--Fall 22nd, 513 AV—
Oryani had heard that a pair of Chatakwe were teaching basic fighting skills near one of the pavilions… five gold mizas, from what she knew. She also knew that to move up in the Watch, she would have to learn some melee skills as well as her ranged ones, so this was a chance worth taking advantage of. She could always learn the basics of a certain weapon in one or two classes then figure it out on her own. She knew the general location, the Warstorm pavilion… which was only a few chimes walk from her own. She’d decided to walk rather than ride there, to give herself a chance to stretch her legs and warm up for whatever training she was getting herself into. As always, Khal walked calmly beside her, content to let his companion head to wherever she was ought to go.
Soon enough, she spotted a small group of people taking up a large expanse of short grass. There were weapons in hands and scattered around, a longbow here, and a curved sword she didn’t know the name of there. One of the Chatakwe men- identifiable by his dark hair and skin, even when his eyes were hidden, was sparring with a Drykas, both seemingly equal matched. It was funny to watch, one booted and broad shouldered, the other thin and light-seeming, his feet as bare as Oryani’s were. They didn’t need shoes that often, because of the convenient thick soles their feet had, unlike those of humans. Watching the spar for a few moments, she watched the Drykas attempt to lift his opponent in a throw, before stopping abruptly. He was surprised by the weight, most people were. Taking the chance as an opening, the Chatakwe slung an arm around the other’s neck and easily lifted him into a hip throw, sending the man crashing hard into the ground. Within seconds his arm was in a painful-looking lock, and the Drykas was tapping the ground franticly. Nearby, a reddish colored mare was whinnying, and if Oryani could see anything… she swore the horse was laughing.
Chuckling herself, she went and found the other Chatakwe, approaching him with Khal trailing faithfully behind. The man was sitting crosslegged away from the dueling pair, having been watching their fight with interest. He had a sheathed sword beside him, the leather banged up slightly, but sturdy looking. He raised an eyebrow at the Drykas’ approach, apparently surprised by her appearance. ”It is surprising to find a relative in such an odd location.” he commented dryly, not moving from his current seat. Oryani stood several meters away, a curved grin on her face. He spoke in flawless Tawna, and once again the woman thanked her mother for teaching her the language well. Sure, she might speak Common worse than that language, but… she really only needed Pavi. She could talk to this man in their native language.
In reply to his comment, Oryani shrugged, before answering in the same language. ”I am a Drykas. I was born in Ekytol, but I was young there. Now I live in the moving city.” Her speech wasn’t as fluid as she would have liked, more static and with more pauses to find the right word. Still, it was mostly understandable… unlike her Common. ”I was looking for training… with a weapon. Not a bow. A sword?” She wanted to get more to the point, rather than talk about their history. The man nodded, pushing himself to his feet gracefully, picking up his sheathed sword as he did so. ”I can train you in the Scimitar, if you like. Five gold mizas for a bell. I’m assuming you don’t have one of your own?” at a shake of her head, he nodded, before continuing with an introduction. ”I am Shoamati… and you are?” He cocked his head, waiting for an answer, and was given ”Oryani Darkeye.” She tossed him the five gold rimmed coins from a pocket, and awaited further training.[/color]
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Oryani had heard that a pair of Chatakwe were teaching basic fighting skills near one of the pavilions… five gold mizas, from what she knew. She also knew that to move up in the Watch, she would have to learn some melee skills as well as her ranged ones, so this was a chance worth taking advantage of. She could always learn the basics of a certain weapon in one or two classes then figure it out on her own. She knew the general location, the Warstorm pavilion… which was only a few chimes walk from her own. She’d decided to walk rather than ride there, to give herself a chance to stretch her legs and warm up for whatever training she was getting herself into. As always, Khal walked calmly beside her, content to let his companion head to wherever she was ought to go.
Soon enough, she spotted a small group of people taking up a large expanse of short grass. There were weapons in hands and scattered around, a longbow here, and a curved sword she didn’t know the name of there. One of the Chatakwe men- identifiable by his dark hair and skin, even when his eyes were hidden, was sparring with a Drykas, both seemingly equal matched. It was funny to watch, one booted and broad shouldered, the other thin and light-seeming, his feet as bare as Oryani’s were. They didn’t need shoes that often, because of the convenient thick soles their feet had, unlike those of humans. Watching the spar for a few moments, she watched the Drykas attempt to lift his opponent in a throw, before stopping abruptly. He was surprised by the weight, most people were. Taking the chance as an opening, the Chatakwe slung an arm around the other’s neck and easily lifted him into a hip throw, sending the man crashing hard into the ground. Within seconds his arm was in a painful-looking lock, and the Drykas was tapping the ground franticly. Nearby, a reddish colored mare was whinnying, and if Oryani could see anything… she swore the horse was laughing.
Chuckling herself, she went and found the other Chatakwe, approaching him with Khal trailing faithfully behind. The man was sitting crosslegged away from the dueling pair, having been watching their fight with interest. He had a sheathed sword beside him, the leather banged up slightly, but sturdy looking. He raised an eyebrow at the Drykas’ approach, apparently surprised by her appearance. ”It is surprising to find a relative in such an odd location.” he commented dryly, not moving from his current seat. Oryani stood several meters away, a curved grin on her face. He spoke in flawless Tawna, and once again the woman thanked her mother for teaching her the language well. Sure, she might speak Common worse than that language, but… she really only needed Pavi. She could talk to this man in their native language.
In reply to his comment, Oryani shrugged, before answering in the same language. ”I am a Drykas. I was born in Ekytol, but I was young there. Now I live in the moving city.” Her speech wasn’t as fluid as she would have liked, more static and with more pauses to find the right word. Still, it was mostly understandable… unlike her Common. ”I was looking for training… with a weapon. Not a bow. A sword?” She wanted to get more to the point, rather than talk about their history. The man nodded, pushing himself to his feet gracefully, picking up his sheathed sword as he did so. ”I can train you in the Scimitar, if you like. Five gold mizas for a bell. I’m assuming you don’t have one of your own?” at a shake of her head, he nodded, before continuing with an introduction. ”I am Shoamati… and you are?” He cocked his head, waiting for an answer, and was given ”Oryani Darkeye.” She tossed him the five gold rimmed coins from a pocket, and awaited further training.[/color]
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