12th Trial, Vhalar, 719
Continued from here
This was uncharted territory for him. Yet because it was such, he couldn't help the prickles of giddy anticipation breaking out on his skin. Splitting his concentration into two sources was one thing, and apparently one he was capable of. But creating a thing as simple as a sword, well... it was simple. Brainless. Without sentience or desire. A mere inorganic hunk of matter to be wielded as he that held it wished. But what he'd crafted and set into motion now was... Kasoria did not know quite what.
Not alive. Not that, not here. But animated.
Kasoria twerked his jaw from side to side as he and the creature circled each other. It looked fierce, unnatural, dangerous. Three claws long as daggers now sprouted from the end of each arm. Twitch and tinkling against each other as a smooth, featureless face "looked" at the one who'd created it. Kasoria knew the construct would keep this up for as long as he wished. Because all it could do was what Kasoria wished.
Which is the problem.
The assassin stopped and the creature mirrored him. He had to inject some... unpredictability into his creation. Some animus separate from his own. But how was this possible, in a place that only existed because of what he willed? Before, in his earliest trials of Dreamwalking, all he could do was observe and remember his dreams. He had no control over them, for he had no control over his mind. But now, with Governing, he had power... and like most that found power, actually using it constructively was not so simple as it seemed.
He cocked his head to one side as an idea came to him. Having it fight like him wasn't helpful. But like another... maybe that would be something else. He ran through memorable opponents across his "career" like he was flipping through a saga's pages. Skilled and savage men, all, for anything less wouldn't have left an impression on his memory. But nothing and nobody leaped out at him... until he looked at the claws and smiled softly. Oh, yes.
That's who it reminded him of. And that was a spar for the ages.
The Dreamwalker shifted his stance, and once again the dummy followed his cue. For the last time. Gladius held in his right, cocked back to his hip, he raised his other hand, palm out, and closed his eyes. Focused his will into memory, into the rushing recollection of a hundred, a thousand furious exertions. None of them his own. All he'd remembered from fighting the Shapeshifter, the Fleshchanger, wondrous and terrible as she was. How she fought, the style and ferocity. The agility of her couldn't be replicated in such a crude wooden dummy, but the rest of her?
Again the dummy shuddered and shifted. Seemed to crack and crackle in places as Kasoria opened his eyes again. Then, as he lowered his hands, a new fluidity came into its movements. It brought one hand up, studied it, then the other. As if discovering each for the first time. It looked at Kasoria, across the span of fifteen feet and a deluge that was soaking them both down to the skin. The sky flashed and Kasoria swore he saw the embers, the ghost, the shadow of features across the face of the dummy.
Then it came at him in a furious rush, wordless scream issuing forth from a mouth-less face, heard only in the Dreamer's head.
Not alive. Not that, not here. But animated.
Kasoria twerked his jaw from side to side as he and the creature circled each other. It looked fierce, unnatural, dangerous. Three claws long as daggers now sprouted from the end of each arm. Twitch and tinkling against each other as a smooth, featureless face "looked" at the one who'd created it. Kasoria knew the construct would keep this up for as long as he wished. Because all it could do was what Kasoria wished.
Which is the problem.
The assassin stopped and the creature mirrored him. He had to inject some... unpredictability into his creation. Some animus separate from his own. But how was this possible, in a place that only existed because of what he willed? Before, in his earliest trials of Dreamwalking, all he could do was observe and remember his dreams. He had no control over them, for he had no control over his mind. But now, with Governing, he had power... and like most that found power, actually using it constructively was not so simple as it seemed.
He cocked his head to one side as an idea came to him. Having it fight like him wasn't helpful. But like another... maybe that would be something else. He ran through memorable opponents across his "career" like he was flipping through a saga's pages. Skilled and savage men, all, for anything less wouldn't have left an impression on his memory. But nothing and nobody leaped out at him... until he looked at the claws and smiled softly. Oh, yes.
That's who it reminded him of. And that was a spar for the ages.
The Dreamwalker shifted his stance, and once again the dummy followed his cue. For the last time. Gladius held in his right, cocked back to his hip, he raised his other hand, palm out, and closed his eyes. Focused his will into memory, into the rushing recollection of a hundred, a thousand furious exertions. None of them his own. All he'd remembered from fighting the Shapeshifter, the Fleshchanger, wondrous and terrible as she was. How she fought, the style and ferocity. The agility of her couldn't be replicated in such a crude wooden dummy, but the rest of her?
Again the dummy shuddered and shifted. Seemed to crack and crackle in places as Kasoria opened his eyes again. Then, as he lowered his hands, a new fluidity came into its movements. It brought one hand up, studied it, then the other. As if discovering each for the first time. It looked at Kasoria, across the span of fifteen feet and a deluge that was soaking them both down to the skin. The sky flashed and Kasoria swore he saw the embers, the ghost, the shadow of features across the face of the dummy.
Then it came at him in a furious rush, wordless scream issuing forth from a mouth-less face, heard only in the Dreamer's head.
