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[Turrin]

Time-Stamp: 37th of Spring, 517AV
Location: Turrin's by the Dawn whisper Camp
Who: Turrin and Naiya

Turrin hasn't slept much since the adventure with Taurina when they parted from the little excursion into the Sea of Grass. The hunter was concerned with the large Drykas who escorted her away. He was especially had a annoyed look when the human's eyes fell upon him. The former endal wasn't afraid of the large drykas, so he challenged his look with a half grin and nod of respect. The man was warrior like himself, so he should be treated as such. Like Quzon said these people might call themselves warriors, but they don't praise the goddess of war like they should. The pale blue myrian was right, but he needed to watch his back now. Their ways were strange to him, so it made them unpredictable. If they were going to treat him with scorn, maybe he should do the same. These were dark thoughts that the half breed didn't want to think about, but he needed to look out for himself because he was truly alone in a city of strangers.

Paranoia had started to creep into the mind of confident warrior. When he came to Endrykas, the warrior face held a smile that seemed almost unbreakable, but now, he reverted back to his Endal demeanor, a stoned face steadfast warden of volcano city. A face that he didn't wanted to wear again. It was mask that he thought that he thrown away forever. Now it was back. Walking outside of the tent, the half breed didn't wear his bryda anymore. He started to adorn the camouflage leather armor. It was hot in the mid spring sun, but he needed to get used to it. He needed to learn how to fight for long periods of time with armor. When he goes to Riverfall to conduct his business, he will buy a shield and learn how to use it. The drykas spearman defense was flawless, so he needed a unstoppable offense or equally impenetrable defense to become stronger. His survival depended on it.

As he left the tent, the Inarta with one swift motion pulled the talon sword for his scabbard and a ring of metal echo through his camp. Turrin said to himself in myrian, “Today wasn't the day to play with children toys. Myri will only be satisfied with metal.”

Closing his eyes, the Inarta got into the stance his mother told him too. It was the Falcon Stance. It was a stance that emphasis defense and capitalizing on your opponents mistakes. The myrian got into his defensive stance with his tip of the talon sword pointing at the ground. His front foot was pointed towards him, but his back foot was pointed away from him, so the only part of his body facing him was right side of his leg, side of his torso, and shoulder. He wanted to give the imaginary enemy as little targets as possible, so his made sure his chest was pointing away from him. Putting his hand back on left hip, he protected his off hand from a potential strike. Rising to the balls of his feet, Turrin stayed silent as he waited for his opponent to strike. His mother always described these solo sword sessions as dances with Dira. They were made to simulate a potential battle without being in one.

In his mind, he watched as the imaginary warrior thrust his weapon towards him. Immediately, the warrior stepped to right side and swung his talon sword up to parry the imaginary sword. The burgundy haired warrior arm was in front of his front of his face while the razor sharp metal blade was over his head and pointing to right of his body. Quickly, the Inarta brought over his head and swung his metal sword backhanded at the neck of his opponent. This counterstrike was aim to decapitate the opponent. In his mind, Turrin watched his opponent bring his own sword up to parry, so the metal sword stopped halfway through the swing. As the his sword swing stopped, Turrin lifted his right leg and thrust the heel of his boot into the exposed belly of the imaginary opponent. As the imaginary stumbles backwards, Turrin brings the talon sword towards the right and swings down across the abdomen of the opponent spilling his entrails on the grass. The Inarta held the end of his finishing move in place for a moment as he watched his imaginary opponent slowly being taken by Dira. When it is finished, quickly slashes out to spray the imaginary blood from his weapon and slowly sheathes his heirloom.[/color]

[Naiya]

Naiya woke to the gentle fussing of her bosu. Hunger was the sound of mornings, soft but persistent. She didn't mind, not now that Shai was only waking a handful of times each night. She left him nestled in the blankets only long enough to step into her clothing, forgoing her top in favor of scooping up both Shai and his silk sling. She held him carefully against her chest and shoulder, tying the sling beneath his butt before laying him into the cradle it formed over one shoulder.

She had to shift the cloth some, slipping it back and around to bring his mouth more comfortably to her breast. Hunger was the sound of morning, and Naiya was no exception as her stomach gurgled softly, her own insistence that she needed food.

Not quite as easy to feed as Shai, she started by fetching a pail of milk from beside the unkindled central fire, and a few pieces of flatbread from the string above her head. She slung a wetskin across her free arm as well ready to fetch the rest of the supplies she needed from the wagon.

She stacked the flatbread along the far side of the camp's fire, adding dry dung to the embers and hoping it would light all on its own. She lowered the pail to the ground beside the bread and the wetskin followed.

It wasn't until she came around the side of the wagon that she saw Turrin, camped abreast to Quzon, although the latter seemed to be slowly moving further and further into their camp. Not that she minded, not after how helpful he had been with Shai.

Still, she was less sure yet of the other Myrian, although he was fast becoming a fixture of their days, he did so many things without explanation, like now, cutting out with his weapon in a clear attack, but with his entire body facing away from his strike. An attack was only as good as the strength behind it and leaving your hips behind removed your strength. Had she fought like that against the pirates, she wouldn't have survived.

Still, he could fight how he wished, it seemed to have served him so far. She gave him a wave, 'greetings' on her hands, but he seemed to be lost in his fight with Zulrav so she left him to it while she dug her cookpot and a sack of grain from the wagon.

A passing fancy had her pull the spicy tree bark that Diani had found, breaking off a piece she decided she would add that too to her pot.

She returned to her fire, dancing merrily despite her neglect, and she smiled as she raked the burning coals with the bottom of her cookpot. She tossed in the grains first, letting the fire heat them bare. She stirred constantly while it was dry, letting the fire warm without scalding the dry grain. When she could smell the warm, nuttiness wafting from the pot, she added water. Once that was heated, she added milk as well, just a splash, hoping it would add it's creaminess to the meal.

She had thought herself out of the way of Turrin's battle, but he appeared around the edge of the wagon, kicking at his enemy with more grace than she thought possible for planting a foot into zulrav's breath. Perhaps he had simply lifted his leg rather than kicking with intention.

She watched him, stirring the pot as her attention drifted, and found herself again perplexed by the man as he seemed to stand completely still, eyes intent on... nothing - posed for all the world as though he had been caught playing with his father's weapon and hoped that if he froze in place he would escape notice. Eventually, with a spasm of his hand, he put the weapon away, and then again, Naiya waved.

Greetings shaped heavily with her beamusement. Still, he was nearly inside her own camp, it was hardly acceptable to ignore him, or to deny him a greeting as he noticed her.

She would need to make tea, that was the other rule, drinks, a meal, she hadn't entertained people so often since her courtship with Shahar and Khida, and that labor had been done without a baby at her breast.

She was in no place to deny the rite, however, healthy and past the exhaustion of labor or newborn child. She filled her kettle with what was left of the water from the skin, and set it to the fire as well. Easier to be ready than to try to bide time.

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Naiya space Pavi | Common | Tukant
other space Pavi | Common | Tukant