Earning Your Stripes [Siiri]

[Cayenne]

“Eh, you did well. If you had drawn it out, Tanjit probably would have found a way to beat you, and you might have had some broken bones in the deal.” Kash’jiya told Siiri cheerfully. “You wouldn’t know it to look at her, but she keeps close tabs on others that might go for their trials. It’s probably why the Goddess-Queen picked her. She doesn’t look like much, but big things can come in small packages.”

“Well, the longest one on record, I think,” Iami puffed her cheeks, “lasted about three bells. That was Zola of the Broken Spear – you know, the Elder on the Council of Nine – who had to fight against Katri of the Tiger’s Maw while she was competing for her Tiger. Zola gave poor Katri a run for her money, and Katri didn’t want to let Zola succeed… bad blood there… but Zola did manage to force a stalemate. Of course, Katri got her revenge later when the Tiger matched with Zola had a bad habit of stepping on his Rider because he felt like it. No one could ever prove that they hadn’t taught that particular Tiger to do it.” Kash’jiya snorted. “What?” Iami eyed the other woman.

“Don’t let Misha know you said that,” Kash’jiya drawled. “You know how she is about Zola. That’s her second mother you’re talking about, and Goddess help you if—”

“She can handle the truth,” Iami waved a hand dismissively. “Besides, that was before Misha’s time, and I handle her armor. She’ll be fine.” It was almost silly to hear the two senior-ranking soldiers talking like that – it wasn’t something that they heard every day. But if anything, it just showed that the officers were just as normal as the rest of them when they weren’t being a total hardass about something a warrior said or did. “Rest well, Siiri. Tomorrow is another day,” Iami grinned at her, and Kash’jiya stretched and waved, and the two of them headed off. Iami would have arrangements to make, and Siiri’s sponsor doubtless had things to do with the rest of her day.

“Pack light. Take what you need to take on a hunt. Take your roarer, your weapons, obviously.” Ehra had clearly saw her chance when the others left, giving her the opportunity to address her daughter on the way back to the barracks. The day was still young, but there was little doubt that the hours would pass far quicker than she might like.“You did well enough in there, Siiri. Obviously, everyone wants to win, but you did well. You will need to do well tomorrow. Watch out for the stakes.” It was a toss-up as to whether her mother was talking about the stakes used as traps, covered in a layer of leaves and moss, just waiting for the unsuspecting trespasser to walk or put weight over them to go down and impale themselves, or if she was referring to the prize.

[Siiri]

Siiri was still chuckling at the thought that one of the Crones - and Zola no less! - had to deal with such mischief from her mount when she heard the voice of her mother addressing her from behind. The warrior's hands instinctively clenched into fists as she mentally braced herself. From past experience, she knew that double-edged words and veiled criticism always flowed from the tongue of the Snapping Jaws matriarch. Others who overhear may find nothing amiss at how the elder addressed her daughter but Siiri knew her own mother too well. She had to be perfect for her. In everything.

An heiress could be nothing else.

"No stinging rebuke, Mother? No lecture on how I should have done things? I thought that was rather mild," she said through stiff lips. Siiri had paused from her stride as she answered, allowing Ehra, and the inevitable conversation that was sure to follow, to catch up. The elder Myrian stood beside her, hands clasped behind her back, foregoing the walking staff she always favored to help her overcome the slight limping gait she had. It came from an old injury, from a battle Siiri was never told about.

Mother and daughter stood together in brief silence, shoulder to shoulder, both facing forward, not even looking at each other. Siiri felt the mental image of it ironic for how it symbolized their relationship: they may look at the same direction or even the same thing but both seldom agreed on what they were actually seeing. When was the last time one of them did not storm away from a conversation? Though granted, Siiri did most of the storming.

The younger Myrian broke the quiet first, though inadvertently. Siiri's knuckles cracked from clutching her fingers too tightly. Clearing her throat, she forced a cordial tone into her voice. It sounded alien, even to her.

"I am prepared. I always have been. You made sure of that." She resumed her pace then, heading for the barracks. She knew Ehra would not follow, headed as she was for the clan home. The home that stopped being one for Siiri ever since her aunt Shara had passed away. "You can rest assured your 'chosen' will succeed in this."

Siiri did not stop to acknowledge whatever her mother may have replied to her.

--/--

An hour later, Siiri could be found in the training yards, though she was away from the rest of the soldiers sweating it out in their practice sparring or calisthenics. She stood near a mango tree, hands on hips as she studied the result of what she had been doing. Empty coconut husks swung freely from vines that were tied on low hanging branches, the makeshift targets swinging freely in the slight breeze. A good ten yards away was a pile of large stones, handpicked by the warrioress herself as viable projectiles for their weight and shape.

While she grudgingly admitted that her mother's advise to pack items that would help in her next test was wise, Siiri felt that her backpack was not short on the things she needed for a jaunt in the jungle. There was rope, fifty feet of it in fact, and enough daggers and knives to cut through said rope, or vines, or whatever else it was that Siiri needed cutting. There was Slayer, a weapon that had yet to meet its match in durability and keenness. Siiri even had a ten foot long spear - a weapon the proud warrior considered a toy - and one she often used to test the ground for traps or bodies of water for depth. She felt she was read as she could be to take her rest of the Trials. Certainly, she would not hesitate to march to the city gates if Myri had told her that she had to take on the gauntlet and the hunt in the same day.

But both of that were for the morrow and some form of activity to pass the time. She recalled she would be facing traps of all sorts in the gauntlet and she did not want to depend on a silly spear to trigger those she found. What she had planned now was to use rocks to set them off first, reserving the wooden weapon as a last resort. Throwing, or more specifically, accurate throwing, was never her strong point, and she intended to remedy that through the activity she had in mind. The rocks she had prepared were light enough that she could throw three in quick succession and have them reach a good distance but still heavy enough that its trajectory would not be affected by wind as well as be able to set off pressure-triggered traps.

Moving off to the pile of rocks, Siiri picked one up, bouncing it lightly in her hand to get a feel for its shape and weight, before launching it at one of her targets. She hurled the projectile with an overhand throw, similar to how she would one of her throwing daggers. The rock sailed a good distance away, hitting the trunk of the mango tree in the background but it did not even graze the coconut husk she had aimed at.

At least, the warrioress consoled herself in mild amusement, the rock flew nearest the one I was hoping to hit and not another. I'm not completely incompetent!

Picking up another, Siiri took the time to focus on the target before she hurled the rock using the same technique. With the strength of Myrian muscle behind it, the missile traveled a good distance away, even gouging the bark of the mango tree upon impact. It still did not hit Siiri's intended target, however.

Another rock followed the first two, and then another, and one more after that, each one being flung with greater force than the one that was thrown before it as Siiri's irritation grew at her inability to hit the coconut husk - any of the coconut husks. She had worked through half of her supply of rocks before she stopped, planting her hands on her hips as she stared at the targets, brows furrowed in a single, crooked line.

Frustrated, the Myrian pulled out a throwing dagger from her bracer and, holding it by the top of the blade, chucked it at the nearest target. The weapon spun end over end before it glanced off the top part of the coconut husk, sending it swinging and spinning slightly on the vine it was tied to. Granted, her poor skill even with the blade only had her hitting the target with the weapon's hilt and not even dead center, but Siiri was still surprised she managed to connect at all.

"Maybe I need to change things up a bit," she said to herself.

The next rock that sailed through the air she threw from her side rather than overhand like she did the first batch and the throwing dagger, snapping her wrist at the instant before she released the small missile. It spun horizontally, like the wooden tops kids played out in the streets, but it flew true and straight, clipping its target. Siiri's frown cleared and she smiled, looking as if she had just discovered a move that would revolutionize how rocks were thrown. Of course, she knew how ridiculous that notion was, for it was one of the more basic throwing techniques used by those proficient in ranged weapons such as slings. Because of her disdain in using such armaments, Siiri had never sharpened her skill in using thrown weapons, instead acting on instinct whenever she had been forced to do utilize them.

Glad with her discovery, the Myrian trotted off to gather the rocks and dagger to do it all over again.

OOCCay, you can flashforward to the next day and skip this scene.

[Cayenne]

“I was going to save all remarks for if you came back, as to allow you to concentrate on the trials ahead,” the woman’s spine straightened almost imperceptively, just like the younger woman’s, despite her faint limp and all, drawing herself up to her full height. “But now that you mention it,” Ehra didn’t raise her voice, “you were sloppy. You were very sloppy. You missed three openings on Tanjit’s first parry that she all but left open for you to take advantage of. You never did take criticism well, and you’ll need everything focused on the tasks ahead.” To, she didn't say it aloud but Siiri knew, avoid shaming the family.

She watched her daughter go, though, in silence before turning on her heel and going in the opposite direction. What should have been a time to share and strategize had, as usual, failed miserably. Even in the Myrian culture, where the families were large to enormous and all generations had a helping hand in raising the next, no one ever said parenting was easy…

…

The next morning came far too soon. But the worst of the Trials were over, surely – not making a fool of herself in front of the Goddess-Queen was an excellent start, after all. If she had failed in the trial of combat, she wouldn’t have been told to prepare for the next step. In fact, she likely would have had to do some soul-searching and some training, find herself a new sponsor since her failure would have shamed Kash’jiya, (although the woman might have agreed to do it again after personally testing Siiri and working her into the ground on a daily basis)and then tried against yet another opponent. All of which could have taken another season. But there was no point on dwelling on all of that – she had accomplished the first step, and it was with that first step that all journeys began.

“Up and at it, Snapping Jaws,” Iami bustled around the barracks like she owned it as Siiri was still stirring. There was a groan or two from the other bunks and hammocks as the Myrians covered their ears and eyes and tried to get a little more sleep. There was some solace in the fact that she didn’t have a hammock – Siiri could not count how many times trainees in hammocks had been woken up by being dumped from it from a sound sleep. But the general consensus was that they earned it. If you were sound asleep and didn’t hear them coming up to you, you were dead in the jungle. A nice way, so to speak, to open one’s eyes and ears to something like that… because hey, at least it wasn’t fatal.

Iami was waiting outside the barracks for her, stripping off pieces of mango with an incredibly sharp blade, some of which she offered to Siiri as the sticky juices ran down her bare, exposed arm as Iami regarded her with her good eye. “Is that all you’re taking with you? Did you sleep better last night?” She grinned at her. “This is almost nothing out of the ordinary… except that there are scouts surrounding the city, even more of them than usual, out and about to try to see how much of a madini they can make out of you. Some traps are already in place. Some are watched. Either way, they don’t plan on giving you an easy time of it,” Iami grinned and had another piece of mango. “Now you get the deyhan’s treatment, courtesy of Misha of the Jagged Blade.”

Sometimes they played with outsiders, just for shyke and giggles. Just to liven things up a bit, though most of the more grizzled veterans frowned upon it. If you had the opportunity to take your opponent out alive, render them unconscious and bring them back for fresh meat and sacrifice, you did. If you played with them… sometimes you sustained casualties. But sometimes, it was far more fun to remind them why everyone told horror stories about the Myrians. And today, she was the mouse to be played with by cats. “At any rate, make it a good hunt. May Navre walk with you, and Myri guide your blade.” She clasped Siiri’s forearm and thumped her lightly on the back before letting her go.

Surprisingly, or perhaps unsurprisingly, there weren’t many at the gates to wave her off, but her sisters were there, all of them, with her last surviving brother – Tala, Janna, Kara, Bronne, and Bran. Ehra was nowhere in sight, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t around somewhere. Siiri knew that the old bat wouldn’t miss an event like this. As separate as they were, there were familial appearances to maintain for the most important events, and this certainly counted. But it was Bran who solemnly offered his older sister a small leather bag on a leather thong, meant to be worn for good luck. Some shamans and witch doctors swore by them. Some called it pure superstition. But whatever it was, at least there were good intentions behind it. “Good luck, sister,” Tala reached for her forearm to clasp. “Do the Snapping Jaws proud.”

Outside, she had many ways to go. She could go left, right, or straight out from the gates. Left would take her towards the basin, and the other two directions away from it straight ahead had the advantage of the most beaten path until it faded away, and going right, would take her straight into the jungle. The sun was starting to rise over the enormous canopies, but even that sunlight wouldn’t necessarily help her in the darkened thickets of the Falyndarian jungle. On the other hand, it certainly wouldn’t hinder her, either, as she set out. The disadvantages were such that she wasn’t –guaranteed- to know when the gauntlet would end, and where the hunt began… or if the gauntlet would be waiting for her on her return.

OOCYou don't have to give me a massive post - but do let me know which direction you choose to go.

[Siiri]

Siiri refrained from issuing a groan of her own as Iami stomped through the barracks, slipping through the sheets and rolling off the mattress to fall on the floor on her hands before the older Myrian could smack her on the bum for getting up a little too slow. A single set of ten pushup got the blood flowing through the woman's veins enough to fully wake her up, though the first few attempts found her on shaky limbs as she tried to wake her arms up with the brief exercise. The simple shift she wore in bed fell on the floor as Siiri changed into a more functional wardrobe, putting on dark garments to pad the leather armor pieces that soon followed. Naked, she did not bother turning away from her roommates - they were all women after all and she had never been ashamed to show off her chiseled figure. The discarded garment was kicked under her bunk, to be cleaned up when she got back from the last trial. The dust under the bed was no issue; the garment was due for a wash anyway.

Throwing daggers were sheathed in their hidden scabbards: one tucked in each boot, the next set strapped on the inside of each bracer. The longer and sturdier melee daggers were secured in their customary sheathes on the harnesses strapped around her thighs and Slayer, Siiri's most treasured weapon, found its place on the scabbard sewn on the back of her baldric. A ten-footer completed her equipment before she hiked her backpack up on one shoulder.

In less than five chimes, Siiri was dressed, walking out the barracks door ready for anything. Iami's offer of the fresh mango was turned down though Siiri did pluck three bananas from a tree that grew nearby, downing two immediately while the third found its way into her pack. It would serve as a quick pep up when she found herself low on energy later.

"Let's hope I don't embarrass myself too much," Siiri quipped after the aged leatherworker. The armclasp shared between them reaffirmed that there was at least one person who believed in her success in all of this. The rest showed themselves up to see her off at the city gates. All her siblings were there, those still alive anyway. Bran's little token was tied securely on her belt. "Thanks, little man," she teased, hugging the youngest, and her sole remaining brother, tight. He was not really little any more, the top of his head almost higher than her shoulders, but it was a name she had called him since he was a tot and it stuck.

"I don't play to lose," she tried to reassure Tala as the woman wished her good luck. They were somewhat empty words however, for Siiri did not know what to expect to this portion of the trials. She felt that the fight the previous day had been the easiest to prepare for since she pretty much knew what she should do. With the hunt and the gauntlet...she was not so sure. It was still something she had to do, however, and she planned to do so to the best of her capabilities.

Once outside, Siiri did not hesitate in picking out which path to take. The two trails leading to the jungles were immediately discarded, as she felt that going through the thick foliage would make her miss out a great deal of details - a bad thing when on the lookout for traps. Instead she took the left path, the one that lead to the Basin. It was a familiar road for her, one she often traveled to during the summer when her duties as a Snapping Jaws called for her to deal with water creatures venturing too near the city. Of course, the features of that path were different in the rainy weather compared to what it was now but she hoped that her familiarity with the terrain would at least help her in the trial ahead.

Spear held out ahead of her, using its long reach to probe patches of ground she was not sure about, wondering if a noose or a tripvine lay hidden among the tall grasses she poked the weapon's point to, Siiri set out to accomplish the last trial.

Is it the hunt or the gauntlet that comes first? she wondered idly, unsure of the sequence of things. She did not want to be caught offguard searching for traps when a wild beast, say, a boar, charged out the thicket and gored her. That would be embarrassing.

[Cayenne]

The Coming of Age trials for young Myrians were brutal. The Tiger Trials were even worse, because by now, they had doubtless served their time in the military, and many of them were still in there - so the stakes were far higher, and far more were expected of them. They were expected to defend their homeland against any and all invaders, and those who wanted the right to ride one of their Myrian Tigers had to show that they were well and truly above average. They were expected to know the jungle, to breathe with it, to feel it, to recognize when something was out of place. And for that reason, the Gauntlet of traps and dangers tended to blend in with the Hunt itself.

It was a reminder that they could never let their guard down in the wilds of their jungle home. Ever. It took less than a heartbeat to die, never knowing what killed you. One instant, and then you took a long trip with Dira to Myri's Ukalas to wait your turn to try again.

The smart were not suicidal.

Few paths in Falyndar were ever well-worn, but the path to the basin was perhaps the most of all of them. It received far more daily traffic than any other path, especially with the Tskanna. The dirt was packed down, for the most part, as much as it ever get in Falyndar with the frequent rains. There didn't look to be anything amiss with it. But she could certainly hear shuffling, and rather unnatural sounds in the canopy above her. Whether that was something real or imaginative, it was entirely up to her to take seriously or not as she made her way towards the basin. If she looked up to check out the sounds, she might just miss the thin hemp cord that darted across the path, attached to a blow dart to the other side, about ankle height, looking to trip and ensnare her.

Some distance up ahead, though, she was almost around the first bend in the path towards the basin when a giant mud ball was released, its entire shape embedded by many sharply-cut bamboo stalks, each stained a purple colour. Its trajectory looked like it would collide with her midsection to her chest. She had a breath to react, and Siiri knew without a doubt each of them was likely to be poisoned or infected with bacteria... and not every part of her was covered in protective leather. Even though Myrians had a resistance to the most toxic the jungle had to offer, it might still be damned inconvenient to have something broken or infected. Even a scratch could turn septic in the jungle.

[Siiri]

The sounds coming from above were of little concern to Siiri, and she did not even bother to look up to investigate their sources. This close to the city, only mindless beasts would be stupid enough to give away their location, and nothing so large had ever dropped down from the trees to pose a threat to her, in her experience at least. She did not feel in danger at all, and if anything did show up ("If they had the guts," she chuckled, rather cockily), she was confident she could deal with it with ease. Her main weapon's name was not just for show, after all.

And so Siiri kept her eyes on the ground, ever wary of anything that may give her a hint that a trap was nearby, making sure that her path was not obstructed by the fronds of the shrubbery around her that could possibly hide a trap's trigger. So far, she has not set off anything, but instead of growing more confident, the Snapping Jaws warrior grew more wary. She only had the most basic of skill when it came to identifying signs of traps, and now she worried that she may have chosen a path that had better concealed ones.

I hate mind games, she groused. Second-guessing yourself and what you face, when at any moment, you -

She did not finish the thought as movement caught her eye, a projectile crafted from mud careening towards her in the wake of the twanging of ropes, no doubt the sound of the mechanism that launched it in the first place. Knowing that the danger it posed was more than that of a mundane ball of mud, Siiri discarded her initial instinct of swatting it out of the air with her long spear. The chance of one of the poisoned bamboo spikes not being deflected was too high to risk it and she was not too confident with her handling of the simple weapon either. Jumping out of the way was out of the question either, as she never checked if the periphery of her path had any traps, only giving them cursory glances as she made her way into the jungle.

Bracing both feet solidly on the ground, Siiri whipped the backpack that hanged loosely off one of her shoulders and set it right in front of where she felt the ball of mud would hit her, like a shield. She felt confident that the projectile lacked the mass to pierce through the thick leather bag, but just in case it did, she aimed to swing it away upon impact to diffuse the force generated by the missile. She kept her eye on it the whole time it was in mid-air too, making minor adjustments on how she held her backpack to ensure that the mud ball would hit it dead center. Anything less and one of the bamboo spikes might find a thin part of the bag's material and pierce it. She did not want to dismiss the small chance that such a thing might happen.

She just had to remember to duck her head as soon as the missile hit the pack.

A spike in the eye would probably hurt, poisoned or not, she thought in her usual grim humor.

[Cayenne]

Siiri had seen those balls in action before. They weren't uncommon, but they were a pain in the ass to make - some fifty pounds of mud and clay and rock and tskanna shyke all packed together, with the bamboo spikes thrust in and much more packed around them. These were left to bake and dry in the sun, and hauled out, secured with vines and ropes to a heavier limb in the canopy to protect it from too much rain. They were petching heavy, though - she knew from listening to her teachers that they could decapitate people from the sheer force of the ball catching someone in the head. It didn't have to be the bamboo - they expected people to be wearing armor - that were what made it so deadly - on the contrary, it was the velocity. When that ball swung, and swung hard... it was the force that got you. If the bamboo punctured and cut, well, that was a plus. They made wonderful weapons that could be triggered by tripwires. She'd beaten the wire, hadn't she? Which meant that there had to be a scout somewhere in the trees that released it. She didn't have time to think on it, because the ball struck her, and sent her flying backwards.

Strong though the Myrian was, she landed at least fifteen feet back from where she had been hit, flat on her ass. The her bag had taken the worst of it - the tough, treated leather now sported at least a dozen tears and punctures, and she was still feeling the aftershocks of the blow in her arms, but she hadn't gotten cut anywhere. The Gods were watching. When she looked up, the ball was still swinging back and forth. Sooner or later, probably once she had gone, someone would pull it back up and reposition it for the next unlucky bastard to walk into it. Who, chances were, wouldn't be so fortunate to live. Her bag had likely saved her life, and kept her in the Trials. Myri would be proud - quick thinking, resourceful, and resilient. What more could a Goddess want?

She'd be a little shaky when she got up, but with a bit of stretching, she would be okay to go on her way again. She could duck under or go around the ball, and carry on her way. The Kandukta was coming into view. Not fifteen yards beyond the curve in the path was there a log stretched over the path with thick leaves in front of it, some still attached to the log. All of the leaves looked like they had been naturally fallen, as did the log itself. But she had been down this path recently, and that log had definitely not been there the last time. she could remember. She was free to try to go over it, as it only came up to her knees, but the leaves and mud were strewn about the length of her spear around it, and close visual inspection around the ends for almost the same length revealed nothing... unless she swept around the ground with the long poking-stick, in which case she would hear clicking thumps as she hit the pieces of bamboo that were sticking up under the leaves and detritus of the jungle. Siiri could see her options - she could go over, she could go around, or she could, in fact, leave the path entirely and take to the canopy. No one ever looked up, after all.

The choice was hers.

[Siiri]

Siiri thought she had braced herself well enough and had prepared to deflect it with her makeshift shield, to make the giant ball of packed dirt change its direction by applying just enough leverage on her arms at the moment of impact so that it would merely graze past her. It was sound in theory - and it would have worked, had the mud ball been smaller. Hardly versed in the laws of physics, the Snapping Jaws warrior did not take into account the tremendous amount of kinetic energy the spiked ball generated as it traveled down from wherever it had been resting. The impact hit her with the force of a charging hippo - a distant memory surfaced into her mind at that image, of her sister Tala shooting down one - and suddenly she was in mid-air and then landing roughly on her rump a good distance away.

She paused to examine herself before getting up. It was a fortunate thing, for save for her bruised backside, Siiri escaped relatively unscathed. The same could not be said about her backpack, however. The thing looked as if it stopped a hail of arrows for her with the number of new holes it now sported. Fingering one such hole, Siiri peeked inside to see the damage, realizing immediately that, as with the bag, the banana she had saved that morning was most certainly ruined. Off to the side, the sound seeming as if it came just a spear's throw away, she thought she heard someone snicker.

Try not to enjoy it so much, guys, she thought, rolling her eyes. Siiri had a feeling she knew whoever it was that had released the trigger of the trap. Tooth maybe, the little jerk. The scout always did enjoy cutting whatever was near with one of his many knives.

Knowing that her backpack had served its purpose (and that she had to replace it with the amount of damage done to it), the warrior pulled out the rope she had kept in the container, before concealing the ruined item in a nearby bush, marking the location so that she could fetch the rest of the items left within once the Trials was over. The banana, of course, she threw aside for scavengers to pick on eventually. Shouldering the coil of rope and fetching her spear, Siiri skirted around the path where the mud ball was still swinging and ventured further down the trail that led towards the Basin.

It did not take long for her to find the seemingly newly fallen log. A patch of fallen leaves covered the good portion of the ground before it, too wide for her to jump to the log or even vault over using her spear. She thought she recognized it for what it was: there would be netting of some sort beneath those leaves and underneath it, a pit. Filled with spikes most likely. Or the sides smoothened so that she would not be able to climb out. But even novices would detect such a simply disguised trap, it must be meant to trick the foolish and the real trap must be on the log itself. A trap within a trap, for certainly she would be quite exposed and vulnerable while she traversed the log's length, if she ever found a way to get on top of it.

Nice try.

Thinking herself clever for discovering the 'truth' about the leaf-covered patch of ground, Siiri instead gazed up, looking to avoid the ground and the log altogether. Many branches stretched from tree to tree, forming a natural roof above her head, tendrils of vines hanging off them. A particularly stout one caught her eye, one that would likely support her weight. Siiri unslung the rope from her shoulder, tying one of her serrated daggers on one end to weigh it down, before throwing it up and over the branch of her choice. It took several attempts, for the dagger got caught on other branches in a few of her tries before she succeeded in looping it around her intended target and locking it in place. Pulling the rope taut to make sure that it was secure, the warrioress drew back and heaved back the rope hand over hand so that the thick branch where her rope was attached to bent her way, running the free end around a tree behind her. She did not pull it past the branch's breaking point, but just enough that when she cut the rope, she would be yanked along as the branch returned to its original position. It would be much like being shot off a bow if she were an arrow...or off a slingshot, to be more accurate. Siiri intended for the force of the return pull of the branch to help her half-swing, half-leap over the leaf-covered ground and the log. As for the landing, well, she'd deal with that when she cleared the two obstacles in her path.

Feeling that she had pulled enough, Siiri grabbed hold of the part of the rope just before where she had looped it around the tree. She drew her other other dagger and began to saw through the hemp. She could feel the tension build on the portion of the rope she still held the deeper her knife bit into it.

The rope finally got severed.

For the second time that day, Siiri found herself sailing through the air.

OOCI hope this post makes sense, I was loopy when I wrote it. Also, PM me if you think I did too many actions this turn or if I should change anything.

[Cayenne]

OOCIt was loopy. It is loopy. But my god, I loved it.

There was also the possibility that there was nothing wrong with the log. That it was just an excellent way to distract her and waste her time while allowing someone to line up the perfect arrow into the back of her head. There was always that chance.

But airborne she went, and if she took a moment to study the log from above while she was up there, she would have found that there didn't visibly seem to be anything wrong with it. maybe there had been a problem with the ground. She likely wouldn't notice the bright stain on the back of her leather vests until much later, when she was taking them off, but she would know what it meant when she had to get some of the cleaner from Iami - she'd been marked as a target. How many times had she done that herself when working with younger Myrians? Deftly, quietly, applied a small ball of the sticky substance to someone who had let their guard down... Just enough from the right angle and they never knew they had had it. Then they had to make the walk of shame with it later to get the cleaner. She'd had to before. She'd have to now again.

The tension of the tree was enough to carry her over the fallen log. The landing, surprisingly, hadn't been too bad. She'd had worse - she knew how to land in order not to break, twist, or pull something. Because that, really and truly, was the last thing that she needed to do. Any injury she sustained now would have been troublesome in the rest of the challenge up ahead. An injured predator settled for lesser prey. After that, it was a quick, uninterrupted trip to the basin.

There were no animals there, much as she may have hoped for some to be watering - what she could see was shaken foliage that showed they had been, but perhaps the twang, the sound of her landing, had frightened them off. At any rate, she now had plenty of choice to pick at tracks, many fresh - many she recognized. Warthogs and boars, there was at least one crocodile in the basin, judging by the belly trails, at least one leopardbred running loose, humanoid prints that belonged to apes, monkeys, and kithskin. There were also big cat prints. Not that she would even consider hunting such a creature, and certainly not on something this important. Many of them, with the obvious exception of the crocodiles, went into the southwest, though one set of catprints went to the northwest, as did those of the kithskin. The boar prints, all of them, which meant that there was a Goddess-damned heard of the tusk-riddled bastards, had gone to the south.

[Siiri]

Siiri disregarded the many feline pawprints that marked the sodden ground. Even if she wasn't doing the Tiger Trials, she still would not have gone after any of them, not unless they were chasing her first, and even then she would try to get any cat to run away before she was forced to hurt them. Besides, who in their right mind would go out to hunt a jungle cat and then offer it up to Navre as sacrifice? That was just messed.

She paused to study the marks left by the boars. Her estimate told her that there were about twenty or so of the tusked beasts and they had just moved away from the spot, likely after gorging themselves with water. Of course, with her rudimentary tracking skills, her assumption could be far off to either side of the spectrum. Either way, she discarded the idea of hunting one (or more!) of the boars. It felt too... ordinary, to bring back such a kill. It would be too much like going out to get dinner and bringing that back as her trophy.

Even I would laugh at myself in derision if I did that...

That left the crocodile. Siiri took a step towards the basin. The greenish-gray hue of the reptile tattooed on her left arm caught her eye though, and at that moment, all she could think of was, "Really? Again?"

Siiri stifled a chuckle as she turned about to head north-west, picking the path taken by the lone cat and whatever creature it was hunting. She dealt with crocs every year during the summer, people would get sick seeing her bring back another as a kill for this Trial. She would hurl if she had to wrestle with one again outside of the rainy season.

The trail she followed was one taken by a cat seemingly out to hunt some sort of primate. While she had an aversion of harming Navre's chosen creatures, Siiri was not above taking its kill away from it. The rule of the jungle was survival of the fittest after all, and if she was the better predator between them and ended up with the cat's intended kill, then so be it. It just meant the cat needed to improve in the hunting department.

It can settle for one of the fat boarlets if it can't beat me to the punch, she smirked.