The air had suddenly turned to stone.
Berrod Armstrong had been in the common room of the Agency's house simply dozing on himself while he sat at one of the tables. Lunch had been excellent, and with it came the pleasant drowsiness that he hardly ever had the chance to take advantage of. The sudden energy in the air about him would have startled him right off the chair, but when it hit him, he felt encased  in plaster, frozen in ice, and cast in stone.Â
It was a blatant display of power; he could feel it. The chakras had banded together to create a war cry, a challenge, a shout of intimidation. His own were nothing in comparison, pressed flat under the immense pressure, and not nearly numerous enough to make a match. It _terrified_ him, but not even the First Below could respond.Â
Thirteen of them. Thirteen, roaring for blood, roaring for completion of the cycle. Enlightenment, Expression, Passion, Will, Need, Survival, Fear, Anger, Jealousy, Deception, Abandon, Selfishness...and thick murderous intent.Â
Berrod toppled off his chair and crawled desperately to the door -- it felt like the hoof of an aurochs was pressed to his back, resisting every movement. Reaching for the door handle felt like reaching for the sun itself, and when the door swung open he rolled down the steps and onto the front lawn like a sack of meat.
The moment he'd fallen outside, the pressure abated, the war cry vanished; the chakras harrying had ceased. Berrod was aware of a panicked cry and footsteps on the grass. He felt rough hands grab him and try to put him on his back. The enemy perhaps? No -- as his vision blurred in and out, harangued by the sun's glare, he made out the face of his student and retainer, looking most concerned.
"Master Armstrong? Master Armstrong, what's wrong?!"
"Rudger...? Didn't ya feel that?" He murmured blearily.Â
"Feel what?"
Of course Rudger couldn't feel it. He didn't even have one chakra open to have that mortifying reverberation tear through him. He was getting closer by the day, but it was an inescapable fact that the retainer was his least talented student. Still, his eagerness, loyalty and determination had bid Berrod to work with him anyway. It didn't matter in the end -- whoever that powerful monk was, clearly all they wanted to do was send a message -- because no trace of their presence remained.Â
"...nothin'. Musta been some rum in my juice...get me inside. Needa lay down."
"Yes, Master Armstrong, of course."
"I'm not a gods-damned Master. My name's Berrod, call me that."
"Yes, Master Armstrong."
Berrod Armstrong had been in the common room of the Agency's house simply dozing on himself while he sat at one of the tables. Lunch had been excellent, and with it came the pleasant drowsiness that he hardly ever had the chance to take advantage of. The sudden energy in the air about him would have startled him right off the chair, but when it hit him, he felt encased  in plaster, frozen in ice, and cast in stone.Â
It was a blatant display of power; he could feel it. The chakras had banded together to create a war cry, a challenge, a shout of intimidation. His own were nothing in comparison, pressed flat under the immense pressure, and not nearly numerous enough to make a match. It _terrified_ him, but not even the First Below could respond.Â
Thirteen of them. Thirteen, roaring for blood, roaring for completion of the cycle. Enlightenment, Expression, Passion, Will, Need, Survival, Fear, Anger, Jealousy, Deception, Abandon, Selfishness...and thick murderous intent.Â
Berrod toppled off his chair and crawled desperately to the door -- it felt like the hoof of an aurochs was pressed to his back, resisting every movement. Reaching for the door handle felt like reaching for the sun itself, and when the door swung open he rolled down the steps and onto the front lawn like a sack of meat.
The moment he'd fallen outside, the pressure abated, the war cry vanished; the chakras harrying had ceased. Berrod was aware of a panicked cry and footsteps on the grass. He felt rough hands grab him and try to put him on his back. The enemy perhaps? No -- as his vision blurred in and out, harangued by the sun's glare, he made out the face of his student and retainer, looking most concerned.
"Master Armstrong? Master Armstrong, what's wrong?!"
"Rudger...? Didn't ya feel that?" He murmured blearily.Â
"Feel what?"
Of course Rudger couldn't feel it. He didn't even have one chakra open to have that mortifying reverberation tear through him. He was getting closer by the day, but it was an inescapable fact that the retainer was his least talented student. Still, his eagerness, loyalty and determination had bid Berrod to work with him anyway. It didn't matter in the end -- whoever that powerful monk was, clearly all they wanted to do was send a message -- because no trace of their presence remained.Â
"...nothin'. Musta been some rum in my juice...get me inside. Needa lay down."
"Yes, Master Armstrong, of course."
"I'm not a gods-damned Master. My name's Berrod, call me that."
"Yes, Master Armstrong."
![[Image: tumblr_ojgu7zoaag1robwlio1_540.png]](https://68.media.tumblr.com/80be4033cdf57fb6268473ef9ce37db6/tumblr_ojgu7zoaag1robwlio1_540.png)
