Zahra couldn't really see and there was stuff everywhere. She was very unsure of where to step and she definitely took a few missteps causing her to nudge some of the clutter.
Zahra bumped into something and gasped as something crashed to the floor. As she took the sharp intake of breath she was assaulted by too many smells and she felt so weary. She began to wonder why she had bothered to come here. It wasn't worth all these challenges, was it?
The sorceress continued to clumsily follow the voice and when it spoke of secrets she immediately steeled herself against revealing anything. She had far too many secrets, none of which she wanted to share. Thankfully years of having to hide her abilities made this easier for her.
She was practically on top of the pile of shawls before she realized there was a woman beneath them. Smiling more widely than their host, Zahra spoke, "Madame Risha, thank you for seeing us. We have a few items that we would like you to take a look at and hopefully tell us what they do. As I said, Osmo sent us to you as he was unable to help us with them."
Dim light that cast weird shadows off all the strange items and fetishes covering tables and shelves. Strange overpowering smells his nose refused to even attempt to differentiate. And even the murmuring voice of an old crone, seeming to hold a conversation with itself.. or worse, with something present but beyond Tymythy’s senses to detect.
This was even worse than the young hunter had feared. He made very sure indeed to watch his step, to avoid coming into contact with anything other than the floor beneath his feet and breathed shallowly and through his mouth to keep from getting light-headed or falling victim of a violent sneezing fit from whatever was in the air.
What he could not guard so easily was his mind, though. Some drug in the air caused his thoughts to wander against his will, dragging him back through the veil of time into past, the frozen time as some clan shamans called it. Back into the fateful night of his bloodying, the night of the counter-raid that had seen him become a man… and shame himself for failing to guard his cousin’s flank through a moment of panic and indecision that led to the young man’s death. A man who had just days past announced he was to wed their common childhood friend. Had Tymythy fancied the girl himself? Had it been jealousy and not panic that had made him too slow to lift his shield to guard his kin from an Aerthanian blade? Not even he could tell with any certainty, but something in the air nevertheless dragged the half-buried thought back into light, causing him to shiver uncontrollably as he was forced to re-examine and question his own motives.
… ”This is wonderful! I will tell everybody I know to come and try one. How long have you been making these?” …
”Ha-aken, how long since we had our steam-generating-hermetic-squeeze-pump-circulator running?”
”A full season Sir.”
”Yes, that’s right, about a hundred and eight days now. Why, we’ve only recently finished our machine but we’ve been perfecting flavours for three years. Now don’t forget us and tell others. Darrick and Ha-aken’s Brass Wagon Delights!” Ha-aken looked at Darrick surprised and beamed to hear his name on the business bold-as-brass. He went back to working the icey machine with renewed pride.
—-
Dounia and Tymythy wove their way through the mess but Zahra was dazed and her vision went all blurry. Her sleeve caught on something and knocked it off the shelf. It was a short slim knife and she reached out to catch it but fumbled and it clattered on a bare patch of floor. The old woman called out, ”Be careful. Mustn’t disturb the baubles … Mean baubles. Trinkets want to get out …” At that, like a shock of electricity, a memory shot up Zahra’s hand.
She was on a farm amongst green grass holding the knife. An orc with a big axe was coming at her. He was so big, so big.
She was in an alley. Her hand was big and strong holding the little knife. She was sneaking up behind a man, reaching around in front of him, under his chin.
She was gripping the knife with the blade down. She looked at a dwarf laying on the floor, cut from many wounds.
She was in a prison brandishing the knife against a woman, a fellow prisoner, who was about to stab her with a shiv made of glass.
She was back in the home of Risha Darkhaven.
The whisper continued, ”Yes, closer so I can see you all … Ahhhhh, Dounia Mehar Mehek Ghali. You keep your friends so close … so close to your heart … just like meeeeee. When they all go away you will not be parted … never parted altogether.” She raised her right hand and waved at her hoard of useful and useless things, ”annnnnnnd … maybe one day you can have a place of your very owwwwwwwn.
(a pause)
Oh, Tymythy … son of … Sarleyan, daughter … ooof Alahnah. Stay close … always clossssse. Don’t want to lose another one do weeee … hehehe.” The old woman’s eyes opened wide then looked down at where her right arm was covered in cloth and drew it back deeper into the shawls. ”We mustn’t go snooping … not our business.”
(another pause as she composes herself)
“annnd you my dear … She squints one eye in concentration at Zahra, then suddenly she pulls away to the back wall just a few feet behind her, ”Ahhhh, the eye of the Argent One! No, we promise not to look! Promise we won’t look again! Argent One, we will be good, we’ve been good for a lonnnnng time.” She breathed heavily and slowly made her way back to the low table. ”See … All friends … yes? … just a joke … all of us are friends now. Please … show we what you have brought.” She slowly catches her breath.
Zahra gasped as the gruesome pictures flashed through her mind. She pulled her hand back quickly as if she'd been burned, yet she shivered. How could the same knife be involved in so many evil things? was it possible that that knife could make people do terrible things? She gave the knife as wide of a berth as she could given the clutter and hoped that that knife would never see the light of day again.
Argent One? Zahra didn't know what to make of Madame Risha's rantings but part of her felt like she was being protected by someone or something that she couldn't see.
Zahra gave a tentative, but genuine smile, "Yes, friends. Friends is always best." She slipped the ring off her finger. "Let's start with this. Can you tell us what it does?"
”Oh, Tymythy … son of … Sarleyan, daughter … ooof Alahnah. Stay close … always clossssse. Don’t want to lose another one do weeee … hehehe.” The old woman’s eyes opened wide then looked down at where her right arm was covered in cloth and drew it back deeper into the shawls. ”We mustn’t go snooping … not our business.”
”Osmo sent us,” Tymythy blurted out, not for his life wanting to draw any attention to himself but equally eager to do anything that would make the terrible witch view them in some favorable light. And terrible she was… concentric layers of teeth like an eel might have. And when she moved her arms to adjust her shawl? The young hunter to his horror saw feathers peeking from her sleeve where he had expected to see fingers, and as she shifted herself there was a scraping sound, as if talons dragging against wood. And sand. The faint rustle of falling sand as if from innumerable tiny sandglasses… there was no source to the sound Tymythy’s panicking mind could see, but… was there a layer of sand on the few patches of naked skin visible from beneath the shawls?
Had the witch paid a price for her power and knowledge? Or was she cursed by some powerful spirit for her for some affront or slight? Truthfully, he did not want to know. He just wanted to leave, with his soul and fate intact – it took everything he had to fight the unmanning terror so he would not flee the place and leave the ladies to face this terrible foe alone.
Still wary of Zahra, "Osmo ... deeeeear Osmo ... my good friend ... he spoke up for mee, faced the city alchemists and spoke up for me (she reached out with her left hand and rubbed her right shoulder) ... he gives me gold for my work. Keeping all my little baubles safe costs money ... do you see? Friends of my friend Osmo."
The group laid out three objects before her. A ring. A bow. A spear.
Risha put a tiny piece of red glass over her right eye socket and held it their by squinting. She examined the ring in her left hand. She looked at the bow on the table and passed her hand over it. She glanced at the spear and then spoke in her tiny rasping voice, "Simple ... for twenty pieces ... (takes a breath) of gold I will tell you about the bow and the ring ... For ninety pieces more I will tell you about the usriev ... is it agreed?"
For good or for ill, Zahra was oblivious to the uncomfortableness of her friends in this place. This meant that she wasn't in as much of a hurry to leave because they had come for a reason and so they needed to follow it through.
However, Madame Risha's words shivered down her spine and made the hairs on her neck stand up. The sorceress would never consider that knife a bauble but after what she had seen, she knew that it needed to stay in this place. Part of her wondered how Osmo and Risha came to know one another but Zhayalammar brought many different people together. It had for her and her new friends and she was grateful for that.
Zahra wanted to help Madame Risha keep her baubles safe and so she didn't really have the heart to barter price. However, she also knew that some bartering was expected here in Zhayalammar anytime you did business. "Since we're both friends of Osmo, would you consider taking 100 gold to tell us about all three items? It would go a long way to keeping your baubles safe."
Risha pursed her lips obviously unhappy with the suggestion of taking less but still she tapped the table with her left hand for the money.
"The ring is a signet ... ring. This you understand, hmmmmm ... but think hard of a ... simmmmple word or symbol ... and it will appear. Press the ring against an object and it .... will leave its' mark ... visible or innnnnvisible."
"Little Dounia ... come closerrrr ... pick up thisss bow and notch an arrow upon its' string ... now say one of the worrrds ... ku ... or barzil"
A Dounia tried the bow out and said "Ku" the head of the arrow turned to silver. When she said "barzil" it turned to iron. After six seconds the arrowhead turned back to steel.
"Use silver against men who become beasts by the light ... ooooof the full moon ... use iron against fairies."
The whisper continued, ”Yes, closer so I can see you all … Ahhhhh, Dounia Mehar Mehek Ghali. You keep your friends so close … so close to your heart … just like meeeeee. When they all go away you will not be parted … never parted altogether.” She raised her right hand and waved at her hoard of useful and useless things, ”annnnnnnd … maybe one day you can have a place of your very owwwwwwwn.
Dounia paused a moment, imagining a shop of her own, filled with treasures. Then she imagined herself presiding over it, afraid to leave. Did Risha mean that to be a warning, or an inspiration?
A Dounia tried the bow out and said "Ku" the head of the arrow turned to silver. When she said "barzil" it turned to iron. After six seconds the arrowhead turned back to steel.
"Use silver against men who become beasts by the light ... ooooof the full moon ... use iron against fairies."
"Cool!" Dounia said, impressed. She practiced a few more times, switching it between silver and iron and back again. "This thing could save our lives!"
Noticing that Tymythy hadn't yet placed his new spear on the table, so Dounia nudged him. "Your turn," she said softly. The warrior seemed unsettled, and she didn't blame him one bit.
Noticing that Tymythy hadn't yet placed his new spear on the table, so Dounia nudged him. "Your turn," she said softly. The warrior seemed unsettled, and she didn't blame him one bit.
Looking like a man sent to walk to the headsman’s block Tymythy swallowed visibly and stepped forward to present his new spear to the witch, trying to maintain a careful balance of not giving cause for insult while coming not an inch closer to the old woman than was absolutely necessary. Oh, how he wished to be gone from this place! The witch knew things, to be sure, as her kind often did. And Tymythy did want to learn all about the ursiev if he was to keep his word and properly wield it in the dead lord’s honor, but in this case he was worried the price of knowledge would be more than just coins…
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The old woman left the table and went to a little side room where a shuffling and banging could then be heard. When she came back she was holding a large jug of wine. It must have been quite heavy but she didn't have trouble with her one good hand. As she walked back you could all hear the scraping of her left foot through the sand and onto the wooden floor beneath.
She poured a cup's worth of wine directly on the table, sat down, grabbed a feather off the table and drew symbols inside the wine spill. She called out three times and not in a whisper, "na'a'bey'a ... na'a'bey'a ... na'a'bey'a" and the usriev began to glow with a faint pulsing white light.
The old woman stared at the glow.
"The usriev is very sleepy ..."
"It says its' name is Kizu'gina ..."
"This comes from Ki'zu'ur'a ... it means fang ... or point ... and nig'gi'na which means ... truth or justice ..."
"It says, 'Truth is like a blade ... to narrow it down you must work hard to forge the steel ... but the finer it is ... the more powerful'"
Her voice began to take on a faraway tone. It sounded as much in your heads as in the room. "You must wake it ... you must wake it up ..."
"Once it was impregnated with the blood of a good dragon ... willingly for one who promised it would never do so again ..."
"Now it thrives on the blood of the bad ... be it dracolisk or serpent ... wyvern or wyrm ..."
"Wake it up and let it serve again ..."
The old woman hunched over and breathed heavily, "You have your answer."
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”She… speaks to you?” Tymythy breathed in wonder, his bowel-loosening terror of the witch’s powers briefly forgotten… until he glanced up at the old woman and glimpsed a glint of light reflecting on her beastly teeth from under the shadow cast by the shawls. That put the young hunter promptly back to his place – a child at the table of his elders, and a misbehaving one, certain something that he had done that he shouldn’t have would soon be the topic of discussion but unaware of exactly how hot the water he was stepping was.
Yet he could not be captivated by the witch’s words – those with power told no lies, it was known, so as not to accidentally diminish their own powers by making promises they could not keep or claims that would bring the ill will of the spirits upon them . Twist their words so the listener heard what they were meant to, yes, but that was another thing entirely.
Not just a weapon of power, but of will and purpose? That went beyond the makings of stories to the stuff of legends! What warrior would not give their lesser arm for a prize like that?
The old woman hunched over and breathed heavily, "You have your answer."
It took a moment for Tymythy to shake himself from his wonder. Hesitantly he reached one hand forth to place it gently, almost reverently, on the spear’s shaft, as if he now expected to feel a beating of a heart through the wood. "That and more, grandmother,” he said, respect fighting fear for room in his tone. ”I will wield her well or die trying, to give a man better than me their chance,” he said, lifting up the spear from the table. He brought the usriev up chest height, holding it diagonally in both hands close to his body and bowed to the witch, in gratitude and newfound respect… and not a little dread – it would take more than one telling of tales to rid him of that!
Zahra took the ring back and slipped it on her finger. Maybe she'd try it out when she sent her letter to Samreen. It would be cool to sign her letters with something like this that was personal. "Thank you, Madame Risha," she murmured.
She smiled at Dounia's excitement over what the bow could do. Admittedly, Zahra thought it was pretty amazing herself. If only it had been a crossbow...
The sorceress was a little surprised at Tymythy's hesitance about showing Madame Risha his new weapon. He had been so keen in getting it looked at before getting here. But with Dounia's prodding, he finally presented it for examination. She watched in fascination as Madame Risha studied the item to determine its properties. Zahra was doubtful that she could learn something so complicated in nature.
Zahra stands perfectly still as the usriev is described as being almost alive...having a name, having a purpose and desires, having a need. At the mention of it being filled by the blood of a good dragon, unbeknownst to Zahra, tears began to streak down her cheeks. Did her body know something that her mind couldn't comprehend?
With their business concluded, Zahra quickly wiped the wetness from her cheeks and gave Madame Risha a small smile. "Thank you for sharing your knowledge. You have your payment so we will take our leave. Be well, Madame Risha."
Zahra suddenly felt the need for fresh air however she knew better than to try to exit quickly. She began to carefully pick her way through the maze of baubles, heading for the exit.
Once outside, she took in numerous gulps of air in an attempt to clear her mind and her lungs. "That was productive albeit slightly off-putting. So where to next? It is getting somewhat late and I would feel better if we found Cairee again. Should we head back to Haseena's and see if she's there? And then there's the upcoming party."
"That woman reminded me of the worst stories about witches I have ever heard - powers unknowable, knowledge beyond what mortal men might know. Just to be in her presence was to have your darkest secrets laid bare, things you would not admit to yourself knowing suddenly made known to her," Tymythy said, shuddering. "I think I told you earlier that where I come from, magic is for the wise and responsible, those who have been judged to use the power for the best of the clan? People like her dance on that line - feared and respected, their power and wisdom welcomed when the need is greatest, but shunned for the extent of what they have done to gain it."
"But that is for the elders and the shamans to worry about - young warriors like me are encouraged not to worry our heads about matters of the wise, and indeed, if a warrior needed a witch's remedies to recover from an injury their friends would likely have to get them roaring drunk or knock them senseless, lest they needed to tie them to their bed to keep them from crawling away in terror!" Tymythy laughed nervously, casting a furtive glance at the witch's shop's door. "I'm grateful for the answers she provided… but I won't return there willingly."
Dounia was glad to get out of there. "One thing I didn't understand....well, lots of things, but what did she mean by impregnate? How can a spear get pregnant?"
When they mentioned Cairee, Dounia felt a flash of fear. It was getting close to sunset....no...this city was always daytime. But did that mean "night" was safe? "She doesn't know the city. Do you think she can make her way back alone? We shouldn't have let her go off!"
Still there was really nothing else to do other than check at Haseema's before starting to panic. At least Dounia knew plenty of pickpockets, and Cairee didn't exactly blend in. If the priestess wasn't at Haseema's she could mobilize people to look for her.
I'm good with either. Is Cairee ready to play again? If not, might as well have us all head over to the monastery for RP purposes.
Getting to the monastery was no difficulty now that they had been once before. It was a little over a half an hour to reach the front gates of the Melamsisi where the three came to the familiar sixteen foot stone wall which, presumably, surrounded the compound.
Ivy crawled over the stone wall and the lush trees could be seen peeking over from inside. The front gatehouse was likewise ivy dressed and although it had the freedom of nature to it the ivy showed signs of pruning.
The old ash front doors with the carved monkish figures upon it. It was strange but the carvings were of monks in a cloister and showed nothing of the martial prowess of the people within. You had a few moments to contemplate this as it took some time for a monk to open the door after the bell pull was tugged. Eventually a panel carved with a monks head opened inward and a monk's face poked through. A shaved headed man of less than thirty. His eyebrows were up as he looked inquisitively at you three visitors and then a flash of recognition before his face disappeared and the side door opened up.
The man beckoned you all in as another man, a dwarf who seemed as stable as a mountain, stood within. The dwarf was in the robes of the melamsisi and wore the familiar plaque in silver. Cairee once said the word upon it meant 'Silence' and was a sign of their vow. The young man had a similar sign but in tin.
Tymythy was about to present his case to the silence-sworn dwarf as the solidly built monk seemed to expect to judge the worth of their business… but then a slight rustle from the trees shading the entrance caught his attention. His eyes widened when he spotted the golden lion spirit who had honored them by speaking to them during their first visit. Soledad, he believed Kehydius had called him.
”Great one,” Tymythy murmured with the utmost respect, falling on one knee before the powerful spirit incarnate just like he had at their first meeting, his eyes meeting those of the magnificent feline. ”We are not worthy.”
Zahra was pleased to see that the monk who answered the gate recognized them. It felt like their list of friends was growing and that warmed her heart considering she still had Kamzar to contend with.
She followed Tymythy through the side door and waited quietly for him to take the lead considering he was seeking training from those in the monastery. She busied herself with looking at their surrounding environment and let out a small gasp as she spotted Soledad quietly moving through the greenery near the gate. Was he stalking them? She glanced concernedly at the others and they didn't seem alarmed. Did this mean he was just coming to say hello? She wasn't familiar enough with lions to know for sure.
Tymythy must have seen him too and reacted mere moments before herself. Figuring this implied that Soledad meant them no harm, she followed suit by showing respectful reverence for the awakened lion rather than trying to run away. Although in retrospect, she was fairly certain she couldn't outrun a lion let alone one like the one before her.
Dounia was yawning when the monk opened the door. It felt like a long day, and she was getting hungry and tired. Hopefully this wouldn't take long.
She spotted the lion, stalking them as if they were prey. Dounia squealed and leapt behind Tymythy - right at the moment as he genuflected towards the beast. Blushing furiously, she remembered reacting poorly last time too. "Sorry," she mumbled to the lion, though still not taking her eyes off it.
Dounia was glad to get out of there. "One thing I didn't understand....well, lots of things, but what did she mean by impregnate? How can a spear get pregnant?"
”Witches oft speak in riddles,” Tymythy murmured, gazing at his spear in wonder. ”Impregnation implies marriage, the joining of bloodlines. Also, blood is of iron, the shamans of my clan claim although I do not understand how it could be so, and like calls for like. So blood, I think, will be the answer. It would have been clearer to me if she had spoken of thirst or feeding, but I think she would have me slay evil-aspected wyrms and their kin... which will happen if the spirits will it,” he shrugged his shoulders.
... ”We are not worthy.”
Soledad stood up out of his crouching sneak and walked over nonchalantly, "You all spotted me? I must be loosing my touch in this groomed paddock. But, please, though I do like people to show me some deference 'not worthy' is a step too far. Samreen likes you so you are fit. Keep up the bowing though, young Master Tymythy. I quite like that part. And Jzahra and Dounia. You are all back but perhaps for nothing. Samreen and her body guard are away. Unless you are here to see me" He squinted at you three doubtfully.
The dwarven monk and the younger human stood patiently awaiting something from you three.
Soledad, "Ah, people customs. I don't think I could make it long with one of those plaques about my neck. Master Beinnbhig please let me introduce you to the Lady Jzahra - sorry, jzees are difficult, ahem - native of our city, the Lady Dounia of the desert, and Master Tymythy of the far east. This is Master of the Adamantine Way -or somesuch - Beinnbhig. I believe Disciple Nashyr remembers you from your last visit."
Both monks bow as Soledad stepped slowly over to Dounia's left side and sat on his haunches, "I believe they are waiting to know your business."
Both monks bow as Soledad stepped slowly over to Dounia's left side and sat on his haunches, "I believe they are waiting to know your business."
Beaming at the approval he heard in the great spirit’s words Tymythy rose to his feet and gave the dwarven master another bow – although one much less courteous than one reserved for the gods of his clan. ”Master Beinnbhig,” he said slowly, trying not to mangle the strange name too badly – that, at least, he was getting better at, since it had been a long while since he had last heard a name that sounded even a little bit familiar to his ears!
”We visited here once before, and I was privileged to see your monks training. Friend Kehydius told me then it might be possible for even someone unaffiliated with your order to train under the masters here, for a time. For a suitable donation,” Tymythy began. ”On our journey since that day, I have come into possession of a spear, a weapon of rare quality.” He thumped the usriev’s butt on the ground by his feet. ”I made a promise to her previous master on his grave to wield the weapon in his honor, if he saw fit to let me have it. I survived his tests, but I have now come to know something of the legend of the spear. I know I am not worthy of her, not as I am. But I gave my word, so I need to grow a measure as a man and a warrior.”
”If you would allow it, I would learn under your master of spears, to become someone fit to wield her.”
Master Beinnbhig nodded subtly and stepped toward Tymythy. He held his hand out - an ask to hold the usriev.
He gripped it tightly in his right hand so that he might scan it with his eyes from tip to butt. He then shook his hand with a snap and a slight flex showed in the wooden shaft with a slightly greater worbble in the steel, like sprung steel but kept a little in check by the folded silver. He handed it back.
The dwarf looked to Solidad, put his hand to his mouth, then his heart. He looked to the disciple and made two fists, one over the other and about a foot apart. The younger monk bowed and jogged off. Then the master fanned his hand out to the courtyard to lead the way.
Solidad, "He wants you to make the promise of the Melammsisi. It is not an oath. They do not believe in inflexible oaths. It is a promise to show the greatest of judgement when dealing with natural creatures. To resist the malicious with bravery and to protect the innocent with compassion. To do your very best to judge the difference between the two. It is a difficult judgement to make, that between evil and the harshness of the natural world, but to be trained here you must step on the path of that judgement-making. This is to be kept in your heart wherever you go from this day forward. Make the promise and then go in. He would like to judge your skill level."
"He wants you to make the promise of the Melammsisi. It is not an oath. They do not believe in inflexible oaths. It is a promise to show the greatest of judgement when dealing with natural creatures. To resist the malicious with bravery and to protect the innocent with compassion. To do your very best to judge the difference between the two. It is a difficult judgement to make, that between evil and the harshness of the natural world, but to be trained here you must step on the path of that judgement-making. This is to be kept in your heart wherever you go from this day forward. Make the promise and then go in. He would like to judge your skill level."
"There is no honor in oppressing those unable to protect themselves," Tymythy murmured, "and anyone who picks up the spear before being forced to by circumstances has chosen to be treated as a warrior, to set aside their innocence. Even back home, where we wage war with the Aerthanians, we would try to remember that - only those consumed by loss and the hate that gives birth to would slay indiscriminately. And no true hunter kills for pleasure, but only so he and his may have what they need to survive. To do otherwise would bring the wrath of the spirits of the land upon you. As for judgement…"
"Her name means fang of justice. Or truth, I was just told," he mused, shifting his grip on the usriev's shaft. "And a name on a weapon like her speaks of will, of purpose, not merely the fancy of its past wielders. If I am to come to deserve her, I think I will have to learn to make those hard judgements. For justice should not be blind, and truths are not necessarily as simple and straightforward as a simple warrior like me would have them."
"I know not if I will come to measure up to your standards, but I can promise I will try my hardest."
Satisfied, Beinnbhig walked to the courtyard where Disciple Nashyr jogged to meet him. Nashyr was holding two seven foot long quarter staves and a small group of monks, some with plaques about their necks, came to watch. You could feel the distinct feeling that they were eager for when a master was about to lead any session.
But only a few came. The compound was notably less populated even though monks still tended to physical exercises.
Nashyr removed his plaque and tossed Tymythy one of the staves. Left with his own staff in hand and given a little room to move, the disciple limbered up by performing a complicated series of whirls with the staff, dropped down impossibly low with one hand on the weapon's end giving him incredible reach, then raising up to stick the staff into the ground and vault over a ten foot space. He landed like a cat, one foot then another, raised his right foot to the inside of his left knee and spun the longstaff to rest horizontally just behind his neck.
Beinnbhig looked to one of the disciples without a plaque and nodded. The disciple bowed sharply and turned to Tymythy.
"The Master requests no lethal blows. This is to see your posture and your timing. To understand your temperament and to find your centre." The disciple bowed gently to Tymythy. Nashyr bowed deeply and dropped back into a high seated lunge stance.
Tymythy caught the staff and watched his opponent’s showy warm-up exercise with interest. He didn’t try to match it, though – warming up before a bout was important, of course, but where he came, if you wanted to intimidate an opponent before a duel you did it boasts, not fancy weaponwork. He had never truly acquired a taste for that, truth be told, and he wondered if the monk would even understand his words were he to give the attempt. So Tymythy merely twirled the staff a few times to test its weight and balance, then stretched out his arms and shoulders, back and legs, one muscle group at a time, conserving his energy for the duel ahead – if this Nashyr danced the spears half as well as he performed Tymythy expected to be facing an opponent at least a match to his own skills. Still, victory was not the purpose here, he assumed.
"The Master requests no lethal blows. This is to see your posture and your timing. To understand your temperament and to find your centre." The disciple bowed gently to Tymythy. Nashyr bowed deeply and dropped back into a high seated lunge stance.
”Agreed,” Tymythy said simply as he finished his own warmup and took his place before Nashyr. He matched the deep bow with a nod and a fist brought to his chest over his heart, then fell into his own stance. With his opponent choosing an aggressive lunging stance Tymythy opted for a flexible one, staff held vertically in front of him – an easy stance to move into attack or defense by quickly altering his grip and thus his reach.
Dounia edged away from the spooky talking lion, hoping she was being discreet about it, is if she were just casually moving around. It's not that she thought he definitely would eat her; it's just that she wasn't confident that he wouldn't.
She watched Tymythy's trainer's opening warmup with interest. She loved the fluidity of his motions. She could do a few similar movements, but not with anything so heavy as that quarterstaff. She wondered if she could even do that at all. Maybe I should get some training here too, if to strengthen my upper body, if nothing else.
Seeing a bamboo cane that had cracked and was leaning drunkenly on its neighbour, Dounia snapped it clean off, then attempted to copy what the others were doing, with the much lighter bamboo.
"You all spotted me? I must be loosing my touch in this groomed paddock. But, please, though I do like people to show me some deference 'not worthy' is a step too far. Samreen likes you so you are fit. Keep up the bowing though, young Master Tymythy. I quite like that part. And Jzahra and Dounia. You are all back but perhaps for nothing. Samreen and her body guard are away. Unless you are here to see me" He squinted at you three doubtfully.
Zahra smiled shyly as the majestic lion spoke. "We were aware that Samreen is away. We were unaware that you would still be gracing this place with your presence. If you would like visitors, I would be most honoured to return another day just to see you." The sorceress found herself wanting to run her hands through Soledad's mane but didn't dare to presume that he would ever want to be touched like a common pet.
She stepped to the side while Tymythy explained their business in coming. When they reached an agreement and began to move to engage in mock combat, she turned to Soledad and asked, "Would you like to watch with me or do you have more important things to attend to?"
Zahra stood at the fringes of what could be considered a circle of onlookers and found herself thinking of the Family's tent at alHufra. At least this time everything was relatively friendly and she figured that cheering would be frowned upon given how much they liked silence. Would polite clapping be allowed? She figured she'd have to watch how the other monks reacted who were watching and then act accordingly.
Nashyr switched feet with a half step back and a long step forward. Simultaneously, he switched the grip on his front hand to a pinch technique instead of a fist. His quarterstaff found the top of Tymythy's and slid down to the young warrior's top hand.
A little surprised that his quick first move failed, Nashyr did a short leap and twisted his pelvis to power a snap to Tymythy's temple. The crack left Tymythy's head ringing. Some of the nearby monks nodded in approval.
Soledad moved to get a better look at the fight. When he settled Dounia found he was now sitting on her right side.
Reacting swiftly enough, Tymythy released the hold on his staff with his left arm and allowed Nashyr’s staff to swipe his arm away… but left his staff firmly held in his right hand. The monk recovered quickly but the unexpected lack of resistance did give Tymythy a momentary opening. He let go and readjusted his grip before the staff had time to fall more than an inch, suddenly holding his staff like it was a sword with its blade pointing down in a reversed grip. Without wasting a moment to hesitation he sidestepped to his right while twirling around on his left foot, bringing the staff down on Nashyr’s right shoulder… but he didn’t have time to so much as grin in pleasure of delivering the first blow before the monk’s staff found his head and delivered a blow and rung his bell well and truly.
Nashyr, seemed to think he was going to have an easy time with this outsider. Getting tagged alarmed him. Only just twisting out of the way of the second strike made him cautious and he took a half-step inch-worming backwards.
He leapt forward like he was going to make a forward frontal attack but then fell into a crouch with both feet together. He jabbed at Tymythy's jaw with the butt of the staff. Tymythy's head still rang but he had the sense to move to one side.
Nashyr burst upward like he was a coiled spring. His staff spun in his right hand and came down on Tymythy's left shoulder for a good glancing strike.
Zahra wasn't used to being completely ignored so she would be lying to herself if she said that it didn't hurt a little. However, she liked to think that she was mature enough to recognize that being here at the monastery was about Tymythy and his training rather than anything having to do with her.
She quietly stood to watch the match. When Tymythy scored a hit she raised her hands to clap but stopped herself before making any noise. Instead she nodded as she had seen the other monks do when Nashyr struck Tymythy. However, a wince did escape from her anytime Tymythy's bell was well and truly rung.
Dounia continued to copy the fight from a safe distance. Two other young women came and watched her, and she encouraged them to take up bamboo poles to "fight" with her. It was just her luck she was taking the roll of Tymythy when his opponent knocked him on the head. The monk battling Dounia conked her on the head with the bamboo stick, which hurt a lot less, but still knocked her on her behind.
Laughing, she looked up to find the lion sitting right next to her! The look on his face was inscrutable, and she yelped and jumped to her feet. "I think he's following me," she said to the other two monks. "Am I doing something wrong? I don't want to be eaten!"
Tymythy barely had time to recover from the jab to his face before a quick swing clipped his shoulder – enough to raise a nice bruise but noting compared to the first blow to the head. Still, there was no time to stop and take stock – he’d keep going until one of the two went down or one of the masters called the duel.
So Tymythy pressed his own attack, shifting his grip again to bring both hands close together near the center of the staff, the weapon held diagonally, allowing him to attack with either end with equal ease. As the grip shortened his reach he stepped quickly forward, closing the distance to the his opponent. He began his assault with a furious series of quick pokes to Nashyr’s face with the upper end of the staff, not getting close to breaching the monk’s defenses but gradually working his defense further and further up… and then he broke his own pattern, using the lower end of the staff to thrust down into the monk’s lower abdomen, forcing a grunt of pain from Nashyr as the monk stumbled back a step.
The disciples watching nodded in approval of Tymythy's cunning staff-work but Nashyr turned a shade of red. He went low and attempted to trip Tymythy with a sweep to the legs. It was an obvious and clumsy attempt fuelled by frustration.
Then he jabbed upward in a brutal blow to Tymythy's jaw that threatened to break it but glanced off the cheek with a long scrape. Master Beinnbhig noticed this and reached out his hand in a claw.
Everything stopped.
The women stopped practicing with Dounia. Even Soledad turned to see the Master's expression and it was fury and a realization. The master took off his silver plaque and threw it to the ground as he stared at Nashyr. Nashyr in turn layed his staff on the ground turned his back on Tymythy, went on his knees, sat on his heels and bowed his head deeply.
Master Beinnbhig came to look at Tymythy's jaw. In a voice raspy from lack of use, "Do not come tomorrow. We are cleaning tomorrow, especially Nashyr. Come the day after. Bring your donation then. What do you wish most to learn?"
"I think he's following me," she said to the other two monks. "Am I doing something wrong? I don't want to be eaten!"
One of the disciples replied, "He sees you are intimidated ... he is teasing you." She winks as you go back to training.
Master Beinnbhig came to look at Tymythy's jaw. In a voice raspy from lack of use, "Do not come tomorrow. We are cleaning tomorrow, especially Nashyr. Come the day after. Bring your donation then. What do you wish most to learn?"
Tymythy returned his loaned staff to a monk who stepped forward to retrieve it and took back his usriev, rubbing his jaw with his free hand. ”Among my people, there are techniques for dancing the spears, of using a long, heavy weapon with grace rather than brute strength. I have learnt a little of the basics, but I would now need to apply those techniques to this new weapon. To manage that, I think I need to first unlearn some skills I that have been drilled into me, as the balance of this wondrous spear is not even close to the longspear I used to train with as a child. If you could help me with that, I would be more than satisfied,” he said, noting that the master had decided to use his voice despite his dedication of silence, perhaps as an apology for a student of his forgetting the rules of the engagement.
”And… I would not presume, but… please be not overly strict to disciple Nashyr for his hand slipping with the last blow. The match was close, and had you not called it, I doubt I would have prevailed in the end. Besides, I have hurt myself worse shaving,” he ended his plea with a grin, gesturing with his hand at his hair that was shaved off around his ears. Truly, he bore no ill will towards Nashyr for the single blow delivered to the end. But he knew it was not his place to decide the monk’s penance for breaking the master’s rules.
”And… I would not presume, but… please be not overly strict to disciple Nashyr for his hand slipping with the last blow. The match was close, and had you not called it, I doubt I would have prevailed in the end. Besides, I have hurt myself worse shaving,”
"Your words do you credit but the disciple has committed two offences: losing control in a meet, and not following my orders. Don't worry young one. We will not shave him but he must learn discipline. For my outburst, I apologize. It seems I have to learn discipline as well. I am grateful to be able to say this."
"To unlearn we will place you in basic drills. Our master of spear is not here but I and a few disciples can help you. We will work you into learning our kata which, from what I've seen of your footwork, should be compatible with your spear-dancing style."
A disciple came and picked up the master's silver plaque and handed Beinnbhig a piece of course paper on a cord. Upon the paper the same 'silence' was written in the calligraphy of that strange language. Before putting it on, Beinnbhig summoned his resources and said out to the air, "Can we not have that broth again for midday tomorrow?!" He exhaled with relief.
After he put the paper around his neck he fell silent once more.
It was a slow walk home and, although you all got a late start, it had been a long day. The song of ten in the evening was being sung in the towers when you all got back to Haseena's. Cairee returned a quarter of an hour after you.
She looked exhausted.
And she was covered in chicken feathers.
Dounia stared in shock at the young monk's words. He's not hungry...he's just...mean? She considered turning and confronting the lion, but quickly decided against it. After all, her new friend might be wrong. And even if she's not, calling a lion a bully might change its attitude from "mean" to "really mean".
She watched in fascination as the master made his request for a better lunch, and then took the paper sign for his neck. "How long does it take to earn the silver one?" she asked. "And why don't you have one?"
***
Dounia was anxious when they arrived back to find Cairee hadn't returned. She was about to head back out, and look for her, when the preistess arrived. Covered in ...feathers?? Dounia hugged her anyway, and demanded, "What happened to you?!"
Zahra's eyes were as wide as saucers as she watched the drama unfold before her. She wondered if Master Beinnbhig realized he was giving up his vow of silence to help Tymythy or if he had just reacted to what Nashyr was about to do. Either way, he had sacrificed a lot from what she could gather.
When Haseena's home came into view, Zahra suddenly felt very tired and couldn't wait to relax. It had been a long but productive day. They earned the right to put their feet up.
She exchanged concerned looks with Dounia when they realize that Cairee hadn't returned yet. Zahra had thought for sure that Cairee would have gotten back before them. It was perplexing that this wasn't the case. But where would they start looking? Zhayalammar was such a huge city it would be difficult to just stumble upon someone. Maybe Tymythy could track her if they went back to the last place they were together...
Just as she was about to propose they go to look for their cleric, Cairee returned. Both of Zahra's eyebrows shot upwards when she saw that Cairee was covered with feathers. "You definitely have a story to tell. Come and sit, I'll get you something to eat and drink while you tell us what you've been doing."
Tymythy quirked a smile at the master deciding to make the best of his breach of his own vow of silence to comment on the temple’s menu of all things. With a final bow to Master Beinnbhig and Nashyr he followed the ladies out of the temple compound, feeling quite good at the day’s work despite his new set of bruises.
**
Cairee’s eventual return from her own mission came as a pleasant relief, as the three had begun to get anxious as the day came to a close. As the three gathered around the last member of their group Cairee’s exhaustion was evident… as were the feathers bedecking her. ’Did the starling come second best in a fight with chicken’ he mused, amused at the sight. He could hardly wait to hear what exactly she had been up to.