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 Posted: Mon Jan 27, 2014 4:20 am
The Plotter and the Pup - Dyakida and Ikkio 229 words Peyla was still very confused as the nice girl walked away. What had happened? Why was she leaving? Why had she tried to take Peyla with her? Peyla didn't understand. Peyla tested her wings, fluttering a bit before leaving Dyakida's hands to hover at her side. She saw the girl wave, so she waved goodbye herself.
Bye bye nice girl!
Peyla hoped to see her again, but now she had an important job to do. She chimed at her Alkidike. Time to find more things, right? Though, Peyla didn't want to stay out too much longer...
Dyakida let her sprite alight on her hand. "Well, she's gone. Let us be off too." she said.
She rejoined her sisters and resumed gathering. They were learning what she was looking for, and it was actually fairly productive. All thoughts of the horrid little shifter child were purged from her mind at the possibilities of the resources she had managed to scrounge. She returned home excited and eager to begin the process of rebuilding.
At night, though, as the blind artisan tried to sleep, she remembered the child. There had been something unnerving about her, something that Dyakida couldn't place, but that was off... enough so that she was thinking about it as she drifted off.
Try as she might, she couldn't place it.
She hoped to never meet that child again.
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Posted: Sun Feb 02, 2014 10:24 am
Patrolling Jahuar - Dyakida and Rishima 259 words It was interesting, Dyakida thought, how every male Alkidike hybrid she had come across was a decent sort of person.
Both, she could easily assume, had faced hardships because of both blood and gender, and both had dealt with them in their own ways.
While Yaholo had tried to balance loyalties to both of his bloodlines by taking up a hammer, but also taking up a guardian's role, Rishima had gone as traditional route as he could.
Dyakida understood hardship - it had been difficult to cope with her blindness, after all. But she was a pureblooded Alkidike. She knew that she would never understand what they'd had to endure.
It was pointless, the disdain that her sisters held for their brothers. They were all born of Aisha, were they not? Dyakida found it all very ridiculous. These men were not spies. They were assets, powerful and intelligent.
While other sisters boasted about how many obans they would stick, Rishima had been practical. While the people of tendaji lazed about, indolent, waiting for the invasion, Rishima had been planning and preparing.
She could respect her brothers for their unique takes on life, and for the strengths of will, body, and character that they brought to the tribe. Her weapons would always be available to them, she decided.
As much as they would be for any sister.
She too had been planning and preparing, forming sharpened blades and barbs and arrows. When the war came, she would be ready... and so too would her sisters be ready. Despite their foolishness.
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Posted: Thu Feb 06, 2014 3:27 pm
I don't Need to See you - Dyakida and Rastian- 518 words-
It was Dyakida's turn to cook dinner. Of her sisters, she was the best chef, which wasn't saying much. It was difficult to cook when you couldn't see what you were doing, but it was mostly a smell-and-taste profession anyway. She had figured out how to feel her way around and knew her way around the kitchen by now. She made few mistakes these days.
She felt for one of the jars of spices, opening it and smelling it, her eyes narrowing in pleasure at the warm scent. Today had been a productive day. She had collected some fine materials for her craft and had met a most interesting person. She carefully spooned a small amount of the spice onto the meaty bug roast and began rubbing it into the soft meat, enjoying the feel of it on her hands.
Rastian... how interesting. She had never met a Sautian before. The accent was intriguing and not unpleasant, certainly new. That he was a halfbreed, Leaf and Ice, was interesting. She wondered how Earthling halfbreeds were treated. How did it compare, she wondered, to the treatment of Half Alkidikes? Were they loved? Tolerated? Feared? Hated? She doubted it would be as extreme as that. After all, Earthlings were the same species as each other. Alkidikes were a wholly different kind.
She wondered if his differences from his parents were striking. Of course, she had no way of knowing. She had never seen an Ice tribesman, or a leaf tribesman, or Rastian for that matter. She had no way to tell, and thus no way to judge, nor did she care beyond simple curiousity.
Besides, Rastian had been interesting even aside from his blood. His family was complicated: Adopted brothers, BEING adopted, Uncles, and a father who could not care for him. How strange it was to think of anybody having such a life. And yet, there it was.
And he was a trader, at that, an occupation that no sister she knew of took up on its own. She supposed that was because they were so localized, staying in their territories and not using many things from outside their homeland. She wondered if that might change as more sisters stretched their feet and traveled abroad. She doubted that would be her, though. She was content to - mostly - stay put.
But she had had fun trading with Rastian. It had felt easy - not in difficulty, but in mood. There was no tension, only fun and reward, and now that it was over and gone, she missed their conversation already. She decided that she should see if she could set up a stand in Andile, to bring back that sense of profitable reciprocity.
She felt heat on her hand and jerked it back. She should not let her mind wander while she was cooking - that was a bad idea.
As she served her sisters cooked rice and meat, though, she couldn't help wondering... what if she met Rastian again? What would he have to trade when next he was in Jahuar? She was excited to find out.
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Posted: Sat Feb 08, 2014 4:09 pm
Reflection
- 1188 words-
Dyakida gave the spear one final go-over and polish before she wrapped it in cloth and set it aside. She set the wooden marker on top of it, an aid to retrieving it for the sister it belonged to. She had many such markers, and would need quite a few more of them – she had too many commissions to remember on her own. This upcoming war meant that she was kept very busy with a constantly rotating assortment of crafting and repair requests. She was needed, as were other older sisters who had been crafting weapons for far longer than she had, and she was keeping up with the demand. She let her hand linger on the marker, smiling thoughtfully and privately to herself as she traced its distinctive identifying grooves. What a long way she had come from her first crafted spear, thrown on a junk heap to make a point to herself and the universe: She could succeed in something. That spear had been her first success out of a storm of failures. Carved intricately and balanced decently, it was of enough quality for a practice weapon or, perhaps, a Blade's first spear.
After the Tournament and the confidence boost she had gotten from her sales, she had sought out teaching from the elders who made weapons. She had hoped to add their expertise to what she had taught herself. They teased her, calling her 'youngling', but she had been a quick study. Her practicing had brought her up to their level, and it had not taken long for the older, retired sisters to respect her as something novel and, perhaps, equalling their expertise.
Some sisters still called her a coward, though. Mostly the young ones. Their words hurt, and they had been echoed by forces inside of her. Even with many years of love and support, she still felt, in a way, ashamed. She was a young Alkidike. By now, she could have been a Warrior of the tribe. Her blood still burned with excitement at the thought of battle, just as theirs did. She longed to fight alongside her sisters. Some times, she wondered if she shouldn't have tried to be a Blade anyway, just to be with them. Sometimes, she wondered if her decision to take a wholly different path had been worth it. The elders in Emeka had given her a good knock between the antennae and set her straight.
It was all in her head, they said. Only the young prentices and new Blades would dare call her a coward. She was not a coward. A coward, they said, would have given up years ago, unable to face the future. She wouldn't be alive now, they pointed out, if she was a coward. And she was alive.
In fact, she was leading a proud and gainful life. Her dedication to the craft meant that what had once been a desperate search for something meaningful to do with herself was now essential to the growing tribe, especially with the tensions that brewed just under the surface, even between their earthling allies.
No longer did she make junky practice gear that could be thrown to the junkheap. Soon her blades and barbs, in the hands of sisters from Prentice to Warrior, would be piercing the flesh of enemies and saving the lives of allies. Though Dyakida herself had not raised a weapon to fight in years, she was still on the battlefield, among her sisters in spirit, supporting them all. The blades she had crafted with care and dedication would save their lives, as well as taking those of their enemies.
Dyakida had told these stories to herself for years, brightening her darker moments. It had taken someone else to truly drive it home. She did not trust herself when she said these things. She was imperfect. She made mistakes. She was a stupid, arrogant fool at times: like when she had run her stand in the tournament without a guard, or when she had learned to navigate without sight by wandering off into potential danger. She had paid for those idiotic acts, but they still existed, tainting her opinion of herself. The elders, though, were wise, and did not have the bias that Briella or Ilyra did. She believed them on a level that vanquished her doubts and bolstered her resolve.
She had a long way yet to go. The carving knife and the binding tools would have to become an extension of her hands, and the science of sharpening, balance, and tension would have to become second nature. And, for the halfbloods (of which she had met enough of to like and respect) and the Mystics that were occasionally born to Mother Aisha, she would have to learn some of the Earthling's craft. Magical items, Hammers, Gauntlets, Armor, shields - these she had yet to be able to create.
She smiled at the idea of progress, remembering how broken, damaged, hopeless and scared she had been before, when her world had bled away bit by bit into a void beyond darkness. Losing a sense, especially one as important in Tendaji as sight, was traumatic. Losing a purpose that had been drilled into you from the moment you emerged from your lotus, equally so.
Dyakida had never wanted to be anything other than a model of Alkidikeness. She had always wanted to be a Blade, and then perhaps an Amazon later on. She was not a particularly powerful fighter, nor was she as hot-blooded as her sisters, but she had always seen herself by their side, advising and supporting them in their struggles. That was the secret to being a warrior - not strength or bravery, but being able to make sure your allies were in the right places at the right times and were at their best. Individual heroism was not as important as the unity of their family.
She had known this ever since she was little, when her mothers had told her where she came from. She was not born of their plea, but of Aisha's own will, yet they loved her as if she was a wish granted. She had watched the elders, and she knew that the honored seat of leadership would be her fate. She would be a canny warrior, perhaps not a great one on the surface, but she would make her sisters and her tribe great. She had felt this future unfolding, and had been ready to face it's inevitable hurdles when she had left Chibale for Emeka.
And then it all had fallen apart. She had been unable to see and unable to fight, and she had wished that she could just die. No longer. She was not that hopeless and miserable person any more.
She knew her fate now, and she was proud of it.
"Peyla, could you pass me the twin blades for Jaraki?" she asked her sprite, holding her hands out to receive them as Peyla struggled to bring them to her, "I think I will work on them now, before dinner."
It was time to get back to work.
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Posted: Tue Mar 18, 2014 10:23 am
Darkness - Class Quest294 - words-
Tomorrow she would be going to the designated campsite to assist with the war effort. She would be leaving with a group of Sisters, all armed to the teeth with weapons she likely had had a hand in making. Tonight, though, she was still cozy and safe in her echoing room. It was quiet this evening, as Jahuar went, a calm before a great storm. Who would the storm take, she wondered. She knew there would be sisters dead by the battles end, quite a few by the war's end, and she wondered if her craft would make any real difference in who was blown away.
Yitzhem cuddled next to her. The girl had been very close to Dyakida, hardly leaving her alone, ever since her sisters had died out in the depths of the woods. She still hadn't spoken. She was like a silent little shadow, occasionally assisting Dyakida, but mostly, Dyakida felt, just watching. Dyakida still did not like children, but she felt sorry for Yitzhem, and so the little one was allowed to sleep with her.
Dyakida understood loss, and she understood the need for support. She owed her sisters so much for guiding her through her hard times. The least she could do was help a little sister through hers.
She felt the child twitch and moan in a nightmare, and wondered just what she had seen. She wondered what other sister's would see, out there in the fighting. She wondered how many would really come back intact.
She felt for the blanket, wrapping it around Yitzhem before lying back down herself. Soon, she wouldn't have to wonder. Soon, it would be so. She could only hope that it wasn't as bad as she knew it was going to be. [
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Posted: Mon Mar 31, 2014 3:34 pm
Meta ch. 5: Invasion response: In My Arms - 223 words
It was frustrating to be adrift in a sea of chaos. She had thought that she could do something worthwhile from her side of the war effort, but - as she so often was in life - Dyakida had been stuck with nothing. Or at least very little - she had been employed fixing up weapons and fletching.
But once the world had gone to hell, she'd had very little to do. She could not fight, and healing required sight or magic, neither of which she had. So she had listened and had been a kind and sympathetic ear, even though she was also upset. She had felt like she was about to scream, to fall to the ground and cover her ears and beg for it to stop. She had no idea how she had resisted the urge.
It had just been too much. The movement, the shouting, the screams, the chaos... Too much. But, somehow, she'd managed.
And been completely useless. When she hadn't been talking to patients that were shoved into her hands, she'd been sitting there, a useless lump of Alkidike, unable to find something she could do with any competence aside from talking and from feeling people die in her arms.
Dyakida hated being useless. She hated it with a passion. She never wanted to be useless again.
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Posted: Mon Mar 31, 2014 4:11 pm
Meta ch. 5: Invasion response: Sorry for the Sighted - 207 words
As they made their way to Neued, Dyakida could feel the earthling's weight on her shoulder and arms. Dyakida was tired in soul, but her body was fine, and it wasn't hard to help the shorter Earthling along, even if she was going by her sprite's chimes almost alone. Almost. She had her staff but, more than that, she had a companion.
She could tell Pahana was awake, but tired too. Though it made her as much a liability as useless, she was, for once, happy she hadn't seen the sights of the chaos of the camp. Carrying a dead body was not the same as seeing it. Oh, she'd smelled the smells of war - blood, sweat, fear, and other unnamable things that she didn't want to think about. She'd heard the cries, had felt the jostling of people hurrying to save lives. She'd heard death come for others as they breathed out a last, almost relieved sigh and went on to wherever people went afterwards.
That had been enough to upset her and drain her energy. How bone-and-soul tired would she have felt if she had been able to see it? She tightened her grip on Pahana. This poor girl, this friend of Kaalnia's, had.
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Posted: Fri May 02, 2014 5:43 pm
A Bizzare Reunion – Kaalnia, Dyakida, Briella, Ilyra-280 words-
Dyakida was in some bizarre cross between a sour, bitter mood and a fairly good one, and it was annoyingly confusing. On the one hand, she'd made a connection with Ilyra which was good - Ilyra was a little different than other children, and a connection with her would encourage mature behavior and respect... or at least lessen Dyakida's annoyance. She had also presented her new finished blades to Briella, and they had been appreciated heartfeltly.
On the other hand, Briella's sister had decided to drop in and say hi and that had been... Annoying. Aggravating. Unnecessary. Loud. Stupid. Dyakida had many adjectives to describe the boisterous Kaalnia. None good. Oh she was sure that the Alkidike was good looking - with a boast like that, they had to be pretty gorgeous to keep up that ego. (At least, she hoped they did, otherwise it was just sad.)
But looks were no longer a thing that she could perceive, so it didn't matter to her what Kaalnia looked like.
Only when she was leaving. Which, Dyakida hoped, was soon. Before Kaalnia started hitting on her in earnest.
Dyakida had never gotten any offers - though she'd been young when she'd still been whole. Now, she knew she would not get any offers because others saw her as unnerving. Some of the more superstitious ones avoided her, she knew, because they believed her disability was contagious. Dyakida didn't care. She didn't want or need distractions. Plus she wasn't really that good looking anyway.
She didn't want that sort of attention. She just wanted to be left in peace to serve her tribe. So... she really wanted Kaalnia out of their home.
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Posted: Sun Jul 20, 2014 3:10 pm
Bhima's Blade Blades: Wartime Simplicity - 580 words
Her time in the tent was stressful, but the routine of her work was soothing. In the aftermath of the war, many weapons needed repairing, and she was there to repair them. She worked for free, feeling as though it somehow lifted the burden of her uselessness from before. It didn't feel that way, though. Only when she worked until her hands were numb did she feel of use to her people.
The swords were just another pair of crystal butterfly blades, unremarkable and unidentifiable by touch, though she knew they had been handed to her by a sister – the voice, feminine but resonant, and the motion of their antennae as they vibrated the air so near her own, gave them away as kin.
She was too out of it to recognize the voice as her acquaintance, Bhima, and only nodded as she carefully took the swords in hand, added an identifying tag to them, handed the corresponding tag to the woman, and added the blades to the pile of weapons she had yet to repair.
When she got to them, she knew that they were of simple alkidike make – crystal tied within pieces of wood and bound with leather to make a handle. Not, she didn't think, of her own craft, though that didn't matter. There were many other skilled craftswomen among the Alkidike – she was just the youngest.
For the most part, from her inspection, they seemed undamaged, but she tended to them anyway, sharpening their edges and tightening their straps, oiling the leather so that it would remain supple and able to stretch if needed. It was all basic maintainence stuff, done so that, when it came down to life or death, the blades would not fail their weilder.
That was Dyakida's job – it was what she did, her reason to live, and the reason she had not simply let herself die. She held up the blades in the air, testing the weight and grip, just to be sure.
It was good. All was well with these blades. She wrapped them and placed them in the finished pile beside her, stretching and enjoying the brief surge of pleasure and pride she felt at a job accomplished and well done.
And then she moved on to the next set of weapons, and forgot about the swords. As she worked, she wondered how many weapons had lost their masters in this battle. She wondered how many had passed through her hands this day. Some only needed to be restored, and others would soon find a new master to wield them.
She wondered how many warriors had lost their weapons completely in the fight and were now bereft of a part of themselves - one they, thankfully could replace. She tried not to wonder how many warriors had lost things that were irreplacable, like limbs, family, or their own lives.
She thought about it anyway, a weary gloom settling around her and her work. It was a nasty gloom, broken by the brief surges of satisfaction she felt each time she finished fixing a piece. She didn't know what she would do without her work to occupy her, and she didn't want to. She just kept working.
She was so intent on her work that she didn't notice when Bhima returned to pick up her blades, and only nodded her achknowledgement when the tags were returned to their box with a c***k of wood against wood.
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Posted: Sun Jul 27, 2014 9:12 am
Yaholo's Brute Hammer: Delicate Work - 1980 words
Dyakida's fingers danced over the unfamiliar material on her workbench. It was smooth, sensual almost, hard like crystal but soft like flesh. Well, perhaps not quite like flesh.
Stone
She felt the weight of it - It was heavy, which was good: she needed it to be heavy. It was to become a weapon for a very unusual sister, a sister that already bore the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Yaholo was a friend, and he was a good man, and he was an Alkidike. People gave him odd looks for the leaf blood that ran in his veins and his choice of weapon, but what did that matter to her? She could look at nothing, and could not judge what they saw: only what she heard and felt:
What she heard was that he had saved their great mother tree. What she felt was respect.
As his sister and a part of his tribe – no matter what her sisters might think of the matter - she was glad to have his hammer at her side - A hammer she herself would, she had decided, have the honor of making. The thought excited her: Dyakida had never made a hammer before. She had made bows and knives and spears and swords, but never a hammer. She had, however studied them, and had felt how they were put together.
She had wood from a special tree a sap wood from the Tale. When carved into a shape, its sap would flow out and become a resin that, if allowed to harden, would add strength and resilience to the wood – perfect for a weapon, though not for the carving of knicknacks. In the Tale, she had heard, it was used for holding large heavy weapons such as the hammer, and for the backing of shields and the bodies of lances - things that took a heavy beating regularly. It was not an Alkidike wood – their weapons needed light but strong woods that could stand up to some stress. Despite her inexperience with the wood, she set about to carving it anyway, shaping it by touch alone as the sticky sap oozed out and clung to her hands.
When she had finished cutting into the wood, she smoothed the sap and set it to dry in the warmth of the sunlight outside her window. She wiped her hands off and took a break for a snack, thinking – as always – about the next stages of her work.
The stone would be the hardest, figuratively and literally. She worked with wood and crystal, not stone. Surely, though, it could not be too different than crystal? Both were hard, and both were carved with chisels. The moment she set her chisel onto the stone to begin carving it, though, she knew it was very much not the same. She could feel it in the way it lay against the smooth, cool surface of the stone - If she hit the chisel, it would break. Dyakida did not like to break her tools: they were expensive and difficult to make, and she was not willing to break them, even for Yaholo's sake.
"Yitzah? Peyla?" she called to one of her shadows, "Could one of you bring me that sword without a hilt?" She heard rummaging, and soon the small, soft hands of a child set the flat of a cool crystal blade in her outstretched hands. "Thank you." she said, wrapping the wide end with leather and lifting it to the stone. Yes. This would work.... or at least be more expendable than her personal chisel.
Her hammer was too light for this kind of work, so instead she lifted a smaller piece of rock to the end and, with a sudden movement, struck at her chisel into the stone with a clang.
~~~
Dyakida was surprised that the crappy, ruined sword had worked so well. It had been a failure of a blade, damaged too much in the battle to be repaired - so she had made a new blade for the sister and put it on it's old hilt. She could have discarded it but she was glad for the whimsy that had her keep it. She had used it as her makeshift chisel and it was no more than dulled, cracked, partially-shattered crystal now.
The stone, though, was carved perfectly. She ran rough paper - resinous paper with sand on it - over the stone to smooth it. It was no longer nameless, purposeless stone, but the shape of a hammer's head. Her arms ached from the chiseling, and she could feel her hands singing with a thousand sensations from the impacts, but she was pleased. She was doing very well for her first hammer.
Aside from a groove in the center to hold the handle, the hammer was unmarked, freshly carved and sanded smooth. It somehow seemed wrong to leave it that way. She took a spare chisel handle from her toolbox, feeling through it for the right grip, and with some fiddling picked up one of the ruined sword's broken crystalline chips and affixed it as the chisel's blade.
Then, the heavy stone of the hammer head in her lap, she began to carve. The images she tried to move from her mind into the stone were as traditional as the weapon was not - the leaves and branches and flowers of Aisha so that, no matter where he went, their shared Mother's blessings would still be with him, and would protect him.
Aisha did love him, didn't he. Dyakida had heard when he had recieved two lotuses from their mother, twin boys. She had heard the word 'scandal' bandied about Yaholos twins, but it only confirmed her thoughts on the matter: After all, if their Mother did not wish children to be born, they were not born, and yet she had granted twin boys to a hybrid.
Was that not proof that she had an intent - a purpose - for the three of them? Why then, did her sisters insist that the hybrids of their kind were abominations? Dyakida laughed at the bullishness of her sisters, and carved the flowers.
~~~
As she alternated between her commissions and her gift, it took Dyakida several days to finish the carvings. Stone was more difficult than wood to carve, and it gave her some trouble.
Finally, though, the stone was carved to her satisfaction. She ran her hand along it, her fingers dancing among the whorls and petals and reliefs that, she felt, gave the hammer a life of its own.
Now, she decided, it was time to put it together.
The handle, long dried, would not fit perfectly into the hammer as it was, she knew. But, when she applied steam, she would be able to bend it and shape it and make it stay put through what would hopefully be its long battle life. To get steam, though, she would need to be on the lower level of the tree, in the kitchen, where there was a controlled fire and a pot for the water.
She called for a sister, who arrived promptly. They helped Dyakida, carrying the hammer down the staircase with some effort. The Artisan followed behind her, one hand on the wall as a guide, the other hand holding a bundle with the necessary equipment for finishing the hammer – she did not intend to bring it back upstairs afterwards.
She set her things down in the kitchen and started a pot of water boiling on the fire, handling it with learned care and the relative ease of knowing the kitchen very well. She waited until she could feel steam rise from the pot and then, with her sister's help, held the head of the hammer and its shaft over the steam as she bent it into the shape she wanted, pounding it with small hammers until it obeyed her desires. The sap became slightly sticky and wet as the steam teased at it, but dried when she took it away.
“I have no idea what you're doing, Dyakida.” said her temporary assistant.
“Making a gift.”
“It's an awfully heavy gift, Dyakida.”
“You're a warrior...” she held the wooden spurs so that it was tightly in place, cutting off any excesses of wood with her dagger, “You can handle it.” They brought it away from the fire, letting the sap harden into shape. “There.” she said, putting a sticky globule of resin at the top and smoothing it in to seal it, “That should hold together nicely.”
“Do you still need me?” asked the other, her voice tired from the exertion. Dyakida kept herself from smiling.
“Not for now, thank you.”
“Great...” she said, and Dyakida heard the sister walk away.
~~~
Dyakida had used thin, dyed silk thread before in weapons, for tassels and decoration. She had Yitzah label any small skeins of thread she bought with color-specific texture labels, and that helped: she could remember how colors went together, if not the colors themselves.
The wrap she had found for the handle – a lovely piece of dyed hide – was, she had been told, blue and purple, so she had selected thread and gems to match. She'd had Yitzah sort those into separate bowls.
Some of these gems had come all the way from Zena, in the pockets of the trader/healer Rastian. She wondered how he was doing, and when he would next be in Jahuar.
She had heard that he was kin to Yaholo, and in love with a Shifter, so perhaps he would be in the area more often. Though, if he ended up living in Jahuar, he would not have access to Zenan or Sautian goods, would he? That would be a shame, as he was her main trusted source for the items. Still, he was pleasant to speak to, and it would be nice to talk to him, at least.
She sat on a stool in the kitchen area as she finished the hammer, careful to have chosen a seat far out of her sister's way. She had already wrapped the shaft of the hammer with the hide, thickly enough that it would cushion the hands against their own blows, and had wrapped the top – the not-stone part of the hammer - with some of the thread, and had begun to bore the gems into beads. Making holes in gems was easy – she did it all the time – but it was time-consuming and slightly boring work.
Perhaps that would be something she would attempt to teach her silent little assistant. That way, she could foist bead-making duties onto the girl and not have to worry about them. Dyakida felt a little guilty about using the girl in this way, though it was a good idea: Dyakida's time and effort had, in recent years, become valuable – it would be good to save some of it.
She began to thread the beads onto the leftover strands, knotting them against their unraveling, arranging the threads to form tassels and bunches. They were not just for show. Dyakida was going to have them blessed by a wandering mage hybrid she knew as talismans against evil and harm. Whether they would work or not, she had no idea, but it was, she felt, the thought and effort that counted.
Finally, after three warm afternoons of sitting in the kitchen and wrapping threads, she was finished. She picked up the hammer, wincing under its weight, and brought it to the door, propping it up against the inner wall with a grunt.
She brushed her hands off with a smile, anticipating the day she would deliver it to Yaholo. In person, of course, with some help to carry it. She hoped he would like it.
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Posted: Sat Sep 13, 2014 4:26 pm
Briella's Blades – The Harsh Light of Envy
- 1085 words-
“Sanhaza?” Dyakida tapped the woman's elbow politely as she chewed on a snack of stale bread, “Do you mind if I ask you an odd question?”
“Maybe.” As far as Dyakida had been able to tell, Sanhaza was a broad amazon with a habit of eating loudly and smacking her lips. She came by occasionally to visit her daughter, and that was about all Dyakida knew of her personally. However, she lived on the Chibale isles and might know the answers Dyakida sought.
“You would not happen to know Kadriye? The young mystic?”
“I've seen her a few times. Why?”
“Do you mind telling me what she looks like?”
“Why do you care?” said the woman gruffly. Dyakida's expression remained coolly neutral: She was used to gruffness and suspicion. Her sisters had many different opinions about her disability: that it was contagious, that it was weak, that she was a coward, that it somehow made her shifty and untrustworthy. She had come to terms with the fact that she was none of these.
“She's the suitor of my friend.” explained Dyakida calmly, “I am merely curious.”
“Well, she's pretty slender, mage-y I guess, and shes got light markings... 'cause she's a mystic...” Dyakida could feel the woman's shrug reverberate through her arm, “Nothing too interesting about her I guess.”
“Would you mind describing her markings?”
“Uh.” the woman paused. “She looks like she's got skulls and bones all over her. But that doesn't really matter for you, does it?” Dyakida felt the woman move away, wariness prickling the air around her. Dyakida let her move away from her touch. “You ask some strange questions, Artisan... What are you up to?”
Dyakida smiled at the suspicion in her voice. “Nothing” she said, “Nothing at all.” she swallowed her snack and stood up with care, a hand on the table to guide her, “Enjoy your meal.”
She made her way to her workroom, still smiling as she stepped across the threshold. She reached into one of her supply shelves, tapping as she navigated and, finding what she sought, brought out a long, flat crystal and a few pieces of wood. She smirked to herself: she was actually up to something.
She sat at her bench and began crafting, feeling along the long piece of crystal. She chose a spot and gently scored it with her carving tool before striking it with her hammer, shattering it neatly into two twin pieces. She started chipping away at them to form the edges of a new set of butterfly blades, a gift, as she thought about their soon-to-be wielder.
Dyakida knew it was not professional to make weapons for her friends and ask for nothing in exchange, especially when she traded with other sisters for a high grade of goods and services. She liked the act of making gifts, though. It was, somehow, freeing from the confines of commissions. They were less confining, and more interesting to make.
In addition, Briella was special. Briella had stood by Dyakida, through all of their many hardships, both personal and as a family. Some sisters had left, others had remained, but Briella was always there. Always steady. Always her friend.
Once, Dyakida wished that they could be more, but she understood. Dyakida doubted that she would find a wife or even a lover among her kind: few would look beyond the fact that Dyakida could not see. Briella's love for Kadriye had nothing to do with Dyakida's blindness, of course: love was love. Dyakida was happy for her sister, and she wanted to show it in the only way she knew how.
Besides, she knew Briella still used the swords that Dyakida had made for her when she was a Blade, and Dyakida had improved greatly in her craft since then. She had actually been thinking about making Briella a new set of swords for a long time.
She was also testing a new trick in her craft: she had heard of a substance that, when applied to crystal and left there, changed its color in a pleasantly ethereal way. Of course, she had no way of telling if it actually did what it claimed, but she had bought a bottle of the stuff anyway and saw no harm in trying it out.
She carved the blades into their traditional shape, and took out the bottle, feeling the viscous liquid inside slosh in an almost ominous way. She took out a reed and dipped it into the bottle carefully. Practice allowed her to visualize things in her mind, and she was accurate if she was careful, allowing her to do detail work without sight. It took great care and a steady hand, but she possessed both and so she bent down over the swords and began to draw on the design.
She knew the designs she wanted to do, she'd known it for a long time. That was why she had asked about Kadriye's markings. What better way to let Briella know that she approved of the pairing than to paint her lovers markings on her weapons? She traced skull shapes onto the swords, feeling the thick substance stick to the smooth crystal like tree resin. Lifting the pen, she began to draw, along the sword, Briella's pattern of dots and dashes – something Dyakida remembered from their childhood. She set that sword aside and started on its twin, etching the same pattern onto it's surface and setting it out to dry.
She would have to leave them there and then clean them later – that was apparently how it worked. So, she set them aside and worked on the hilts, simple wooden things, and the beaded tassels that would go with them and set them all aside as well, resting as she thought about her friend and the beautiful future ahead of her.
Perhaps Briella and Kadriye would plead to Aisha, and have children. Kadriye would become a mystic and lead their people, and Briella would be at their side, a proud warrior and, perhaps, leader as well. Dyakida thought that was a definite possibility: Briella was capable and intelligent, more so than some of the elders, if the rumors she had heard were correct.
She smiled, thinking of the symbolism of the blades. They would always be together, those two, supporting each other through the hard times in their lives. Yes. A beautiful future, indeed.
Would her own future be so beautiful?
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Posted: Sat Sep 13, 2014 4:32 pm
Kaalnia's Spear – The Dancer
- 645 words-
So. Kaalnia was now a Blade, and wished for a real, grown-up spear of her own. Dyakida had tested the young woman's current spear, given to her as reference, and could feel no problems with it. It was a perfectly good spear, other than the fact that it was basic and unadorned.
The artisan suspected the young woman was only ordering a new weapon attempt to hit on her again, in a roundabout way. Dyakida knew, however, that she was not interested and she had made that very clear on multiple occasions. Kaalnia could not take a hint. She was sure that Kaalnia was a fine young Alkidike, and could appreciate her free spirit.
From afar.
Where her sister Briella had dignity and poise, Kaalnia had a sort of uncaring pride. Where Briella could lead, Kaalnia simply went her own path and just ran into things on the way. They were extraordinarily different people, and Dyakida knew which one's company she preferred.
Kaalnia was just too loud and forward for the reserved artisan. Dyakida worked with stable things like crystal and wood. Kaalnia was too much for her to handle. Dyakida doubted that any other sister would look twice at a cripple like her, but if they did, Dyakida knew she would want to be with someone wiser and calmer than herself, not an overly energetic young woman.
Still, Kaalnia was paying and it was a commission. Dyakida would make the spear for her. She sighed and sat down to her workbench, laying out average materials for crafting the weapon. Normal wood, normal crystal, normal string, and - she felt it thoughtfully – one not-so-normal thing.
Kaalnia had told her to incorporate the talisman, with its magic-infused beads and rune-knotted threads, into the spear. It was something, she was told, that Kaalnia had acquired at the Tournament, though Dyakida had to wonder when she'd gotten it - From what she'd heard, Kaalnia had been in a bad state after her fight, and had been found by her sister talking to a fish in a bubble. She wondered how that fish fared after being dragged to Zena and back – probably not well. Not that Dyakida cared, of course, but it was interesting to wonder when, during that time, Kaalnia had gotten the energy to buy anything else.
She began to shape the shaft into the traditional dowel shape, smoothing it into a more finished form. Kaalnia herself was unfinished, a Blade, perhaps, but definitely nowhere near an adult. She was immature, impulsive, and unpredictable. One day, maybe, she would make a fine warrior, but for now she was like virgin crystal – unworked and slightly useless.
She began work on the staff's head, keeping it simple. She fit the head to the shaft, twisting and pushing it into place before taking a length of fine string and tying the talisman into place just under the head, incidentally securing the spear together. She lifted it, testing the weight.
Weighting, she supposed, would be even more important than usual for Kaalnia's spear. Dyakida had heard that she was a spear dancer, one of those Alkidikes that liked to dance throughout their battle style. They needed spears that could dance with them and not weigh them down.
It did not take much effort to change the weight of the spear: all she needed to do was put the right kind of crystal on the butt of the spear, and to make some carvings on the shaft to change how the weight fell.
So, she made a few basic leafy carvings, secured the crystal at the base, gave it a few test swings and called it a day, setting it aside to give to the young Blade later on. She turned to her other commissions.
She doubted that this would be the last time Kaalnia would bother her ears.
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Posted: Sat Nov 15, 2014 9:51 am
Meta ch. 6: The final battle response: Freedom - 199 words
As Dyakida ran through the woods, her hand in Ceyede's to guide her, she felt a rush of joy answer the wind that whipped through her hair. Her feet felt light as air as they raced over the ground, and a strange giddiness – of running, literally blind, through the forest, her safety in the hand of another person – ovetook her.
She was free. She was being freed, when she had almost dared not to hope. Ethelfleade's plan had been interesting and it had given her a way to attempt to strike back at her captors, but Dyakida hadn't actually thought it would work, not when she had only been able to bring back a few small items of little use.
But it had, and she was free. No longer would she worry about the guards, or the overseer's whip, or what horrors they could wreck on her in the unseen world around her. No longer, because she was free, and Ceyede had freed her. If she wasn't so busy following along and fleeing, she could kiss the woman for this.
For now, though, she wanted to put as much distance between her and the Obans as possible.
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Posted: Sat Nov 15, 2014 10:03 am
Meta ch. 6: The final battle response: As it Should be - 154 words Dyakida was happy for the victory that the Tendajiians had had over the Obans. It gave her a fierce sense of pride in the win, because treaty or not, they had driven those monsters to surrender.
There was talk of rejoicing and, after her ordeal, Dyakida was happy to join in. Peyla, however, tugged at her hand – she wanted to cuddle and spend time alone with her Alkidike. It had been too long since the two of them had been together, and Peyla had been worried.
And, in the wake of everything, Dyakida realized she needed that too. She sat beyond the circle of sound and merriment, smiling as her sprite chattered on her shoulder, telling her – presumably – everything she missed. She leaned her head back against something wooden and savored it – being here, being free, and having her familiar by her side.
Everything was finally as it should be.
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Posted: Sun Nov 23, 2014 11:28 am
In the Silent Darkness - 1212 words Captured... the word slithered through her mind as Dyakida tried not to tremble in the heat of the Oban's tent. She was captured, imprisoned, lost from her homeland and her people and at the mercy of others. It was all too familiar: often, in the years since she had lost her sight, Dyakida had been helpless against the void that surrounded her. She had survived by luck, skill, and sheer determination, but others had always been there to help her.
Now, those others were hostile, her enemy. She knew she was alone for the time being, though her dagger had been removed and her hands were bound so there was little she could do. So far, the two female Obans that had found her had treated her well – better than expected for such a cruel people – and she wondered what they had planned for her.
Perhaps they were figuring it out now, away from her keen ears. She could hear many other things, though: the ringing of hammers on wood, the clang of metal, ad the calling of people in their tasks. Obans she reminded herself bitterly, Not people.
She could also hear chopping, a sound of metal biting into wood, and it puzzled her until she heard the tremendous crash of something mighty succumbing to gravity and inevitability. That was when she realized that they were cutting down the great trees of Jahuar. The thought brought rage into her heart, and it boiled inside of her without an outlet: they were defiling and destroying her homeland. These thieves of people and freedom and life were also destroying a place. Every time she heard Oban voices outside the tent, she wanted to tell them how horrible they were, to spit her well-deserved wrath into their faces, but she knew better.
First off, she was safest in here, in this tent, where she was – in some respect – protected by the two Obans that had captured her. Outside the tent was an infinity of dangerous unknown, one she dared not navigate without assistance. If what she had heard was correct, then she was being hidden from the main army for the Oban girl's personal use, which wasn't something she wanted to contemplate too deeply. However, that meant that the army out there was not aware of her in here, not yet. That was an advantage she had to keep as long as possible.
Second off, she knew better. Dyakida was a rational person, and she prided herself on her rationality. She knew that screaming at the Obans would be irrational, immature, and would get her nowhere. Especially if her existence was somehow revealed, she wanted them to treat her as a dignified and respectful person, not as a rabid troublemaker. She could do more with words and actions than with ferocity, and it was better to go along and get along... it would reveal more avenues of escape, and more allies to help her.
A sudden wind brought a storm of shouting. Dyakida reeled in the confusion as rough hands dragged her out of her seated position and shoved her towards the openness of the tent's exit.
“C'mon, greenie.” snarled a voice, upsettingly close to her ear, “Out with you.”
She stumbled, her feet sore and aching from sitting so long. The blazing heat of the camp's pounded earth scorched her feet, but there were other pains to deal with as she was forced along.
“We found one!” called the voice behind them, “One of the Nobles thought she could have a pet, I'm guessing.”
“Good work.” said another voice, clearer and smoother than the one that held her. Dyakida didn't like his voice. She felt hands touch her face and move it, from side to side.
Inspecting she realized, resisting, jerking her face away.
“Well well. It's a … whatever these monster women are called. A pretty one, too.”
“Alkidike, sir.” provided another voice, nearby. Dyakida's antennae were overwhelmed by what appeared to be a crowd surrounding her, delivering a constant stream of vibration into her head. It was too much.
“Put her with the others. We'll find something to do with her...” Dyakida could almost hear the leer in his voice. “And... those things at her belt... Tools? Confiscate them and any other items.” he ordered. She felt a pat to her cheek, warm and unwelcome. “Welcome to the camp of your future masters, miss Alkidike.” he purred, before leaving in a whoosh of wind – a cape – Dyakida thought, absurdly, he is wearing a cape.
Rough hands felt down her legs, undoing her set of tools and her minor jewelery with a lack of care that appalled her.
“Ronir, you dog.” said a female voice, jokingly. “That's not right, feeling up the prisoner like that.”
“My husband would agree.” said the rough voice, amused, “If you're so concerned, then you help me out.”
“Yeah.” said the voice. Another set of rough hands, at her upper body now, poking and prodding and feeling: Dyakida had never felt so exposed and violated in her life.
Finally the hands withdrew, her skin twitching and tingling in their wake. “That's it then.” said the female voice, “Guess its to the pens with her, hmm?”
“Aye.” said the male. Dyakida felt him shove her forward again, and she staggered, struggling to keep her balance.
“Hey, any idea how the greenies get that tall?” she asked.
“Alkidikes.” he corrected, self-importantly, “And no idea. Maybe they eat their men or something.” he laughed.
“We do not.” said Dyakida quietly.
“Who said you could talk, prisoner?” he said, just behind her ear, giving her a sudden shake, “You speak when spoken to.” his voice changed – back at his female friend, she supposed. “Aye, I have no idea.”
“Huh. Well, We'll find out, I guess.” she said, “See you at the dining tent?”
“Aye.” he shoved Dyakida again. She could feel her flesh object – she was certain to have bruises later. She had to be thankful, of course, if it was no worse than bruising. Earthlings – Obans especially – did worse things. “Get a move on, Alkidike.” he said.
She moved. She moved until she was shoved in an open space and left there. All around her was the soft chatter of prisoners. Their eyes, she knew, would be on her.
She used their chatter to navigate to a sort of shed with a wall, and sat at it, rubbing her newly-untied hands until feeling returned to them. She turned her head upwards, listening to the distant creature calls of Jahuar, and missed her home.
Why had she left it to go to Neued in the first place? She was no warrior, and her use ended the moment battle began. She could have been safe at home, making her weapons, and yet she had walked onto the front of battle. It had been foolish, and now she was paying the price. She closed her eyes – though it made no difference – and listened to her fellow prisoners, the guards, anything but the screaming desperation that was building in her breast.
She wanted to be free.
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