The Root.
The effect was instant; Berrod felt three times as heavy as he had been, but his movement slowed none. As he moved through the desert dust, the particles that rose did not fall back to the floor -- instead they settled onto him, replacing the sweaty gloss of his skin with a dirty matte. A fist fired onto the boulder nearby with knuckle-breaking force, but his knuckles remained intact. He barely felt it. The punch itself seemed to do no more damage than usual, but he took no damage either. The ground beneath him felt like home, it embraced him, it was his shield and his retreat. It was his ally, and every puff of dust that rose from it was a bountiful boon.
The Sacral.
The sensation that flooded him could best be described as invigorating; among other things. Berrod found himself energized, ready to move, ready to work, ready to play. Desires and urges nagged at him for some reason -- a sudden need for good food, good drink, and good company in a bed. He compartmentalized it all and focused on the rush that deluged each limb. There were no injuries on his form, but he knew if there had been any, they would have healed before his eyes. Without anything to attend to, the energy returned to his core.
The Solar Plexus.
A new energy surged through him -- this time quite more visible than the last. He felt it from just under his chest, flowing through every muscle, activating them to move faster, to strike harder. Berrod saw the white-blue sparks along his arms at first, then took a risky peek down to see the cackling pop of the lightning aspected aether about his legs as well. It did not hurt at all -- quite the opposite, really. The lightning may as well have been the blood through his veins, and he welcomed it. Once more he unleashed his fist upon the rock -- this time to a splitting crack. Chips of the boulder shore off as the small area near the Sil'Dih ruins strobed. The lash seemed to excite the aether, intensifying the arcs of brilliant blue about the Highlander's form.Â
The time had come to take the risk, to see how far he had come.
The Heart.
It was if an unstable crystal had exploded within him; from the center of Berrod's chest sprung a roiling, heated power that seemed far too much for his own body to contain. In only a moment he was filled with it, and it threatened to rip him apart. The Lightning that wreathed him was joined with flickers of flame -- each tongue competing for space within his limited capacity. It suddenly quieted the blue, reducing the flickering sparks to naught.The Monk knew the danger of letting such power linger in him for too long. He had to get it out. His fist was the doorway; one final time he set it to the stone. It took every ounce of his will to force the explosion of aether into that one arm.Â
The only thing that hit the rock was his own blood. Great spatters of it, dark and glistening dripped down from the surface as Berrod roared in agony and frustration. Along his arm several shallow slits had formed, paths through his flesh where the aether had flowed -- and ultimately forced itself out. Blood filled the paths now, seeping out amidst the agonizing sting.
He swore loudly and bitterly at everything within range.Â
Another failure. The fourth was opened, but it refused to obey.
The effect was instant; Berrod felt three times as heavy as he had been, but his movement slowed none. As he moved through the desert dust, the particles that rose did not fall back to the floor -- instead they settled onto him, replacing the sweaty gloss of his skin with a dirty matte. A fist fired onto the boulder nearby with knuckle-breaking force, but his knuckles remained intact. He barely felt it. The punch itself seemed to do no more damage than usual, but he took no damage either. The ground beneath him felt like home, it embraced him, it was his shield and his retreat. It was his ally, and every puff of dust that rose from it was a bountiful boon.
The Sacral.
The sensation that flooded him could best be described as invigorating; among other things. Berrod found himself energized, ready to move, ready to work, ready to play. Desires and urges nagged at him for some reason -- a sudden need for good food, good drink, and good company in a bed. He compartmentalized it all and focused on the rush that deluged each limb. There were no injuries on his form, but he knew if there had been any, they would have healed before his eyes. Without anything to attend to, the energy returned to his core.
The Solar Plexus.
A new energy surged through him -- this time quite more visible than the last. He felt it from just under his chest, flowing through every muscle, activating them to move faster, to strike harder. Berrod saw the white-blue sparks along his arms at first, then took a risky peek down to see the cackling pop of the lightning aspected aether about his legs as well. It did not hurt at all -- quite the opposite, really. The lightning may as well have been the blood through his veins, and he welcomed it. Once more he unleashed his fist upon the rock -- this time to a splitting crack. Chips of the boulder shore off as the small area near the Sil'Dih ruins strobed. The lash seemed to excite the aether, intensifying the arcs of brilliant blue about the Highlander's form.Â
The time had come to take the risk, to see how far he had come.
The Heart.
It was if an unstable crystal had exploded within him; from the center of Berrod's chest sprung a roiling, heated power that seemed far too much for his own body to contain. In only a moment he was filled with it, and it threatened to rip him apart. The Lightning that wreathed him was joined with flickers of flame -- each tongue competing for space within his limited capacity. It suddenly quieted the blue, reducing the flickering sparks to naught.The Monk knew the danger of letting such power linger in him for too long. He had to get it out. His fist was the doorway; one final time he set it to the stone. It took every ounce of his will to force the explosion of aether into that one arm.Â
The only thing that hit the rock was his own blood. Great spatters of it, dark and glistening dripped down from the surface as Berrod roared in agony and frustration. Along his arm several shallow slits had formed, paths through his flesh where the aether had flowed -- and ultimately forced itself out. Blood filled the paths now, seeping out amidst the agonizing sting.
He swore loudly and bitterly at everything within range.Â
Another failure. The fourth was opened, but it refused to obey.
![[Image: tumblr_ojgu7zoaag1robwlio1_540.png]](https://68.media.tumblr.com/80be4033cdf57fb6268473ef9ce37db6/tumblr_ojgu7zoaag1robwlio1_540.png)
