- Joined
- Jan 5, 2011
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(What better way to learn how to DG4 than to rub a bunch of rapists against a faerie)
It was a perfect day to rest atop the sun-kissed desert grass.
The sun hung in the air, to the detriment of anyone caught without shade between its scorching rays and themselves. The wind stood still, unwilling to provide the benefit of ushering along any cooling breezes. Not a drop of rain had fallen in the last year. Shadows of carrion birds danced across the surface of the sand, searching for meals provided by the harsh Anudorian environment.
But none of these were of concern to Lyra. To be one of the spring fae was to be as comfortable with heat as a fish with water. And it was no coincidence that she rested in an oasis, in the shade of a peach tree beside a shimmering spring. It was never the faeries who congregated at oases, but rather the opposite. Where there were spring fae, slivers of paradise sprouted in an otherwise cruel desert. Anudor was the spring court's sanctuary, and Lyra was not without her kin.
Swords clashed a few yards away from her. Two gorgeous bronze scimitars cut through the air in deadly arcs, wielded by equally gorgeous young sidhe women, all to the music of a drum and a lute played by satyrs. Each sidhe had skin the color of copper, each was of lithe build with supernatural beauty common of the faeries, and both wore clothing made of silk in jade with gold accents consisting of a bra and long skirt with an equally long slit in the side. Where they differed was that one had pointed ears, long, raven hair which hung freely to her waist, and golden eyes, while the other was possessed of equally long, silvery hair, dark eyes, and otherwise human features.
The bronzed scimitars had no such differences. Instead, it was as if the two weapons were two parts of a pair. Both blades had been polished to gleam brightly in the sun and sharpened to a deadly edge. Both crossguards, made of the same bronze, were engraved with small images of desert flowers. The otherwise flattened pommels had been cast with the faces of a few different legendary sphinxes known for their wisdom. The handles, worked out of olneya wood and finished with oil, were inscribed in various languages with the words for peace.
But they weren't being used in a peaceful manner. Each motion threatened to gut the other faerie. The two moved with all the grace of a falcon diving for its prey. A slash preceded by a spin would've made a deep rend in the white-haired sidhe's chest, except for a graceful crouch and thrust which forced the black-haired one to spin again to remove the center of her body from the path of danger. The drumbeat intensified as the white-haired one did a single-handed cartwheel to retreat out of the way of another cut, and then made a return swing only for the black-haired one to back-flip over it.
They twirled again and again, bronze blades never meeting anything but their metal opposites or the air. With each missed attack the tempo of the music increased, which in turn seemed to increase the frequency and acrobatics of the followups. It went on like that, until each woman swung in unison at the other only to simultaneously knock their opponent's blade out of hand and into the dirt. Unarmed and undaunted, they struck out with their fists. The white-haired one's first punch missed the black-haired one's face by an inch only to end up in her grasp, but when the black-haired one threw her opponent over her hip, the white-haired one stabilized with one palm and both came out upright and facing off against one another.
They swung, they grappled, they flipped some more, and if their antics weren't enough to raise the heart rate of their audience then the drum's assault would pick up the slack. But the incessant pounding would fade into silence as the two grabbed each other and began to fruitlessly struggle for dominance, and the lute would take over as the fight seamlessly transitioned into the two dancing with one another. This too was part of being a spring fae: never choosing to do battle when they could do theater instead.
The youthful sidhe women had created this performance only a few months prior. It was a three part dance performance about two friends who became enemies who became friends anew, consisting of traditional dancing, sword dancing, and more traditional dancing, in that order. Their closeness during parts one and three was more reminiscent of lovers than of friends, but that played even better among the nymphs, satyrs, gruffs, and sidhe who sat sat in a semicircle around the pair. They had improved since their last practice, and earned the applause that erupted as their dance began to wind down.
"Those two have quite a future!" A voice came from Lyra's side. A glance would reveal a faerie woman called Abla gently dropping into a sitting position beside her. Abla's appearance was striking even for a faerie, with mahogany skin, pointed ears, and fiery red hair, all combined with the natural beauty of the faeries. She wore a white silken shirt and pants which put her well-defined midriff on display. The short top also showcased another piece of art: a section of the black Amazonian dragon tattoos which plastered her right side. It was no coincidence that Abla had approached the knight, they had conversed in the past and had some similarities. Where Lyra had chosen to pursue swordsmanship as an art, Abla had chosen to pursue weaponsmithing as an art. The sidhe smith's goal had seemingly been to create weapons so beautiful that nobody would ever want to stain them with blood.
"I think I still prefer your sword dances though, especially when you have one of mine in hand," the faerie blacksmith conspiratorially whispered to the knight, a small smile playing about the edges of her lips. "Although I might like yours even better if you'd wear a little less," she winked.
Lyra: HP = 70, PP = 60, EP = 50, Status = Fine, Being Blatantly Hit On In the First Post
It was a perfect day to rest atop the sun-kissed desert grass.
The sun hung in the air, to the detriment of anyone caught without shade between its scorching rays and themselves. The wind stood still, unwilling to provide the benefit of ushering along any cooling breezes. Not a drop of rain had fallen in the last year. Shadows of carrion birds danced across the surface of the sand, searching for meals provided by the harsh Anudorian environment.
But none of these were of concern to Lyra. To be one of the spring fae was to be as comfortable with heat as a fish with water. And it was no coincidence that she rested in an oasis, in the shade of a peach tree beside a shimmering spring. It was never the faeries who congregated at oases, but rather the opposite. Where there were spring fae, slivers of paradise sprouted in an otherwise cruel desert. Anudor was the spring court's sanctuary, and Lyra was not without her kin.
Swords clashed a few yards away from her. Two gorgeous bronze scimitars cut through the air in deadly arcs, wielded by equally gorgeous young sidhe women, all to the music of a drum and a lute played by satyrs. Each sidhe had skin the color of copper, each was of lithe build with supernatural beauty common of the faeries, and both wore clothing made of silk in jade with gold accents consisting of a bra and long skirt with an equally long slit in the side. Where they differed was that one had pointed ears, long, raven hair which hung freely to her waist, and golden eyes, while the other was possessed of equally long, silvery hair, dark eyes, and otherwise human features.
The bronzed scimitars had no such differences. Instead, it was as if the two weapons were two parts of a pair. Both blades had been polished to gleam brightly in the sun and sharpened to a deadly edge. Both crossguards, made of the same bronze, were engraved with small images of desert flowers. The otherwise flattened pommels had been cast with the faces of a few different legendary sphinxes known for their wisdom. The handles, worked out of olneya wood and finished with oil, were inscribed in various languages with the words for peace.
But they weren't being used in a peaceful manner. Each motion threatened to gut the other faerie. The two moved with all the grace of a falcon diving for its prey. A slash preceded by a spin would've made a deep rend in the white-haired sidhe's chest, except for a graceful crouch and thrust which forced the black-haired one to spin again to remove the center of her body from the path of danger. The drumbeat intensified as the white-haired one did a single-handed cartwheel to retreat out of the way of another cut, and then made a return swing only for the black-haired one to back-flip over it.
They twirled again and again, bronze blades never meeting anything but their metal opposites or the air. With each missed attack the tempo of the music increased, which in turn seemed to increase the frequency and acrobatics of the followups. It went on like that, until each woman swung in unison at the other only to simultaneously knock their opponent's blade out of hand and into the dirt. Unarmed and undaunted, they struck out with their fists. The white-haired one's first punch missed the black-haired one's face by an inch only to end up in her grasp, but when the black-haired one threw her opponent over her hip, the white-haired one stabilized with one palm and both came out upright and facing off against one another.
They swung, they grappled, they flipped some more, and if their antics weren't enough to raise the heart rate of their audience then the drum's assault would pick up the slack. But the incessant pounding would fade into silence as the two grabbed each other and began to fruitlessly struggle for dominance, and the lute would take over as the fight seamlessly transitioned into the two dancing with one another. This too was part of being a spring fae: never choosing to do battle when they could do theater instead.
The youthful sidhe women had created this performance only a few months prior. It was a three part dance performance about two friends who became enemies who became friends anew, consisting of traditional dancing, sword dancing, and more traditional dancing, in that order. Their closeness during parts one and three was more reminiscent of lovers than of friends, but that played even better among the nymphs, satyrs, gruffs, and sidhe who sat sat in a semicircle around the pair. They had improved since their last practice, and earned the applause that erupted as their dance began to wind down.
"Those two have quite a future!" A voice came from Lyra's side. A glance would reveal a faerie woman called Abla gently dropping into a sitting position beside her. Abla's appearance was striking even for a faerie, with mahogany skin, pointed ears, and fiery red hair, all combined with the natural beauty of the faeries. She wore a white silken shirt and pants which put her well-defined midriff on display. The short top also showcased another piece of art: a section of the black Amazonian dragon tattoos which plastered her right side. It was no coincidence that Abla had approached the knight, they had conversed in the past and had some similarities. Where Lyra had chosen to pursue swordsmanship as an art, Abla had chosen to pursue weaponsmithing as an art. The sidhe smith's goal had seemingly been to create weapons so beautiful that nobody would ever want to stain them with blood.
"I think I still prefer your sword dances though, especially when you have one of mine in hand," the faerie blacksmith conspiratorially whispered to the knight, a small smile playing about the edges of her lips. "Although I might like yours even better if you'd wear a little less," she winked.
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