VI. Artwork
Outside, fat heat haze shimmers over the fire-coloured rocks and the dry yellowing plants. You keep well away from the light that shines through the holes in the ceiling and the breaches in the walls, and curl your arms into the stance of
Tree Shifts in Northern Gales. The smell of water and fresh vegetation is all around you by the secret pool and you breath it in deeply. It is curing your spirit after so long in the desert.
You have much to think about.
After lurking around the deyha men as they rub down the horses and feed them with mosses and plants harvested from around where the water dribbles into courtyards, you have discovered two things. Firstly, you haven't lost all your old skill in the techniques of Unnoticed Breeze Style. Just most of it. You sigh as you think of old Kuma, the
ashimi your mother had given you as a bodyguard. Well, he hadn't been old when he had taught you some of his arts, back as a young girl. And then a young woman. He'd been so dashing, so handsome. So instructive.
You reluctantly accept that it's not just the injuries that have sapped your skills at the
ashimi arts. You hadn't really used them for a decade… okay, maybe two decades… before. There just hadn't been a need to sneak around, and you hadn't really been in the mood to get up early and climb trees when there was still frost in them. It's cold in the mornings in Cherak for four out of five seasons a year.
The old man would have been disgusted with you, but you'd already buried him long ago and his replacement - and his replacement's replacement - hadn't been a match for his talents. If they had been… no. Too many regrets.
Still, there's no time like the present to work on getting back into shape. Apart from, oh, six months ago. That would have been the perfect time. But even your power can't change the past. The gods forbid it.
Just another reason to despise them.
You stretch, and think about the men you had been thinking about before you'd got distracted by old memories. Yes! Secondly! The deyha men are just not worth it. Awwal is gorgeous, but the others are less pretty. Oh, there's some acceptable ones among them, but even he's not enough to tip the deal into being worth angering these raiders. Not when you're already on the run and don't know the area.
It's not that you're scared. Of course not. You're a sorceress who has entreated with the mighty powers of chaos. You're not scared of a few beastwomen. But honestly Awwal is the high point of the men. If they'd all looked as good as him, you might have found it harder, but as it stands, no.
You have standards!
No, you're heading south to make a new start. To keep out of trouble. Though trouble probably will find you. It usually does.
That's why you've retreated back to the beautiful pool as you practice the katas of Graceful Willow style, surrounded by moss and living things. It's not the kind of martial art you use to punch someone's spine out through the back of their neck. It's the kind of martial art that teaches you to stay in good shape, escape someone who might want to pin you, and incidentally touch your ankles behind the back of your head.
The green life around you is helping settle your spirit. This place is special - it almost feels like it has the potential to become a demesne. There's power here and your aching body responds. For the first time in months your spirit is moving properly, and your exultant body responds. Moving your arms to centre yourself, you shift from
Tree Sways in Northern Gales into
Branches Laden With Ice, then straight into the
Growing Sapling.
It's not an easy transition for most people, given it would require a drop straight from standing into a front split.
Naturally you achieve it. There was no doubt you could. Except - a nasty, treacherous little part of you points out - you've been so stiff ever since that wicked woman did that horrible nerve-strike on you. You've been barely able to walk on bad days. But now! All these months you've been suffering, and all you needed was to carefully discipline your spirit within a place that harmonised with your nature. And to get railed by a sexy birdman. You don't know if that helped, so you're going to assume it did.
You laugh. You laugh, high and gleeful, and don't even bother to cover your mouth. You don't need to! She thought her blow could stop you! She thought it would cripple you! Well, you've undone her work!
Reaching out, you touch the tip of the toes of your right foot, resting your head on your knees. Your scars are aching. You're still hurt, and you're probably overdoing it and odds are you'll regret this later because your stamina and strength are still ruined, but your body is yours again!
"Oh, I've finally found you," Amigere says, hands jammed into the pockets of his light jacket. The shimmering reflecting light catches his features and casts a long, wavering shadow against the wall. "Where have you been all this…"
You can tell the moment he sees you, because you can audibly hear the swallow. Gracefully, you bend backwards until your head rests on your heel of your left leg behind you and he comes into view.
When he swallows for the second time, this time you get to enjoy seeing his Adam's apple bob. "Y-you're flexible," he breathes.
"I try my best, darling," you say, draping your arms back until your palms are flat on the floor behind you. "Now, what are you doing here?"
He rubs the back of his neck. "Well, I just feel safer around you," he says. "Rather than the deyha. The men are thugs and the women are worse."
"Well, isn't that a nice thing to say?" You meet his eyes. "Come to watch the view?" He has all the reason to. After all, your clothes are drying in the sun and all you're wearing is a bellywrap and a linen binding to stop inconvenient bouncing.
Amigere chuckles. "I don't mind that." He's checking you out. You smile girlishly, and work your protesting stomach muscles, arching your back so he can take in your full beauty.
"Those are funny tattoos," he says head tilted as he takes you in. "I didn't really notice them last night."
Funny? Funny? You glower at his upside-down self for such an insult. This doesn't seem to work, so you gracefully rise into a handstand and less gracefully fall over because your weak arm gives way.
"Are you okay?" Amigere asks, rushing over.
"Oww!" you moan, rubbing your aching head. The soft moss took most of the impact, but it still hurts. You huff out your cheeks, and thump him.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"They're not funny!" you insist, with all the grace and prowess of a sorceress of immaculate breeding. "How dare you!"
"I didn't…" He's up close, stinking of the horses and sweat. Your nose wrinkles. "What did I say, Lady Sayu?" he asks, using the false name that is the one he knows you under.
"For your information," you say snippishly as you cross your arms, "they're things I earned. Not just something that's 'funny'."
"Earned?" He settles you down on one of the mossy overgrown seats, his feathers catching the reflected light from the pool. "They mean something?"
"Of course they mean something, you… idiot," you say, biting back what you were about to call him.
His finger reaches out to trace the sleeve on your left arm. "Well, they're beautiful. Of course, that's to be expected. It's on you. But even if it wasn't, I'd call it beautiful. You just make it even more radiant."
Well, that deserves some forgiveness, you decide. "Of course it does," you say. "And you look so hot and bothered, darling." You unbutton his top three buttons of his linen shirt. "You need to cool off. And swim. It's quite important."
"What's the matter?"
"You stink," you tell him. "Of the horses, the road, and everything else. I want to see you in the water."
He chuckles weakly. "Is this where I admit that I can't swim?" he tries.
"You can't?" You frown. "What kind of baby can't swim?"
"Have you seen the South? And you know it's bad luck to swim in water that doesn't see sunlight. It might bring bad luck."
"Urgh. I've done it, and I don't have bad luck." You roll your eyes at his planative look. "Then paddle in the shallows. And lie down in it. Scrub yourself. I prefer my men to smell of man, not horse."
He obeys, removing his shirt fully. "Well, not all of us always smell like flowers and pine," he grumbles.
Yes, you do, and it's delightful. You were chosen by the Wood Dragon, but your blood is of the North and so the scent of such northern trees and mountain flowers always lingers with you. "I've washed; it's lovely and cool," you tell him. "Now get those trousers off." You sprawl back on the seat to enjoy the view. "And everything else. You can also wash those clothes and leave them to dry. Won't that be lovely?"
"There's no need to be so cutting," he protests.
"I sit in front of you on the horse, and my nose is sensitive," you inform him. "There really is. And just think, darling." Casually, you stretch your arms, arching your back. "Once you're lovely and clean, I have a reward for you."
He's staring at you, which is pretty much what you wanted.
"Yes?" you inquire.
"Those tattoos," he says, eventually, clearly not saying what he was thinking. "You said they were earned? They're… like the scars the Haldip people give their warriors for winning duels?"
"Who are they?"
"Oh, just some tribes from further north. Are they sorceress-marks?"
You chuckle. You can say that much - lest he think he can steal your secrets by copying them or cut them to unbind your familiars. "No, no."
"Then accomplishments?"
That's fair enough. "The school of martial arts out East where I studied gave them as marks of rank. It's an obscure custom - specific to that school - but I've had them for years now."
Perhaps you're not being entirely honest. Well, it's not that you're lying. You're just… obfuscating the truth. In Cherak, it would be dreadfully gauche - and a sign of borderline if not actual criminality - for someone to have tattoos. Unless you had
earned them as a mark of accomplishment in the martial arts. And even then, they have to be done properly. They are art and a mark of honour. You yourself have earned yours under two different schools, acquired in your youth before you'd started the study of sorcery. Built up over years of slow, painful sessions.
You've been hiding them as you headed South because the superior Cheraki style is… memorable. And while you deserve adulation and praise for your achievements, there are people out there who want to kill you. You never reached the rank of master, but that still means they're enough to form distinctive sleeves on your upper forearms, back, and below your breasts. Nothing compared to some of the masters, who were covered from head to toe, but their colours and strictly prescribed school-specific designs draw the eye.
Honestly, you needed to get laid last night, so you're glad Amigere didn't see them in the gloom. He would have asked questions, when what you really wanted was his dick. Questions like…
"So, what do they mean? What's that one?" He points at your right forearm.
You sigh, leaning forwards with your elbows on your thighs. "Clothes off - all of them! - and in the water. If you wash yourself, I'll show you them. And yes, explain them." You flap your hand at him. "So many questions!"
He pauses on the edge of the deep dark pool, hands cupped in front of his groin. Silly man. Who does he think he's hiding it from? "You're a fascinating woman," he says.
Rolling your eyes, you flick back your hair. "Of course I am. But don't think you can get around me with just flattery. Go on! Scrub yourself down!"
Behind your ear, you hear Sei's deep chuckle. Such an annoying beast. He's up to something, but you have no idea what. Possibly just making you paranoid. He's done that before.
You ignore him, and focus more on the naked man in the water in front of you. Much more satisfying.
This vote will determine her two Offensive Styles - the "classical" martial arts styles.
The winning vote will receive 200XP, as with the Defensive Styles. In a case of a draw, the top two will receive 100XP each.
Pick Two Tattoos to represent her Styles
[ ] The peacock. Peacock Style (Air Aspected) is an art of the ashimi families who serve House Ferem, and is not fit for honourable combat - or so say the most staid conservatives of the Ferem, at least. In truth it is not rare for House Ferem to learn it from their servants, for it focuses on the use of knives, darts, and concealed blades. Practitioners trick the eye with hands that seemed empty, throw out hails of blades, and distract with garish colours and long sleeves.
[ ] The bear. Cave Bear Style (Earth Aspected) is based on the terrible bears that dwell in the Cheraki mountains. It is a purely unarmed style, at most making use of fighting aides like a cestus, and is greatly honoured by Cheraki monks for the explosive power of its blows. Practitioners learn to punch so hard as to tear off a man's head, to break a foe's will with their war-cries, and crush in inexorable grabs.
[ ] The fisherbird. Osprey Style (Water Aspected) is a classic Cheraki coastal sword style, inspired by fish-hunting ospreys. It focuses on the use of cutting swords both one-and-two-handedly as well as associated unarmed techniques in flowing motions. Practitioners cut through flesh and leather like the bird tears through scales, and slam an enemy down with a cunning trip before ending them with rime-encrusted steel.
[ ] The bird-in-flames. Phoenix Style (Fire Aspected) is a polearm style often practiced by exorcists, based on the exotic bird. It focuses on polearms and staves, as well as associated unarmed techniques, often leaping to strike down at a foe. Practitioners pierce with superheated spear tips, bring up walls of fire to ward off foes, and rapidly close with a foe with great leaps.
[ ] The snake. Viper Style (Wood Aspected) is based on the adders and other vipers who are the only snakes native to Cherak. It focuses on short swords and unarmed nerve strikes, aiming to cripple a foe through venom or bleeding. Practitioners learn to strike with spiritual poison, sense life in the darkness as a viper would, and kill with stabs to vital organs.
