Earning Your Stripes [Siiri]

[Cayenne]

It may have been a trick of the window, it may have been that Syna was, for once, actually listening, or maybe it was Caiyha moving the trees. Who knew?

Possibly it was sheer dumb luck.

But a bit of sunlight did hit the water, and murky and muddy though it was, Siiri couldn't see anything until she was ankle-deep in water. Nothing pursued her further - maybe there had only been two, maybe she had made her point to her assailant. Maybe she'd cut it in half. But the water began to still a little bit, and Siiri saw a piece of what she knew to be octopus slowly float to the surface. It was a fairly large tentacle, severed clear off by her sword. It was pale, very pale, ringed with large blue and purple circles. The Myrian also knew that it was very, very poisonous if not prepared properly before eating, and if the octopus had gotten a hold of her bare skin, that would have been even worse. Fortunately, it had only gotten her boot, and that wouldn't do it any harm, but it could have been a very close call.

And, at least, it wasn't a damnable snake.

The rest of the trip, while somewhat tiring, was uneventful. She found herself back at the gates of Taloba none the worse for wear, even though a slight drizzle had started overhead. The sun was cresting in the sky when she arrived home, despite the rain - so called 'sun showers' were not uncommon in Falyndar. She had perhaps a few more hours until dusk, and a snake corpse cooling in her pack.

The time for her trials would come all too soon.

[Siiri]

Siiri fished out the severed tentacle with her greatsword then wrapped it up in thick leaves she plucked from nearby plants, using her daggers to manipulate the appendage without having to touch it with her bare hands. She thought it strange to find such a creature inland, but it must have swum in from one of the tributaries that branched off from the Basin. She made a mental note to inform the scouts about them – and, more importantly, to always remember never to take dips in bodies of water that weren’t land locked unless her life depended on it… like being chased by a swarm of killer bees for example. It had been careless of her to have had taken the shortcut through the stream but she had been in a rush to get back to the city. She was just glad no one had been around to witness her foolishness.

She made the gates of Taloba in due time, not minding the soft rain that cooled her tiring muscles. With a wave to the guards, she made her way towards the city center, aiming for the Temple to give Navre the offering of her latest kill. She climbed up its steps briskly, and was fortunate enough to find an acolyte waiting by the entrance. The insides if the Temple was unfamiliar to her, having spent very little time in it her whole life. After all, she was more likely to give honor to the gods through her actions than to waste her time kneeling in prayer.

“Navre’s altar,” she told the acolyte simply, her raised eyebrow signifying she was inquiring where it was.

[Cayenne]

The acolyte was a young one, Siiri could see, barely past her military years, wearing simple, unadorned linen shift from her chest to her thighs, and her feet were bare. She had fine, almost delicate features for a Myrian, and her dark hair hung loose about her shoulders, thick and coarse in texture, like a horse’s mane. Something that caught Siiri’s gaze were the pair of glowing lilies dead-center above the shift she wore, standing out from her tawny skin. It was unusual to see a Myrian bearing the mark of Avalis, much less two, but this one did. The tattoo-like Gnosis marks stood out even more by the tattoo that surrounded them, made to look like a shadow. This girl belonged to the Patient Shadows. She had a distant look in her eyes, like she was seeing something beyond the warrior that stood in front of her, and maybe, just maybe, she was. She inclined her head. “Navre welcomes you. Myri smiles on you,” the girl told her in a voice that Siiri had to strain to hear, backing up and turning away without another word.

The temple’s interior was enormous. it was open, airy, and despite its bloody rituals, rather clean, all things considered. Near the center was a massive statue of their Goddess-Queen, Ash'dene upraised and in front of Her a large, sacrificial altar. Skulls and bones lined almost everything, some arranged in an almost artistic pattern. Other statues of the other gods that the Myrians worshiped primarily were crafted in the likeness of the god for whom they resembled. Slightly before and to Myri's right was Navre's statue, and beyond him was Dira with Her scythe and jackals. Caiyha looked serene as She caressed a bird, Makutsi joyous, triumphant, arms extended to the sky as She began Her Raindance. Syna's gaze seemed to penetrate as Leth looked on, and Kihala held her hand out, palm outstretched. There were other altars, of course, for other gods, and many of them had their own smaller totems. But these were the chief deities of the Myrians, and they were awarded their own statues in the main room.

The acolyte stopped in front of one to Myri’s right, and Siiri recognized the frenzied fury in the statue’s eyes as that which belonged to Navre. He looked like they did, and stories said that he was born of Caiyha and the jungle people… the Myrians. The statue depicted the god crouched like a tiger about to spring, and it was a pose Siiri could well imagine him in. There was a tiger actually napping in a patch of fading sunlight there, stretched out near the altar. It was an elderly one, Siiri could tell – one that was on its last legs. It opened a faded, cloudy eye to look at her, and went back to dozing. The girl bowed low to Siiri, then, and left her to her business.

[Siiri]

Siiri admired the effigies of the chief deities of her people, approving of the strength and power in their depictions. She nodded at each, as of actually meeting each in person, thinking that each would know the actions and thoughts of their worshipers. It was a fanciful notion she had even as a child.

I would ask all of you for your blessings to succeed in my Trials, but I would like to accomplish this with my own power, the warrior thought, channeling the silent words towards the statues. Proud and independent, Siiri felt she did not need to trouble the higher beings with things she could achieve with her own hands. Her success would be theirs as well anyway, for she exalted them through her actions.

When they halted in front the statue of Navre, Siiri hardly noticed the acolyte depart, so intent was she at regarding the wild-eyed god. Like every typical Myrian, she idolized and strove to emulate the Goddess-Queen Myri, but she felt a certain kinship with the God of Felines. She’s heard all the stories about Navre’s hatred for Siku, who, it was said, was his sibling from Caiyha. It was because of this that the god would always have a special place in her heart, for she shared a similar, if more profound, hatred for Siku’s chosen people, the Dhani – those she would always blame responsible for the death of her aunt and brother, and the emotional and physical scars she and her sister Tala carried to this day.

Siiri bowed to Navre’s statue, and to the napping tiger as well, a wordless greeting, before she proceeded to kneel before the god’s altar. Carefully, she pulled from her pack the coiled carcass of the snake she brought as offering, making sure the octopus tentacle or the whipvine she picked up did not touch her skin. She reminded herself to turn them over to the priestesses for distillation of their respective poisons.

Clearing her mind of all thoughts, her breathing controlled and even, the warrior held the snake’s head in one hand, it’s tail in the other, her arms raised at the image of Navre while her head was bowed in respect and reverence. It was a ritualistic performance, almost theatrical, but she resolved to execute the practice of giving offerings to the god in full. She began to chant.

“Navre, God of Cats, may you always be a step
ahead of the serpent’s treacherous coils.
Accept, I beseech, this humble gift
obtained from this one’s toils.”

One of her daggers came up as Siiri shifted her grip on the snake, holding it by one hand just below its neck. The sharp tip plunged in the dead serpent’s throat and the warrior proceeded to saw off its head with the blade’s serrated edge. Blood stained her hands, dripping into the sacrificial bowl.

“Cut the head and the body will fall.”

The creature’s head fell into the bowl, a shapeless mass, shattered and beaten into a pulp by Siiri’s own fist when she killed it. She adjusted her grip on the now headless snake once more, incising from its bloody stump of a neck down to the tip of its tail as best she could. Ripping it open, she exposed organs and bones as she pored for its still heart. It was a smallish part, barely half the size of her fist. She pulled it out and viciously bit into it, savoring the gamey texture as it played on her tongue. Blood dribbled down her chin but the woman ignored it. She raised the remained for the heart before Navre’s statue, before dropping it in the bowl as well.

“The enemy’s heart, weaknesses exposed.
His strength has been taken, devoured.”

Siiri raised the mutilated carcass before the statue once more, then coiled it inside the bowl, arranging it artistically. Aside from the bite at the creature heart, she would take no other part from it, not even the skin which would have sold a good price at the market or could have been crafted as a scabbard or belt. She did not know what the priestesses did to the sacrifices later, but she meant for the whole snake to be offered to Navre.

“All I ask is your grace and blessing
As I take the Trials
To prove myself worthy
To attain one of your greatest gifts.”

At last she rose, bloody but fulfilled as she had accomplished what she came to do, to pay homage to the god whose Trials she would undertake within the next few days to earn the honor of riding one of his cats.

Siiri looked around now, searching for the priestess, anyone really, to whom she could turn over the whipvine and octopus tentacle.

[Cayenne]

Throughout her ritual, the tiger watched her, its faded eyes, while deeply sunk into its skull with age, were keenly attentive to her actions, the tip of its tail flicking back and forth as Siiri stained her lips and face with blood. It got up by the time the young warrior was done, slow to get to its feet, but once the old fellow was up, it came prowling over to her, sniffing and circling both her and around Navre’s statue. It seemed to be investigating the offering – it had graciously waited until she was done, of course, as if it wouldn’t dream of interrupting a sacred rite to the God of Cats. Despite the stiffness in its movements, and the way it prowled on arthritic joints, Siiri knew that the Tiger could have her bleeding to death on the temple floor before she could so much as get up. They were powerful, these creatures – and it served as a reminder of just what she was labouring so hard to achieve.

The tiger seemed pleased with the snake as it checked out the bowl’s contents before shoving his face against her shoulder, rubbing against it, the purr erupting from his chest like a roll of thunder, as loud as he was, so close to her. But there was steel in that purr, a strength that came inside as he rubbed his ear against her shoulder. After rubbing his head roughly against her shoulder and anything else she offered, the tiger let her be, pacing back to his former resting place and stretching out, shaking each of his four legs before slowly, so slowly, lowering himself back down onto the temple floor to relax on the warm stone, his cloudy amber eyes watching her every movement when she got up to find someone before closing again as sleep seemed to overtake him. That was as good an omen as any, now, wasn't it?

The Avalis-marked novice was standing not far from where Siiri had first found her, tossing some bones in a large, shallow wooden bowl with practiced movements, catching each and every single one of the bones inside the carefully carved bowl before looking at them, and sending the bones skyward again, looking down at them once more. At Siiri’s approach, though, she stopped and bowed slightly at the waist, bowl lowered. “Good hunting, warrior. But remember, to find you must seek, but we do not always find that which we look for. May I be of further service?”

[Siiri]

The cryptic words went over Siiri's head, the warrioress not knowing what to make of them. Well, of course one did not always find what they were looking for, that's why they keep looking until they find it. She only knew action, believing that as long as one acted to attain a want or need, they achieved it. But she did not speak her thoughts to the seer, only nodding at the girl, and giving a non-commital, “Alright.”

Reaching into her pack, she gingerly pulled out the leaf-wrapped whipvine and octopus tentacle, carefully handing them to the acolyte, making sure that the girl's exposed flesh did not touch any part of the toxic items.

“Some things I ran across in the jungle,” Siiri explained, her words an understatement. Her life had been on the line before she took possession of both, but wasn't every moment spent out in the jungle like that? “I thought you priestesses might be able to squeeze something out of these. I don't know anything about extracting poison.” She left it at that, nodding to the acolyte in farewell. If they found use for the items, then well and good, they could use it to coat darts and arrows used by the warriors or whatever else they used poison for. It not, well, the things could rot and decay and return to the earth, couldn't they? She exited the temple then, satisfied with her offering to Navre. Perhaps he would smile upon her when her trials came. Quickly, Siiri made her way to the barracks to get some rest, knowing she might be called tomorrow at the earliest to begin her Tiger Trials.

[Cayenne]

The acolyte accepted the bundle, holding them as carefully as one might hold a newborn infant, and inclined her head to Siiri, bowing slightly over them. “We thank you for your offerings. Good luck, Siiri of the Snapping Jaws. May you walk with the Goddess tomorrow.” She watched the warrior depart, a small smile on her face. Myrians could not be other than what they were, raised and guided by one who had defied the odds again and again. The world had changed a great deal since Myri’s mortal life… but there were outsiders that would encroach on them and take what was theirs – but the Myrians would hold fast, and push back with even more ferocity. Falyndar had been born of strife, nurtured by blood, and guided by death.

The more things changed, the more things stayed the same.

The next morning, much as Siiri had expected, it was before dawn when she felt a hand shake one of her legs. She would find Iami there, looking down at her. “Up with you,” she encouraged Siiri. “You have a bell to get ready. I’ll see you outside when you are.” It wasn’t any major deviation from her usual regimen – she was normally up about then, anyway, albeit perhaps half a bell later. Most of the inhabitants of that barracks were still asleep, be they in bunks or in hammocks, and the room was still dark, though a cursory glance outside at the skies told her that Syna would be bringing light to the world soon. She knew the drill. Get up, get dressed, and get ready. Eat if she felt like it. She was going to have a long, hard day ahead of her, and it certainly wasn’t going to be easy or pleasant. But, as one of her teachers had told her once, while Siiri was eating mud, nothing worth having ever came easy.

When Siiri had emerged from the barracks, Iami was waiting for her, her hair tied up in her usual fashion, giving Siiri a go-over with her good eye before reaching to tug one of her leathers into a better position and nodding to herself, and setting off at a brisk pace. “We go to Myri’s palace. The first trial, trial by combat, will be witnessed by the Goddess-Queen and the Council of Nine,” she explained. “We could have done it in the training grounds, or the plaza… but it will be done in the main room. It could last a while. No need to disrupt the rest of the army’s day.” Besides, there was a particular sort of historical significance of combat in the throne room. As every Myrian knew, it had been where Ruros had challenged Myri, where the mortal, self-proclaimed Queen of the Jungle defeated the God of War. It was a reminder that the impossible could be overcome, that anything could happen. Even if she wasn’t expected to win, even if the chances seemed remote… anything could happen. This was a test of skill and ability, the first chance of three to demonstrate improvement and growth. Taloba was beginning to show the signs of movement as they passed through long lines of stone and wooden longhouses that hosted the Myrian families, generation on top of generation on top of generation. Birds were beginning to make their flock calls, tigers roared, and from time to time came the loud, trumpeting calls of the tskannas. This was the wake-up call that never ceased to surprise the outsiders who made it into the city.

They passed by the temple where Siiri had been just the other day, and continued up towards the wide steps leading to the open residence that Myri called a palace. It was a palace in terms of size and function – it was nothing fancy and looked a great deal like the other buildings in the city… but it had a second floor, a second floor where none went. The main floor, where all functions happened, was certainly large enough for their purposes. The pair of them went past two sentries, male and female, standing by the open entrance to the hall. The hall, lined with bones and skulls from all kinds of sources… including that of the Dhani Queen Sshnanhamo, still impaled on the pike where it had been ever since her decapitated head had been paraded through the city over well 100 years ago.

Beyond the entrance of the hall was the main room, the walls lined with weapons, bones, and skulls. And standing right there in front of the bone throne was the Goddess-Queen. She had been talking to another warrior, a sturdy female a head shorter than Siiri. Myri looked as she always did – strong, proud, an almost tangible aura of power radiating from her. She wore simple clothes of linen, a halter-style shift with stitching in red, her hair tied back and out of her way in a single loose braid. In contrast to her, the dark-skinned warrior’s black hair had been braided into thousands of little plaits, and most of those had been tied into a spiky topknot, the rest left to hang over one shoulder. Attached to the plaits were numerous trinkets – beads, teeth, claws, bones, shells, and even Mizas in three different metals she had taken off of outsiders. She wore the same leathers that Siiri did, and it covered the identifying tattoo that would have helped Siiri figure out just who this one was. Siiri wasn’t entirely certain she’d seen her before, and the weapon didn’t help her, either. It was a glaive well-suited to her shorter height, almost as thick as a staff, the bottom capped with a spike designed to punch holes in things. But the bottom wasn’t necessarily the end to worry about – the head of the glaive was long, and two-pronged, the bottom prong larger and more prominent than the top one. The bottom prong, however, had a wicked hook sticking out of it, and like Slayer, was kept to a razor-sharp edge. It was made of tskanna tusk, but officers tended to earn those, or had them passed down amongst the family lines. But she had already earned her tiger – striped tattoos, covered her upper arm, but the Myrian had numerously etched scars covered other areas of her skin, the paler lines sticking out in a way that some tattoos would not. Two sets of scars in particular stood out on her left bicep – they were jagged, like someone had clawed them. Siiri knew what those were, having had her own – that was Myri’s mark, and this woman had been marked twice.

Myri and the warrior weren’t alone. Waiting along the walls of the throne room were the members of the Council of Nine, all of them. The elders, with the exception of the War Leader, were seated on wooden chairs. Kash’jiya was there, as her sponsor for the Trials, and her mother, Ehra, as the Elder of the Snapping Jaws, and she knew that on such a supremely solemn occasion, the best thing to do was to stay quiet until addressed. Kash’jiya gave her a wink and a small grin from where she stood by Misha, the War Leader before her face became perfectly expressionless once again. Misha was also standing, arms folded. A pair of truly massive tigers, their deep orange fur almost crimson in colour lounged, and a smaller cub paced along the wall. She could have sworn that the old, tired-looking tiger that had been in the Temple the previous day was stretched out in front of the large bone throne. Iami spoke first, addressing herself to Myri after bringing her fist to her heart and bowing slightly at the waist. “Goddess-Queen, this is Siiri of the Snapping Jaws. She stands before you this morning to earn your blessing to proceed with her Tiger Trials. She was sponsored by Kash’jiya of the Jagged Blade.”

“Well-met, Siiri,” Myri inclined her head to her, studying the warrior in front of her before smiling at her. There was a particular ferocity in that smile that could make one’s blood run cold, but not Siiri’s. Not today. By now, Iami had joined Kash'jiya by the wall. “You will face off against Tanjit of the Bloodied Claws,” she introduced the warrior she had been talking to, who gave Siiri a short, jerky nod. It was entirely perfunctory. There was no such smile on her face, just cold determination as she sized Siiri up, her glinting hazel eyes intent. “You know how it goes, both of you,” Myri looked from one to the other, both of them facing her now. “Combat will begin at my signal… and continue until one yields or I call it over.” She turned, going back to the where the throne of bones stood on the slightly elevated platform and sat in it, leaning forward, elbows on her knees. Tanjit backed away from Siiri, facing her nonetheless, now holding her glaive in one hand, her booted foot ready to kick the blade up into position. Tanjit, while her own skills were on display, had nothing to lose, either. This was about Siiri, and what Siiri could do. The Goddess let out a blood-curdling war whoop. The battle was on, and the it was up to Siiri to make the first move.

[Siiri]

Siiri had trouble sleeping the previous night, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of the upcoming Tiger Trials and whether she could complete them or give a good accounting of herself to be awarded her very own mount. Even when she finally drifted off to sleep in the wee hours of the morning, her dreams were filled with tigers - many, many Myrian tigers, over a dozen of them, strangely standing upright on their hind legs like humanoids as they gazed at her with intense, judging eyes. The warrior tried to hold her composure under their scrutiny but the dream had the impression of self-doubt reigning over her heart, leaving her dream self wondering and worrying what the tigers were looking for in her. Was the worth of her soul being weighed?

She was tossing and turning in her sleep when Iami shook her in the darkness before the dawn. If the older woman found it strange, she made no comment about it, only advising her to get ready in a bell's time for them to make their way to Myri's Palace, where the first of the Trials were to be held. Siiri cursed as she wiped the sands of sleep from her eyes. With the lack of decent sleep coupled with the exertions she had with the serpent and the strange water creature the day before, the scion of the Snapping Jaws clan hoped the Trials would be a couple of days away yet. But there was no help for it; the most she could do was give her all and hope that she would not be slowed at all by her sore body. Shaking the uneasiness left by her dream, Siiri stood up and buckled on her leather and bone armor, completing the look with the full complement of her weapons. Twin bone daggers as long as her forearm were sheathed at her hips, while throwing daggers were bound in place at her biceps and the hidden sheathes stitched in her boots. Slayer went to its customary scabbard behind her back. Her ten-footer she left standing by her bunk, foregoing the unwieldy weapon. Two cold, hard-boiled eggs and a chunk of lamb, downed by hot guava leaf tea, served as breakfast before she met the armorer outside.

Iami informed her that the first trial was combat - just as she had expected - and it would be done before Myri and the Council. Portents of her dream? Siiri snorted and shunted the thought to the back of her mind. She would not be distracted on this most important of days. She followed Iami's steps, using the brisk walk to the Palace as her warm up, shaking and stretching out the kinks and soreness still lingering in her limbs. They arrived soon enough, the sight of Myri and the Council of Nine greeting them in the main floor. And there were others as well.

The first one Siiri noticed was the stocky woman the Goddess-Queen was conversing with. From the other warrior's bearing and the way she held her weapon, a wicked-looking glaive, Siiri judged that she was to be her opponent. And while she held a disdain for polearm weapons, especially for those of the spear type variety, considering them very limited in terms attack scope, Siiri knew she had her work cut out for her. The two gnosis marks on the other warrior's arm told her all she needed to know about her skill level.

As her mind worked furiously to recall the effective counters for the glaive, Siiri's eyes wandered about, resting briefly upon her sponsor, Kash'jiya, and her mother and current matriarch of the Snapping Jaws clan, Ehra. The former's presence was a comfort; Siiri found Kash'jiya likable despite only having a brief encounter with her. She respected the larger warrior's martial skill as well. The latter, however, made her tense up, her muscled knotting. Siiri never considered her mother's presence in important event such as this a good thing. She knew the woman would judge her critically no matter her performance and, in the event that she performed exceptionally well, she felt that Ehra would not doubt use it to lobby for her to accept the position of matriarch-in-waiting - effectively bypassing her older sister for the position. Siiri clenched her jaw and pointedly avoided looking at the direction of her mother. Blocking everything else from her mind as well, the Snapping Jaws warrior concentrated at the task at hand.

Myri had spoken to her in greeting, and Siiri could only bow in return for not much time was afforded her as the Goddess-Queen described, and subsequently initiated, her First Trial - combat, of course. With practiced ease, Slayer slid free from its scabbard from behind her back to rest comfortably in her hands, the familiar weight of the greatsword not even registering in her mind. The weapon felt more a part of her than a separate entity; Siiri would feel incomplete in combat without it in her hands. She knew the same thing could be said about her opponent, Tanjit, and her two-pronged glaive. Siiri knew she had a tough test before her. While this was her chance to showcase to her goddess and to the council her skill at arms, Tanjit was no doubt there to make the whole ordeal difficult for her, if not downright make her fail.

Not today, she thought grimly, gripping Slayer's hilt just a little bit tighter.

As the battle began, Siiri immediately closed in on her opponent, greatsword held at protective diagonal position until the last instant where, with but a twist of her wrists, its five foot long blade swung at the exposed neck of Tanjit. The move did not hold much power behind it as Siiri intended to test her opponent's reactions for the first few seconds before committing fully into her attacks. Her main goal was to keep as close to the shorter woman as possible and prevent her from bringing the glaive's blades between them and use the weapon's superior range to keep her at bay. In fact, she already had three follow up attacks in line should Tanjit block or dodge her first pass.

Siiri stepped in her move to cut off even more space. She wanted Tanjit backpedaling and on the defensive.

[Cayenne]

In the moments before combat began, the shorter Myrian regarded her opponent, just as surely as Siiri studied her. Gauging, considering, deciding. Her eyes flicked everywhere, and while her eyes were all over the place, her body wasn't. She was as still as the patient predator that waited for their opportune moment to strike. There was a quiet confidence in her body position as she stood there, relaxed and waiting. She'd been through this before.

Finally, though, Tanjit's eyes settled on Siiri's, and locked there. When Siiri's blade swung up, the Myrian moved in of her own accord, looking, at the same time, to render Slayer impossible to use with close physical combat. With her back foot, she kicked up the spiked end of her glaive, swiftly adjusting her grip on the fly as her free hand reached for Siiri's wrist as the punching end of the weapon was aimed for Siiri's abdomen. For all that this was about Siiri's skills, Tanjit wasn't going to just play defense - she was going to make her work for it. But Siiri could tell that her reflexes were sharp - there was nothing out of order there. Her eyes never left Siiri's in the short exchange, and no hints came from them about her next move, which was oddly unsettling.

Myrians played for keeps, and fighting was no different. It wouldn't be a proper sparring match if they didn't at least try to kill their opponent.

[Siiri]

Siiri didn't think her simple ploy would work on Tanjit. This wasn't a mere novice she was facing against, but a full-fledged warrior, one most likely more experienced than her judging from the marks on her body. She saw the hand approach, reaching for her nearest wrist, intending to hinder the movement of her arm and consequently her weapon. Furthermore, it served as a distraction and visual block for the woman's own attack, a jab of the pointed end of the glaive. The move reminded her so much of her aunt Shara, who would spar with her using moves hidden behind moves hidden behind moves. The complexities of combat offered by her opponent stirred Siiri's blood, inflaming her battlelust.

Seeing no hesitation in Tanjit's movements, Siiri's own matched hers both in speed and intensity, the taller woman not wanting to find herself second best against her opponent. It wasn't even about her audience, though how often did warriors get that chance to display their skill at arms in front of the Council and the Goddess-Queen? No, her own drive to win compelled her to do better. In every fight, she had always desired to come out the victor, regardless of the odds she faced.

Swiftly, the lazy swipe of her greatsword Slayer arced down into a forceful parry to deflect the butt spike away from her gut. At the same time she sidestepped, crossing her legs as she moved diagonally to bring herself even farther away from the weapon while also bringing her nearer Tanjit's back leg. She lashed out with her leading leg, her heel aimed at the point just below the shorter woman's knee. It wasn't a mere tap she was delivering but a full force kick intended to blow the other woman's shin bone out of alignment and possibly shatter her kneecap as well. All the while, her emerald eyes never broke Tanjit's gaze.

Two can swing to this tune, and it's steps are ones I am familiar with.

It was a deadly dance they were sharing, one Siiri had been constantly taught at a very young age. With her history, one could say it was all her youth had geared her to perform.