. My ‘poor mother?’” he repeated, green eyes bright with amusement. “Did she put you up to this?” Ozzrick might have been imagining the hint of sheepishness to the man’s expression, but he didn’t think so. He grinned. “My mother is fine. She’s young, beautiful, healthy, almost as capable of taking care of herself as I am—really, everyone here has done a marvelous job raising both of us. Besides, she seems to finally have a fairly serious girlfriend. It might do her good to get out from under my wing, have some alone time…”
Kivran snorted.
“But…” Ozzrick shrugged. “Between friends, neither of you have to worry about how much you’re going to enjoy missing me yet. I don’t know when or where, yet, just…” His fingers tapped the sheaths.
“A restless young man will do what he will when he feels compelled.”
Oz grinned. “Something like that.”
Result: Ozzrick chooses dual blades as his path.
Word Count: 1,553 |
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Posted: Sun Nov 19, 2017 10:38 am
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❧ Be It The Falcon, The Clouds, Or The Cross ❧
We all need something watching over us, Ozzrick.
Ozzrick stood at the docks of Jatine, overlooking the sea beyond. From here, nothing but clear, chopping blue with a great sky overhead. But he knew far enough out there, Yael waited. It, and all its peculiar citizens—and goods.
He had been raised with his mother and their gypsy troupe all his remembered life, and had no reason to disbelieve his mother’s assertion that he’d been born there. Thus, though it was not a stagnant place, it was ‘home’ certainly to whatever degree Oz had one, and he felt kinship to it. But he had also known for some time that his participation in the troupe and its activities was an impermanent thing. There was more out there and he wouldn’t walk this path for life.
Of course, up until now, Ozzrick had also not known when that change was going to occur precisely, only that it would. The first time they had stopped in Oba, he had known where. Trade among the fire people between themselves and with nations beyond was bustling, and though he was a Talean native, while he wasn’t especially fond of raw desert composed of nothing but sands, he took a particular liking to the to the towns—and their boats.
Most were fishing boats which did not travel far and were of little interest to him, but the discovery of Yael had been long standing enough now that there was a notable line of trade blossoming between the nations. Not so much as it could be, due to the numerous complications of travel between, but there just the same, begging further development.
Unfortunately, Oz hadn’t known the first thing about a ship then, and some might have argued he wasn’t in a drastically different position yet. But he was learning—and he had successfully set himself up for a crash course.
“Well, she’s not the most beautiful thing…” The dock hand’s words drew Ozzrick from his thoughts enough to glance as the woman tapped the ship—his ship’s—hull, “…but she’ll get you to the far shore and back a good many times yet.”
At the first opportunity that had presented itself, over a year ago now—was it two?—he had managed to get himself hired on a cargo transport, working as a swab hand for lack of experience in anything else then, but gaining said experience in the process. Not to mention taking full advantage of the chance to see the new island for himself. He had known, then, he was headed in the right direction. After, he had managed to catch back up with his troupe on returning to Oba and spoke with his mother.
It had taken some time, but eventually he made his intention to remain clear. As thankful as he was for the opportunities his upbringing had brought before him, there was new territory yet to carve. His fingers fiddled absently with the leather-wrapped and woven circlet that hung from his neck among other various emblems and trinkets. He had never been very particular with his gods personally. So far as he was concerned, he would respect the names and traditions of the deities that whatever people he was amidst believed in. As many places as he had seen growing up, it seemed counter intuitive to value one particular way of practice more when all of them sought more or less the same thing.
But his mother had maintained through her life a personal spirituality in tune with the traditional faith of her tribe, and had passed her words at least to Ozzrick. For once, for her, he felt the moment merited a break from his own habit, and in addition to a prayer of thanks to the native Oban gods, he gave his appreciation to the energies that brought him here—the natural workings of the world and fates at play.
He tapped his hand to the hull. “The Tyrant,” he said. “I suppose we’ll see if she lives up to her namesake.”
“So, you have a crew together then?”
Oz glanced to her as she dusted her hands. “I, it’s—yes, I’ll have a crew together.”
She raised her eyebrows. “None yet? It’s the scraggly ones that get picked last…I’d recommend you be about yourself on that if you want to be out with a solid ship before storm season.”
“I’m—aye, it’s a work in progress,” he said. “Mostly there.” ‘Mostly’ might have been technically composed of ‘just him’ but the captain was the most essential element, wasn’t it? Besides, since the boat wasn’t his in ownership yet — he’d merely managed to convince one of the local traders to contract with him to captain it — he suspected there might be some suggestions given from the side with the purse. Regardless, how hard could it be to find a crew in a bustling town full of eager hands looking for work?
Perhaps a trustworthy one was another matter, but that was a concern for another time. For the moment, he was content after the dock hand departed to take a moment himself to board and inspect what would be his new ‘home’, if all went well, for some significant period of time going forward. It would be quite the shift—he had always been a traveler, but ever a land gypsy in his past, and though he had now far more sea leg experience under his belt than before, and had thankfully determined he wasn’t prone to illness on board, this would still mark a certain permanence in the shift. Before, he had every opportunity to change his mind. Now, in taking on a task and a crew, he would be forming loyalties and duties of his own to uphold.
There wouldn’t be turning back or changing his mind on a whim as there might have been before. But, Ozzrick decided as he stood alone in his cabin, on his ship, before its first voyage with him charting its course, it was a step he was ready for.
The rest of the world, he decided, just ought hope it was ready for him.
Quote: Summary/Growth: Ozzrick has always been a free spirit and known for some time that he wouldn't remain a dancing gypsy with his mother's troupe forever. Still, it was his upbringing and the only life he knew such that for a while, he was not sure when or where he would depart from that path. Towards the end of his prentice stage, he began truly testing the waters and caught a ride as a cabin boy on a voyage to Yael to sate his curiosity and itch for travel. That, as it turned out, only inspired him, and this solo highlights how far he has come. For the first time, he is committing to a life away from the family he has known and beginning as a fledgling captain on a ship set to make the dangerous voyage between Yael and Oba under the watchful eye of merchant traders looking to profit from the exchange.
Word Count: 1,042 |
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Posted: Sun Dec 03, 2017 5:44 pm
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Posted: Sun Dec 03, 2017 8:34 pm
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Posted: Mon Dec 04, 2017 12:58 am
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Posted: Tue Dec 05, 2017 10:00 am
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Posted: Wed Dec 06, 2017 7:58 am
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Posted: Sun Dec 10, 2017 10:53 am
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Posted: Mon Dec 11, 2017 2:41 pm
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