Sea Watchers (-Open-)

[Ishara Dossari]

-15th of Spring, Year 512 AV- A whistle pierced the still air. In response, the pale crest of Raj's skull rose slightly above the grasses he'd immersed himself in. Having followed his nose on an errand of his own making, the sighthound had wandered a bit far for Ishara's comfort. It wasn't like him to stray, but the confines of Riverfall had been chafing at his need for wide open spaces. It was not often they took an afternoon off, especially with all the work that was still needed in repairing the damage wrought by the storm. But this was something they both needed... Recognizing his error, the hound leapt forward, his lithe frame seeming to glide through the grass on his long, slender legs. The plume of his tail flashed as he changed direction, devouring the ground beneath him as his whipchord body stretched out over the earth...Tongue lolling, eyes glazed over in ecstacy, the noble sighthound was reduced to puppy antics as he raced back to Ishara to run several laps around her, feeding upon the laughter that rose into the crisp, spring air. His quest for energy satiated for the time being, Raj loped to a halt, letting his head come to rest beneath Ishara's fingertips. She absent-mindedly fondled his silken ears, her gaze drawn out over the carpet of swaying grass as she pondered all the changes the recent storm had brought on. Rumors abounded within the city, speaking of Drykas cut off from the web that tied them to the earth, fallen watch towers, and creatures that never before existed. She was fortunate that the caravan that brought her to Riverfall passed through this dangerous sea last fall, well before the deadly additions summoned by the storm. Now this vast and newly treacherous sea lay between Ishara and the desert sands of her homeland. A tremor of home-sickness passed through her, and the landscape before her eyes blurred. Was this another sign? A message from Yahal stating that she must not think of turning back? The faces of her parents and her many brothers played in the back of her mind, and her heart ached. Had the storm reached them? Had it wrought new and terrible changes on their lives as well? How was she ever to know? A sob threatened to claw at the back of her throat, but Ishara smothered it with a hasty gulp of air. She blinked up at the clandestine sky, letting the blue depths of it soothe her as she steadied the sorrow throbbing in her chest. She had to have faith, to trust in Yahal that all was well with her family, that this was her path, this was right... "What creature is this which dances beneath my eye? A desert-bred mortal who's beastial sinew and heart Lay forged in the firey breath of Yahal's sigh! Watch, as the soul surfs upon the wind and slowly breaks apart..."

[Serrif Von Chatlyn]

The mornings were now the only time he had to himself since the rebuilding had started at the Sanctuary. He had been working almost tirelessly and he just needed to get away for a few chimes; and the only thing he could think to do was run. But that morning as he passed Hasmere in the stables he knew it would be best to go out for a ride instead. Hasmere was just as anxious as he was. Having been cramped up for so much time as the staff seemed to forget about the horses and all as they focused on building the clinic and some of the other above ground areas.

So he took his morning and readied Hasmere for the ride. Settling the riding saddle on a padded blanket. Then putting in the bit and bridle. Hasmere was thankful and ready, so ready for a fast ride out to wherever. Winters cusp was still slightly held on the land; so there was still snow on the ground for Hasmere to trudge through. There was a very clear reason why these horses were called Frostmarches. They were animals of the snow and cold.

Serrif also prepared himself for a ride across the Sea Of Grass. He wouldn’t stray too far from the Riverfall area. He knew that some of the long reaches away from the Akalak patrolled areas would likely bring him into contact with things he was unprepared for. All he wanted was a good ride to help clear his mind. He layered on his bodysuit, cloth clothing, dagger harness, and then his long white fur cloak. It was still cold, winter still held a chill here; one that Hasmere seemed to just shrug off. His final preparations were made when he attached his climbers quiver to his right thigh. He intended on hunting if he could get that lucky. If not he could always use the bow for protection; he did know how to use it better than his ornate daggers.

Saddling up he didn’t have to urge Hasmere on at all. He merely took off once he felt that his rider had settled in the saddle. It was apparent that Hasmere wanted to take a good long run through the grass. And Serrif was happy to let him do so; he just had to make sure that he stayed settled in the saddle for the ride. Together they stormed through the Sea of Grass, no amount of snow on the ground stopped the duo as Hasmere just plowed through it with both skill and ease. It was amazing and he knew come summer the horse would grow uncomfortable so it was important to get him used to this environment now.

The powerful horse under him carried him like a ship among the sea. The waves of the tall grass reminded him of the ocean. The grass waved side to side like long almost endless waves through the plains. Bowing humbly to the spring wind; the entire time Serrif watched. Because he knew that monsters often lurked in the ocean; especially in this one. There were stories of glassbeaks told by the Akalak men. He had only heard a few but he knew these animals could hide among the grass and usually attacked in ferocious packs. Many travelers fell prey to these monsters and he knew that many more likely would if V’nessi’s prophecy was anywhere near accurate.

He couldn’t imagine the beasts that now roamed the sea. If it had changed some of the glassbeaks to be even more vicious and dangerous than before. And if it had his rides in the morning may become even more exciting than usual. Which was why he had to keep his mind about him. His eyes scanned for things out of the ordinary. And he heard something that sounded like a whistle, it could be the air or his mind. But he brought Hasmere to a slow canter as he continued to look around. Something was moving through the tall grass.

Not sure what and on the defensive he pulled an arrow from his quiver and knocked it in his bow. He wasn’t ready to aim and draw just yet. But he wasn’t far from it. Settling his feet in the stirrups and applying pressure he got Hasmere to trot a little more evenly as he looked in the direction of the disturbance. In a moment’s notice he could pull up his bow and let loose an arrow into whatever was heading his way; if need be. However this time it wasn’t an animal…it appeared to be a person. He relaxed his posture and guided Hasmere to make a steady line for her while he placed the arrow back in the quiver as he held the reins in one hand and his compound recurve longbow in the other.

As he got closer the figures features began to come to him. Lithe, delicate and far shorter than he was; or from what he could judge while riding atop Hasmere. Her eyes a glacial shade of blue, interesting she was definitely not from anywhere he had ever been. Beautiful in her own way. But he wouldn’t let that throw off his assessment of her; beautiful could be dangerous…was dangerous.

“You shouldn’t tread these grasses alone anymore. They were dangerous before and are much more dangerous now.” He said talking through the white scarf that wrapped around his face. He wasn’t Akalak, no he didn’t have the build for it. But at the same time he was quite curious…as was she.

[Ishara Dossari]

Hoofbeats interrupted her internal battle with emotions, drawing Ishara's eye to the white horse loping towards them and the rider astride it. For a heartbeat, she thought she was looking at her brother Ramov--but as the pair neared them, what features Ishara could distinguish above the winter garb he wore made it apparent that he was a stranger. The surge or hope and disbelief hardened into a disappointed thorn in her side. Don't be silly, she told herself, Ramov is leagues away. Raj whuffed quietly as horse and rider approached, his ears sinking back against his skull. He was not given to barking, a trait which endeared him all the more to his master. Following the intent gaze of her hound, Ishara looked up as the man reined in alongside him. He had a ruggedly handsome countenance, and he carried himself well astride a magnificent horse. As her eyes flitted from him to the steed, her brows rose in appreciation. It was a massive animal, nothing like the dainty desert-bred horses of her homeland, and it's coat gleamed, as though the creature was gilded in silver. As the man's voice carried over the gentle whuffling sounds of his horse, Ishara blinked up at him. The admonishment struck her as something one of her brothers might say, and the thought caused one corner of her mouth to quirk up in a little half-smile. She tucked her arms across one another, stepping back a pace to get a good look at the man again. His expression was...stern? Brooding? It was difficult to tell. Noting the bow amongst his gear that morning, Ishara could only assume that perhaps he was out here looking for the danger that threatened her presence this morning. "Forgive me, but are you not also out here alone?" Ishara notched a brow to indicate the empty grasslands behind him, where no group of fellow hunters was gathered. Her small grin widened. Were it not for the fact that she had so recently been dwelling upon her brothers, such an impertinent gesture might have been subdued. The familiarity she shared with them, the banter they traded, it was still a fresh ache circling her heart, and Ishara could not help herself from uttering the baiting retort. "What creature is this which dances beneath my eye? A desert-bred mortal who's beastial sinew and heart Lay forged in the firey breath of Yahal's sigh! Watch, as the soul surfs upon the wind and slowly breaks apart..."

[Serrif Von Chatlyn]

The woman’s words brought a very gentle smile to his face. He took it less as insult and more as play, banter if you would. With a few slight nods of his head he confirmed what she believed was true. An observant woman indeed. He told her not to be here alone and yet; here he was all alone himself; the double standard was what hit him the most. Just because she was a woman did that mean she could not be out here alone? He had met many strong women who he admired over his years. Many of them appeared just as this one. Beautiful, alluring and yet when you saw them for who they were they far surpassed his strength and fortitude.

“Seems you’ve found my out M’lady, you are indeed right. I see now you are not alone for you have quite the capable companion. I know for a fact many dogs can outpace the usefulness, loyalty, and fortitude of many men. But that doesn’t retract the warning in my previous statement.” He said with a dismissive shrug as he dismounted and placed his bow back where it belonged in the saddle pack.

“There are beasts out here as large as my stallion that hunt in packs of usually no less than three. You usually never see them coming because they hide completely camouflaged in the tall grass. They were vicious before the storms; no telling how they have changed since then.” His explanation was simple but held a very serious warning.

He rolled the deep all white fur cloak hood from his head. Small beads of snow clung to its long flanks, white glistening fur coated both the inside and out of this massive winter cloak. He pulled his scarf from around his face revealing his tanned skin. But it was nothing compared to her bronzed skin. She had seen many many more days of full sun than he had. His stature was massive for a human man; one may mistake him for an Akalak from afar. But when he came closer It was clear he was human. He might be handsome, but she…she was exotic.

Her beautifully bronzed skin with deep mahogany that from best judgment would likely cascade down maybe even past her hips. He even picked up some curls in it that he was sure would look absolutely wonderful if she let it fall down her shoulders. But her most wonderful feature were her cool blue eyes; a stark contrast to the rest of her. A cool smile crept across his face as he envisioned her absolutely exotic beauty. However he shook himself from it as he noted that he didn’t want to offend her by being awe struck by her. “However I am sure you can handle yourself.”

A hand ran through his medium length somewhat curly jet black hair. His emerald eyes curious with no intent of violence about them, in fact he seemed a little at ease. But one was not to mistake composure for ease. One didn’t sport a custom leather dagger harness if one couldn’t use the daggers. And his…well his were borderline short swords. They didn’t look large strapped to his chest, but he was a large man.

“You out for a break from the city as well?” Inquiring to her reasons for being out here. He knew he sometimes much preferred these seas of grass to the city teeming with masculinity or the Sanctuary where it seemed some of the staff was weary of him still.

Every word he spoke was cool, calm, and collected. No harm intended nor any insult. He was careful of any motions he made as he was unsure of the culture she came from. He knew that sometimes the slightest motion could be misinterpreted and then extrapolated upon. He didn’t want to make a bad impression on her; he was sure she could be wonderful company. As could the hound at her side. But he would let her grow a little more comfortable with him before he asked about her hound.

[Ishara Dossari]

Lucky for her, the man had taken her quip in good nature.  A surge of gratitude tinged with relief fluttered inside her, and Ishara relaxed.  Stranger he may be, but at least he wasn't about to grit his teeth and haul her smart mouth back inside the city gates.  No, the man had a good head on his shoulders, proven by the good-natured consent that he had indeed been guilty of his own accusation. The male's warnings floated down to her as he dismounted, and Ishara's eyes dropped to her feet.  He was right.  She knew it.  It didn't make it any easier to swallow.   The bitter realization sculpted a frown across her features, and she toed the frosty earth with a sigh. "However, I am sure you can handle yourself." A soft bark of laughter escaped her lips, and Ishara's bright eyes lifted to study the man's tanned features in disbelief.  "Hardly," she muttered, with a small shake of her head.  Her accent softened her words, subtracting some of their severity.  "I am afraid that what you see, sir, is pretty much what you get."  His superior height was made all the more obvious as they stood on level ground.  Ishara barely came up to his shoulder.  Still, those glacial eyes met him stubbornly, head-on. Raj took that moment to make a cursory investigation of the stranger, his elegantly pointed features stretched out to taste the man's scent.  A subtle whisk of his tail stirred the air between his hocks as he familiarized himself with both horse and rider.  He circled them once, glanced back to his master with what she supposed was the canine equivalent of a shrug, and returned to her side.   The stranger's question carried her eyes back to him.  "Yes," Ishara dipped her head in a nod, her attentions stretching back out over the plains of tall grasses that ran to the distant horizon.  A small gesture indicated the sighthound at her side, "we are not accustomed to so many...walls." Pulling in a deep breath, she drank in the crisp, sweet scent of the grasslands.  It was a shame that such a place harbored such unthinkable terrors.  "The days have been long since the storm," that half smile returned, brief as she shared a knowing look with the stranger.  There was no doubt in her mind that the man had also been absorbed in piecing lives back together since the disaster.  Such tremendous events brought people of all walks and races together for the greater good of repairing what had been lost and sharing in the sorrow of all that could not be regained.  But even the hardest workers needed a break now and then. "It seemed a good idea, until you arrived to point out my folly," an insolent roll of her eyes preceded the return of that wry smile, and with that Ishara felt they had been strangers long enough. "My name is Ishara, and forgive me if Raj and I interrupted your hunt this morning," she indicated his bow with a nod of her head. "What creature is this which dances beneath my eye? A desert-bred mortal who's beastial sinew and heart Lay forged in the firey breath of Yahal's sigh! Watch, as the soul surfs upon the wind and slowly breaks apart..."

[Serrif Von Chatlyn]

He had more than his share of well thought out quips; however hers was in good taste and not nearly as offensive as others. A laugh, a good sign in this meeting. She didn’t seem so sure in her ability to defend herself though. She shook her head slightly. He perked a small smile with a nod as she spoke about herself some. She was curious; her accent was odd. He had heard Konti speak common time and time again. Their words heavily influenced by their heavy fluid accents. However hers was far more different. Making her ever more curious to him; his mind was fixated studying everything she did.

Every movement she made was measured and studied, accounted for fully. What he saw was what he got…he only wished he could have what he saw. No; she was more than what he saw; everyone was more than what was just simply on the outside. Yes the covering gave hints and clues but it never told the whole story. No, there were smaller things that told the truth. She was studying him as well, he knew this by the way her ice blue eyes lifted and scanned across his body. Many people did this to size him up at first.

Her eyes, those hues met him as if he was a challenge. This woman was indeed hard headed, and met things with prowess. Something he had only seen in a few other people. One of them being the Matron of the Timandre family, and the other was Kavala. She was interesting, which was indeed dangerous as well. He kept his mind about him, monitoring everything about her.But she wasn’t the only thing studying him. Her companion was doing the same thing as well. He felt like he wanted to reach down and touch the dog. However he wasn’t sure of the animals’ sensibilities. If it would smell his hand or fit it snugly between its teeth. So instead he kept his hands free, he didn’t expect anything from this duo but it always paid to be cautious.

“Was not a folly Ishara. One cannot be blamed for what they do not know.” He honestly stated as he stretched some and undid a brooch that held the long white cloak to his frame.

He walked over to his horse and opened one of the packs placing his cloak inside. Rolling his head around to loosen up his neck and shoulders some. He stretched his arms out some and then turned back around to face her. “Way too many walls, I spent a year on Mura. Pitched my tent on the most beautiful beach with nothing but endless expanse in all directions. I wasn’t hunting I was only riding.“

He seemed to be preparing for something the way he was stretching his shoulders, neck, and arms. Something was up; he had removed his cloak set it aside and was now facing her. She had stretched out her hand in hospitality and he figured he would do the same. As he pulled his longbow from his horses pack; the bow itself was taller than Ishara was. Sitting at six feet tall the white compound recurve longbow in the right hands could strike an animal dead…and a man as well.

“My name is Serrif Von Chatlyn” that name had to sound strange to her, it still sounded strange to him in a way. But it was a name he was growing into. “and if you wish I can teach you longbow, dagger or hand to hand.” He said as he held the bow in his hands horizontal to his body, its massive span more than evident to her now. The offer was interesting but the bow was likely more than she could handle.

“So Ishara what will it be?” He was a quick study; tall built and seemingly with a good head on his shoulders. On his chest were strapped those ornate daggers. It would be interesting to just get to hold them; they would be large in her hand. But such artisan blades were easy to spot even by her. But the most practical lesson would likely be hand to hand; because she didn’t own a blade nor a longbow.

[Ishara Dossari]

Ishara watched as the man disengaged his cloak, setting it aside so that he was free to work the stiffness from his limbs. Her eyes narrowed skeptically, and she took a step back as he hefted the bow between them. She followed the glinting sunlight down it's length, and found that the mechanism dwarfed her...As do most things, she thought to herself with a twinge of annoyance. Serriff...His name had a foreign quality to it, far removed from the lengthy names of her homeland. Ishara was used to titles that shared a little about who you were and where you came from, and briefly she allowed herself to consider Serriff's. What did such a name state about this man? Her speculative gave was interrupted by his abrubt offer. Ishara blinked, her brows lifting in surprise. "I...uhm--" Like a fish caught out of water, she grasped for the words, her pale gaze working frantically between the bow, the knives, and...Pull it together, Ishara, she told herself firmly. This was an offer she was unlikely to receive again, and one hell of a lesson worth absorbing. The petite Benshira swallowed, her brows furrowing as she pondered her options. "Hand combat? I do not think myself much a match for your bow or your knives." Though it remains to be seen what good I can do otherwise, she thought grimly. Determined to overcome the assumptions earned by her small stature, Ishara steeled her nerves and leveled Serriff with a determined look. "What creature is this which dances beneath my eye? A desert-bred mortal who's beastial sinew and heart Lay forged in the firey breath of Yahal's sigh! Watch, as the soul surfs upon the wind and slowly breaks apart..."

[Serrif Von Chatlyn]

She could speculate until eternity about his name, because it was a name he decided to make up for himself when he hit the beach in Mura. The name was who he had decided to be now; who he was now. He didn’t remember his name before the camp, it was all tattered memories that he couldn’t cut through. In a way he wasn’t even sure he wanted to cut through it all to see what was before the camp. He had resigned himself to knowing little to nothing about that life, this was who he was now.

He had expected his offer would catch her off guard. But it was an important offer to her. From what he could see she had no weaponry, save her dog. But in a very sticky situation the dog would merely be a distraction for whatever would eventually kill her. She needed to know some basics in the very least so she could defend herself and stand her own ground. If she couldn’t she would likely find herself in a situation being rescued from Akalak raiders and having silver bracelets slapped on her wrists. That was something he wouldn’t wish on anyone, especially a human woman.

“Hand to hand it is then.” His head nodded in approval of her decision. The bow was placed back where it belonged and the climbers quiver at his right thigh was removed and attached and placed inside a saddlebag.

He then detached his dagger harness from his belt and placed it in the bag with the climbers quiver; he wouldn’t need them in this exercise. He called on his knowledge as he steadied his body and stretched some more. Ildin and Val’Mera had taught him more than enough in hand to hand. He wasn’t a master, but he knew enough to teach her something useful.

“If you had wanted to practice daggers I would lend you one of mine…but perhaps another time then.” He met her determination and he knew this was going to be a hell of a spar.

He would teach her and he knew she would meet him with determination and vigor. He didn’t know much but at the same time he knew more than she did and he was happy to share with her. Openly and freely just like his mistresses back on Mura. They had trained him fiercely day and night. Never letting up on him; pushing him past what he thought were his physical limits.

He started with the basics and well they would move from there. “Know your hard points.” He stated, the same first statement Val’Mera had given him when they were going to start on that morning about a season ago.

He wasn’t going to just outright spar with her. Fortunate for her he didn’t believe in striking a woman; the same couldn’t be said for every man in this area. “The easiest way to prevent a dagger or hand from striking you is to strike at the wrist.”

He extended an arm and then tapped his wrist as if to illustrate his point. “After that you can strike back at your attacker easily. But you need to do so quickly.”

[Ishara Dossari]

This was not exactly what she'd had planned when she set off for the city's outskirts this morning, but it was a welcome surprise. Raj, on the other hand, had decided that their banter was boring enough to warrant another foraging expedition in the tall grasses. His caramel eyes gave them a sidelong glance as he trotted a few yards off, elegant features aimed to the ground while he tasted the small eddies of air. Ishara squared her stance. His wrist alone dwarfed her slender arms, but despite their diminutive size they were lean and well-muscled. As Serriff's arm jutted out to her, she traced the countours of it, her glacial eyes depicting the weak points he indicated with a tap of his fingers. It was not unlike the maneuvers she'd seen her brother's toss out when engaging in friendly spars back home. Quick? Quick she could do. "Am I to use the side of my hand to strike?" As she ask, she followed through with the gesture, cutting at his extended arm in a wave to deter it from it's path. "What is the most effective?" She held up her arms deffensively, her eyes hardening on his features...Her brother's retorts to her pleas for lessons in fighting surged in the back of her mind...Girls don't fight, Isha...and besides, you're too small. What are you ever going to need to fight for? And with those tiny hands, how do you ever expect to win? She frowned softly as the recollection hit her, and hoped that Serriff would read it as a frown of concentration. Here was a man who clearly did not hesitate to teach a girl to fight...and perhaps with good reason. He'd probably seen further reaches of the world than her brothers had ever dreamed of. "What creature is this which dances beneath my eye? A desert-bred mortal who's beastial sinew and heart Lay forged in the firey breath of Yahal's sigh! Watch, as the soul surfs upon the wind and slowly breaks apart..."

[Serrif Von Chatlyn]

She was still very much determined, just like he was with Mistress Ildin and Mistress Val’Mera. This meant she was willing to learn and take in the lesson he was going to give her. This endless sea of grass provided him with the perfect backdrop. He wouldn’t do this at the Sanctuary because he didn’t want it to be a spectacle for anyone. No here on the plains he could train openly with her. None would criticize him here. Here it was just her and him; along with their animals. Both of who seemed preoccupied with other things.

“You can use whatever you want to strike. It is all about what you want to do next after you block.” Her mind seemed to drift somewhere for some reason.

He saw her frown for merely a second, many would mistake it for a frown of concentration. Which would be understandable for many reasons in this situation. What he was asking her to do wasn’t easy for someone her size; especially going up against someone his size. But she was eager to learn; for a moment he looked at her curiously as if he had no idea where her frown came from. It was a little unexpected.

“If you can manipulate a wrist you can break it, or break a person’s arm, even throw them or disable them completely. It is all a matter of skill and force.” He smiled a coy smile as he looked her over again.

He could feel how limber yet strong she was; he knew now that she had the force she needed. Now all she needed to know was how to use it. He had no idea that in the past her brother had denied her the opportunity to train. Many races acted this way toward women. Like they were things that were to beautiful or fragile to train to defend themselves. However he knew that this women was a little different; he could feel her strength.

“I’ll teach you the throw first. Then something you can combine it with to disable.” He then placed her right hand on his left wrist and spoke again instructing her in what he wanted to have her do.

throw :

This is the general throw I am going for

“Now roll your body into mine press your back into my chest.” He waited for her to do so then he continued on. Having her slender delicate frame pressed to his was…intriguing to say the least. But he was here to teach not try and throw her into his bed…which was far from this place.

“Place your other hand on my upper arm then lean forward settle your shoulder into my body. Feel my weight.” He said letting her shoulder his body for a few moments so that she could feel him. He didn’t weigh much but he did weigh enough to warrant her to be careful with how she handled him. If she messed up she would break his arm, elbow or shoulder.

“Now that you have felt my weight. You now quickly throw me over your shoulder to the ground.” He let her soak in these words as he then spoke into her ear, almost like a whisper the words soaked into her ears through her long black hair.

“Go ahead.” He said gently urging her on.