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medigel rolled 1 4-sided dice:
1
Total: 1 (1-4)
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 Posted: Sat Aug 17, 2013 2:41 pm
He pounded against the door with a roar, nails etching into its frame. The pain didn't help him, but he was raging against his fate by any means necessary.
He couldn't, he can't be--
It was a rock. It was a rock.
Shaheen had thrown it at him, and it hit him so squarely in the face that the instructor had been impressed. The sting of pain was nothing compared to the sting of his pride as she grinned at him victoriously.
He'd get her back somehow.
[ distance: 5 ft ]
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medigel rolled 1 4-sided dice:
3
Total: 3 (1-4)
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Posted: Sat Aug 17, 2013 2:43 pm
And then Koshabi ended as he had began--with clumsiness.
His scream of frustration didn't overcome the noise of his enemy now upon him.
[ distance: 0 ft ]
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Posted: Sat Aug 17, 2013 2:49 pm
And then he was turned over, his stomach twisting when he was hit with a reeking odor and the image of a crumbling gray body, soulless eyes piercing him as it leaned forward and rasped something.
"It only hurts once."
Perhaps so. An executioner was known for their prowess in quick, battle-ending strikes.
Koshabi's anger flared as he struggled to fight it off nevertheless because he could not take this lying down, but he was pinned down too efficiently. There was a snip--
-- and he watched as his own beating, red heart was taken from him, simple and easy as you please. And it was true, the pain was concentrated but brief, but the emptiness inside made him wail and snarl uselessly as the whiteness overcame him, fighting to the very end.
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Posted: Sat Aug 17, 2013 3:03 pm
He was not in a great mood by the time he reached Longing.
He did not even bother to smile as the goddess flitted about, offering him sweets (he sort of crumbled it in his hand when she wasn't looking) and saying things about emotions and love and . . . that uncanny smile was starting to make him feel itchy. He'd already felt quite at bit and was starting to think actualy emotions were not his forte.
Or his favorite. Or worth bothering with.
But a task was a task, and so Koshabi bowed a little before heading off into the garden, wiping the crumbs from his hands.
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Posted: Sat Aug 17, 2013 3:27 pm
Thus, when Hagne came to train him, he began resistance as usual.
Hag, he would call her behind her back. An awful, awful woman of a Queen’s Soldier who wanted to try to rehabilitate his anger issues into something more productive when most were deciding him to be a failure. Sometimes he didn’t bother waiting and said it to her face even.
It earned him more brutal punishments than he remembered his father giving. Laps, bound wings, this many strikes into the tree with his bare hands, not a sound, only this much sleep, get up this hour, allowed to eat this much, can stay only in this open area to survive. It was harsh training, most of which he did not feel he ad deserved. It was only slowly that Shik began to notice that despite her roughness, Hagne acted from a place of concern.
She had taught him not simply how to fight from cover in the trees, but also how to play the flute. Not simply how to parry and retaliate at different points on the body, but also how to wood carve. There were outlets, he began to realize, that did not involve fighting. Silly ones, perhaps, but ones nevertheless. “You must always find a place to become calm,” she told him once. “If not, your blood will boil and boil until you are burned from the inside out. A warrior who cannot focus because he is driven by the needs of blood is one who will burn out and lose it. Find your center, and in the heat of battle you will remain cool-headed.”
War was practical; even its accessories were usually battle capable, if not simply flaunting trophies of past kills. But for the colt, his greatest treasures were the little animal figurines he kept hidden from his father, a testament to his dexterity and patience—lessons well learned for an executioner in training.
Hagne was a mother to him when his own was too quiet under the thumb of her husband, a sister when his own was too busy ruffling feathers to notice him, and a friend when he was so awful at socializing. She was patient but unyielding to his acerbic humor, and she never lied or coddled (“I have lived long enough to know better than to waste words,” as she put it). To Shik, she was a rarity and, while he never admitted it out loud, he admired the older warrior: those qualities of pride, strength of will, and wisdom were things he wanted to emulate.
He did stray from the path once he left her tutorship, but his time spent with Hagne were days he kept close to his heart—moreso when the destruction of the Isles made him lose everything else.
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Posted: Sat Aug 17, 2013 3:28 pm
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Posted: Sat Aug 17, 2013 4:30 pm
Tea Guest Log Colour of Tea Tasted: Lavender Description: Childish hate. Physically exhausting, but somehow important too. Your commentary on its flavour: The tea is an unusual taste, but Daaiji doesn't necessarily hate it. It's a nice flavor. She takes another sip. She can see how harsh the woman's punishments were, but she can also see the importance of them. She especially savors the moments with the flute. Music. Her feathers rustle. She feels like she's heard this flute before, but shrugs it off as she keeps drinking the tea.
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Posted: Sat Aug 17, 2013 5:13 pm
Tea Guest Log Colour of Tea Tasted: Lavender Description: Realization, admiration, appreciation Your commentary on its flavour: Yiro savored the tea as it touched her still-parched lips, admiring the sour flavor that left a mildly sweet aftertaste. How fortuitous the boy had been to find such a friend. She admired the boy's eventual admiration for his mentor, and the fact that he had found answers other than violence. Her harshness had paid off, and she had slowly chipped away those jagged edges to make him well-rounded.
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