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The Iegumbra - a place beneath the fabric of the world as they know. Most cannot even sense it, less can interact with it in any meaningful way, and even fewer still can traverse the boundaries of spacetime and enter this place that is both a dimension in of itself, and a reflection of it's umbranaut. It is a bubble in a vast ocean. For Arhulians, this place was the domain of their true power and truest self. A place disconnected from time and space in such a way one could interrogate themselves, hone discipline, and scour weakness. Provided, they can handle the isolation of their own presence.
Zel'Vultet rested his vessel. Unlike the tempestuous ripping tides of maelstrom, jagged mountains of flesh cutting rocks, or the fog smothered plane where nightmares and anxieties manifested physical forms, this vesicle universe was a reflection of it's master and the authority they commanded over their own domain. This Arhulian rested upon a great sphere of obsidian, painted in a glassy film of water. The Air was still. Zel'Vultet cupped their hands in front of their body. The task was simple in concept, yet formidable in execution. Between their hands was a small, intense point of purple light. It shimmered as the stars in the clear sky did above, but not from the air. Zel'Vultet was channeling their psionic power at it's maximum, and concentrating it into the smallest point they could.
As a dam with the floodgates open, Zel'Vultet could feel their faint burning in their veins as their soul's luminescence scalded their vessel from within. It hurt. Although there was no physical need to breathe in the Iegumbra, they breathed in and out to give their vessel a rhythm to synchronize to. This point of light, as big as marble, contained enough energy to break even the mightiest of steel-ships in half should it be manifested as raw destructive energy. In this state, it was naught but a harmless wisp.
Zul'Vultet could feel it. The pain was subsiding. Their control was growing. Their Thread - the umbilical of will that binds spirit to vessel - was acclimating to this power, and resisting the oncoming threadburn. It was arduous, meticulous work to channel psionic energy in such small increments, yet anything more could risk tearing their own thread from their vessel should they command too much power recklessly. Psionic training is as a exercise in patience as it is magnitude. What once was a raging tempest of seething energy was now a calm bead of light. The Arhulian felt the stinging pain be overcome by a surge of relief, and perhaps - a tinge of confidence. "Just a little more." They thought. As they did so, their words manifested into physical sounds in the amaranthine plane.
"The hill has been crested. Focus. Maintain. Endure. Soon, this power be yours and flow from within and without thought as blood does in your vessel." Many Non-Arhulian Psions pride themselves on channeling as much power as they can withstand in a single instant in a display of explosive power. But like an explosion, it always vanished with the moment. The innocuous miniature star that Zul'Vultet cradled was just that - a beacon of light that cascaded power pure and unending.
The Iegumbra - a place beneath the fabric of the world as they know. Most cannot even sense it, less can interact with it in any meaningful way, and even fewer still can traverse the boundaries of spacetime and enter this place that is both a dimension in of itself, and a reflection of it's umbranaut. It is a bubble in a vast ocean. For Arhulians, this place was the domain of their true power and truest self. A place disconnected from time and space in such a way one could interrogate themselves, hone discipline, and scour weakness. Provided, they can handle the isolation of their own presence.
Zel'Vultet rested his vessel. Unlike the tempestuous ripping tides of maelstrom, jagged mountains of flesh cutting rocks, or the fog smothered plane where nightmares and anxieties manifested physical forms, this vesicle universe was a reflection of it's master and the authority they commanded over their own domain. This Arhulian rested upon a great sphere of obsidian, painted in a glassy film of water. The Air was still. Zel'Vultet cupped their hands in front of their body. The task was simple in concept, yet formidable in execution. Between their hands was a small, intense point of purple light. It shimmered as the stars in the clear sky did above, but not from the air. Zel'Vultet was channeling their psionic power at it's maximum, and concentrating it into the smallest point they could.
As a dam with the floodgates open, Zel'Vultet could feel their faint burning in their veins as their soul's luminescence scalded their vessel from within. It hurt. Although there was no physical need to breathe in the Iegumbra, they breathed in and out to give their vessel a rhythm to synchronize to. This point of light, as big as marble, contained enough energy to break even the mightiest of steel-ships in half should it be manifested as raw destructive energy. In this state, it was naught but a harmless wisp.
Zul'Vultet could feel it. The pain was subsiding. Their control was growing. Their Thread - the umbilical of will that binds spirit to vessel - was acclimating to this power, and resisting the oncoming threadburn. It was arduous, meticulous work to channel psionic energy in such small increments, yet anything more could risk tearing their own thread from their vessel should they command too much power recklessly. Psionic training is as a exercise in patience as it is magnitude. What once was a raging tempest of seething energy was now a calm bead of light. The Arhulian felt the stinging pain be overcome by a surge of relief, and perhaps - a tinge of confidence. "Just a little more." They thought. As they did so, their words manifested into physical sounds in the amaranthine plane.
"The hill has been crested. Focus. Maintain. Endure. Soon, this power be yours and flow from within and without thought as blood does in your vessel." Many Non-Arhulian Psions pride themselves on channeling as much power as they can withstand in a single instant in a display of explosive power. But like an explosion, it always vanished with the moment. The innocuous miniature star that Zul'Vultet cradled was just that - a beacon of light that cascaded power pure and unending.
Category Artwork (Traditional) / Fantasy
Species Original Species
Size 1972 x 1869px
File Size 1.52 MB
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