Post by Mach2 on Oct 18, 2015 8:28:21 GMT
Thud
...
Thud
...
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Again and again, the sound of wood against wood echoed through the air. The night was hot, and Katar could feel her hair and clothes dampening with perspiration. Already, she had elected to shed several layers. A pile of cloth; greys, browns, and greys; lay on the rocky ground a few meters away. Now, she was dressed only in a dark undershirt and loose pants.
A skeletal tree served as her pell. She had carved notches into it, serving as targets. Hips, ribs, shoulder, head. With a wooden sword, she attacked the tree with a multitude of memorized drills. Hip-rib-hip-shoulder-hip-head. Repeat. Rib-hip-rib-shoulder-rib-head. Repeat. Over and over. Thud. Thud. Thud.
“Katar…”
The voice was familiar. Soft-spoken, female, sounding from somewhere behind her. Breathing heavily, Katar let her sword-arm drop, and turned around. Sure enough, her friend Annika stood there. The moonlight was bright enough to illuminate the expression of concern on the other woman’s face. She was dressed modestly, in layers of light clothing, as was traditional for their people. “How long have you been out here?” she asked.
“Since dusk.”
“Did you eat?”
“Yes.”
Silence for a moment. “Come take a break. I brought water.”
Only when she held it up did Katar notice the full waterskin at Annika’s waist. She conceded, and lay her training sword down on the ground. Picking up one of her discarded articles of clothing, Katar draped the cloth over her bare shoulders. The two women took a seat on the ground, and Katar gulped water, and then air. There was silence between them for a few moments while she caught her breath. Then she cleared her throat. “I’m not getting any better.”
“You’re training so much, of course you’re getti-“
“No, I’m not, Annika. Shut up.” Ordinarily, she would welcome the encouragement. But not today. Despite her modesty and mild demeanour, Annika was one of the most skilled combatants Katar had ever seen. Her encouragement stung of condescension. “I train and I train, but it’s not doing anything.”
As requested, Annika remained silent. And it was a good thing, too, because now the words were spilling out of Katar’s mouth without resistance. “Hours. Every day. Every. Day. I know how to fight, I know all the drills, I just can’t do it. I slow the moves down, and practice them over and over, and then as soon as I speed it up again I drop whatever stupid weapon I’m holding.”
She took a breath, but she wasn’t finished. “Jorin asked me to train with him the other day. He beat me. He’s twelve, Annika, and he’s not even that good.” Emotion was flooding into her voice. A mixture of anger, sadness, and desperation. “You should have seen my father’s face. He couldn’t even look at me after. He was angry with Jorin for making me look like a fool, but he wouldn’t even speak with me.”
Her vision blurred with tears, but she refused to let them fall. She felt Annika’s hand at her shoulder, rubbing the aching muscles there. She waited for the inevitable ‘just keep trying’ or ‘it takes time’, but it didn’t come. Everyone wanted to make their families proud. To disappoint them was the gravest wrong-doing possible. Finally, after a few moments, Katar’s friend spoke. “What are you going to do?” she asked softly.
“I…don’t know.”
Except she did. In that moment, Katar knew there was no hope for her here. She stared out across the flat desert, and vowed to leave at first morning’s light.
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Height: 5’6”
Weight: 130 lbs
Rank: Citizen
Basic Appearance:
Years of training show on Katar’s body. Her build, like everyone in her tribe, is lean and powerful. Her arms are toned, her core is tight, and her legs have the muscle required to sprint across the unforgiving sand.
Katar’s eyes are nearly as dark in colour as her hair. Combined with high cheek-bones and arching brows, her gaze is intense even when she is bored. Her hair is usually pulled back in a braid, and then hidden beneath the fabric of her clothing. Rarely is any skin exposed, especially when she is in public. Despite living in the desert, Katar, and the rest of her people, remain fair-skinned. To be seen by the sun is to show the world how you forfeit your modesty. As such, sun-darkened skin is as provocative as running around naked.
Below her clothing, Katar’s fair skin is crossed with numerous scars. Her palms are calloused, and have been sliced open numerous times when she fumbled a weapon. Her torso and limbs are also scarred – from tournaments and battles that she quickly lost. She remembers the circumstances of every wound, and can recite the story of each scar. It is important to recall one’s failings.
Combat Credentials
Combat Style:
In a word…clumsy.
Katar’s combat knowledge is excellent. Her people pride themselves on physical prowess and fighting skill. From the time she could walk, she has been trained with all manner of weaponry. She knows how to wield a sword. A dagger. Her namesake, the katar. She knows blocks and strikes and stances.
She knows how to aim a thrown weapon. When to release it for the optimal spin. Her expertise progresses to ranged weapons. In theory, Katar should be a formidable opponent with a bow. But, in actuality, she is terrible. With every fighting style she attempts, Katar fails miserably. She is uncoordinated, and prone to rather disastrous slip-ups when fighting. When Katar faces an opponent, people joke that she is just as likely to strike herself as she is her target.
Weapon(s):
Scimitar: Live steel, the traditional gift when a Raikan child enters adulthood. Katar’s scimitar was gifted to her at the age of thirteen. It is her most prized possession, featuring intricate gold inlay on the handle. To her immense embarrassment, Katar’s weapon remains unchristened – a blade only receives a name when it has seen its first victory in battle.
Shortsword: A basic weapon, and the one Katar trains with the most often.
Knives: A set of ten throwing knives. The blades are lightweight, and expertly balanced. In the hands of a skilled individual, they would be quite intimidating.
Gear:
Clothing: Katar’s people place heavy value on modesty. As such, they tend to dress in many layers of thin-fabric clothing. To expose one’s bare skin is a practice reserved for lovers, the closest of friends, or mothers and children. Katar tends to opt for three or four layers. Undershirt, long-sleeved undershirt, a loose tunic, and a slightly heavier piece of outerwear. In addition to modesty, the layers of clothing also serve to protect against the vicious desert sandstorms.
Horse: the Raikan people’s primary mode of transportation is horseback. The desert is simply too huge and too unforgiving to travel on foot. Katar’s stallion is a majestic creature, and she cares for him well. She named the horse Tanthird, after her grandfather.
Background
In the north eastern corner of Piriihu, west of the mountains and south of the Kingdom of Nuria, the Raikan people dwell. They are warriors by nature, though not bloodthirsty. To Raikans, combat is an art, a tradition, a part of their identity as a people. To fight honourably and achieve victory is of the highest value to them.
And, by contrast, failure is the highest shame. To lose in battle is to bring dishonour to your family line. And there is no higher failing than to dishonour one’s family.
So what happens, then, when a child continuously fails to excel at combat? The answer is complex. The Raikan people honour family, and protect their own. They will not abandon the child. But neither will they ever truly accept them. Instead, the child will always seem to half-belong. Not an outsider, but not a Raikan. Katar is one such child, and this is the life she lived.
When she was young, her slip-ups were often forgiven. If she fumbled her weapons, it was blamed on childhood clumsiness. If she could not figure out a stance, the excuse was given that she simply needed more practice. But the fumbles didn’t stop, and for all her efforts, she never seemed to improve. She grew older, and she improved. But never on par with her peers. As the years went on, the subtle hints of exclusion began to become apparent.
She was served last at family meals. Traditionally, food was given in order of age. The eldest were honoured with the first plate of food. The youngest were taught patience by waiting. But over time, Katar’s younger brother Jorin was often served before her. Eventually, it became a fact of life. She grew to accept that her family viewed her as inferior. This was hardly the only instance in which she noticed the exclusion. At the annual ceremony that marked the transition from childhood to adulthood, she was given her scimitar last, despite being born early in the year.
As she continued to grow older, it became harder and harder to remain on par with other Raikans her age. Group training always resulted in bruises for Katar. Often, blood. Once, a broken wrist. After that instance, she knew that she could no longer keep up, and resorted to private practice. And still, she never seemed to improve. She was as strong and quick as any of the others, but could never figure out the motions behind swordplay.
Twenty years. After twenty years, she finally left. There was no single moment that pushed Katar to abandon her people, but rather, a culmination of small events. She still prides herself as a Raikan. But she no longer wants to bring shame to her family line. To travel out into the world is her only chance now at victory. Her only chance to finally bring a small piece of honour to her family name.
Relations:
Annika, fourth daughter of the fourth line of Raikan: Katar’s closest friend and confidant amongst the Raikan people. Annika is a fearsome warrior, perhaps one of the strongest fighters in the clan. Without a doubt, the strongest female. People often joke, calling Annika the “Mouse that fights like a tiger” – a reference that highlights the contrast between her sweet demeanour and vicious combat ability.
Jorin, first son of the sixth line of Raikan: Katar’s younger brother, twelve years of age. Though he is not a poor fighter, he is not impressive, either. Katar often trains with the child, wanting to see him improve far beyond what she was capable of.
...
Thud
...
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Again and again, the sound of wood against wood echoed through the air. The night was hot, and Katar could feel her hair and clothes dampening with perspiration. Already, she had elected to shed several layers. A pile of cloth; greys, browns, and greys; lay on the rocky ground a few meters away. Now, she was dressed only in a dark undershirt and loose pants.
A skeletal tree served as her pell. She had carved notches into it, serving as targets. Hips, ribs, shoulder, head. With a wooden sword, she attacked the tree with a multitude of memorized drills. Hip-rib-hip-shoulder-hip-head. Repeat. Rib-hip-rib-shoulder-rib-head. Repeat. Over and over. Thud. Thud. Thud.
“Katar…”
The voice was familiar. Soft-spoken, female, sounding from somewhere behind her. Breathing heavily, Katar let her sword-arm drop, and turned around. Sure enough, her friend Annika stood there. The moonlight was bright enough to illuminate the expression of concern on the other woman’s face. She was dressed modestly, in layers of light clothing, as was traditional for their people. “How long have you been out here?” she asked.
“Since dusk.”
“Did you eat?”
“Yes.”
Silence for a moment. “Come take a break. I brought water.”
Only when she held it up did Katar notice the full waterskin at Annika’s waist. She conceded, and lay her training sword down on the ground. Picking up one of her discarded articles of clothing, Katar draped the cloth over her bare shoulders. The two women took a seat on the ground, and Katar gulped water, and then air. There was silence between them for a few moments while she caught her breath. Then she cleared her throat. “I’m not getting any better.”
“You’re training so much, of course you’re getti-“
“No, I’m not, Annika. Shut up.” Ordinarily, she would welcome the encouragement. But not today. Despite her modesty and mild demeanour, Annika was one of the most skilled combatants Katar had ever seen. Her encouragement stung of condescension. “I train and I train, but it’s not doing anything.”
As requested, Annika remained silent. And it was a good thing, too, because now the words were spilling out of Katar’s mouth without resistance. “Hours. Every day. Every. Day. I know how to fight, I know all the drills, I just can’t do it. I slow the moves down, and practice them over and over, and then as soon as I speed it up again I drop whatever stupid weapon I’m holding.”
She took a breath, but she wasn’t finished. “Jorin asked me to train with him the other day. He beat me. He’s twelve, Annika, and he’s not even that good.” Emotion was flooding into her voice. A mixture of anger, sadness, and desperation. “You should have seen my father’s face. He couldn’t even look at me after. He was angry with Jorin for making me look like a fool, but he wouldn’t even speak with me.”
Her vision blurred with tears, but she refused to let them fall. She felt Annika’s hand at her shoulder, rubbing the aching muscles there. She waited for the inevitable ‘just keep trying’ or ‘it takes time’, but it didn’t come. Everyone wanted to make their families proud. To disappoint them was the gravest wrong-doing possible. Finally, after a few moments, Katar’s friend spoke. “What are you going to do?” she asked softly.
“I…don’t know.”
Except she did. In that moment, Katar knew there was no hope for her here. She stared out across the flat desert, and vowed to leave at first morning’s light.
Katar, First Daughter of the Sixth Line of Raika
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Height: 5’6”
Weight: 130 lbs
Rank: Citizen
Basic Appearance:
Years of training show on Katar’s body. Her build, like everyone in her tribe, is lean and powerful. Her arms are toned, her core is tight, and her legs have the muscle required to sprint across the unforgiving sand.
Katar’s eyes are nearly as dark in colour as her hair. Combined with high cheek-bones and arching brows, her gaze is intense even when she is bored. Her hair is usually pulled back in a braid, and then hidden beneath the fabric of her clothing. Rarely is any skin exposed, especially when she is in public. Despite living in the desert, Katar, and the rest of her people, remain fair-skinned. To be seen by the sun is to show the world how you forfeit your modesty. As such, sun-darkened skin is as provocative as running around naked.
Below her clothing, Katar’s fair skin is crossed with numerous scars. Her palms are calloused, and have been sliced open numerous times when she fumbled a weapon. Her torso and limbs are also scarred – from tournaments and battles that she quickly lost. She remembers the circumstances of every wound, and can recite the story of each scar. It is important to recall one’s failings.
Combat Credentials
Combat Style:
In a word…clumsy.
Katar’s combat knowledge is excellent. Her people pride themselves on physical prowess and fighting skill. From the time she could walk, she has been trained with all manner of weaponry. She knows how to wield a sword. A dagger. Her namesake, the katar. She knows blocks and strikes and stances.
She knows how to aim a thrown weapon. When to release it for the optimal spin. Her expertise progresses to ranged weapons. In theory, Katar should be a formidable opponent with a bow. But, in actuality, she is terrible. With every fighting style she attempts, Katar fails miserably. She is uncoordinated, and prone to rather disastrous slip-ups when fighting. When Katar faces an opponent, people joke that she is just as likely to strike herself as she is her target.
Weapon(s):
Scimitar: Live steel, the traditional gift when a Raikan child enters adulthood. Katar’s scimitar was gifted to her at the age of thirteen. It is her most prized possession, featuring intricate gold inlay on the handle. To her immense embarrassment, Katar’s weapon remains unchristened – a blade only receives a name when it has seen its first victory in battle.
Shortsword: A basic weapon, and the one Katar trains with the most often.
Knives: A set of ten throwing knives. The blades are lightweight, and expertly balanced. In the hands of a skilled individual, they would be quite intimidating.
Gear:
Clothing: Katar’s people place heavy value on modesty. As such, they tend to dress in many layers of thin-fabric clothing. To expose one’s bare skin is a practice reserved for lovers, the closest of friends, or mothers and children. Katar tends to opt for three or four layers. Undershirt, long-sleeved undershirt, a loose tunic, and a slightly heavier piece of outerwear. In addition to modesty, the layers of clothing also serve to protect against the vicious desert sandstorms.
Horse: the Raikan people’s primary mode of transportation is horseback. The desert is simply too huge and too unforgiving to travel on foot. Katar’s stallion is a majestic creature, and she cares for him well. She named the horse Tanthird, after her grandfather.
Background
In the north eastern corner of Piriihu, west of the mountains and south of the Kingdom of Nuria, the Raikan people dwell. They are warriors by nature, though not bloodthirsty. To Raikans, combat is an art, a tradition, a part of their identity as a people. To fight honourably and achieve victory is of the highest value to them.
And, by contrast, failure is the highest shame. To lose in battle is to bring dishonour to your family line. And there is no higher failing than to dishonour one’s family.
So what happens, then, when a child continuously fails to excel at combat? The answer is complex. The Raikan people honour family, and protect their own. They will not abandon the child. But neither will they ever truly accept them. Instead, the child will always seem to half-belong. Not an outsider, but not a Raikan. Katar is one such child, and this is the life she lived.
When she was young, her slip-ups were often forgiven. If she fumbled her weapons, it was blamed on childhood clumsiness. If she could not figure out a stance, the excuse was given that she simply needed more practice. But the fumbles didn’t stop, and for all her efforts, she never seemed to improve. She grew older, and she improved. But never on par with her peers. As the years went on, the subtle hints of exclusion began to become apparent.
She was served last at family meals. Traditionally, food was given in order of age. The eldest were honoured with the first plate of food. The youngest were taught patience by waiting. But over time, Katar’s younger brother Jorin was often served before her. Eventually, it became a fact of life. She grew to accept that her family viewed her as inferior. This was hardly the only instance in which she noticed the exclusion. At the annual ceremony that marked the transition from childhood to adulthood, she was given her scimitar last, despite being born early in the year.
As she continued to grow older, it became harder and harder to remain on par with other Raikans her age. Group training always resulted in bruises for Katar. Often, blood. Once, a broken wrist. After that instance, she knew that she could no longer keep up, and resorted to private practice. And still, she never seemed to improve. She was as strong and quick as any of the others, but could never figure out the motions behind swordplay.
Twenty years. After twenty years, she finally left. There was no single moment that pushed Katar to abandon her people, but rather, a culmination of small events. She still prides herself as a Raikan. But she no longer wants to bring shame to her family line. To travel out into the world is her only chance now at victory. Her only chance to finally bring a small piece of honour to her family name.
Relations:
Annika, fourth daughter of the fourth line of Raikan: Katar’s closest friend and confidant amongst the Raikan people. Annika is a fearsome warrior, perhaps one of the strongest fighters in the clan. Without a doubt, the strongest female. People often joke, calling Annika the “Mouse that fights like a tiger” – a reference that highlights the contrast between her sweet demeanour and vicious combat ability.
Jorin, first son of the sixth line of Raikan: Katar’s younger brother, twelve years of age. Though he is not a poor fighter, he is not impressive, either. Katar often trains with the child, wanting to see him improve far beyond what she was capable of.