65th of Summer, AV 508 Location: Gideon Arena |
Azeran walked in slow circles within the Gideon arena. Today, it was empty. Well, mostly empty. Azeran paced around the dusty arena, the stench of blood and sweat was evident, the walls at one end was marked with the red liquid, dried up, but yet to be cleaned off by hand or elements. Azeran was always oddly fond of the smell of blood. Perhaps it was the killing nature he always felt that caused the scent to be more of an enticing aroma rather than a repulsive or sickening sense. He inhaled slowly, exhaled slower, taking in that smell until he was used to it, smelled it no longer. Azeran had a date today, his little brother and he were to train together. Azeran, roughly twenty years the elder, was pleased with his younger sibling's natural combat prowess. In many ways he was better than Azeran. That's why it was no longer, Azeran training his little brother, Gural. No, now it was Azeran training with his little brother, Gural. In fact, Azeran almost feared that he would be surpassed someday, and not because old age would infect him, but because Gural was just better. It wouldn't be the worst thing to happen, but still, there was a bit of pride to be had in being the superior. At least Azeran had a son. The thought made Azeran smile, pride that was only slightly damaged by brooding over his little brother's skill was returned with surplus. Azeran was higher amongst the Akalak, something he had always wanted from Riverfall. He wasn't great, not yet, but he held some status, if only some. Azeran refused to tease his brother about mating, but was never afraid to question, suggest, or pressure his brother into it. It would be better for their father at least (who was already high up because Azeran gave him a grandson). Azeran sat down on that once-blood soaked ground. It was just dust now. Azeran gave himself to meditation. His eyes closed, his breathing slowed, paced itself, became deep yet softer. His mind focused on a center point in his mind, a darkness. It was nothing more than a color, black, the void of color. The breeze faded from his senses as if the wind itself ceased to exist. The smell of blood that tickled his nose disappeared, as if it too was gone. He felt the air entering his lungs, his bare blue-skinned chest rising and falling slowly. He was ready. A clear mind would keep Koarhal in check, not that he had much of a chance to lose it against his own brother. It was the inferior races of men that particularly angered Koarhal, and they weren't even enjoyed by Azeran. But an Akalak, no, his own blood, not even Koarhal would want to kill him. That much Azeran was certain of. |