-=9th of Fall, 513 AV=-
-=Sypha Kai's cottage, Blade Island=-
-The blazing sphere in the sky had made its daily descent beyond the horizon to another part
of the world, giving way to the engulfing shroud of night. Sypha Kai did not mind the heat of
the sun, for it was actually cooler here in the swampland than it was in his homeland of the
sands. The air was much thicker here though, and even after living in this humid climate for
a year, he still felt like the air was trying to choke him some days. Tonight was clear, a definite
contrast from the day before in which Kenash was invaded by a terrible storm. Signs of flooding
were evident with large pools of murky water scattered about the front of his raised home.
-His humble home, located extremely close to the Midnight Market, was uniquely built to
hover above the floods that plagued the river graced land. Not only did it have a door on the
ground level, but there was second door that could only be opened from inside the second
floor. The Eypharian stood there, ten feet above his muddied front yard, clothed only in his
calf high sandals and dark shaded kilt. The crackling fire where he had eaten maybe a bell
ago continued to rage within its brick pit, casting an orange glow over his gilded skin as
he watched the lights from the nearby plaza.
-Taking in a slow, lingering breath the Mercenary reached over with his upper left hand
and took a hold of the two leather scabbards that had been hanging upon a crude hook.
The sheathes were brought infront of his near bare physique where they were then
transfered to his lower set of awaiting hands. Grasping the smooth leather firmly, Sypha
folded his upper appendages at the elbow, bringing his first pair of hands around the
differing hilts of his cherished blades. His charcoal smeared eyes gently closed while
slowly releasing his short swords, the delicate hiss of the retracting metal filling his
ears delightfully.
-"Tonight...Show no mercy...," his softly spoken words slipped forth in Arumenic,
for it was what he spoke fluidly. Black lined eyes opened to a star filled sky, another
slow breath, no mercy. The swift swordsman spun around to face the task at hand,
sprinting a short distance toward the center of his living chamber. Sypha came to
a brief slide with the dark leather of his sandals trying desperately to grab the wooden
planks of the floor. His sudden stop of motion ended with a double trust high, sending
the piercing apex of each short sword to either side of the flickering lantern that
resided upon his table.
-A short moment passed in that finishing stance, as if time had suddenly forgotten
about him. Slow breath, show no mercy. The contrasting short swords retracted from
their initial attack and sped forth into the first of many sword patterns to come. His
left blade, its sleek hilt made from polished Benshira bone, sliced in an upward arc
while the slightly heavier blade in his branded hand flashed down at a fourty-five
degree angle from right to left. A thin chip of wood was removed from the edge of
his table, its spinning escape remaining air born long enough for the Mercenary
to spin fully around in a double round housing swipe.
-The top of his chair did not splinter with the hasteful attack, but rather flew
across his living space in various finely cut sections. The ending of his round house
brought the four armed man to his knees with his lower arms barely managing to
keep him from falling face first into the floor. A string of curses escaped his lips
as a diminutive bead of sweat formed upon his gold touched brow. It was a pattern
know as Waveform and it was obvious he had not perfected yet. It was an attack
his Father had been teaching him before being murdered.
-Many of the patterns he had memorized from his youth had names that somehow
involved water, for the life giving liquid was far more precious in his homeland. His
Father was a Jackal, the city gaurd of Ahnatep, and was a swordsman himself. Much
of his knowledge that he learned as a Jackal was passed down to Sypha in long
training sessions, training that was vividly imprinted in his mind. Sypha Kai would
surpass his Father's skill in honor of him, and to avenge his lost Mother.
-Slow breath, no mercy. The black scabbards that he still held in his lower hands
were tossed angrily upon his unkept bed while rising, the curve of his knuckles reddened
from when he had stopped his fall. Taking his stance, the Eypharian's lower hands
clenched firmly in concentration while his upper appendages were flung forward again.
He repeated the Waveform attack once more: Double thrust, left arc upward, right slice
diagonal, and finish with a double round house.
________________ __ __ ____________ __
-=Sypha Kai's cottage, Blade Island=-
-The blazing sphere in the sky had made its daily descent beyond the horizon to another part
of the world, giving way to the engulfing shroud of night. Sypha Kai did not mind the heat of
the sun, for it was actually cooler here in the swampland than it was in his homeland of the
sands. The air was much thicker here though, and even after living in this humid climate for
a year, he still felt like the air was trying to choke him some days. Tonight was clear, a definite
contrast from the day before in which Kenash was invaded by a terrible storm. Signs of flooding
were evident with large pools of murky water scattered about the front of his raised home.
-His humble home, located extremely close to the Midnight Market, was uniquely built to
hover above the floods that plagued the river graced land. Not only did it have a door on the
ground level, but there was second door that could only be opened from inside the second
floor. The Eypharian stood there, ten feet above his muddied front yard, clothed only in his
calf high sandals and dark shaded kilt. The crackling fire where he had eaten maybe a bell
ago continued to rage within its brick pit, casting an orange glow over his gilded skin as
he watched the lights from the nearby plaza.
-Taking in a slow, lingering breath the Mercenary reached over with his upper left hand
and took a hold of the two leather scabbards that had been hanging upon a crude hook.
The sheathes were brought infront of his near bare physique where they were then
transfered to his lower set of awaiting hands. Grasping the smooth leather firmly, Sypha
folded his upper appendages at the elbow, bringing his first pair of hands around the
differing hilts of his cherished blades. His charcoal smeared eyes gently closed while
slowly releasing his short swords, the delicate hiss of the retracting metal filling his
ears delightfully.
-"Tonight...Show no mercy...," his softly spoken words slipped forth in Arumenic,
for it was what he spoke fluidly. Black lined eyes opened to a star filled sky, another
slow breath, no mercy. The swift swordsman spun around to face the task at hand,
sprinting a short distance toward the center of his living chamber. Sypha came to
a brief slide with the dark leather of his sandals trying desperately to grab the wooden
planks of the floor. His sudden stop of motion ended with a double trust high, sending
the piercing apex of each short sword to either side of the flickering lantern that
resided upon his table.
-A short moment passed in that finishing stance, as if time had suddenly forgotten
about him. Slow breath, show no mercy. The contrasting short swords retracted from
their initial attack and sped forth into the first of many sword patterns to come. His
left blade, its sleek hilt made from polished Benshira bone, sliced in an upward arc
while the slightly heavier blade in his branded hand flashed down at a fourty-five
degree angle from right to left. A thin chip of wood was removed from the edge of
his table, its spinning escape remaining air born long enough for the Mercenary
to spin fully around in a double round housing swipe.
-The top of his chair did not splinter with the hasteful attack, but rather flew
across his living space in various finely cut sections. The ending of his round house
brought the four armed man to his knees with his lower arms barely managing to
keep him from falling face first into the floor. A string of curses escaped his lips
as a diminutive bead of sweat formed upon his gold touched brow. It was a pattern
know as Waveform and it was obvious he had not perfected yet. It was an attack
his Father had been teaching him before being murdered.
-Many of the patterns he had memorized from his youth had names that somehow
involved water, for the life giving liquid was far more precious in his homeland. His
Father was a Jackal, the city gaurd of Ahnatep, and was a swordsman himself. Much
of his knowledge that he learned as a Jackal was passed down to Sypha in long
training sessions, training that was vividly imprinted in his mind. Sypha Kai would
surpass his Father's skill in honor of him, and to avenge his lost Mother.
-Slow breath, no mercy. The black scabbards that he still held in his lower hands
were tossed angrily upon his unkept bed while rising, the curve of his knuckles reddened
from when he had stopped his fall. Taking his stance, the Eypharian's lower hands
clenched firmly in concentration while his upper appendages were flung forward again.
He repeated the Waveform attack once more: Double thrust, left arc upward, right slice
diagonal, and finish with a double round house.
________________ __ __ ____________ __
