Balancing his Past

[Dragor]

(((the following is Seb's attempt to balance his arcana, as he specialized in his youth, before the age brings about the end of him)))


Seb took his seat beneath the gnarly oak tree, a good place to think, below the reaching arms of the symbol of Silvanus. He ponders the mistakes of his past and present, he ponders the inevitable future of all things.
The ground is damp from rains past, moisture stored below the leaf litter of the many winters the gnarly oak had seen. Seb had also seen many winters, and had left many footprints in many a trail. He still felt limber and robust besides the protesting of his joints but he knew that with his time on Aber-Toril those feelings could easily fade with one bitter winter, or one bout of lung-sickness.
He pondered the past he left behind, the weapon he was trained to be, when he fled the tower of his old master. He thought: “The weave is as much a part of the world as the waves in the sea, and I have only thought about it in a specific way, I have seen only the tidal wave, and not those that grace the sandy shores, or those that pound like thunder beneath the cliffs.”
Seb’s past remains unbalanced, and he is running out of time to see it done.

Seb scrapes a circle in the leaves, the rustling disturbing a squirrel above his head, he looks at the circle and reaches within the weave, not to bring forth the pure energy he so proudly wielded in his youth, but to draw something through space and time, to stand in the circle before him.

The first few attempts had not gone well for several unsuspecting goblins, he felt a small pang of guilt over them imploding into a gooey mess, but goblins must be reined in by many an outside means as it is. They will balance out on their own. He shovels aside the goo, and transports it to a location where denizens of the woods can feast upon it without him disturbing them.
He returns to the circle, his garment stained with the day’s proceedings, and several nights of not being cleaned. He theorizes: “It may be that I am trying to hard to shape the weave to my will, I may be trying to sculpt clay with a smith’s hammer.”
He reaches once more into the weave, feeling his way for a creature that’s will allows it to be drug through to his circle…

His shoulder would not stop hurting, the goblin had been brought through alive, only to stab him with its dingy short blade. He chuckled at the irony of his possible death from infection with success near at hand. He sighs and reaches for the weave once more.

[Dragor]

It began to come easier for Seb to bring things to him after a while, he still struggled with convincing the creatures not to stab him or eat him. His clothes were beginning to go ratty, but it did not matter anymore, he was in the wild places, not in the vice ridden heap of the civilized world. He would return there for a while, he knew, if he was successful. He would deal with that when the time came.
He took a rest in the evening pondering the people he had met, and where they could be, he hoped that some could achieve balance in their lives before they passed on as well.
He slowly faded off to sleep.

He was getting better at it, bringing forth creatures, tainting their will with his own, he did not prefer this method of conjuring, asking was much better, but for that he must atone another day. He was making up for a much greater failing in his youth.
He was bringing things through with ease now. He began to work the other forms of magic, touching un-life with great displeasure. He did not reanimate anything. That would be too big a blasphemy even for this project. What was dead would stay dead. He did make attempts at divining knowledge about the things which he summoned to acceptable success. He changed some of the leaves in small ways through transmutation. He chuckled at some of the parallels in these magics to the natural world. Not all things in nature were patient things.

Seb felt comfortable, the spells were coming easy enough to trust himself with, and being away from the civilized world had rejuvenated his spirit. Now he ponders what shall be his next step. He will have to return to civilized lands, return to where the wizards are, and find some more spells. He must find more advanced things to summon instead of creatures and monsters.
Seb scours his mind for those that may help him, which wizards does he know well enough to ask.
It begins to rain. Water, the element of life, deflecting off the leaves and branches of the tree drips down on to the old man’s head and runs down his back and his cheek. Seb scoots back against the tree, it is protection enough.
He will seek out the civilized world soon enough, he decides. There is no need to rush away from this place.