Khasara was nervous, so nervous she could feel her stomach doing flips. He lecture hall was enormous, larger than any exhibition hall she had ever been inside, and she had visited the University at Zeltiva a number of times. She had watched as numerous hopefuls went onto the floor, showing all the powers they had to offer Sahova. Some had been spectacular, and left the judges with no choice but to accept them. Others had been mediocre, weak, and had been refused. One had gone into such an advanced state of over giving that his blood became stone inside one of his arms, eviscerating it. He’d been taken away, screaming, and would no doubt be informed later that he had failed his Judgement.
Khasara was the last to go, stepping into the center of the presentation floor. She wore her shadow leather armor, as its padding was more comfortable than her loose linins in the cold stony room, and the fact that it was form-fit made it easier to move than the restrictive cloth. She’d brought one of her practice katanas as well, strapped to her hip for an easy draw. She hadn’t worn any boots or gloves, however, as she wanted to keep all her palms available for controlling her res.
She walked, slowly, into the middle of the floor, her armor absorbing the light around her and making her look mysterious. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, trying to calm herself. She had no experience with meditation, but she had heard many of the successful competitors breathing loudly before their performance. She thought, perhaps, this may help her move closer to success. To her surprise, her pulse slowed with her breath, and the slight shiver that had run through her nerves became nearly inperceptible.
“Greetings, wise Judges of Sahova.” Her tone was hyper formal, as it was the only Common dialect she knew. Her habits with High Arumeic forced upon her movements that would have seemed strange and foreign to those unfamiliar with the symbolic language. However, were one to understand they symbols, they would know she was giving these people her upmost respect and attention. “I am called Khasara re Menehat, of the Eypharian people. I come to you now with a presentation of my skills in Reimancy, and their application in combat.
She waited for silence to be the only thing to echo through the hall, breathing deeply one more and sliding low, her feet far apart and perpendicular, her hips turned towards one of them. It was a low stance, one made for jumping and dropping, and she knew it to be stable when fighting those larger than she. Slowly, she placed her lower palms and higher palms together, slowly pushing her res from her body in a liquid form. She let it slowly push her hands apart, moving her hands around them like she was molding clay in her hands. The two balls grew, slowly over half a chime, until they were about the size of a fist. She exhaled once more, pulling her palms away from the orbs so that they hovered in mid air.
The center she transmuted into water, kept in place by a thin shell of res to maintain her control of it. It was shaky, the forms quivering with the strain of focusing on two objects at once, but they held. Slowly, Khasara began to move the orbs, one over the palm of each lower hand, demonstrating her grasp on the two objects. Water was a tricky element, always finding ways to slip through the tiniest crack in the res wall, and despite her focus water still slowly dribbled from the spheres.
Suddenly, without warning, Khasara raised her hands, dropping deeper into her stance as the orbs crashed together above her, the liquid res struggling to contain the new volume of water. Much of it splashed out around and onto her, dousing her in the clear water. Her leather now clung more tightly to her skin, though that was the way she preferred it. She was Eypharian, child of rivers. The water was in her blood.
The orb continued to hover above her, smaller than before, though still cohesive. It dribbled as she slowly pushed it outwards, drawing her sword as she did. Her eyes locked on the ball, she lashed out, the practice blade passing through the space where the sphere had been moments before; it had slipped out of the way at the last instant to avoid being hit. Such was her plan. If she could demonstrate her ability to fight in conjunction with quick use of reimancy in a practical manner, they’d have to at least consider her a competitor.
She swung again, and again, and again, getting within mere centimeters each time. She made show of it on purpose, grunting and even shouting with her more powerful strikes. She moved all around the hall, sliding her feet across the floor so that they never left it as her teacher had once taught her. This made each swing accompanied by the sound of foot sliding against stone, a soft shhik, shhhik with each step.
Khasara bent her knees, forcing liquid res out from her feet at high speeds, transmuting it to water as soon as it hit the floor. In an instant, she was flying, forced into the air by the pressure of the water below. She did not go very high, but to her it seemed like miles, as if she had grown wings and were soaring over enormous valleys… A sharp and unfamiliar taste of copper coated her tongue, shattering her euphoria. I’m overgiving her mind screamed, and she panicked.
The water stopped keeping her up. She lost her balance. Lost her concentration, desperately grasping to hold on to the one thing that could still make this performance worthwhile: the orb. As she fell, she screamed like Myrians on the hunt, falling for what seemed like 30 chimes but was in truth less than a eighth of a chime. The blade of the sword connected with the center of her orb, shattering the last thing to hold in her mind as it exploded into tiny droplets around her. With her adrenaline pulsing through her veins so loudly she swore the judges could feel it, the scene was beautiful, like rain frozen in time.
Then, she hit the ground.
Her landing was not graceful, and she felt her ankle twist beneath her as it carried all of her weight and momentum at the wrong angle. As the sword hit the stone floor, painful vibrations shot up her upper set of arms and through her hands, causing her to drop the sword with a yelp of pain. It clattered to the floor before her as she knelt before the judges, her pride the only thing keeping her from whimpering before them. She had gone into overgiving for them. She had put herself in harms way for them. She had shown them all her applicable skill and more, the fire in her heart. Despite her mistakes her control of her res was functional when it was a liquid, and she had shown her all she could do. Surely they could not refuse her now.
…or could they? |
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by Khasara re Menehat on October 1st, 2013, 6:09 am 