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The Prophecy: an Epic Adventure (Dawg and Aestas)

Started by Dawg, July 17, 2008, 10:28:41 AM

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Dawg

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[tr][td]
"sEx is LikE aiR..
iTs noT reaLLy tHat imPortAnt
untiL yoU're noT geTtiNg anY.."
[/td][td]
   *******   [/td][td]
Suffering should be creative,
it should give birth to something good and lovely
 ~ Chinua Achebe
[/td][/tr][/table]

Dawg

All was still in the valley as the mist drifted in from the sea nearby clinging to the mountains. Birds twittered in the foggy damp as clouds hid the sun.  A rat came down the slope, falling head over heals as it slipped on the moss covered rocks.  Righting itself, it made for the clump of crooked cedar trees at the base of the mountain.

Kinngar Garlerran had been working the fields all day and thankful for the clouds covering the sun while he toiled.  He had finished laying the seeds on the back parcel and was finally glad that he would have more time to practice the blacksmithing that his uncle taught him over this past winter.
He was 17 now, almost a man at 18 and would be venturing out on his own, away from this god forsaken valley.  Nothing ever happened here and he always wondered why his uncle would choose such a place so far from civilization.  They hardly ever had visitors and when they did they were usually to old soldier friends of his uncle, never anything more exciting than a bowl of cold soup.  But his uncle and aunt preferred it that way, this life of boring seclusion and he had no choice but to accept.

His family had been killed in a freak accident in Auchland when he was 11 and he had been sent here to live with his only known living relative. He thought about his Father, mother and older brother as he took the plow horse to the barn and washed her down.  It had been 6 yeas now that he lived here and every day he grew more restless.  Thinking of the stories his father would tell of his time in the wars and the glorious battles that he and his uncle fought in.  His uncle never liked to talk about those days and would quickly shut Kinngar up whenever he would mention them.  He would tell him that only fools fought in the wars and that they were the cause of these dark times now befallen on the lands.

He finished with the animals and headed in just in time for a bowl of peasant soup his aunt had been making all day while he had been in the field.  They were a poor family who harvested just enough to make it through the winter and a little extra for his uncle to sell in the markets in Auchland.  But his uncle would never even let him travel there with him, said it was too dangerous for him there ever since his family was killed.  That argument held no logic for Kinngar though, his family was killed in and accident, so why would it be too dangerous for him to travel there now.  But it was no use arguing any more, his uncle would never budge.

After they finished dinner he set up his studies in the corner like he did every night.  His uncle and aunt insisted that he be schooled in the ways of science and math even though he knew he would never have a need for them. As soon as he was 18 he was going to leave and go out into the world to find adventure and make a name for himself.  He remembered some of the lessons his father taught him about fighting with a sword and he would practice whenever he had a chance with some wooden ones he had hidden behind the barn.  His uncle caught him one time when he was careless and severely beat him for it.  So he was much more cautious about his practice now and made sure his uncle had left the farm before he would do it.

His studies complete for the night he crawled up into his cramped room in the rafters of the house and readied himself for bed, but something tugged at him this night and he couldn't get to sleep.  There was something in the mist tonight and it gave him chills.  A dark and onerous feeling that he couldn't shake, like something was about to happen but he couldn't figure out what.  He looked down and his uncle and aunt were fast asleep, yet he wasn't tired and so he just lay there looking at the ceiling.  Then out of the dark he heard something outside in the barn.  Something had the animals stirred up and he knew the wolves had come back.  He climbed down and went to wake his uncle but instead thought that if he took care of them on his own, then he could prove to his uncle that he was a man now and he would allow him to practice. So he slipped out the door with his uncle's sword and headed for the barn.

As he approached the barn, it was eerily quiet, not even the insects making their nighttime symphony.  The mist was thick tonight as he approached the door and he was afraid he was too late.  But the wolves would still be there, why was there no noise.  Quietly he drew the sword and made his way into the barn.  What came into sight was more than he could ever imagine, all of the animals had been slaughtered, but not by wolves, by men. They were either shot by arrows or their throats cut.  He panicked, not knowing what to do and tripped over a bucket landing face first in the dirt trying to get out of there.  He ran back to the house as fast as he could making his way across the farmyard as fast as the falcons flew in the sky and as he approached the house he began yelling for his uncle.

Darting in thought the open door he found a sight worse than the barn.  His aunt lay across the bed, 5 arrows sticking out of her bosom, the blood soaking the hay mattress as it poured out of her wounds.  His uncle lay on the floor face up in a pool of his blood still spurting from the open wound to his neck.

Kinngar's heart seemed to stop and he couldn't find his breathe.  It was as if a 500 pound boulder was sitting on his chest as he stood there for he doesn't recall how long staring at the lifeless bodies.  When finally he found his breathe and was about to approach the bodies he felt something behind him and chills ran down his spine like bolts of lightening piercing a stormy sky.  Still holding the sword in his hand, he turned and there standing in the doorway was a figure silhouetted against the dark mist outside. Holding a sword and staring back at him.  He froze and stood looking at the figure not knowing what to do next.

.
[tr][td]
"sEx is LikE aiR..
iTs noT reaLLy tHat imPortAnt
untiL yoU're noT geTtiNg anY.."
[/td][td]
   *******   [/td][td]
Suffering should be creative,
it should give birth to something good and lovely
 ~ Chinua Achebe
[/td][/tr][/table]

Sherona

Though the night might be quiet, most sleeping in their respective beds or dens, one was up and prowling. Quietly does she slip the shadows near the small unassuming farm stead as she normally does most nights. Though tonight was different, normally she made one round every few hours, resting and sleeping in between, but tonight something in her gut told her to be watchful.

Alkajira, or simply Jira as the locals knew her, was not all that she seemed. The village thought her to be a simple serving girl, in her father's tavern. The Tavern aptly named, was just as unassuming as the farm stead, opened six years before when Kinngar had moved in with his uncle. Jira herself had been but fifteen at that time, now a grown woman of twenty one.

However, there had been a few whispers of her own quiet demeanor, of her brooding posture and sometimes surliness in the establishment. This is because Jira was no ordinary serving girl. From the time she had been able to lift a practice sword of wood, her father had been training her. Training her for this night it seemed to the woman.

Hair, black as a starless night, was pinned in a tight braid wound and bound in such a fashion that there was not much dangling for someone to grip. Instead of the gowns she was forced to wear to keep a low profile during the day, her body was clad in tight leather breeches and tunic, not a strap loosened to hinder her movements. A long iron sword swayed at her hip, one long tapered hand steadies the hilt as she crouches low.

She had been in the woods when the animal noises had alerted her, but whoever was behind this attempt was well organized, not only were there a group slaughtering the animals but also ringing the perimeter. Two such people lay dead behind her, one whose throat had been cut ear to ear, and another with a deep gash slicing from his hip to shoulder. This had slowed her down.

Then she hears his voice calling through the air, and she swore under her breath. He was announcing his where abouts to anyone around, stupid fool..the ungracious thought slipped through her mind even as her own silence was broken. Her feet fall now fully against the ground, rounding the cabin just in time for him to slip in and to see the figure of a swords man round the opposite corner behind him.

A grunt is given, and her sword is once more swinging into action. While the man focused hsi gaze on Kinngar, his face stony and emotionalless, even as a thin blade emerges from his sternum, then slices upwards until he slowly slides off, landing with a wet sound face first onto the floor. From the shadows Alkajira steps over the dead body, her dark brows knitting together, sapphire eyes blazing darkly. "By the gods get down..do you not see the arrows?" Her voice might have been melodic if not for the impatient demanding tones there in, her shoulder bracing against the door jam as she attempts to assess where the archers might be laid in waiting.

"We have to get you out of here...keep your voice down..we have to move now but you will need more then your night clothing...hurry and change..The others come.." No sympathies does she offer, nor does she seem particularly bothered by the now three dead people littering the cabin. "Get your uncle's clothing rather then try and climb up unless you have some on the lower floor...go!"

Dawg

Kinngar stands motionless and his mind goes almost completely blank as the man in the doorway raises his sword and begins to step through the doorway.  Like a fox caught in a hunters trap he sees his end near and fails to see why.  Why would they attack and kill a poor farmer, wife and innocent nephew.  The world is a cruel place and the evil seeps darker and covers more everyday.  His uncle was a fool to say otherwise.

“Well, I won’t go so easily whoever you are coming to slaughter an old man and woman, I am a warrior so come try if you can.”  He knows his threat is a hollow straw man, but he hopes his assailant doesn’t think so.  As he begins to raise his uncle’s sword the man begins to lunge at him and time seems to stand still for that instance as he goes over everything he practiced hoping beyond hope that he can pull this off.

But as the man lunges at him another sword runs through him and slice him upwards while he falls to the floor.  And behind him stands a young woman not much older than he is.  Clad in leather armor and the moves of a trained warrior looking back at him.  She shouts something about archers and getting dressed, but he doesn’t catch it all.  Is she here to help him, or slay him herself, he doesn’t know.

.

He raises his sword and points it at her as she barks her commands.  "I don’t know who you are or what is happening, but I demand some answers before I ….” As he is looking into her eyes he recognizes her, it the maid down at the in the village, it’s Jira?  “Jira, is that you, what is happening, why do these men want to kill us and what are you doing here, you are a, a bar maid?” He drops his sword as he now knows who it is and the questions start pouring through his mind like leaves blowing on a fall day.
[tr][td]
"sEx is LikE aiR..
iTs noT reaLLy tHat imPortAnt
untiL yoU're noT geTtiNg anY.."
[/td][td]
   *******   [/td][td]
Suffering should be creative,
it should give birth to something good and lovely
 ~ Chinua Achebe
[/td][/tr][/table]

Sherona

Jira sighs and rolls her eyes a bit, she had argued with her late father about keeping Kinngar in the dark of his heritage, and this is the result. He was totally and completely unprepared.

Jerking away from the wall, her movements quick and light as she passes through the room, one arm reaching out in an attempt to grab his arm. " They don't want to kill us, they want to kill you. Just be quiet and listen to me for now, can you do that? Just try to get dressed, and we will go out the back way, through the trail down the river. Come make haste unless you want arrows to adorn your body."

Turning she moves back towards the door, once more peering out into the darkness. "While you dress, listen as well. Don't ask questions, we don't have time for you to be distracted. Just dress." Her sword lowers lightly even as she squats to check over the dead man's pockets. "For centuries our two families have been intertwined, your family is the keeper of an ancient lore necessary for the continued survival of our world. My family is the keeper of your family, we have stood guard at your doors every day, of every year for the last three hundred years."

Dawg

“Me, I’m nothing more than an orphaned farm boy, why would they want to kill me?”  As he is saying that he makes his way over to his uncle trunk and opens it up.  Pulling the contents out he gets to the bottom and pushing on a secret lever the false bottom opens up and he pulls out his uncles old set of leather armor.  “Well, if you are right, then I suppose he won’t need this anymore and it almost fits me.”

As she relates the story he dons the armor like he has done this before, but misses a couple of straps and it fits him loosely.  He is almost a man and about the same build as his uncle, but still has some growing to do.  He finishes getting the gear on and straps the sword and scabbard to the belt.  “I don’t understand what you are saying, are we related?”

“Wait, one more thing before we go.”  Scrambling upstairs he grabs a pendent hidden in a false pocket in the wall. Jira scowls at him as he climbs up the stairs, but he cannot leave it behind.  He comes down and puts the medallion around his neck and tucks it in.  It is an image of a lion pouncing on a dragon.

“I have no idea precisely what this symbolizes, but it was my fathers before me and his fathers before him, my uncle gave it to me after my parents died and I came here to live.  Now, I still don’t understand what you are talking or what is going on here, but I agree we can talk later, who goes first, me or you.”  As he says the words he thinks to himself, what kind of man are you Kinngar, it always ladies first.  “Right, I will stay and protect your retreat, now go.”


[tr][td]
"sEx is LikE aiR..
iTs noT reaLLy tHat imPortAnt
untiL yoU're noT geTtiNg anY.."
[/td][td]
   *******   [/td][td]
Suffering should be creative,
it should give birth to something good and lovely
 ~ Chinua Achebe
[/td][/tr][/table]

Sherona

Jira waits mostly impatiently as she presses herself against the doorframe. Her black hair barely moving with the movement of the furiously shaking head. "Not now Kinnegar. I will answer your questions when we don't have a half a dozen men trying to kill you shall we? No tellin gwhat they will hear and take back."

She almost looks as if she was tapping her foot as she watches him don the armor, biting her tongue when he misses a few straps. An exasperated sigh is given when he scrambles upwards, "Hurry!" she admonishes in a hissed tone. "Unless you just want to hand yourself over on a silver platter."

When he finally got down once more, her eyes narrow as she sees the pendant, looking almost a little distant before she shakes her head once more. "Indeed you will follow me out, but you are not to do anything foolish as running off to slay a would be attacker. You will not be protecting my 'retreat' but staying firmly behind me, and not getting in the way of the back swing. Stay close, keep your head down." She waits only a beat before she slips out into the darkness, crouching low.

Dawg

As Jira slips outside, Kinngar keeps his lips sealed and follows right behind her, almost bumping into her at one point as he looks back and doesn’t notice her stopped.   He regains himself and is awestruck that this barmaid can move faster and quieter than the ablest hunter he has ever met.

As they cross into the woods he carelessly steps on a branch hearing it crack lightly under his foot, and exasperated sigh leaves his lips ever so quietly until he looks up and sees the eyes of Jira, looking more intense and angry than his Uncle ever did so he stops and remains quiet.

After she turns and silently moves ahead he follows as he hears the men ransacking the house before they set it ablaze in a chorus of whoops and hollers.  Hoping they are satisfied he regains his breath and continues behind Jira until they are up and over the top of the first ridge, where he stops to look back at the farmstead for what he now knows will be the last time.

The house and barn are both engulfed in flames and the mean are shouting something, but he doesn’t make out what it is.  He silently says a prayer for his aunt and uncle and turns to catch up with Jira who hasn’t stopped.
[tr][td]
"sEx is LikE aiR..
iTs noT reaLLy tHat imPortAnt
untiL yoU're noT geTtiNg anY.."
[/td][td]
   *******   [/td][td]
Suffering should be creative,
it should give birth to something good and lovely
 ~ Chinua Achebe
[/td][/tr][/table]

Sherona

Jira fumed silently as she leads the young boy out and over the ridge. She was not really mad at him, it was not his fault he was an untrained, heavy footed farmboy. He should have been trained, he should have been told and he should have been prepared. She intends on changing that as soon as they were well away from here.

It is apparent, now, that the evil had found the blood line he had been looking for. With the Uncle dead, his blood slightly diluted but might have done well enough, Kinnegar was now the sole heir, the sole protector of humanity. This young man who could not even walk five steps without making his presence known, holds the very world within the palm of his hand.

Silently she continues on, not speaking, and only allowing her displeasure being known by the glares sent towards him. Will he crack beneath the pressure of his birthrite? Will he step up and become the hero he needs to be? Will he disbelieve and run away? Only time will tell.

It is some miles that they travel, her in silence and only giving him glares if he dared to try and speak. It was not until they came upon a great ravine does she stop, shealthing her sword and absently rotating her shoulder. The moon has now set, and all was quiet and dark.

"We make camp here, no fire. It might get chilly and we do not have provisions at this moment, but we will remedy that in the morning." Turning, she looks at Kinnegar for the first time in the whole evening with slightly softened eyes. "It has been an eventful night. You should try to sleep, I will stand guard."

Dawg

After he turned to follow her down from the ridge Kinnegar did his best to keep up with her as they made their way through the forest.  Never stopping Jira continued to press forward along the trails that she obviously had traveled many times and was brilliant at navigating, even in the dark and mist.

As they traveled he attempted to ask her questions but each time he even whispered her only response was the glare from her piercing eyes.  Just who does she think she is he thought to himself, this server from the tavern bossing him around.  But there were far deeper questions cursing through his mind at the moment.  What is all this talk about him, and why anyone would send so many men to kill a hapless farm boy who’s only protection was his uncle?  And the sadness of the loss of his uncle and aunt, that has not even set in yet.

Jira finally stops by the side of a large ravine and Kinnegar sits on a large boulder resting himself from the journey.  He is used to traveling such distances, but not after an entire day and night without sleep and especially not after running from whoever it is they were running from.  Jira looks at him and for the first time he sees the Jira he knows looking back at him instead of the glare from the taskmaster.

“I won’t argue with you about sleeping, I can’t go another step and am about to collapse anyway.  But before I lay down, tell me what is going on and why are those men after us.  Did my uncle do something wrong?”
[tr][td]
"sEx is LikE aiR..
iTs noT reaLLy tHat imPortAnt
untiL yoU're noT geTtiNg anY.."
[/td][td]
   *******   [/td][td]
Suffering should be creative,
it should give birth to something good and lovely
 ~ Chinua Achebe
[/td][/tr][/table]

Sherona

Jira sighs softly as she settles down on the ground, her knees bend beside her in a startling feminine pose considering the garb she was wearing. Her sword is lain gently across her lap, and from one of her many hidden pouches came a sharpening stone.

"You nor your Uncle did anything wrong Kinnegar, though it would have helped the situation much more so if he had told you about yourself and prepared you." Her words were hushed and she did not look at him, though her ears were attuned to the sounds of the forest around them, listening for anything out of the ordinairy.

"It is late and we do not have the luxury of sleeping in tomorrow, so we will just cut to the fundamentals and you will not keep yourself awake by asking questions that we need hours to discuss." This last is said in the voice of the commander once more, rather then the softer voice of the barmaid, her dark eyes raising once more to look at him evenly. "Suffice to say your of special birth. Your ancestor was once King of all that you see, all of the known land was under his rule, and a wise ruler he was. The land was at peace, and the people prospered under his loving guidance."

Kajira fell silent for a moment, the whetstone being the only sound in the night air for a very long minute. "That was until the evil was loosed upon the world. The evil threatened to swallow the countryside whole, twisting and corrupting mens hearts in wickedness, tempting the most holy of men to the path of corruption. The evil had one goal, and one goal alone. To swallow the world whole in its malice, to caste all of humanity into the shadow of iniquity."

"There was another man of some import to the story, the King's best friend since boyhood and his closest advisor. His champion of arms, and his commanding General. That man was my Great grandfather many times over. Together they bound the evil in a vault of the most holy of magic, the blood of the king locks the cage. So long as his blood was on the throne, then the evil will remain bound, but over the years the people forgot and your blood line was overthrown. Since then my family, who my ancestor bound in an oath to protect your blood line, has watched over yours, waiting for the time of the stirring evil knowing it was soon at hand...It seems the evil is now aware of worldly events."

Dawg

Kinngar sits on the rock catching his breath and wishing he had grabbed some type of supplies from the house.   The mist and darkness have an eerie chill in them tonight and he wished he had a blanket.

He listens to Jira as she relates the story to him and he thinks she has vaguely gone insane, he is no king in charge of the land, and what is this evil she speaks about, but he listens none the less.  She must be confused, but she saved him from those bandits at least and he is grateful for that.  She finishes and he speaks, “I don’t know how much of what you say is true Jira, but you did safe me back there and I am in your debt for that.  I agree that we need to rest and I am in no condition to fight you about a watch tonight.  We can talk more in the morning.  Thank You for everything tonight."

He brushes away some debris from the ground and curls up to shelter himself from the chill before quickly drifting off.  It is a restless sleep; he sees his uncle and Aunt on the ground in the house just as he found them in their pool of blood, and then his father standing over them as he looks up at him with a look of despair on his face.  As he reaches out for his father he disappears and a shadow whisks in with burning red eyes and the gaze burns right down to his core.  He feels as though the shadow is pulling at his very soul before a sword cuts through the aberration and Jira is standing by his side.

He awakes with a scream covered in sweat and bolts upright looking for Jira.  His breathing heavy he hears only the sounds of the woods and the wind as it blows through the ravine and wonders if this feeling is what fear really feels like.  His heart is pounding and his finger feel numb as he blinks his eyes staring into the still and misty dark of night.
[tr][td]
"sEx is LikE aiR..
iTs noT reaLLy tHat imPortAnt
untiL yoU're noT geTtiNg anY.."
[/td][td]
   *******   [/td][td]
Suffering should be creative,
it should give birth to something good and lovely
 ~ Chinua Achebe
[/td][/tr][/table]

Sherona

Jira simply nodded towards him when he speaks, she did not expect him to believe her this night. It was going to be a very long few days until she deemed they were safe enough for her to grab a good sleep, longer still before she has trained him enough to trust him with a watch by himself. That was something she intended on doing, training him for a sword in an untrained ally's hand is much moer dangerous then a sword in a trained enemy's hand.

Watching as he settles himself down, waiting until the even breathing signified that he was asleep before she stands. Taking the time of solitude to slump her shoulders, and wipe her hand wearily over her face, before she begins walking the circuit of the little 'camp'. So far so good, it didn't look as if his attackers have found the small trail but best be safe then sorry.

That was when she heard his scream. Without hesitation she crashes back to the camp, not taking the circuit but slashing through the undergrowth, to find, nothing. Only him. "What?" She barks, her heart racing slightly, sword readied, scanning the darkness.

Dawg

Jira,” Kinnegar calls to her as she bolts into camp.  His eye sullen and his cheeks flushed while he is shaking and dowsed in sweat. 

Almost in tears he turns to her, still sitting where he had bed down for the night, “Tell me, I need to know if you are being honest with me.  Was everything you told me last night the truth?  I need to know what this thing is that is hunting down my family.”  At the end of his questions, the sight of his Aunt, Uncle and father flash through his mind and then the shadow.  He screams a silent scream and jumps back as though avoiding a blow from some weapon and then falls forward holding his head in his hands, sobbing finally realizing that he is alone in this world with no family.
[tr][td]
"sEx is LikE aiR..
iTs noT reaLLy tHat imPortAnt
untiL yoU're noT geTtiNg anY.."
[/td][td]
   *******   [/td][td]
Suffering should be creative,
it should give birth to something good and lovely
 ~ Chinua Achebe
[/td][/tr][/table]

Sherona

At the sight of his face, Jira relaxes somewhat and sheaths her sword once more. But she does not remain where she was, immediately she starts forward, dropping to her knees in front of him with a deep sigh before attempting to put her arms around him.

"Have you ever known me to lie Kinnegar, or to make up tall tales?" She speaks in a soft voice, her tones almost crooning. "No one really knows what it is, only that your bloodlines can keep it contained. It would be easier for you if you had been informed, prepared but your father wanted you to have a normal life. As well as it was thought that the fewer people knew of your past the less likely it would be found out." She caresses his back gently if he allows, trying to be soothing but this was not in her training, so she was awkward at best.

"I know you hurt now Kinnegar, but know that the evil that hunts you is responsible for the deaths of your family, perhaps even your father. Allow the hurt to channel against this evil."

Dawg

Kinnegar sits with his head between his knees hands covering his face sobbing as Jira speaks and when she awkwardly reaches for him he holds back no longer and wraps his arms around her squeezing tightly and buries his head in her shoulder as he continues to weep.  He gathers himself a bit and begins breathing with the help of her comfort and releasing leans back and looks straight into her eyes.

With a trembling voice, still trying to catch his breath, sounding like a brook running over some rocks he says, “Thank you for being there tonight.  If you hadn’t shown up when you did, I surely would have died back there with my aunt and uncle.  I still don’t know what all this is that you speak about, but I believe what you say now.  Promise you won’t leave me.”

Taking his sleeve he wipes his nose and sniffles back some of his sorrow and fear.  He then wipes his eyes and looks into back at her again, this time with a bit more muster in his crackling voice and determination in his words.  “You really know how to use that sword don’t you?  Can you teach me what you know?”
[tr][td]
"sEx is LikE aiR..
iTs noT reaLLy tHat imPortAnt
untiL yoU're noT geTtiNg anY.."
[/td][td]
   *******   [/td][td]
Suffering should be creative,
it should give birth to something good and lovely
 ~ Chinua Achebe
[/td][/tr][/table]

Sherona

Jira does not try to extricate herself from his grasp, nor does she try to shy away from him as he cries against her shoulders. She might have had most of the propriety of womanhood trained out of her at an early age, most of societal expectations of a woman gone, yet there was still the knowledge that comfort was needed when another human was despairing.

"Aiyah I will teach you how to handle yourself with a sword, a dagger, and a pole if need be. However you need to sleep, tomorrow we must go. There is a man who can help you..with other things..that I can not. We must get to him before we are discovered." She backes away somewhat, setting down by a tree with her back towards it. "I'll not leave you Kinnegar, this I swear to you. As you are bound to contain the evil, I am bound to ensure your safety...even with my own life. So long as I draw breath, I will be here."

Dawg

Satisfied with the answer, Kinnegar is unashamed by his act of weeping.  He looks back over at Jira, “Thanks again, I promise to be a fast and able learner so I can one day seek revenge on this evil that hunts me down now and has killed my family.  Wake me when it is time to leave.

He adjust the ground once more and lies down listlessly, to exhausted to even turn he falls right back to sleep.  This time no nightmares visit him in his slumber, he finds comfort in the silence of his slumber as rest peacefully knowing that Jira is there to watch over him.  He does have thoughts but no dreams of his father and mother, the last time he saw them in the market that day, before he went into the shop and they were ran over by that runaway carriage.  He would have been killed to had he not moments before slip off the street into that shop.
[tr][td]
"sEx is LikE aiR..
iTs noT reaLLy tHat imPortAnt
untiL yoU're noT geTtiNg anY.."
[/td][td]
   *******   [/td][td]
Suffering should be creative,
it should give birth to something good and lovely
 ~ Chinua Achebe
[/td][/tr][/table]

Sherona

Jira settles down for the night, her back against a tree and in her lap a knot of wood that was only the expanse of her lap. She smiles at his words, but when she finally speaks he might already be asleep, "Good Kinnegar. Keep that resolve..you will need it in the coming weeks."

Sighing she works through the night, a sharpened knife quickly becoming dulled only to be sharpened once more flashes occasionally in the moonlight. Her eyes are on her little project, but her ears are alert for any sounds out of the ordinairy. Here, in the darkness with the young king asleep and she was all alone once again, Jira did let just a moment of self pity slide through her. A moment to think of what might have been had she herself not been born to a oathbound family. A family of her own would have surely already been started, a house with a warm fire...soft hands like a lady and not the calloused hands of a swordswoman. But this moment does not last long, before it is squelched with just a single glance towards the sleeping boy.

A smile is given, he needed her. The world needed him. That was all there was to it.

Day break came, casting an eerie fog through out the forest, and a weary Jira stands with her finished product in her hands that she pulled over to the sleeping Kinnegar. Tossing it down beside him, she nudged him gently with her foot. "Wake up. We need to make some ground today." Beside him lays a very crudely carved wooden sword. Its 'blade' no where near straight thanks to the knots in the wood Jira had found, but if he hefts it he will see it weighs close to the same as any real sword, which is the end goal that Jira was aiming. "Take up your weapon. The first thing you learn is to get comfortable with the extra weight. So today, you will carry the wooden sword, you will continue to carry it until I have taught you enough bladesmanship so that you willnot be lopping my head off by accident."

Dawg

#19
It was a gorgeous day in the forest today Kinnegar contemplated as he made his way through the branches with the morning sun leeching through the dark canopy above stabbing shafts of light onto the colorful forest floor beneath his feet.  He had gotten up early and spent most of the morning tracking and running down the buck before him.  A Majestic creature with horns the size of his own arms and enough meat on its bones to feed the homestead for a month.  Silently he raised his bow and notched the arrow taking careful aim so not to squander this perfect opportunity, times like this came not too often.  As he pulled back on the bowstring he breathed easy and – Thump – he felt himself hit in the side of his ribs, not hard in a physical sense but enough to wake him from his dream.

The scene before his half raised eyes was far from the tranquility and peace he was at on the other side.  It took a moment for him to adjust to the mist drifting over the hilltop.  That same odd mist that had come into the valley about a month ago and had yet to leave.  The bright orange and gold’s of the morning sun in his dream was replaced by the dark gray clouds and chilly air that accompanied the mist.  Nowhere to be heard were the meadowlark praising the day, instead there was a raven crowing from a treetop on the next ridge and a field mouse scurried to find shelter in a pile of rocks.

As his mind awoke and his senses returned he heard Jira telling him they needed to get moving and saw the wooden sword sitting next to him.  Finely carved, well as finely carved as one can do with a bad piece of wood and only a couple of hours in the dark, but it was good none the less.  Her stern and somewhat commanding voice had returned and he knew they needed to get moving.  As he sat up the full force of his memories from the previous evening hit him and he once again saw his Aunt and Uncle lying there and the dreams of his Mother Father and brother that faithful day.  He had cried a lot the night before, but he still had some left in him, however today was the first day on his step to manhood.  If Jira is correct then he would no longer have the luxury for such petty emotions, still a single tear dropped on his cheek and as it rolled over his lips he could taste the salty sting.

He reached down and picked up the wooden practice sword and tested it for balance, he was no expert swordsman but he felt he could hold his own.  It felt good in his hand, heavy as his uncles sword, more so than the ones he had made and hid behind the barn and well balanced.  "I promise that the day until we can practice with real swords will not be long off then Jira," he commands with confidence and he swings the wooden blade in a graceful arc behind his back bringing it back around and up over his head with a hearty blow that would have meant a mortal wound to an open attacker.  While it looked graceful on the outside he knew inside that it  took far to much concentration still to handle the blade in such a way and promised himself that he would practice at every opportunity.

“Let’s get moving then Jira, to find this man you speak of.  Every minute we waste standing here  is one more minute that thing grows stronger.”



[tr][td]
"sEx is LikE aiR..
iTs noT reaLLy tHat imPortAnt
untiL yoU're noT geTtiNg anY.."
[/td][td]
   *******   [/td][td]
Suffering should be creative,
it should give birth to something good and lovely
 ~ Chinua Achebe
[/td][/tr][/table]

Sherona

Jira raises a brow, slightly surprised at his words but she would not show the pride she feels at hearing him say such a thing. Nodding, her normally well kept hair frayed and ragged, and though she did not get any sleep at all last night her step was firm and determined though her eyes held slightly darkened circles.

"While we walk, I will tell you the ways you will die." Her voice barely sounding exerted as she begins to lead him through the underbrush, off the beaten path. "First try not to leave too many signs that you walked through here..walk in my steps, don't disturb anything you do not have to."

That instruction out of the way, Jira continued, carefully placing her foot in places that might not leave too much of an impression. On roots, or logs preferably, though she did have to walk through leaves which would leave a telltale imprint if they had skilled trackers. "First is, never keep your eye glued on your opponents sword. Thats what they want you to do. More fatalities occur from shields, and off weapons then swords themselves because the defender never saw it coming."


Dawg

Kinnegar felt some of his bravado melt off as Jira mentioned telling him the ways he would die.  But his resolve congealed a little more as he thought about it and the hard realization that he was becoming a man sank in.  No longer was he to be a happy go lucky boy chasing woodland creatures and fighting mythical foes.  He realized that the next time he had to raise his sword there would be a real warrior on the other side who meant to end his life.  He vowed to himself that he would pay attention to his teachings.  He still didn’t know exactly who Jira was or how she came to know what she did, but she has proven herself so far and he had no one else to trust, so he resolved to trust her completely until she broke that trust.

He followed behind her watching her steps and learning where she walked.  He realized after a bit that she wasn’t thinking about the next step every time, but following the path she had set out 10 steps ahead every time so she knew exactly where she was going.  At first he was right with her moving step for step and having an easy time of it, but after a while he found it bear down on him and fatigue began to set in, but that wouldn’t stop him. 

He stepped up on a log and not paying full attention and hit a moss spot slipping off catching himself with his ribs against the log with a thump and a loss of breathe.  He looked up and saw the look of disdain from Jira but instead of resenting the look he knew that she would be a hard teacher and caught his breathes to move on.  Another time he lost attention and didn’t see the branch she had held for him to catch until too late as it smacked him in the face giving him a small but stinging cut across the cheek, this time when he cleared his eyes from the tears and sudden shock he could have sworn he saw her smiling.

He also listened to her as she spoke about defense and not paying attention to the sword, this made sense and he thought about wrestling with the other boys at the fair.  He had learned early not to watch their hands or feet but rather pay attention to their chest to see which way they would move.   Again he realized that she was speaking the truth and soaked up every word.
[tr][td]
"sEx is LikE aiR..
iTs noT reaLLy tHat imPortAnt
untiL yoU're noT geTtiNg anY.."
[/td][td]
   *******   [/td][td]
Suffering should be creative,
it should give birth to something good and lovely
 ~ Chinua Achebe
[/td][/tr][/table]

Sherona

The twigs snapped back at him waiting to catch him off guard was two fold. The first was to teach him to always be aware of his surroundings, to always be on guard. The other, because it was slightly amusing to her as he scrambled and learned things that she learned at her fathers knee as young as three.

When he slipped on moss a second time, or failed to catch the thwap of a branch once too often she finally slowed. "We will stop and rest for ten minutes. Sit." She ordered easily, though she did not seem winded or fatigued, she too settles against the ground, her legs raising so that her knees were against her chest, one of the few completely feminine things she allows herself.

"You did well, but you need practice in watching the surroundings rather then one thing. Do not allow the focus of one tree to take away from the view of the entire forest. There needs to be an even compromise on how much attention you give each detail, wihtout losing sight of the entire picture.*

Dawg

Thankfully Kinnegarr saw Jira stop in a small clearing and he caught up to her this time, but his small sense of victory was dashed when she said they were stopping to rest and he realized he hadn’t caught up, but that she stopped.

He collapsed back on his rump and spread his legs out in front of himself taking advantage of the moments he had.  He reached around and took his canteen taking a swig of water and placed it back on his belt.  Still trying to catch his breath, he looked at her as she spoke with beads of sweat coming down his forehead.  “Pay attention to my surrounding,” he thought, “I have a hard enough time just trying to pay attention to you” only after he thought it he realized he had said it out loud.

Catching himself, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be disrespectful, I mean I know you are trying to teach me your ways, but it’s just I have never done this before.  How did you learn all of this and get so good at it?”
[tr][td]
"sEx is LikE aiR..
iTs noT reaLLy tHat imPortAnt
untiL yoU're noT geTtiNg anY.."
[/td][td]
   *******   [/td][td]
Suffering should be creative,
it should give birth to something good and lovely
 ~ Chinua Achebe
[/td][/tr][/table]

Sherona

Jira looked across the small space between them, her eyes shuttered as it may seem that she might not answer at all. Finally, settling back against the tree, her eyes slip away and close, though her body remains tense and aware.

"It is overwhelming but you do not have the luxury of learning this in steps." She speaks quietly, not uncompassionately but definitely unsympathetically. "I have trouble figuring out if I envy you, or pity you."

A rueful smile lifts the corners of her mouth, and her hands raise to run her palms against each other, every callouse, every rough patch registering in her mind. "On one hand, you were allowed a small lifetime of innocence and carefree existence. While I was taught from the time I could stand the importance of my role. Had events not taken place, you would have lived a life time of blissful ignorance, having a family and dying peacefully. While I would have either had to make do with a weak man who would not interfer much with my duties to protect you."

Opening her eyes, to turn her gaze back to him, one brow arched. "On the other hand, you are woefully unprepared, you are now being forced to realize all this in the span of time that boggles the mind, and whilst you grieve. You are at greater risk then I, bcause I have been training for this moment forever, while you trained to be a farmer."