[Training: Unarmed Combat] Love and Hate

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Taloba, home to the Myrians, is the thriving core of Falyndar. Inhabited by a fierce and savage tribe where blood sacrifices are normal and a way of life, they are untamed and proud of it. Warlike, and with their numbers growing, the Myrians are set on reclaiming what is rightfully theirs. [Lore]

[Training: Unarmed Combat] Love and Hate

Postby Siiri on October 1st, 2009, 4:47 am

Midmorning – Day 12, Fall of 509 A.V.


"Aren't you missing your extra leg?"

Her cheeks burned at the rather unimaginitive jibe, but she understood that the man was trying to salvage his bruised ego. Rather than jump the offender and pummel him with her fists, as was her usual reaction to the slight intended for her lame sister Tala, ever since they were young, Siiri merely gave a derisive snort and opened her stance, inviting the man to attack her. It was unarmed combat training that day and she and the man before her, Goro, have been called out to spar.

Perfect.

It wasn't a secret among her fellow warriors that Tala had recently rejected Goro’s romantic advances, and the proud man was sore. He came to her to offer companionship, and then made it look like he was her only chance of siring children since who in their right mind would couple with a lame? It was quite an insult, but still, Siiri knew there was truth in it. Despite keeping the rest of her body trim and fit, Tala still had a lame leg. Since birth. Nobody would risk getting an offspring that might inherit her infirmity. The one reason Tala still attracted interest from the men was because she came from a line of great warriors.

Not to mention one of the most beautiful women in all of Taloba!

A small crowd had already gathered around them to watch the showdown between Tala’s champion (as they like to call Siiri ever since she was a little girl) and the man-mountain, Goro. For a people where the women were usually the taller among the sexes, Goro was the exception among the men.

He was huge.

Standing at half a head over six feet, he had at least thirty pounds on Siiri, and it wasn’t fat that made up that weight. The man was pure muscle. Growing up, he was called Spearhead because his body frame looked the shape of a spear’s head pointing downwards. He had very broad shoulders, and strong arms as thick as a normal man’s thighs, though his legs were not as heavily muscled; they tapered off to resemble a spearhead’s point. He was an excellent wrestler and his ham-sized fists could easily put the hardiest warrior to sleep. All in all, he was a very difficult man to beat in unarmed combat. Which was probably why he had the audacity to do what he did to Tala.

And lucky me, I get to fight him today.

Normally, Siiri would relish the chance to test her skills against one of the best unarmed specialists of the army, but today she had begun to feel the effects of her monthly cycle: her chest had felt tender since the morn and she could feel the slight tremors of cramps coming on. It was nothing major as she wasn’t much of a bleeder anyway, but she always hated the accompanying cramps with a passion. She was still thankful though, as the real thing would not start until the morrow or the day after, but still, it left her feeling lethargic and grouchy. She wanted nothing more than to stand guard in some lonely spot outside the walls, stew and not interact with other people.

Let’s get this over with then, she groused.

Siiri crooked at finger at Goro, a taunting move. The added eyebrow, raised in mock suggestion, was almost unnecessary to draw the man in. Goro lunged at her, right hand leading, but, recognizing it as a feint, Siiri merely sidestepped to the left and back, slapping the man’s hand away all the while.

The real attack would come next.

As if on cue, Goro charged straight at her, shoulders lowered as if to ram her gut, both arms now leading. Siiri did a short jump and thrust a knee forward to meet the man’s face. It was a novice move, a move borne out annoyance, and she knew her mistake the moment her foot left the ground. Rather than the sharp crack she expected to hear to signify she’s broken Goro’s nose, there was a dull thud instead. Her knee hit her opponent’s forehead - dazing him, yes – but she thought a broken nose would have been so much more satisfying.

And then she was falling to the ground as Goro’s weight bore her down, and all thoughts of breaking the man’s nose flew from her mind.

Siiri knew she had to act fast or the heavier Goro would smother her with his weight and superior wrestling ability. In the time it took to think it, Siiri wrapped her long legs around the man’s massive torso, locking one foot under the back of her other leg’s knee to prevent him from passing her legs and mounting her – a sure way to lose and get her face smashed in by his fists. Then she pulled his head down to her stomach and trapped his arms under her armpits to prevent him raining blows down on her.

“There’s the Jaw,” Siiri heard one spectator intoned, referring to the lock her legs had around Goro’s body. It was a basic defense when fighting a wrestler who had the advantage of being on top. It was a move popularized by her own clan, the Snapping Jaws.

But then, we popularized a lot of things… Like this one!

In a sudden move, Siiri looped her left arm inside Goro’s right and, cording her bicep tight, began to pull her limb towards her chest, bending Goro’s arm by the elbow. Powerful as she was though, her arm was still no match against the man’s more muscular one. Seeing no other choice, she released her hold on Goro’s other arm and pushed her locking arm even harder with it.

Goro gave a great shout as he realized that his arm was about to be twisted off. With his free hand, he grabbed Siiri’s left fist and pulled back, lightening the torque on his right elbow. Siiri held on tight so as not to have her hold broken.
Goro looked up at her, anger in his eyes.

We’re at an impasse and you know it, Siiri thought. If you loosen your grip on my arm just one bit, I’m going to twist your arm off at the elbow.

If she thought Goro would call out a draw, she was sadly mistaken. The man braced both feet on the ground and, with a grunt, lifted Siiri’s one hundred and seventy pound frame off the ground. He did this with one arm twisted in an awkward position. Siiri’s eyes widened as Goro held her high in the air.

He’s going to slam me, she realized in panic. By Myri’s Wound, he’s going to slam me to the ground!

Quickly, she unhooked her legs from his torso and, with a little leverage, planted them on the man’s thighs, kicking off the same time she released her hold on his arm. Goro staggered backwards; Siiri landed unsteadily a few feet away. Both gazed at each other, grudging respect for their opponent’s skill evident in their eyes.

“Don’t stand there gawking at each other – engage! We don’t have all day!” shouted Eena of the Swooping Talons, the day’s drill sergeant.

The combatants circled each other warily now, each watching the other’s every move. Again, it was Goro who made the first move. Leery of taking Siiri to the ground gain, he decided to engage her in a striking game. A bucket-sized fist careened towards the woman’s face, and she was only able to sidestep it at the last second. She retaliated with a swift kick on the inner thigh of his leading leg. She danced out of range before another fist came her way.

Siiri utilized this hit-and-run tactic four more times. Whenever Goro would engage her with any sort of punching combination, she would weave away from the blow and punish his leading leg with a kick. Goro’s thigh was already a mess of welts.

On the fifth time however, she found that she’s used it one time too many: Goro expertly caught her kicking leg as it impacted on his thigh. The man had timed her attacks perfectly. As if in slow motion, Siiri watched Goro’s right arm rear back, like a bowstring pulled to full tautness by an archer. She saw bulging muscles ripple along the length of it, ending at the enormous fist.

In some detached part of her mind, Siiri thought, This will hurt.

Siiri threw her hands up just as time flowed back to normal and Goro threw the punch. It hit her smack in the face, bloodying her nose. Her world spun, and the corners of her vision darkened. But she caught the offending arm, one hand holding tight on the wrist, the other wrapped around the elbow. Following the momentum of the blow, Siiri fell backwards, dragging Goro’s arm down with her. She kicked her free leg up and over the man’s head as she fell so that it was positioned just below his chin, his arm trapped between her legs.

“There’s the Jaw again,” someone said.

As her head hit the ground, further disorienting her, Siiri hugged Goro’s arm tightly, her hands clamping down on his wrist with a vise-like grip. Her sight was blacking out but she told herself she wouldn’t let go no matter what happened. Locking her feet together, she sealed the hold completely. Then ever so slowly she began to thrust her hips forward, pushing Goro’s bicep outward while she pulled his forearm inward towards her chest, causing the man’s elbow to bend in the wrong way, hyper-extending it.

“I submit! I submit!” Goro shouted, his voice rising in pitch with every syllable. He tried to pry her hands from his arm but Siiri clung on like a wolverine on its latest prey until the drill sergeant pulled her off.

Siiri gave the other woman an indifferent shrug as she stepped away. Eena ignored her. Instead she helped Goro massage his nearly dislocated arm and waved the other warriors to come closer.

“Right, then, gather round! That’s one way of dealing with someone who has superior wrestling than you. You won’t encounter many, except maybe the Dhani – ” the sergeant spat, “ – but on the off chance that you do, learning how to disable your opponent before you dispatch him is important.”

She turned to look at Siiri, whose nose still dripped blood, staining herself red.

“Goro is bigger, heavier, and definitely stronger than Siiri here. What do you think would have happened to her if she matched wrestling with wrestling?”

Someone with a smart mouth piped in from the crowd, “She’d get more than a bloody nose, that’s for sure!”

The rest of the crowd laughed. Siiri grimaced and raised an eyebrow at the speaker.

Eena clapped her on the shoulder. “Calm down, Siiri! It was a lucky armbar, and you know it! Anyway,” she continued addressing the group of warriors before her, “you may come from a race of superior warriors but that does not mean you go around underestimating your enemies. When you fight, you fight to win. To do that, you must exploit any and all weaknesses presented to you by your enemy. When you attack, it must reveal to you the enemy’s vulnerability… even if your attack fails.

“Pair up in twos and try to overcome your opponents with just your bodies. No weapons! The losers get to clean the stables tomorrow, while the winners get to go out tonight and join in the nocturnal patrols. Try not to break any of your bones. Move it!”


The drill sergeant turned to Goro standing on the side. “You, get yourself to the healers and have them put a salve on that arm of yours before it swells. Be thankful it’s not dislocated or your won’t be holding a spear for weeks.”

She waited for the big man to lumber in the direction of the apothecary before speaking again. “Good improvisation when you got hit, but you’re lucky Goro didn’t follow up with another punch or you’d still by lying on the ground right now while everyone else is laughing at you. Try to reign in your temper next time. You looked like a stupid greenhorn with that Tiger knee you threw. Mistakes like that can cost you your life in a real battle.

“Now go get your face cleaned up. Come back after you’ve rested from your midday meal and we’ll work on your techniques.”


Dismissed, Siiri made a beeline for the nearest well to wash up, stopping only to grab a rag from a nearby bench to wipe her burning face.

She never took well to being criticized, constructive or not.
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Re: [Training: Unarmed Combat] Love and Hate

Postby Siiri on November 16th, 2009, 1:33 am

The damp cloth felt like heaven as Siiri ran it over her skin, soothing her as she wiped away the grime and crusted blood from her face and chest. She closed her eyes and allowed herself a moment to cherish the sensation; it would be another two days before she got rotated out of active duty from the regular patrols and breaks were far and few in between until then. As she upended a bucketful of cold water over her head to conclude her ablutions, she imagined herself soaking in a tub of rose water instead – an occasional luxury she took when her duties for the army was light. Her hair could certainly use the pampering: tightly braided into cornrows and sitting unwashed for days, her long locks were no doubt starting to smell.

Just because we are warriors does not mean we should forget about hygiene, she thought.
She chuckled and gave herself a pat on the back as she watched, in the distance, her point was made when another female warrior of the Slitted Throat drew away in disgust from a particularly slovenly male warrior.

Though if anything, the smell could serve as a distraction to the enemy!

The sound of shuffling footsteps and the heavier thuds of a walking cane coming from behind her pulled Siiri from her light musings. Realizing the identity of the one approaching, she braced herself for a lecture that was sure to come.

“A flying knee… Shara would turn in her grave for the impressive showmanship you displayed just now, daughter,” Ehra, Siiri’s mother, said dryly as a way of greeting.

Siiri did not look at her even when the older woman stopped to stand beside her. She kept her eyes trained on the warriors in practice.

“I was trying not to think about it already, Mother. Thank you for reminding me.”

Erha snorted, a habit Siiri had always found annoying but she chose not to say anything. Mother and daughter stood in silence for several minutes, each watching the distant warriors sweat from their exertions and from the morning sun. Occasionally, one or the other would nod in approval when they see a particularly impressive move. Finally, Ehra spoke.

“Why do you stay here, Siiri? You’ve already rendered the mandatory three years for the army.”

“I know that, Mother. I like it here. What I can teach the neophytes here will only make our people stronger.”

Siiri knew her answer displeased her mother. She could almost feel the older woman frown at her words. She had been pressuring Siiri to return to the clan home for several days now. Apparently, she wasn’t about to stop now. Siiri briefly wondered what sort of angle her mother would try on her now.

“You need to move on from what’s in the past, child.”

It was the younger woman’s turn to frown. That did it. The woman was still her mother after all; she knew which buttons to push.

“I am not a child any more.”

“Agreed. But you are still acting like one.”

It seemed to Siiri that she and her mother have been having the same conversation over and over for the past few days and, if she was to be totally honest with herself, she’s about had it. All the frustrations and annoyance she had kept locked inside her went pouring out. Siiri whirled at her mother, her face a mask of indignation.

“What is it you want, Mother? What is it you want from me? Tell me!” she screamed, anger and frustration laced in her tone. Noticing the stares she’s elicited from passersby, Siiri lowered her voice into a sharp whisper. It was still edged in steel however. “What do you want from me? I am not a child to be told what to do anymore!”

Erha, unfazed by her daughter’s tirade, did not even blink. She merely looked at Siiri as if gauging whether the girl would continue with her tantrum or not. When it seemed the younger woman would not, she spoke, as if lecturing a seven year-old.

“You need to learn your place. You have a duty to your family.” The older woman returned her gaze to the distant trainees before adding, “I need an heir. You will need one yourself when you take your rightful place as the head of our clan.”

Siiri wanted to pull out her hair and scream at the world. It always came down to that. Ever since the tragic incident, her mother had constantly pushed to prepare her to take up the mantle of leadership of the Snapping Jaws clan. Siiri felt that one incident, the one that resulted to the death of her aunt Shara, completely derailed her life. She never blamed anyone for it, it wasn’t in her nature to do so, but she hated that day ever happened.

The repercussions still hounded her even after ten years.

“Why can’t I do what I want?” Siiri said through clenched teeth.

“Were you not listening to me? As my daughter, you have a duty to our clan.”

“Stop talking to me like I’m some mindless drone! I’m not a child anymore! Nor am I your only daughter!”

Erha gave another of her snorts. “Oh, listen to yourself.”

“I am! And my mind is telling me that I don’t have to continue listening to this.”

And with that, the fuming Siiri stalked off.

---o---

Erha watched her second daughter stormed away, her face expressionless. The younger woman was clenching and unclenching her fists as she made her way towards the mess hall of the soldiers’ barracks, and it was easy to imagine the sound of cracking knuckles at the sight. It was a habit Siiri never outgrew, and Erha could still remember the day when, at the age of twelve, her daughter came up to her to show how she could make her knuckles crack just by clenching her hands into fists. The older woman almost smiled at the thought.

Almost.

Then she remembered how she berated the young Siiri for wasting her time on such frivolous things and ordered her to practice wrestling with her older brother. The image of pout as she stalked off, just like now, also lingered in Erha’s mind.

“A fiery one, your daughter,”
a tall, regal-looking woman, who had just come up to stand beside her, commented. “Full of spirit.”

“Indeed.” Erha bowed her head slightly in a sign of respect and agreement. “And not my only daughter, as she constantly points out.”

“Truly? She reminds me of someone.”


Erha smiled sadly. “I know who you mean.”

The two women stood in silence for a minute until the retreating figure of Siiri went inside the door of the mess hall.

“She truly took after her,” the tall woman concluded as she turned to leave. “At any case, she bears watching.”

Erha’s eye widened at the last statement. “You mean…? She’s just young, that’s all.”

The tall woman waved her hand dismissively as she walked away. “Worry not. All I meant is that she interests me. Carry on, Matriarch.” The woman went on her way, her gait graceful, stately and powerful all at the same time.
Last edited by Siiri on February 17th, 2010, 1:54 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: [Training: Unarmed Combat] Love and Hate

Postby Siiri on December 3rd, 2009, 8:31 am

In the advent of dusk, Slayer shone brilliantly, catching the last rays of the setting sun as Siiri spun the greatsword over her head and brought it arcing horizontally left to right, the blade singing as it cut through the air with enough force to decapitate a man. She allowed the momentum of her attack to continue, releasing her left hand’s hold on the weapon momentarily, only to catch the hilt again over her head as she brought it crashing down in a diagonal slash against some imaginary foe. Drawing the weapon close to her chest, she pulled her leading leg back a step, only to lunge forward again to stab once, twice, three times in rapid succession.

Shifting her grip on hilt, Siiri twirled the sword into an under-over slash and then transitioned her movement into a roundhouse kick. Her foot touched the ground the same time she stabbed her sword on the soft earth, using as a pivot to quicken her turn as she lashed out with her other leg, a spinning heel hook kick. She ended the move with a right to left sweep with her greatsword and a last overhead smash.

The woman held her stance for about two seconds before falling down on all fours, finally exhausted. Sweat dripped down from the tip of her nose as she gasped lungfuls of air, trying to catch her breath.

For the greater part of the last hour, Siiri had been practicing her swordplay and mixing it up with unarmed strikes – quite a tiring workout, but it was her way of letting out steam. She had been in a foul mood the whole day, easily irritated by the smallest of slights.

After finishing her midday meal (which she did not enjoy overmuch because of the short conversation she just had with her mother), Siiri had planned to pass the time sharpening her sword until it was time for the second part of her unarmed training, only to find out that some scatterbrain had borrowed her whetstone without her permission again and forgot to replace it in her pack. Again.

Siiri ended up flinging daggers at the target range instead, a not so relaxing activity compared to what she originally had in mind, especially considering the fact that she was going over her dialogue with her mother. Temper flared, each dagger she flung hit harder than the previous, until it came to a point that one actually ripped through the animal hide target. Before leaving for training, Siiri had to promise the range overseer that she would mend the damaged hide later on in the evening.

When she arrived back at the training grounds, she found out that she was to be evaluated in her progress in the martial arts. Eena actually challenged her to “break any bone” on her opponent’s body, a small but stocky woman named Kala who had a penchant for dark war paint. She covered herself so much with the stuff that no one could tell which part of her exposed skin was tattooed and which was painted over.

And her wrestling skills and grappling defense were superb.

Siiri initially thought she had the advantage with her size and strength, and she was confident in the grappling holds and submission techniques in her repertoire. After fifteen minutes of being thrown around the wrestling circle at will by Kala, leaving her with numerous scrapes and bruises all over her body, she was forced to concede to herself that one should not judge an opponent by looks alone. The one time she got an advantage was when she caught the smaller woman in an ankle lock. Thinking to really break one of her opponent’s bones, she wasn’t prepared for the retaliatory kick that came from nowhere. It hit her square in the face, momentarily knocking her out. Mercifully, the match was called to an end at that point.

Later on, Eena revealed that Kala belonged to the Creeping Death, a clan who made it a point to study all forms of combat they encounter, even those specialized in by the different Myrian clans. The drill sergeant told Siiri that she had actually done well to have caught the other woman in the ankle lock, never mind that she did not complete the move. Of course, this came after a lengthy lecture about learning to become the aggressor and pressing the action to the enemy rather than waiting for them to make a mistake. Siiri had to endure Eena’s diatribe on the vulnerabilities of her fighting style, although it wasn’t a total waste of time as the drill sergeant also gave her pointers on how to transition from one attack to another if an opponent successful defended a particular move.

Still, the new knowledge didn’t come without a price as Siiri now had to walk for the rest of the day (and probably for the rest of the week) with a glaring black eye, courtesy of the kick that knocked her senseless.

“It’s just not my day,” mumbled Siiri to herself.

Someone coughed behind her and Siiri scrambled to her feet and turned to look who it was. Tala , her beautiful face creased with concern, stood before her. Not as tall as her younger sister, Tala appeared even smaller as she stooped to put her weight on a crutch she used to get around. A long bow almost as tall as her was slung behind her back, and a quiver of arrows was tied to her right thigh. She raised her free hand in greeting.

“Hey,” Siiri said, tentatively returning the gesture. She was surprised that her sister was actually outdoors. Most days, she could only be found in their mother’s home, weaving rugs on her loom or sewing clothes. “How long have you been there? You could have said something.”

“I did not want to disturb you.” Tala smiled and Siiri knew that, while her sister obviously wanted to talk, she had indulged Siiri by letting her vent her obvious frustrations out first through her almost hour-long workout. She glanced at the big bruise on Siiri’s face. “Forgive me for saying, sister, but you look like you just had a fight with yourself and lost.”

“What can I say? I play to win, but I couldn’t let myself beat me either.” Siiri gave a self-deprecating chuckle at her own joke.

“To be honest, I saw your match with the painted one,” Tala confessed. “I was at the archers’ post on the walls doing guard duty around noon.”

Siiri raised an eyebrow. Had it been anyone else, she would have been embarrassed that someone had watched her lose. But to be conversing such a loss with her lame sister, who almost never left the Snapping Jaws clan home, much less ever her volunteered for sentry work ever since the tragic incident years ago, was surreal! Did the world suddenly turned upside down while she wasn’t looking?

Her thoughts must have reflected on her expression, for Tala said, as way of explanation, “Mother and I had a talk this morning.”

“Ahh.” It was a stupid sound and a pointless one to make – at least in her opinion – but Siiri could offer no other reply to her sister.
Last edited by Siiri on February 17th, 2010, 2:03 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: [Training: Unarmed Combat] Love and Hate

Postby Siiri on January 14th, 2010, 4:21 am

There was a long awkward moment of silence as neither sister refused to look at the other in the eye. Tala stood very still, slightly stooped because of her disability, her gaze locked on the sword Siiri had not yet retrieved from the ground, a sword the younger woman had inherited from their aunt all those years ago. To the both of them, the weapon served as a constant reminder of the tragedy that happened way back then. What it reminded them of individually was not the same however.

A knuckle cracked, and then another, as Siiri cleared her throat. Another eight successive pops ensued from her digits before she asked, her tone low, “What about?”

“You know. I understand she talked to you before we did.”

Siiri’s lips thinned into a straight line, a sure sign of her rising temper. “I’m not going back.”

“Be reasonable, Siiri,”
Tala sighed. “You have to take Mother’s place sooner or later. She’s not getting any younger.”

“She’s not that old!”

“But you know she will get there eventually.”

“You’re the one who’s been prepped for this role!” Siiri argued, voice already raised, with knotted eyebrows to match. “You’re the one who found the lessons more interesting! You’re the one Mother focused all her attention to when she couldn’t even be bothered to give the rest of us the time of day!”

The words, more than the tone (and it was the first time in a long time that Siiri raised her voice against her), stung Tala. They were hurtful, yes, but they were also true. Tala had been groomed for the position of matriarch at a very young age, and she had taken well to the training, excelling in lessons in management, finance and strategic games of war while her siblings focused on more hands-on lessons. Her disability became more evident and detrimental as she grew older however, and their mother had to rethink the hierarchy of her heirs for the position of matriarch, as she wanted to present a strong and capable heir-apparent for their clan to the rest of the Myrians. Tala, with the image of weakness due to her lame leg, simply would not do.

But by the time a new heir was chosen, the favored candidate had grown very independent and willful: Siiri. She was revolted by the idea and found it insulting that she was picked to replace her sister, as if Tala suddenly ceased to exist. She refused the title adamantly, even though she would not assume the mantle of clan matriarch until her mother passed on. She left the clan home the same day she found out the news and had never gone back except for the few occasions where she visited her sister. And even then Siiri refused to even step within the threshold of the Snapping Jaws main hall, her own personal protest of sorts. She saw it as a great injustice and a disservice to her sister’s honor.

Tala, on the other hand, saw it how the clan elders did. She agreed with them despite the figurative slap in the face.

“That’s all beside the point, Siiri,” she said softly, trying to ignore her sister’s outburst. “You were chosen.”

“Well, they couldn’t have chosen one who’s more disinterested, could they?”

“Mother has ways to make you accept, Siiri. Please trust me when I say you won’t like them.”

Siiri paced back and forth, clearly doing her best to reign in her temper. Like an enraged bull, she expelled her breath through her nostrils forcefully once, twice, three times, as if the very air offended her. Unable to hold her anger in anymore, she exploded, her words coming out in a rush.

“Why? Why do I have to do this? They chose me over such a superficial reason! Because of your leg? That doesn’t make you incomplete!” As if to emphasize her point, Siiri jabbed an accusing finger at her sister’s lame limb. “That doesn’t make you any less of a person! Who shoots better than the most sharp-eyed of our hunters? You! Who brought down a charging hippo before it got to ten paces near her? You! Your leg doesn’t make you any less than any of our warriors!”

“But I cannot run with them! I cannot lead them in a charge like you! I’ll be nothing more than a glorified sniper. And that doesn’t matter to them! Not to Mother.”

Siiri seemed about to snap back at Tala but changed her mind halfway. Instead she said, in a voice so devoid of expression it made her sister’s skin crawl, “And if you can walk straight again?”

“I… will take what should be mine.”

“Then you will walk straight again.”


And that was the end of the conversation. Siiri stooped down to pick up Slayer, the greatsword hardly dirtied despite its stay on the ground, and marched off without another word or glance at the sister she loved so deeply.
Last edited by Siiri on February 17th, 2010, 2:06 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: [Training: Unarmed Combat] Love and Hate

Postby Cayenne on January 18th, 2010, 5:58 am

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What a great thread! You've got a phenomenal feeling for the Myrians and the way that they live, and the family dynamics are great. I look forward to seeing how they go, and which direction Siiri takes from here.

I hereby award 4 XP to Unarmed Combat.
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