The wind is a fluid element to wield. Not quite the same anytime you use it. It requires a great deal of speed like water, but without the same amount of firmness. Practicing this element requires the ability to improvise, to go where the wind wills you, to adapt and make quick decisions on the fly in order to wield this element to its fullest potential.
Know the weather that lies ahead of you.
That night at sea was terrifying. The wind mages did everything they could to control the wind, even just a little, as to make sure the ship didn’t go off course. There was an apprentice on that ship. He had no idea what he was doing. Not the faintest clue. His master gave him the vaguest instructions one could give. He wasn’t a bad mage, quite the opposite in fact. He had a deep affinity for the wind that his master hadn’t discovered yet. “Only use about half of your power for this.” His master had yelled at him through the storm. The realization that he was more powerful than he thought pieced itself together in his mind as they sat among the wreckage, the mainsail beside him ripped in two.
There is a storm in you. Filled with strikes of lightning and crashing thunder. Unleash it.
There was something inside of her that needed to be unleashed. But she was too afraid to do it. So was everyone else, to be fair. No one would train her; all the good mages saw the storm in a bottle and left it alone. All the bad mages were too useless to be of any help. But there was one. She was still unsure whether he was one of the bad mages or not. She stood at the edge of the cliff, as per his command. Let it flow out of her all at once, or not at all. As per his command. All at once or not at all. All at once or not at-
Sing me a song of the winds. Let it deafen me.
The sky was roaring, clouds dashing through the screaming blue, drowning out every sound in its path. On a day like this, every wind mage was out on the steppe doing whatever it is wind mages do. But at the top of this plateau raged a fierce battle. Between only two people. None would know what would become of them, the sound of their quarrel stayed atop that plateau. The wind surrounded them as they buffeted each other moving fluidly as if they were attempting to become apart of the wind themselves. One might be forgiven for thinking they were dancing. But this dance was destined to end with one body being thrown down to the rocks below.
There is an eye of focus in the storm. The rest of it is up to you.
The wind-battered and bruised him, but he did not stop. It screamed in his ears and numbed his fingers. But he did not stop. Moments before there were a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. But now, it was as if he didn’t have a mind. Like he couldn’t think. He had mindless, destructive power. He did not stop.
Devote yourself to the storm. It’s the only thing that will save you.
I swore myself to something when I had nothing. Beaten and broken I made an oath. It was the only thing that gave my life, and to that oath, I must repay. I first heard the call on a mountain, after clearing out an abandoned fortress of a few illegal mages. I heard it next as I went to sleep a week later. The last I heard it was on a riverboat, sailing down the river one night. But the sky was clear, there wasn’t a cloud in sight. It puzzled me for the longest time. Until I realize I heard the sound from within. And then I felt it. A gift for my discipline.
Look the storm in its eyes, then make it yield to you.
The hulking tainted stared at him, steam was being expelled from his nostrils. The blessed stared back, the hair on the back of his neck standing tall and moving ever so slightly in the breeze. The angel took one step forward. The horned would not move. The crowd watched in fear and excitement as he took step after step. The sand brushed around his ankles as the wind around him grew in magnitude and strength. The angel did not move. His steps grew louder and faster until he broke into an all-out sprint. He let out one last howl then put everything he had into the storm he let loose.
Don’t let anyone figure you out.
Jousting they called it. It was nothing like the chivalrous shows they put on in the large amphitheaters, with horses and huge lances. She realized that as soon as she stepped up on the shaky wooden beam that dangled over the lake. It seemed like a far drop below them now. She was still looking down when a warning gust of wind hit her and set her off balance. She barely caught her balance. “Are you ready, or are you going to stare down at the water the whole time?” Her opponent seemed unphased by the heights. Everyone around her seemed unphased. “Is this a good idea?” She asked. They responded with a chorus of laughs. Someone yelled “go” and they started flinging gusts of wind at each other until one of them fell off. Her attitude only changed when she hit the surface of the lake. Then she was hooked. And she finally found out, that she was truly one of them.
Lightning never strikes the same place twice. Strike hard, strike fast. And strike once.
She slowed her breath, she made sure it was steady. Her heart was calm, she looked seconds away from being dead. Sparks darted from her fingertips. She stood motionless on a ledge overlooking the street. Three men with drawn swords crept through the dark streets. There was no one else around, the houses seemed abandoned. All that sounded was their footsteps on the stone. Her breathing stopped. It was time to strike.
Run. Sprint. Chase.
They could not catch them. He would outrun them every time. With the strength of the wind behind him, he ran there and back and there and back. Every day there was someone new who tried to catch him, tried to grab him, and strangle him in rage. Those who knew him didn’t dare to oppose him, lest they receive a quick slit to the throat. He was untouchable, uncatchable. And he had just killed the king.