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 Posted: Wed Jan 21, 2015 5:32 am
Yitzah's practice bow – Small Flower
- 753 words-
Dyakida ran her hands over the soft wood that Yitzah had handed her, thoughtful and almost pensive. She placed her hand on the youngling's head; “Yitzah,” she said softly, smiling, “Why don't you and Peyla go play? The both of you have been working so hard these past few days... You've earned a break.” she felt the little girl begin to shake her head, and could almost hear the beginning of a chime of protest from her sprite. She smiled. They were both so predictable. “... And while you're at it, you can find me a few materials.” She heard a soft 'Oh' from both of them, and knew, even before she heard the flutter of Peyla's wings or felt Yitzah's head move away, that they were leaving.
She waited until Peyla's chatter and Yitzah's defiant, insistent footsteps no longer echoed through the stairway of the tree she called home and then she relaxed, stretching languidly. Her back creaked, sore from long hours of hunching over her craft – she was sure that, by the time she was an old Alkidike, she would he stooped and broken. But what did it matter, if countless sister's could credit her with their lives and victories? She would be old and stooped, yes, but she would be happy, too, and part of a thousand stories.
She rubbed the base of her back, enjoying how her own muscles felt. She was happy now, or at least in a good mood. She had a few commissions ready to be picked up, and none left to work on, which meant she could relax and work on her personal projects, the ones without obligation or time constraint.
In other words, fun.
She turned her attention to the piece of wood again, stroking it gently. It was a soft wood, not of particularly good quality, but long and well-grained. It would make a decent bow, if she worked on it a bit and gave it a decent length of string. She had access to better wood, of course, and had made far better bows, but the intention she had for this bow didn't need it to be good. Just good enough.
She thought about Yitzah, and how the child had been such a help to her these recent months. Without her, Dyakida would have managed, but it was so much easier to have a second pair of small alkidike hands around to assist. Peyla could only do so much, and – it seemed – what Peyla could not do, Yitzah could. She wondered if the girl would be silent forever, and found herself regretting the girl's inevitable rise to adulthood.
One day, Yitzah would be a blade, and would no longer follow Dyakida around like a shadow. Dyakida was saddened at the thought. Of course, by that time, her esteem would be such that she could easily find other apprentices (likely older) or assistants (likely younger), but she knew she would miss Yitzah when she grew up.
But Yitzah would grow up. She would fight, as befitted a sister of the Alkidike tribe, and she would find love. Or not. One day, Yitzah would be a woman, and Dyakida was not going to fight that. Let her be a woman. Let her take her mother's and sister's place in the tribe.
Dyakida would make sure she was a credit to them all.
She began to carve the wood, a simple task and one she had done many times before, carefully shaping the wood into the traditional shape of an unstrung Alkidike bow. It was a simple bow, unadorned save for the rough chips of its carving. Dyakida could have smoothed those out, but there was no need. Besides, she liked the texture it added and the uniqueness it brought to the otherwise unremarkable practice bow. She took a string and strung the bow experimentally, testing it before unstringing it and painting it with the resin that would enhance its tension and keep away rot. Normally, she would put four layers of resin on – two for tension while it was straight, one while bent and one while strung, for shape. Then, she would sand it to maintain smoothness.
But this was only a practice bow, and it didn't need all those steps. The resin dried and she oiled it down, wrapping the bowstring around it and setting it aside to await the girl's return. Then, moving to the sun-warmed window of her room, Dyakida laid down and took a well-deserved nap.
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Posted: Wed Jan 21, 2015 6:05 am
Through the Heart
- 158 words-
Dyakida listened to Yitzah's running steps, stunned into silence, a pain beginning deep inside her gut.
I hate you Yitzah had said. The words had fallen into silence, but they still echoed through Dyakida's mind and her heart.
I hate you.
Dyakida put her face in her hands, rubbing her eyes as she felt them p***k and sting with oncoming tears.
After all they had been through together, after all the training Dyakida had given her, Yitzah hated her. Even if it was the shout of an angry child, meaningless and temporary, it still stung and the fact remained: it had been hate and anger that had brought back Yitzah's voice at last.
Dyakida sobbed into her hands, miserable for the night.
And yet, the next morning found her surprisingly resolute. No longer did she have doubts about going to war. She would go. She would do her part. There was little else to hold her back, now.
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Posted: Wed Jan 21, 2015 6:12 am
More Alone than Ever
- 205 words- Hiding in Neued, in the quiet, fear-filled nothingness of the newly-conquered Oban camp gave her time to think, more time than she had ever wanted to have.
She did not regret sending Yitzah home to the Isles, and especially now that they had lost so terribly. She would not want Yitzah to be here. Neither hiding, nor a prisoner, or even at the new camp (wherever it was) worrying.
Better that the girl should hate her and be safe than to worry and do something foolish like try to rescue her. It had been hours since she sent out Peyla for help. Dyakida refused to lose all hope yet, but rescue was impossible. There were too many Obans, and they were everywhere in the ruined town. She could hear them. She didn't even know if any of her sisters, the ones she knew and cared about, were safe. She didn't even know if they could rescue her, or if they were captured or dead already.
But Yitzah was safe. For certain, she was safe. Under Mother Aisha's boughs, she would be, playing and shooting her bow. Safe. Away from this hell. Away from Dyakida's cowardice and the foolish bravery of Tendaji. Away from it all.
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Posted: Fri Jan 30, 2015 10:06 pm
Samoset's Bow, Kennet's Spear – Aisha's Leaves
- 1053 words-
Dyakida tapped her worktable thoughtfully.
So.
Samoset and Kennet, the halfbreed children of a halfbreed, wished to become Blades of her tribe. Their father had chosen the path of the hammer, as nontraditional as could be for an alkidike, and yet these boys wished to return to the traditions of their grandmothers and sisters.
Dyakida knew many of their sisters would not approve. She knew the twins would face serious resistance to their paths in life, from their hybrid nature and hybrid parent. Their gender, too, would stand forever in their way no matter what they tried to do. And yet, Mother Aisha had chosen to make them this way, male and different, and had granted their father his wish when she denied so many others.
Thus, Dyakida saw no issue with them pursuing the path of the Amazon and Sacred heart. In fact, she would help them.
She brought out several lengths of wood from her personal supply, feeling them for the appropriate hardness and thickness and grain texture. She set aside a few lengths to feel over in more detail, and also a few pieces of crystal and some feathers.
She knew already what she would make for the twins. She had become very good at reading how personalities related to weapons and, though she still made mistakes (hence why she typically waited until someone commissioned a weapon from her before making it) she was very certain about which of the Alkidike weapons that would suit the twins.
Samoset was full of himself, but dedicated to others. Distant, yet close at hand, not right for a blade, yet she did not think he would take the path of the spear either. He did not have the right personality to be able to stab an enemy in the stomach and back away. No, he needed more distance than that: The bow was for him.
Kennet, however, was an angry young man, yet sensitive. Too sensitive for the blades, but too combative for the bow. She had noticed he also wanted to please. Yes... she thought, smiling as she tapped one of the crystals, The traditional spear for him.
A bow and a spear - for two prentices who would need to fight just to be worth the same as her, a cripple. She put away the lower quality woods, reserving one piece to make a few arrows to go with the bow. She could not, of course, use the highest quality woods, not without bringing too much attention to the two. She needed wood and crystal that would do their job and do it well, but wouldn't drive the other sisters into a fury. Besides, she needed the really good materials for commissions. She could, however, spare some above-average quality goods for her dear young friends.
She set the materials on the table: wood and string, decorative crystal and the large bulky crystal sheets that became blades, leather for wrapping, leather for the quiver, feathers, and sewing supplies.
She warmed up with a few arrows, testing her tools, as she often did, on the crystal tips and wooden shafts and the careful fletching work. She tied the finished products with string and set them aside for later as she tended to her tools, making them ready for their important work.
She heard one of her sisters stomp up the stairs, recognizing the slightly off and limping stride of one of the warriors of their tree. A spearwoman. Dyakida considered it a good omen, and set to work on the spear's shaft.
Kennet was a prentice, so she kept the design reserved and simple, tracing the mere suggestion of leaves near the top and butt of the shaft. She oiled it and set it aside to work on the blade. Again, simple and traditional but, as she made it sharp enough to cut, she scored its core gently, as if it had the veins of leaves. She wished she could see how the light refracted off of it, and wondered how obvious it was, what she had done to it. She only wanted to suggest their leaf-tribe heritage, and make sure they were proud of it too. Aisha had wished them to be proud, otherwise she would not have granted it to them - So, Dyakida would make sure that they bore it in the defense of their tribe.
She bound the head to the shaft, checked the balance of it with a careful hand, and modified it with a small, perfectly round crystal that she attached to the butt. She hefted it again, standing up to give it a few practice swings, swipes at a safely endless darkness.
She smiled in approval at the way it moved in her hands, and covered the head of the spear with a sheath as she set it aside.
She sat down to work on Samoset's weapon. Bows were not difficult to make - All one really needed was to make sure the wood of the bow remained tense, flexible, and hard to break. All that meant, really, was using the right wood and making sure you brought out all of its good traits.
She set to carving a perfect piece of wood, smoothing it and, very subtly, giving it leafy ends. She strung it experimentally, testing it and modifying it as needed, before she unstrung it and began the regimen of resins that would allow it to keep its shape for a long time to come. She went all out this time, two layers unstrung, one layer bent, one layer strung, and a sanding down and oiling after it was dry and unstrung. This was no mere practice bow she was making. This bow would have to see them through as a blade, and be worthy of their hands.
“You two have a great fate...” she murmured as she set it, with its string wrapped around it's middle, with its arrows and sibling spear. ”I hope you find it.”
As for Samoset's accompanying quiver... Yitzah would help her with that. She stretched and took out one of her projects in progress to work on while she waited for her assistant to return, thinking about just how far the twins – and all of the young ones of the tribe – could go. If they were only allowed to do so.
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Posted: Fri Jan 30, 2015 10:25 pm
[/After the war and her capture, the concept of a festival hadn't felt quite right. Celebration? After all she – and they – had all been through? It seemed incongruous. It was.
As Dyakida had explored the fair with Votzhem's guidance, she had realized that that was the point. It was joy after sorrow, play after war, fun after despair. She felt herself relax as the sounds of gaiety surrounded her, just a little bit.
It did help that people were buying her weapons, and she had a decent amount of coin and goods to trade for items and souvenirs, but she didn't honestly buy much. The festival was overwhelming and she, not long after the game with the clunking balls, told Votzhem to take her back to her stall.
But it was the good kind of overwhelming, the kind that made her feel, afterwards, good. Very good. As if she could, finally, close the lid on the memories of that long day in the storage shed in Neued. As if she could, finally, escape. color]
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Posted: Sun Apr 19, 2015 7:48 am
Silver Flowers – Dyakida and Lerin- 256 words-
Dyakida had plans for that resin.
The next day, she had Peyla return her to the resin trees, where she gathered the thick sap into small collecting jars by feel and set up more gathering points. She brought the resin back to her workbench and made several experimental mixes.
This resin was good for preserving delicate things, but Dyakida's intentions were martial – as always – and she wanted to see what properties it could impart – other than aesthetic ones – to her weapons. It was not a resin she had worked with before, and she wondered what it was called.
Named or not, she soon learned that it was a thin, brittle resin that could be painted over surfaces and would harden into a hard coat without adding weight. It would not flake, but it also would not bend and it was strong enough to hold a soft thing in a shape for a long time. This was great for decorative leaves and petals, which she added to weapons to give them an added flourish that their owners appreciated (though she could not), but for the weapons themselves...
Well, they reinforced spear and arrow shafts, but hard brittleness was no good for bows and the thinness was no good for blades – though it did work decently as a quick repair for crystalline blades.
Either way, she felt – with the war looming in the near horizon – that the added knowledge was productive, and was glad that the shifter had led her there.
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Posted: Thu Apr 30, 2015 3:35 pm
A Long Way- Dyakida Crafting Solo – Kaalnia's Warrior Spear
- 1054 Words
Dyakida ran her hands along the finished wooden haft of the new spear, thinking about what she wanted to carve into it. It would ultimately be Kaalnia's new spear, the energetic Alkidike who had annoyed and intrigued Dyakida for years and had somehow, despite being a flirtacious fool, managed to get herself promoted to the rank of Warrior.
Dyakida sighed. Not 'somehow', she admonished herself: Kaalnia had worked hard to reach that rank, and she deserved it. Dyakida had just never expected such a feat of Kaalnia. Certainly the incorrigible annoyance she had been years ago would not have been worthy of that rank. But, inexplicably, Kaalnia had grown up and, if the rumors were true, was to be a mother.
Kaalnia. A mother. It was so unbelievable that Dyakida would have laughed if the information hadn't come from a reliable source near the Mother Tree. Apparently, Aisha had granted Kaalnia's plea, and even now, a lotus blossomed from Her branches. As she was now, Dyakida concluded reluctantly, Kaalnia would make a good mother. It was not so long ago that Kaalnia had been a child herself, perhaps not in body, but in attitude. That could be a strength or a weakness, depending on the child.
Goddess... what sort of child would blossom from that lotus? An active little hair-pulling beast? A born explorer, going continually where she did not belong? Or something wholly beyond expectations, a daughter that was to her mother as night was to day?
After some consideration, Dyakida settled on a traditional root design for the spear stave and set it aside to put the finishing touches on the spear head. She would carve to balance, and only to there. Intricacy, she had learned, was not to get in the way of utility, and this spear had to be well-weighted to deal with Kaalnia's battle style. She had heard it had only become more active with age. She could believe it.
Dyakida looked forward to meeting this child that had had the courage to come into existence for such an energetic mother. This, she realized with a start, was also a change in the way things were: these days, she had begun to think of children as less repugnant little noisemaking monsters and, instead had begun to think of them as proto-alkidikes. Perhaps the beginnings of a potentially heroic story, a story that she, as the provider of weapons, would be able to shape. Their chatter no longer stung her ears, but intrigued them. Their hands no longer felt sticky and grimy, but soft and as-yet unformed.
Goddess bless, she didn't hate children anymore.
She nearly dropped her half-done spear at this revelation, which would have been slightly disastrous because then she would have to grope around the floor for it and, unwittingly, might injure herself on the bladed tip. Instead, she gripped it tightly, staring sightlessly at it and at nothing at all.
Somehow, though, while she was not paying attention, something she had thought set about herself had changed.
What else about me she wondered, has changed without me realizing it?
She was sure there were other things, lurking unknown behind her thoughts, things that had been different not a few years back. But she could think of none, save the children. She blamed – in a sense -Yitzah for that – the girl had, figuratively, opened her eyes to a lot of things. She knew Yitzah hated her now, but teenagers did that: they hated, they fought - and if they were lucky – they survived to know better. The relationship between her and her former assistant was strained, but one day, Yitzah would be a great force in the tribe, and Dyakida knew, when that day came, she would be proud of her regardless.
Goddess' roots, she would be so proud. It was as if...
It is as if she is my daughter.
It was a startling thought. Dyakida frowned, stunned, tapping the wood of the spear thoughtfully. She had never wanted children, never even thought of going to Aisha to plead for a lotus of her own. Not even once. The idea had been one that Dyakida would only scoff at. Her? Children?
Absolutely not.
But now, as she thought about it, it was not so absolute. She missed Yitzah. She missed the sense of having a being beside her, brimming with potential that was hers to mold and hers alone. She missed the little hands that would hand her things, the eyes that would see for her and find the colors she needed amidst the tangle of string.
Maybe she would want children, after all... Maybe, if things went well... Maybe with Ceyede...
She stopped her thoughts there, feeling the flush on her cheeks, and put Kaalnia's unfinished spear aside for later. She didn't have the focus for it now; she needed to take a walk and calm her mind. Why had Ceyede come up in her thoughts at all? It wasn't as though the two of them were in a relationship, or anything more than close friends. Or were they? Ceyede had rescued her from Neued, after all. She was a lively conversationalist and, more than that, nice to be around.
But that meant nothing. The thought was just a stray thought, mixed into the other stray thoughts that buzzed in her mind. She took a deep breath and rubbed her forehead tiredly: She needed a break. She stood up, calling her sprite to her.
“Peyla,” she asked, when she heard the sprite's distinctive chimes, “Have you changed at all? These past years?” It was less a question for the sprite, who's confused chirping emphasized that she had not understood at all, and more a question for herself. Had Peyla changed? Would she notice? Dyakida held out her hand for her sprite and grimaced. “Lets go for a walk.” she said, brushing a few dredlocks out of her face in aggravation. Yes. She needed a walk to get these thoughts out.
And then, after that, maybe a nap. And then she could complete Kaalnia's spear. After that effort, she knew, her mind would be clear again, free from these convoluted and confusing and outright bizzare thoughts...
That was, of course, if she wanted to be free of them in the first place.
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Posted: Tue May 12, 2015 12:01 pm
Blades for a Young Hero
Crafting Solo: Votzhem's Blades - 1051 Words -
Dyakida had heard about Votzhem. She did not think it was possible for anybody to not have heard about him. When a halfbreed crosses the entirety of Tendaji to be with his mother's tribe, it was certainly news. Dyakida knew many Alkidike who respected him for that alone. Moreso, he had somehow made his way out of the Dark Woods alive with a slain Menzuri to his name. He was impressive, that was for sure, young but with a life story already worthy of the great heroes of legend. She also knew of people who tossed his accomplishments aside, who dismissed him out of hand for his gender and mixed blood. Or, arguably worse, attributed his accomplishments to that of a monstrosity, a freak that should not exist, doing things he should not be able to do.
From the way Kaalnia had talked about him, Dyakida knew he was more than that – surprisingly so. Dyakida had heard all about him and Kaa's adventures, every fight and argument detailed with Kaalnia's usual, energetic, style. Something about him drove Kaalnia up a wall. So, when Dyakida had been told that Kaalnia would be bringing this Votzhem by her home to commission a set of weapons more suited for a blade than a Zenan barbarian, Dyakida had had certain expectations in mind... More along the lines of a fierce and tough fighter like Kaalnia, with a grumpier attitude than the cheerful Alkidike, a potentially slicing wit, and an aura of rugged, wild danger.
Yet, when he had come by to see her, he had been completely other than what she had anticipated. He was polite and respectful, negotiating but agreeable, and very willing to find her the materials she had asked for and pay her price. He had the accent and rough language Dyakida associated with the highlands, but was so reasonable that Dyakida had been taken off guard. He was, she affirmed, more reasonable than Kaalnia. Especially than Kaalnia.
Votzhem had even gone above and beyond what she had asked him to do. Not only had he brought her the materials she had asked for without complaint, but he had given her more than she had asked for – materials for other weapons and escapades. She had accepted them gratefully, and her hands and tools danced and tapped along the crystal and wood as she formed them into two short, sharp bladed weapons. His choice of weapon was another incongruity for Dyakida. She had always believed that someone's choice of weapon would match their personality, but here, with Votzhem, she didn't see him with dual blades: he was too cautious, too careful, too patient. If she'd had to guess, she would have determined him a spear-wielder or bow-wielder. But even there, he wasn't a match. He was too direct for a spear and too fierce, yet, for a bow. He matched no weapon Dyakida knew.
So, perhaps, it was one she did not know? Mentally, as she shaped the blades, she ran through the possibilities. He was a half-earthling, so it would make sense that he would have naturally gravitated towards one of those classes, but then turned to the way of the Blade to be true to his tribe. This made sense to Dyakida, though she thought it was a shame to be pushed away from one's true path. She knew how painful it could be, but also even someone who had willingly given up the path of an earthling would not find solace with the Alkidikes. Votzhem had chosen a rough life.
But from what? Dyakida felt she might have a clue, a single hint as to Votzhem's true calling, beyond his tribe. The blades she was crafting were special, not beyond what would be permitted a Blade, but not usual Blade fare. They were made of a specific kind of crystal and carved with tiny flaws and channels that would allow them to carry and hold magic. It was clear that Votzhem was headed down the path of a Sacred Heart, to become one of those warriors of the Alkidike that used magic with their weapons.
Could it be, then, that Votzhem would have otherwise been a magic user? Somehow she couldn't imagine him blasting his foes with volcanic heat and flame as her friend Biroki did, nor could she imagine him being patient enough to be a healer. He wasn't in tune with the spirits as some earthlings were, and he didn't seem to have much power over words, and he was too utilitarian and practical to bother with the power inherent in words. So, then, what?
Dyakida did not know, and she knew that speculating was useless. He was a Blade now, and forever. A path, once chosen, was binding. In her case, her path had been chosen for her by the loss of her sight, and it had been, in the end, the right path for her. But right path or not, Votzhem had decided to become a part of their tribe and he would be such until he returned to Aisha in death. There was nothing he, nor their irate and prejudiced sisters, could do about it.
Satisfied with her musings, Dyakida gently ran a sanding cloth over the blades, polishing them, before setting them neatly in their hide-wrapped hilts. She tested them, twice each, to make sure they were steady before tying them together and setting them aside. She paused before moving on to her next project, savoring her thoughts.
Those blades, she knew, would serve the hybrid well. After all, she had crafted them. His life was so interesting already, and he had the potential to be even more than he was. She would not be surprised if she heard about him in the future. She would not be surprised if he became a legend. Nor would she be surprised if their sisters ignored his deeds until his gender was lost to history. Such was the way of things. Either way, she hoped to be privy to the next stage of his story, to see where he went next with it and to help him reach the greatness he so deserved. Such was, after all, her role. Such was the lot of a crafter of weapons. And she would have it no other way.
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Posted: Thu Jun 04, 2015 8:52 am
Dyakida rubbed her sore jaw, still aching from the blow though the Elder had managed to replace her tooth. She was not to chew hard or heavy things, and she had to keep the bandages on, but Dyakida was grateful. She did not want the reminder of such barbarism from one of her own sisters to linger in her mouth.
The situation got worse and worse with every passing week. Sisters turned against those who they once called sister, casting them out because Aisha had chosen to gift them with with the blood of another. Dyakida did not like this change in her world and she refused to accept it. Her halfblooded brothers and sisters deserved her craft as much as any pureblood and she would not back down though her sisters might brandish her own weapons at her.
Still, she was an Alkidike. This was who she was. This was what she was. If her tribe went to war, that was the side she would take. There was no choice there, only obligation and love.
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Posted: Wed Jun 17, 2015 3:47 pm
Politics
Solo - 766 Words - Dyakida lay in the shade of her tree home, contemplating her loyalty to her tribe.
Her arms ached after a hard day's work of crafting weapons, which she was very busy with these days. So many sisters wanted weapons. Some of them were barely prentices, let alone Blades. Thanks to the Obans and their attacks, her people had gotten a taste of war and conquest. True to the warrior spirit, they apparently thirsted for more. All of her sisters seemed to want a chance of glory, whether they actually wanted the war itself, and so they all wanted weapons to fight it with. Even young Kiunyki had come to her asking for a weapon, and Dyakida did not deny her. She did not deny any of her customers.
Dyakida, however, was just glad that she had been freed from the obligation to fight. Her sisters had no choice, they had to either be willing to fight or willing to leave; such was the atmosphere of the day. Dyakida did not agree with the politics boiled beneath her sister's goals. She had always felt that Earthlings and Alkidike alike had their place in the world, and so she was happy with her Jahuaran home and her peaceful life. If she had not been blinded, she was not sure if she could do what would be asked of her: She was not sure if she could fight in a war she didn't believe in.
And war was indeed on the horizon, even if some didn't know it yet. It was just politics and posturing for now, inward struggles being projected outward on the Earthlings. Dyakida knew, however, that once a dominant stance had been established, there would be serious problems. Sister could easily turn against sister.
Already, the halfbreeds and their kin were assaulted, harassed, and cast out of their own homeland. Their sympathizers – those who disagreed with their treatment but had no family ties to them - would be next. Dyakida herself had not been immune – already she had been the subject of many angry jeers and defamations. She served any sister who called upon her craft, be they pureblood or partblood, male or female. Anyone born of Aisha's boughs was owed her loyalty and support, and this was a stance that many did not share.
But that was how she felt, and that was why she was glad not to fight. In a sense, Dyaida would be on the battlefield anyway, her weapons in the hands of both sides, taking the lives of both sides. She could see it clearly, this looming civil war, and the irony that her sisters didn't seem to be able to see it was not lost on her. They were blinded by the ideals of glory and conquest, propelled forward by their pride and belligerence, and they would not realize their mistakes until they were too far in to retreat.
Did the Mystics realize this was coming? Eshe was wise and kind, but many no longer listened to her words. Her apprentices were young and inexperienced, though Dyakida had heard that the youngest mystic agreed with the extremists and had gained a following. That was worrying – if Kadriye also agreed, or was subordinate to the Aeselia, then that would be the direction that their tribe would charge, headlong, blood and all. Unless the elders stepped in...
The question was, did the Elders see this fate too? They ought to know it – they were renowned for their age-granted wisdom, which should give them some power of foresight. If so, then why had they not yet stopped the fierce bloodlust that was consuming her people? Surely, neither mystic nor elder wanted Sisters to spill the blood of Sisters.
Or did they? Dyakida knew of some elders who had talked of cleansing their people and purifying the Alkidike race of the “hybrid plague.” If they were behind this, if their faction had somehow become dominant, could they actually want that sort of bloodshed? Could they be trying to incite a murderous and genocidal war? It was a chilling, reprehensible thought, and Dyakida felt herself shiver despite the universal Jahuar heat.
Honestly, though, there was little she could do. She was respected, definitely, but as a crafter. Though that gave her some immunity from her taunts, she had never gone to war as a warrior and so she would never have the respect afforded to an Elder. All she could do was show her bravery by voicing her piece and pray that someone listened... before it was too late for reason.
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Posted: Tue Jul 14, 2015 8:53 am
Dyakida wasn't sure what to make of Maya's appearance at the festival. She couldn't forgive Maya for the loss of her home, nor shake the resentment she still retained for her friends betrayal. As many sisters followed Maya, Dyakida could not help but remember that other time, long ago, when she had been in Maya's shadow. But she was no longer a warrior, no longer a bow-woman, and she could do no good in the fight.
Instead, she cowered, remaining home with the others who could not fight. She was silent as she waited in the now too-quiet Isles, listening to the oldest of her tribe talk. Dyakida often spent time with them, sitting in a circle as they crafted and socialized. She was, by far, the youngest of their number, and yet they had accepted her among them. They were valuable sources of information and she owed her adeptness with her craft to their advice and kindness. She had allies here, but today enough of them were caught up in the fervor, longing for the battlefield, that Dyakida no longer felt at home among them. They never called her a coward, quite possibly never intended it, but when Dyakida made her excuses and went back to her shelter with her projects, that was how she felt.
She was a coward, without the will to change anything one way or another. She was a coward, without strength, without courage, without anything. Her tribe was tearing itself apart, slipping into a hole that she didn't think they could emerge from – she could see it, as clear as any day had ever been. It was beginning – it was already happening – and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
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Posted: Wed Feb 10, 2016 7:56 pm
Kids These Days - Dyakida and Vollerei - 205 words
Allies were hard things to come by these days. Sisters who had been friends before began to drift away, drawn by speech of relentless strength. There was no room for a blind artisan in their philosophy of warriors and, to differing degrees, someone unable to fight was useless. Tolerated, at best, because of her pure heritage.
Others didn't ascribe to that part of the philosophy, but they harassed her clientele for their mixed race, or non-Alkidike leanings, or love of men. Their harassment trickled back to Dyakida, interrupting her work and darkening her thoughts.
If the extreme elements had their way, once they were done with the hybrids, they would start on anyone else they did not like. Dyakida knew the respect she posessed was both hard earned and precarious. It could shatter in an instant. When the extremist elements finally turned to the crippled among their own kind, Dyakida knew she needed Sisters who would stand by her, lest her greatest fears be realized and her own weapons be used against her.
She had met one today amidst the youthful gaggle of aggressive fools. There were still sisters who saw a picture bigger than themselves and their tribe, and Dyakida was glad for it.
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Posted: Sun Feb 28, 2016 7:56 am
Remembering the Past - Versatile Prompt961 words-
Dyakida remembered the wars. She remembered them all too well. Every night – or whenever she chose to sleep – some element of them entered her dreams; The sobs of the dying in their tents... her captivity to the Obans... the feelings of helplessness, as her sisters marched off to war against their own... These were recurrent themes of her dreams and her nightmares, leaking into other dream narratives as she tried to reconcile herself with them. She never had the sort of nightmares that she knew others had – that Kaalnia had said she had had, long ago, after the tournament. But she had these.
Her dreams were the only place that vision, in some form, remained. Strangely colored, outlined, abstract assumptions of shapes haunted them like ghosts, illustrating her dreams with eerie beauty. Dyakida liked to dream because of this, though textures, smells, and sounds were far more vivid and lifelike than any of the caricatures and shapes that floated in the dreamscape. War did not have an exclusive take on the negative elements of her dreams, of course - The trauma of her blinding, the burning of her home, the ever-present fear of rejection by her tribe, the neediness of the young, fear for Peyla's safety... all of these cycled through her dreams, churning it all into a mass of allegory, metaphor, and problem solving. She also dreamed about her craft at times, creating impossible weapons in her dreams that she could never make in the waking world.
These were normal things to dream about. Dyakida was not concerned, nor did she think they held a hidden meaning. They were just her, exploring the labyrinth of her mind, with all of its traps and fears and joys.
The war, however, had been real. She would never forget her time of captivity during the Oban war. She would never forget how they treated her – she had been, barely, a person to them. She had made them weapons - fixing the balance of their swords, sharpening their blades, fletching new arrows – working under the threat of punishment and the watchful eyes of an overseer. Their whips had licked her skin several times. It had hurt.
She was assessed and appraised, even when in earshot. She had plotted escape – that of herself and of the other prisoners – amid discussions of her value as a slave. She would bring in a good sum to the army's coffers, she had heard them say, her flaw of blindness offset by her rarity (as an Alkidike) and craft skills. They discussed where to sell her – to a blacksmith in the city, to the king's palace, to the royal armory, or simply keep her with their company. The blacksmith, she had heard them say, was less likely to be able to pay their price.
In assigning a price to her, they had taken away that which made her, her. They had stripped her of her tools – of anything she could conceivably use to strike back at them, intellectually, physically, or with her craft. They had robbed her of her walking staff, and had laughed at her blindness as she staggered in confusion. They had shoved her into the cramped prison quarters and broken what promises they made to her – better food, better water, more comfort, they had said when she had agreed to work with them. And, before that, protection. She had gotten neither. They had not cared about her. She had hoped, as she escaped with Ceyede, that all the Obans would be killed in the battle to come... but alas, they had surrendered. Dyakida had not been satisfied with that verdict, but what could she do? She was but a blind weaponcrafter, of another tribe. She was powerless to change the fate of nations.
Just as she was powerless when the Extremists rose amidst her sisters, spitting their poison. She had stood against them, but they had no respect for her. Though more than a few of them bore her weapons, they saw her as barely a Sister, unworthy of their attention. Some had harassed her, even threatened to cull her from the tribe. Such threats were not uncommon, and Dyakida had friends who would prevent such a fate from happening to her. She had not been afraid of the Extremists.
But just because she was afraid did not mean that her soul did not ache as they split off from the tribe and set out to war against the Earthlings. She had wanted to scream at them that they were fools, that they would be killed. As the rest of her Sisters marched to fight their own, she had wept. She had remained in Jahuar, yes, but she knew the fight well – both sides bore weapons she had crafted. In effect, she was on both sides of that war, killing her own knd.
It was all so evil. So dark. So anathaema to her. Once upon a time, she had thought that war was profitable. Good for her business. Her tribe was one of warriors, and they always needed weapons. The earthlings had many kinds of weapons to practice with, weapons that sometimes hybrid Alkidikes needed. To serve the earthlings was to serve other Brothers and Sisters, and to take the earthling's money. All profitable. All serving the tribe.
She no longer believed this. Not after the exile. Now she knew that war was unprofitable for everyone, and that all it would ever do was tear her soul apart over and over again, reopening old wounds and ruining the life she had tried to build for herself.
She was a weaponcrafter of the Alkidike, in the service of warriors, but Dyakida was tired of war.
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Posted: Fri Apr 15, 2016 6:41 am
Sins and Virtues - CYOA - 222 words
The man with the ideas left the corporation, and it was not long after that that things began to fall apart. Numbers flew by her, none of them good. When she finally woke up, it was with great relief...
… that it had all been a dream. She pushed her short dreds back, feeling the way they clattered against each other like windchimes. What had that dream been – a warning? A message? She already knew that she couldn't rest on her laurels. She'd accomplished so much, but there was so much yet to do. To become complacent was to be defeated, to be too cautious and wary was to become stagnant and useless. Only she was to blame for her problems, too – to scream at others was a waste of her time and an admission of failure. She had to fight on, through the thorny thickets of life...
As she had done in the dream.
She remembered all of it, every moment of it, from the soothing waters of the lake to the fierce rage of the battle. She remembered the colors – they glowed in her mind like a half-forgotten taste of something beautiful and otherworldly. The dream had meaning, and, as she rose to start her new day, she took it to heart.
Nothing was finished. Not yet.
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Posted: Fri Sep 30, 2016 3:06 pm
Razor Sharp - Dyakida and Bhima
Dyakida hoped to make the two-toned crystal last. It was such a rare thing, of high quality - she hoped that she could make at least a few items out of it. Peyla watched as she planned out the commission, measuring and tapping with her hands to gauge how much she would need and how best to cut for minimum waste.
"I'm glad." she commented to the sprite, mainly to hear herself talk of course, "I'm glad that Bhima was there with me. I know you would have liked to come along..." Peyla always did love the crystal shop. She smiled as the sprite crooned, feeling the air of her wings as the sprite took her voice as an invitation to touch the shiny object. "But it was nice to have a sister there with me. Someone sane, especially after all the..." She stopped abruptly, focusing on carefully putting the crystal away. Yes, especially after the madness of the last few months, the foolish youths and hotheaded elders seeking to purge or purify their race. She prayed that they were a minority, but this was seeming less and less likely. She had to believe that there were cooler minds, like Bhima. And that, also, those minds would prevail.
"Ah, I should get started on her commission." she remarked to Peyla. She selected a good grade of crystal for the blades and something nice for the hilts. "I think this is a good place to start, what do you think?" From the absentminded cooing, Peyla was still occupied with the rare crystal. "Yes," she said, agreeing with herself. She hadn't really needed an answer anyway...
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