005 - Glassweaver

In the moonlight, the sands of the desert whispered the tales of millennia long past. Jezzu sat cross-legged, his loose robes shifting in the gentle breeze. The soft cries of birds of prey echoed in the night as he meditated, a hollow melody in a place normally silent of nature's song. His mind clear, he focused his attention to the vastness of the skies above, and compared the countless stars to the neigh infinite grains beneath him. He contemplated the stillness of the voids in the darkness, the clearness of an empty sky, and the many colors hidden in inky tones between burning orbs far off in the dead of night.

He felt every beat of his heart in his chest. The blood in his veins slowly stoked the fires of his heart with a steady, slow rhythm. The warmth of the desert radiated up, thin veils of heat parting between the hairs of arms otherwise chilled. Jezzu's breath was constant and methodical as he became aware of the movement of all things. He felt the vibrations of the sand, and though he did not understand the details, he could sense the tiny beads were made of smaller parts, and that they themselves were in a constant state of flux, humming with energy though they appeared completely still.

His mind's eye opened wide. He visualized a single drop of water fall in to the sky and ripple as a wave of consciousness flowed over the galaxies and nebulae of the farthest reaches of the imagination. He saw the strings of mana that connected all things, the source of all magic tying together infinite worlds. He had reached his flow state, it was time to move.

He inhaled sharply and stretched out his hands, holding them inches above the silicon beads of the desert. They began to swirl beneath his palms, bowing to the will of their new master. The sorcerer began to stand, pushing his toes deep in to the dune and lifting his weight with perfect balance, a fluid motion from lotus to warrior position. As he rose the sand followed, swirling in slow-spinning columns. He dug his toes in to the ground as his muscles tensed. His outstretched fingers hooked down, commanding the power he had stored to release itself.

Instantly the sand just below his hands, swirling at the tops of dancing columns, became molten. The columns themselves drew upward from the desert floor, releasing their hold and floating by force of will. As they drew upwards, they met with the molten tops until Jezzu wielded perfect orbs of glowing liquid glass.

Snapping his wrists back, his hands flattened outstretched to his sides, and so did the glass. Two square sheets, solid and thick, formed crystalline shields in the air, completely tempered and clear. Jezzu switched poses again, and the glass followed form, peeling away like dense orange ribbons. With each form Jezzu changed the state and shape of the matter under his control, a glowing liquid in transitional state, solidifying instantly in to shields, swords, and arrows as he moved through the ancient martial art. Each stance combined body, mind, and soul in a stable connection to the webs of magic that tied him to his craft.

As the weaver closed his routine, he pulled the molten orbs together in a single ball, then stretched it in a long, thin, vertical spike of glass that hovered inches above the desert before him. He bowed to it solemnly, and as he grounded himself the bottom tip of the shard began to dissolve, raining tiny beads of sand until the entire shaft became a small pile that blew away as the wind gusted.