67th of Spring 514 A.V.
Arena of Ancients
The arena was alive with people running around, a particular sight catching the eyes of all the Myrians present. A blue figure -- a savage -- was capturing audiences, not all attention exactly the most positive kind. Kol stood, leaning against on of the pillars, keeping a steady eye on the outsider. He was no longer interested in the spars he had been watching, although he occasionally let his eyes flicker past, just to see what else was going on. The man's skin was blue. Blue. Kol had never seen anything like it. Did the monster have some sort of disease? Was he some sort of god?
Faintly, Kol could hear the man speaking in common, some sort of accent thick on his tongue that made it difficult for him to understand the savage completely. Kol's common was nearly non-existent but judging from the blue walker's body language, he was moving around, encouraging some of the sparring to continue so he could watch. Kol raised an eyebrow, finally turning away when the Akalak did nothing but observe a pair of fighting Myrians.
I should be training.
Kol stepped forward, lowering himself to the ground. Hands shoulder width apart and palms pressed against the dirt, back and hips aligned, weight resting on the tips of his toes, Kol was ready to begin his push ups. A simple exercise but a necessary one. With an outsider present, Kol would continue on with his routine but still keep an eye on the stranger, his suspicious and natural Myrian superiority taking over.
What would Myri say regarding such an oddly looking savage? Were there more like the blue man? The thoughts of his goddess and her opinion floated around as Kol pondered the possibilities, lowering his torso towards the ground. His core tightened and his elbows popped. He pushed upwards, feeling the stretch of his muscles in his arms and pectorals. He lowered himself again, repeating the motion. And then again.
Push ups were his least favorite exercise, but it allowed him time to clear his mind, meditating on a single word: Victory... Victory... Victory... It was the ideal of his goddess, someone who Kol hoped to gain the favor of one day and so he trained. He would perfect his body and serve as a true child of Myri.
Down. Victory. Up. Victory. Down. Victory. Up. Victory.
His arms began to burn, and Kol grunted from the exertion. He took deep breaths. Inhale. ...Victory. Exhale. ......Victory.
A familiar burn began snaking in his arms and he slowed, his breathing becoming more tight and forced the more he pushed himself. Just... one... more... Victory. Kol pushed himself up and shifted his weight so he could catch his breath. He rotated his shoulders and lifted a hand to massage the shape of his arms. Pushing and pulling at the muscles, Kol worked the soreness from his bones, kneading the flesh firmly.
As he caught his breath, Kol stood up, and looked around. The blue man was still talking loudly, his fat common unpleasant on Kol's ears. Perhaps the irritating syllables of the tongue fit such a savage, but the Myrian male did his best to ignore the sound, focusing on his training. He crossed his right arm over his chest, using his left to hold it in place as he stretched. He mentally counted, feeling the pull of his body and released, and then continued with his left.
When he was done, his arms felt warmed up and loose. It was a unique sensation, one that was immediately forgotten about the moment shouting occurred. A large ring was being formed around the outsider -- the blue man. Curses, and obscene gestures. The Akalak was laughing, mocking the sons and daughters of Myri. Kol stepped forward to get a better look, a dark look passing over his features. What is this?
The Akalak was tall -- larger than even most of the females. His mouth was rattling off words Kol didn't understand, but the tone was clear. Insulting. Vulgar. A Challenge... This man needed to know his place and Kol was scowling with the rest. He understood something the blue skinned savage said.
"...Fight..."
The man said it again, motioning towards the Myrians around him, kicking dirt into the air and laughing raucously, "...Fight!..."
Kol may not have understood the whole message clearly, but he knew a challenge when he saw one. Not wanting to miss out on such an opportunity, Kol stepped forward, smirking dangerously. Slowly and deliberately Kol freed the whip at his side, taking the handle in his palm.
He spoke only one word, confirming his acceptance in the uncomfortable common tongue, "Fight."
---
Myrian
Common
Thoughts
Arena of Ancients
The arena was alive with people running around, a particular sight catching the eyes of all the Myrians present. A blue figure -- a savage -- was capturing audiences, not all attention exactly the most positive kind. Kol stood, leaning against on of the pillars, keeping a steady eye on the outsider. He was no longer interested in the spars he had been watching, although he occasionally let his eyes flicker past, just to see what else was going on. The man's skin was blue. Blue. Kol had never seen anything like it. Did the monster have some sort of disease? Was he some sort of god?
Faintly, Kol could hear the man speaking in common, some sort of accent thick on his tongue that made it difficult for him to understand the savage completely. Kol's common was nearly non-existent but judging from the blue walker's body language, he was moving around, encouraging some of the sparring to continue so he could watch. Kol raised an eyebrow, finally turning away when the Akalak did nothing but observe a pair of fighting Myrians.
I should be training.
Kol stepped forward, lowering himself to the ground. Hands shoulder width apart and palms pressed against the dirt, back and hips aligned, weight resting on the tips of his toes, Kol was ready to begin his push ups. A simple exercise but a necessary one. With an outsider present, Kol would continue on with his routine but still keep an eye on the stranger, his suspicious and natural Myrian superiority taking over.
What would Myri say regarding such an oddly looking savage? Were there more like the blue man? The thoughts of his goddess and her opinion floated around as Kol pondered the possibilities, lowering his torso towards the ground. His core tightened and his elbows popped. He pushed upwards, feeling the stretch of his muscles in his arms and pectorals. He lowered himself again, repeating the motion. And then again.
Push ups were his least favorite exercise, but it allowed him time to clear his mind, meditating on a single word: Victory... Victory... Victory... It was the ideal of his goddess, someone who Kol hoped to gain the favor of one day and so he trained. He would perfect his body and serve as a true child of Myri.
Down. Victory. Up. Victory. Down. Victory. Up. Victory.
His arms began to burn, and Kol grunted from the exertion. He took deep breaths. Inhale. ...Victory. Exhale. ......Victory.
A familiar burn began snaking in his arms and he slowed, his breathing becoming more tight and forced the more he pushed himself. Just... one... more... Victory. Kol pushed himself up and shifted his weight so he could catch his breath. He rotated his shoulders and lifted a hand to massage the shape of his arms. Pushing and pulling at the muscles, Kol worked the soreness from his bones, kneading the flesh firmly.
As he caught his breath, Kol stood up, and looked around. The blue man was still talking loudly, his fat common unpleasant on Kol's ears. Perhaps the irritating syllables of the tongue fit such a savage, but the Myrian male did his best to ignore the sound, focusing on his training. He crossed his right arm over his chest, using his left to hold it in place as he stretched. He mentally counted, feeling the pull of his body and released, and then continued with his left.
When he was done, his arms felt warmed up and loose. It was a unique sensation, one that was immediately forgotten about the moment shouting occurred. A large ring was being formed around the outsider -- the blue man. Curses, and obscene gestures. The Akalak was laughing, mocking the sons and daughters of Myri. Kol stepped forward to get a better look, a dark look passing over his features. What is this?
The Akalak was tall -- larger than even most of the females. His mouth was rattling off words Kol didn't understand, but the tone was clear. Insulting. Vulgar. A Challenge... This man needed to know his place and Kol was scowling with the rest. He understood something the blue skinned savage said.
"...Fight..."
The man said it again, motioning towards the Myrians around him, kicking dirt into the air and laughing raucously, "...Fight!..."
Kol may not have understood the whole message clearly, but he knew a challenge when he saw one. Not wanting to miss out on such an opportunity, Kol stepped forward, smirking dangerously. Slowly and deliberately Kol freed the whip at his side, taking the handle in his palm.
He spoke only one word, confirming his acceptance in the uncomfortable common tongue, "Fight."
---
Myrian
Common
Thoughts
