Sunlight slanted through the narrow window, cutting a sharp line across the sandstone floor. Sal opened his eyes. Dust motes drifted through the beam. Sleeping during the daylight had become his routine. After his encounter with the alley spirit, the dark felt too dangerous. He trusted Crow to keep watch, and the entity hadn't failed him yet.
Sal pushed himself off his woven mat. He stretched, wincing as his ribs gave a dull throb.
'Quiet shift?' Sal asked, grabbing a clay pot from the corner. He relieved himself, kicking a layer of sand over the waste to kill the smell.
'Two scorpions and a patrol complaining about the heat,' Crow replied. 'Thrilling.'
Sal snorted. He crossed the barren room and sat cross-legged. He closed his eyes, inhaling slowly. He pulled on his Qi.
Sand seeped from the cracks in the floorboards. Tendrils lifted into the air, orbiting his body at varying speeds. He breathed out, keeping his focus absolute. The grains accelerated. The sand whipped faster, carving tight rings until it produced a rhythmic whoosh through the air. His hand became a blur, pushing and pulling faster than he ever managed before. Exhilaration rushed through his chest. He wasn't just surviving; he was mastering the element.
He let the Qi drop.
All things ended though, and eventually the sand collapsed, splashing softly against the floor.
Sal caught his breath. He reached for his rucksack and pulled out breakfast. He ate wax-wrapped flatbread and a slab of salted meat. He chewed slowly. It was exceptional food for the desert.
The timber door creaked open. His landlady shuffled into the room, leaning on a cane. She squinted at him.
"Got more flatbread on the hearth," she rasped. "You want it, boy?"
"No," Sal said, wiping his mouth. "This is enough."
She grunted and pulled the door shut.
"How do you feel today?" Crow asked.
Sal rolled his shoulders, listening to the joints creak.
"Better. The ribs still burn when I twist, but the bone feels solid. Two more days and the pain should pass entirely."
"Good," Crow nodded, "So we are leaving today?"
"Probably, yes."
Sal leaned against the wall, letting his mind drift. It was his fifth day in the Oasis. He remembered the first morning, nursing his battered body and a bleeding side.
His initial plan had been simple. Live as a vagrant. He had buried most of his newfound wealth beneath a marked dune outside the perimeter and wrapped his face in a stolen scarf. He intended to sleep in the abandoned alleys until he felt well enough to once more brave the desert… and all it entailed.
Crow had advised against remaining idle. 'Phantom Meridian multiplies your base skill,' the entity had lectured. 'If your mundane stealth is terrible, multiplying it yields nothing.'
Given the embarrassing way he got spotted by the spirit, he couldn't find it in him to complain. As such, Sal had tried sneaking through the market without his traits.
(Stealth training - 28 / req 30 / fail)
Suffice to say, it went poorly. Without his earthbending smoothing the ground beneath his boots, he was clumsy. He dragged his heel.
Within minutes, he stumbled right into the path of an old woman selling spiced jerky. She didn't shout for the guards. Instead, she locked onto him like a sand shark smelling blood. She thrust a skewer of meat into his chest and demanded copper.
Sal snorted but the hag was relentless, all but forcing him to speak, if only to get rid of her. One thing led to another, and Sal muttered that he needed a roof, offering to pay under the table.
The crone had snatched the silver coin from his palm.
'Say no more. If anyone asks, you're my damned grandson.'
Whether it was simple greed or pity for his missing hand and overall battered appearance, Sal didn't care. It bought him a roof over his head.
That first night, he trained his earthbending. He poured his frustration, his aching wounds, and his fury at the laughing spirit into the sand.
(Earthbending training- 68 (+5 from ObS) = 73 / req 70, passed / lvl 13 > lvl 14)
The earth responded. It snapped to his will. He improved noticeably, bypassing months of grueling practice in a single night. It felt as though a dam had burst. Both him and Crow were utterly delighted.
Looking back, it had been a lucky day.
—---
The second day brought noise. A merchant caravan arrived, turning the evening into an impromptu festival. Lanterns strung across the alleys painted the Oasis in harsh orange light.
Sal used the chaos. He slipped through the crowds, practicing his footwork without relying on the ring. He weaved between staggering mercenaries and shouting vendors. He anticipated their movements, sliding through the gaps in the crowd unseen. He vanished in plain sight.
Stealth - 86 / req 30 / pass - Stealth lvl 5 > lvl 6
'Better,' Crow murmured. 'Eventually, you will learn to walk like a shadow, not just hide in one.'
'That sounds needlessly grand' he fired back as the spirit shook his head. In the beginning, he wouldn't have dared to speak like this but as time passed he couldn't help but feel a certain connection with the spirit. A certain familiarity. He could almost feel that Crow's mood and know that he didn't really care about honorifics all that much.
Either way, during the festival he bought skewers of glazed meat and roasted tubers, eating until his stomach stretched despite not necessarily needing to. The food worked wonders. He felt the lingering fatigue wash away, making his mind clearer than it has been in days.
When he returned to his room, he tried to replicate his earthbending epiphany.
(Earthbending - 4 / req 75 / fail)
He failed. The sand felt heavy. He pushed his Qi, but the grains refused to hold shape, crumbling back to the floor. He cursed and went to sleep. Maybe it was because he ate too much?
—-----
On the third night, he was forced to remember that confidence breeds mistakes. The night air cooled his skin as Sal stalked the perimeter, moving across the clay rooftops. He misjudged the gap between two buildings. He leaped, but his boot caught the edge. He slipped. His heel hit the clay with a dull thud. He caught himself, but his scabbard scraped loudly against the stone wall.
Down in the alley, an old man sat on a crate. He smoked a pipe. The embers flared, illuminating a scarred face. He looked up. His eyes bypassed Sal's face and locked onto the hilt jutting over his shoulder.
"A Jian like that," the stranger rasped. He exhaled a plume of smoke. "It is wasted on a boy who clangs like a dropped pot."
Sal froze. His hand dropped to his weapon. He scanned the shadows for an ambush.
The man didn't flinch. He knocked his pipe against the wall, emptying the ash. He stood. He picked up a wooden staff from the dirt and tested its weight. "Come down. I will show you how to hold it."
Sal narrowed his eyes. "Why the fuck would you help me?"
"Because bad form offends me, you numbskull kid." the man replied with a grumble.
Sal distrusted the stranger. Yet, he noticed the man's posture. His feet gripped the earth. His shoulders relaxed. A rooted stance. Sal jumped. He landed in the alley, bending his knees to absorb the shock, and drew the blade. The steel hissed.
"You are missing an arm," the old man noted. He tapped his staff against the ground. "Standard forms will leave you off-balance. You will overcompensate. We use the Falling Leaf style. It relies on momentum, not brute strength."
"The falling what now?
The old man didn't respond. Instead, he lunged. The wood blurred.
Sal brought the sword up. Wood clashed against steel. The impact rattled Sal's teeth. The vibration shot down his arm.
"Too stiff!" the man barked. He swept the staff low, smacking Sal behind the knee. Sal stumbled. "Do not absorb the force. Redirect it."
(Sword training roll - 48 - Gained Swordsmanship - lvl 4)
For an hour, the alley became a sparring ring. Sweat stung Sal's eyes. His healing ribs ached. The stranger guided him relentlessly. Sal mirrored the movements. He learned to snap his wrist. He let the enemy's force slide off the flat of his blade. He practiced footwork. The man struck his calves whenever he planted his heels too firmly.
"Let the blade pull you," the old man commanded, stepping back. "It is a dance."
Sal exhaled. He adjusted his grip. He stepped forward, pivoting on his leading foot. He used the turn to generate speed, swinging the sword in a clean arc. The edge cut the air. The steel hummed.
The old man watched the execution. He gave a curt nod. He tossed the stick aside. It clattered against the wall.
"Wait," Sal snapped. He lowered the blade but stepped forward, closing the distance. His tone hardened. "Who are you? What is the price for this?"
The old man paused.
Sal pushed, his grip tightening on the hilt. "Free things are usually the most expensive. What do you want?"
The man glanced back. "Do not flatter yourself, boy. I wanted to see the blade swing properly. That is all. Also, get that pommel wrapped in some good leather"
Then he turned the corner and left without another word. Sal walked forward, checking the street. The shadows had swallowed the stranger completely. He was gone.
Sal sheathed the sword. He returned to his hut, his muscles burning but energized. He dropped his rucksack in the corner. He stood in the center of the room, chasing the smooth flow of the sword forms.
He pushed his Qi outward. Idly, he tried to apply the Falling Leaf momentum to the earth. The sand rose from the floorboards. He commanded it to swirl. It obeyed. A thick ribbon of sand circled his waist. He punched forward. The sand shot across the room, splattering heavily against the wall.
It was a decent strike. It held force. He tried to weave the sand back toward him, attempting to redirect the momentum, but the construct crumbled into a messy pile on the floor. Hours of trial and error passed and he couldn't help but realized how far he still was from mastery. Sal sighed, letting his Qi drop. He kicked the dirt across the room and went to sleep.
—--
The fourth day brought answers.
Sal stalked the perimeter of the central tavern. He kept Phantom Meridian dormant, forcing himself to rely entirely on mundane skill.
(Stealth training- 45 / req 35 / pass Stealth lvl 6 > lvl 7)
Without the trait masking his presence, every step required absolute focus. He tracked the lantern light, kept his head low, and pressed his back against the clay wall, inching closer to the open windows. He slid past a stack of discarded crates, holding his breath.
A stumbling drunk shoved the tavern doors open, swaying wildly. Sal took a quick step backward into the shadows to yield space.
His heel found a dry gourd. The crack echoed sharply over the murmur of the crowd.
Two patrons near the window turned their heads.
Sal abandoned the stealth attempt instantly. He dropped his posture. He slumped his shoulders, dragged his boots, and walked forward, acting like an exhausted traveler.
He approached the bar, tossed a copper coin onto the wood, and took a clay cup of water. He retreated to a dark corner, sitting near a table of scarred mercenaries.
They were drinking heavily, their voices carrying over the tavern noise.
"The desert tolls are getting ridiculous," a bearded mercenary grumbled, slamming his mug down.
"It's that sandbender chieftain," another replied, wiping ale from his chin. "Kaelen."
The water caught in Sal's throat. He choked, violently sputtering and nearly spitting the drink across the table. He slapped a hand over his mouth, coughing into his palm while his chest heaved. He lowered his hand, his eyes wide. His knuckles turned white around the clay cup.
Kaelen. His uncle. The man who had orchestrated his exile. He couldn't believe his luck.
"His tribe is circling the Red Mesa," the bearded man continued, oblivious to the coughing boy in the corner. "Shaking down any caravans heading west. If the merchants don't pay, they sink the wagons into the dunes."
Sal stared into his water. The Red Mesa wasn't far. A few days' trek. This… was what he had been waiting for. What he had been dreaming of all this time!
He decided to leave the moment his ribs stopped burning. Crow didn't complain either, which brought a smile to his face.
That night, Sal bypassed the Oasis guards and walked deep into the dunes. He needed to clear his head. The desert stretched infinitely under the moonlight. He stopped at the base of a towering dune. He took a stance and pulled on his Qi.
(Earthbending training - 71 + 5 (ObS activated) = 76 / req 75 / pass / lvl 14 > lvl 15) (Damn lucky)
This time, the sand listened. It didn't just obey; it leaped to his command like an extension of his own body.
He didn't fight the earth. He commanded it. He threw a punch. A compacted boulder launched over the dunes, whistling through the air before shattering against a distant rock formation. He swept his foot. A deep trench tore through the desert floor. He thrust both arms upward. A wall of hardened sandstone erupted from the earth with a deafening crack.
The desert flowed around him. He merged the Falling Leaf footwork with his bending. He pivoted, using his momentum to hurl waves of sand instead of relying on brute force. He danced with the element, pushing his physical limits until sweat stung his eyes.
He lowered his arm, breathing heavily as the dust settled. He felt the terrifying force he now wielded. He remembered his uncle's feats.
Kaelen was the strongest bender in the tribe. The man could summon localized dust devils and bury a merchant wagon in seconds. But Kaelen was rigid. His power relied on overwhelming force.
Sal looked at the sandstone wall he had erected in a fraction of a second. The density of his constructs, the sheer speed of his strikes—it surpassed anything his uncle could manage.
With the Ring on his side, he was stronger.
—------------------
The fifth day brought an end to his rest. It was time to move.
Sal strapped the rucksack across his chest. It was heavy with dried meat and water. He only needed to slip past the perimeter and dig up his hidden pouch of jade. Then, he would be gone.
Of course, just as he was about to leave, gruff voices bled through the thin walls. Heavy boots thumped in the corridor, overlapping with the raspy, half-hearted protests of the landlady.
The timber door flew open, slamming violently against the clay wall.
Two men filled the frame. They wore scuffed armor. Their boots were planted wide, their knees bent—the rooted stances of trained earthbenders.
"So," the larger mercenary grunted, resting a hand on his belt. "You're the thief that's been causing trouble in the Oasis, eh?"
Sal didn't flinch. He wasn't even surprised. If anything, he expected something like this to happen. The past few days had brought clean water, a healing body, and massive leaps in his training. The desert always balanced the scales. A bad day was overdue.
Sal let out a slow breath. He pushed himself off the floor, rising to his feet. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the dull ache in his ribs fade into background noise. He stretched his arm, his green eyes locking idly onto the thugs.
—---------------
Luck rolls -
Day 1 - 73
Day 2 - 67
Day 3 - 70
Day 4 - 74
Day 5 - 21
.
31/40 HP
50/50 Qi
.
5 trust gained / Bond = 65 (50 trust, 15 control)
.
—------
Available TP - 4
There were two more voted proposals for traits that should be bought:
.
1 - Buy Grit in the Veins and upgrade it
Grit in the Veins
(Effect: Increases the Host's natural resistance to all poisons, toxins, and venoms by 50%.
(Cost: 3 Trait Points)
.
2 - Save up for Blood of the Si Wong:
(Effect: Sal can use his own spilled blood as an absolute bending medium. Any sand or earth soaked in his blood becomes an extension of himself; it requires 90% less Qi to manipulate, and it is almost impossible to be bent by other earthbenders while he himself is using it. Cost: 5 Trait Points)
(Note : not just 'touched by'- Soaked)
.
—--
A.N -(With -I am a Sandbender- activated his E.B. level when bending sand is 17. These are feats
he did with the trait active. To put things into perspective, Azula is around 16 at this moment. She has a greater Qi reserve and higher physical stats though, so there's that.)