[Flashback] What Youth May Learn (Wyndivere)

[Solicah]

oocThis is guna be a pretty weird thread, since our characters likely wont actually talk to one another. But, it is done for the sake of leading Wyndivere through how to do training threads, so bare with us teehee. Solicah will be standing within sight of Wyndivere and visa versa, and both will be training with their respective weapons.

510 Summer, 38

The day was smoldering, as always. The usual forgiving wind had yet to pick up, though it was midday already. The adults of the Pavilion made their own wind that day in natures apparent absence, knowing much better. Solicah's mother had predicted a thunderstorm, complete with the ever dangerous lightening before the day was out. Unwelcome news to anybodies ears. The adults had been worried for some time about the constant threat of fires, and as such had become much less enjoyable to associate with since the onset of Summer, even for their own children. This day had been the worse thus far, as the adults packed all the gear that wasn't absolutely necessary to survive on, ready to flee from the line of fire should the need arise. The Drykas children took the time to behave their best, most of them understanding very well the threat of the Grasslands.

Part of this behavior was taking their martial training into their own hands. Times were tense, and the day was hot, but skies for the time stood clear and vivid sapphire blue, and the children knew that training would relieve nerves. Solicah scooped up his bow and quiver of a few faulty arrows. There was nothing wrong with the arrows, as far as an outsider might be concerned, but they were not perfect, and as such the hunters of the Pavilion would not use them, instead the faulty arrows were given to the children training in archery. Solicah was happy enough with them, not having any other means of purchasing them. In fact, these were in the days before his understanding of money, before he knew of buying and selling. Back when only trade, and giving without reciprocation held a place in his mind, and heart. Much the reason he would grow to loath currency as he aged.

Peering in at his mother, chanting quietly in central tent with some other elders he deliberated over giving her a kiss before heading out, and decided it for the best that for this day she remain undisturbed. It pained his heart, more so than perhaps it should a seventeen year old boy's heart, to simply walk from the tent without giving a fitting goodbye to his mother. He loved her, and wished her the world, and it hurt him that she had to be the one to bring the news to the Pavilion. As was the curse of the revered, and sometimes hated Stormwarden. The only of their humble Pavilion.

So, like a silent sentinel he transversed the grasses to a safe place to practice away from the other tents, but still in sight of an adult. He knew full well that it was never safe to wonder off into the Sea of Grass, and especially then was no time to stray, when the whole Pavilion may need to pick up at any moment and flee from the deadly fires.

[Wyndivere Moondirge]

Wyndivere had been trying to help prepare for the eventuality of lightning, and fire. She tried to help pack up the tents, but was told to get out of the way. She tried to help the adults get rid of the extra furniture items that would only weigh them down if they needed to flee. But she was told to just get out of the way. She tried to help with the food supplies, but was told to get out of the way. No matter how she tried to help, she was told to step aside. Finally, much to the thanks of the adults, she gave up.

She didn't want to be a child anymore. She wanted to be an adult. The other children were a short ways out in the field practicing their combat skills. She loved practicing with her spear, but she couldn't see how that was usefull right now. She wanted to help the adults. But, feeling a little rejected, she went out into the fields with her spear. Not too far. Just far enough to be out of the way like the other children.

She brought her spear out in front of her, and took a deep breath to center herself. In all honesty, she was out here to blow off some steam. To vent her frustrations through a weapon. To focuss her anger into something she hoped would be usefull someday.

She kept herself in a position where she could always see her younger sister. Wyndivere harbored a secret loathing towards her sister for being the child that her mother had concieved out of wedlock. Wyndivere didn't even know who the man was. She was angry. She was angry at her sister, and angry at her mother. Her father had been dead for around a decade and Wyndivere was still mourning. Her mother should also. But Her sister was an obvious sign that she wasn't. Not to mention that her mother had not even respect enough for her people to marry the father of this other child. Yes, she watched her sister running with a group of younger children, and she harbored her secret anger. But Wyndivere's even deeper secret was the caring that she had for her sister. After all, it wasn't her fault that their mother was a disgrace. Wyndivere always kept a very close eye on her little sister. She would not let her out of her sight. She would do everything within her power to keep her sister out of harms way.

She took a second breath, and tried to channel that flowing but harsh power that the Sea of Grass held, through herself and her spear. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, she spotted Solicah, her second cousin, with his bow and arrows. She liked her cousin, even if he was a bit odd at times. He always seemed to have a smile on his face. She often wondered what it was he was smiling about. She looked around at all the children and pondered how they would do. They were the next generation of the Moondirge Pavilion after all.

Sentiment aside, she began to wield her father's spear.

[Solicah]

Solicah paused, poised out under the warm rays of Syna, an odd sensation tingling upon the back of his spine. He half turned, peering over his shoulder to a near by flat spot in the the grasses, there stood his cousin, peering back. There was a silence there, between them, being out of comfortable talking range, but under this silence, upon the heavy warm breeze, slowly winding through the grasses, was words that neither were quite aware of. But that which they both felt. Solicah raised his off hand up to shield his eyes from the light bearing down on them, as he looked over at her petite form, on the horizon behind her the beginnings of dark clouds barely visible. Along the sea those clouds could only take a bell to reach them, if his mother's predictions were right, which they always were, and with them would come a complete contrast to the still and unshakeable heat they felt in that moment.

Still, Solicah smiled, for there was nothing else to do. He didn't much feel like smiling, for his heart was not full, and it was not still. It was heavy like a burning stone in the pit of his stomach, as it was to everybody. Wyndivere wasn't the most outgoing of the children, taking her endevers with a severity of purpose ever since her father's death. Solicah could remember the rite, she had cried, as any girl her age would, but with so much strength. Solicah felt that perhaps that same hardened warrior spirit that had flowed through her father somehow got caught in her as he moved on, as if caught on a piece of the web, entangled in his daughter for safe keeping. And ever since, Solicah had fancied her a warrior, despite her silence. Some see a shyness, almost meekness in that silence, but Solicah knew better. Obedience did not mean meekness. Regardless of the truth, Solicah felt it a shame she, like the other kids, and even himself, were left out of the persuasions for that day. They would all stand on the sidelines, training, waiting, striving for the day that they would all be able to help. Anxiously and eagerly awaiting the burdon, the responsibility.

His smile faded as he thought, his eyes transfixed on her small form, and her proud weapon, still not quite the proper length for her. Then, he closed his eyes, drinking some unheard words into himself, and turned to prepare for his practice. He walked part way up a nearby hill, the largest around the pavilion, just bordering the dip which lead to the flat Wyndivere prepared in. He set his bow and arrows down a moment as he flattened the lengthy grass around the patch he would deem his target. His hands tarried a moment longer than they needed to in the thick grasses, as he wondered for that moemnt what the point was. Why grow so prolific, so strong, bask and build nutrients under Syna's harsh light if their fate were just to diminish and burn beneath that same cindering force. Solicah knew the answer, in his mind, but his heart had to wonder on days like that. Why try so hard, when things were so hard.

Once the grass was flattened in a rough circle, a few feet in diameter, he scooped up his supplies and moved back, only several yards to begin with. He had yet to become a very skilled bowman, having directed his attention to the more spiritual work of the pavilion. Even so, on days like that he felt the push to be strong. Against all apparent logic, he felt the need to do something, aside from loose himself in the web. He wanted to feel the world, the physical world, encase it were his last chance to do so.

Taking a deep studied breath he shook his head slightly against a large fly which had taken to buzzing about him, and trained his eyes on his makeshift target. Slowly he rose the bow up before him, in what any onlooker could see was a weak stance, and hastily pulled the string of his short bow back. He indulged in the sound of the stretching, the tension of the bow within his arms. Mimicking the tension from within him. He wanted, nearly demanded, that the bow work for him, let him channel some angst from within himself. And, prematurely, released his arrow. There is a sharp, and predictable sting, as the string struck the inside of his tender arm, quickly conjuring a red welt in the summer heat. And along with the pain a flinch of the outstretched arm, a sag in the bow, and the arrow follows in suit. There was no follow through, no focus in the shot, and the arrow showed true to this, spiraling awkwardly off into the tall grasses around his target. Failure. The lump in his stomach grew hotter, and he gave a rare one of his glares to the situation.

[Wyndivere Moondirge]

Wyndivere saw Solicah attemts at bowmanship, his failed attempt. Wyndivere was not a bowman, she was a spearman. But even so, she had a sad twang of pride in Solicah's failure. She had a pride in her own spearmanship that was not always due her. She then began an unspoken competition with Solicah. One warrior to another. To see who was best. To see who was worth more. She knew of course that Solicah's worth to the pavilion had nothing to do his skills as a warrior. But they were not practicing cerimony today. They were practicing to kill and protect, and that bowmanship just wouldn't do. Perhaps a little competition would help Solicah improve. A little pressure.

So Wyndivere gripped her spear the way she had learned. She was a little awkward in size, another add to her dismay at childhood. She put her feet in as steady a stance as she could muster in her youth. Her spear head made a small circle in the air. And she lunged! Straight forward toward her imaginary opponent. In her lunge she lifted her front forward to try to drive a little power into her thrust. The power was turned back on her as her feet were a little too far apart, she lost her footing and her front foot slipped a bit in the dirt causeing her to stumble forward and then sideways. She managed to brace herself with her other foot before falling to the ground but that didn't change the fact that were this a real fight, she would be dead due to her fumble.

Her face flushed brightly with frustration and emberassment at her failure. And she had felt so proud a moment ago. She stood still in her frustration. She glanced at her sister as she always did. Was her secret competion over? She looked up at Solicah on his hill to see where he stood on the matter if he had even noticed. But still, they were just children.

[Solicah]

Solicah pulled the warm shaft of his second crudely crafted arrow from the hot sheath before he heard the quiet shuffle of unsteady feet on slick grass come from the flat. A warm brush of dust came sweeping past Solicah a moment after as he squinted his eyes against the assault, looking out toward his cousin. He caught her quickly reeling withdrawing from her failure, pulling back into a frustrated stance.

Solicah felt more sorry than ashamed at that point. He had always been keenly aware of what lay in the hearts of his loved ones. And Wyndivere was no different. And, like the rest of the pavilion she shared a certain angst, a darkness. Some would say a gift from Leth, though the Moondirge never spoke of this. Still every child saw the effects of their blood around them, the stoic sadness that burned starkly in comparison to the other pavilions manner.

Solicah wondered if his own familiar had been a disservice to his younger cousin. Had his failure bread hers? Or had he spurred her to strike harder? The weighty spear still handled awkwardly in her weak grip, as clumsily as Solicah's arrow soared. Solicah did not wish to give into this darkness, this helplessness, but practically caught up with even dreamers such as Solicah eventually. They were children, useless to the Pavilion in times of need.

It was a second glance from Wyndivere, checking to spy Solicah's response that froze this destructive spiral of logic before it plummeted any farther. She looked to him for an answer, for an accept or denial of her challenge. He could not bring himself to be weak before her. She was his cousin, his family, and a moment of weakness could mean the unthinkable. Solicah's eyes twitched a moment as he could swear, for just a moment he detected the definite aroma of smoke in the area, popping and burning grass. But then, as soon as i had flared forth, it vanished.

His cousin craved competition, and Solicah deliberated to answer this craving with strength. Though the strength could not be usual, would not stop the inevitable, that which the adults strove to prevent, his Drykas nature, his family bond refused to allow him to stop fighting.

He looked his cousin in the eyes, and smiled, a mock of a wicked smile, almost a jest of a challenge. Though they both knew full well the pain it strove to conceal. He accepted her challenge, and he could out stage her. Firmly he rose his bow up, peering down as he knocked his arrow.

With a deep breath he put his left foot forward, thinking hard upon the ideal stance, a long leg but relaxed, then left his back foot as a similar angle loosely behind it. With a straight and still stinging arm he stretched his bow out before him, and strained his eyes on the target.

He wasn't fighting Wyndivere. His goal was not to beat her, just as he knew her goal was not to defeat him. No, they fought against another creature all together. Solicah would slay the fear, the weakness within his cousin, if Wyndivere would use her spear work to slay the beast within himself. Together they would fight away the weakness of their youth, to make way for the strength that would protect the next generation. A secret, and unspoken pact.

Solicah focused hard on his target, tilting his head slightly and drawing the firm string steadily back. His own muscles objected against the deliberate motion, but Solicah ignored the pain. Then, he embraced the pain, at he held the bow string back as he took a deep breath in.

The exhale was chopping, not flawless, but steady enough that as Solicah released his boy, imagining Wyndivere darkness before him, the arrow flew straight. And, through a stroke of luck landed quite firmly within his target area, the slightest whoosh of air followed by the light crack of flattened grasses as the arrow peired into the ground. Struck just shy of the center. He could do better, he knew it, but first he let his bow fall once more, and looked quite openly to Wyndivere. It was her turn to strike his weakness away, to give him the endurance to fight on.

A childs game, but one that would determine the future of a family, or a people. As was the life of the Drykas children.

[Wyndivere Moondirge]

Wyndivere, at first, stiffened to her cousin's wry smile, but then her own grin crossed over her face. He had agreed to her challenge. A camaraderie was made in competition. Perhaps they were not so useless as children. She watches Solicah's bow shot and tried to catch every mistake and success. Every flinch of his body as he loosed his arrow.

'I could get a one up on that.' she thought. Though she had been somewhat humbled by her previous attempt. It was her turn now. She tried to put herself into a defensive stance. She was self taught, so she wasn't entirely sure how to go about that. She gazed at the space ahead of her where an opponent would be. She tried to imagine an enemy. Another spear-man. Hot pointed metal aimed at her center with a thrust in her direction. She wanted to parry. She tried to imagine the attack on herself, she tried to think on how she would need to stand to combat it. She imagined her enemy, she imagined her spear, she imagined her stance. And then she made it real, with her real spear, her real hands, her real feet, her real stance. With a swish, she brought the butt of her spear into the air, knocking her enemy's weapon aside. Success! But as she tried to adjust her footing, step back away from her enemy so that she had enough room to attack, the point of her spear was dug into the earth. And then she was dead.

She stood there, death by spear attack, her own spear buried in the earth. The weapon was simply too long for her. She was still too short. Too small. Too young. Alas, reality came back and she was still just a child. She looked up at her cousin. Was any of this really worth the effort? They both knew that they would be worthless in a real fight. They would try though. Yes, they would try.

[Solicah]

Solicah's hoped rose, then fell ad the disappointment on his cousin's face. Something hurt in Solicah, a twinge of pain as if he too had been struck by that spearmen. He wanted to badly to rely on another for strength. So often he reached out, to help others, and in times when he could not it pained him. It did not pain him solely because he could not help the other, however, but because she could not help him back. He had failed to turn her luck around, and it all suddenly seemed very absurd to Solicah. Absurd that a single semi lucky shot could same them from the worse of all things. Melancholia.

No matter what intentions Solicah gave he could not undue reality, he could not make Wyndivere or himself an adult. He could not make them useful, not matter how hard he wished for such. The thought summoned a forlorn, and nearly dark look to Solicah's face. All as he thought upon what the meaning of their training was. And it dawned on him, for the first time, that it might simply be to distract them, some false hope to distract them from burdening their parents anymore. The urge to go to his mother rose in him, to run to her and ask her to tell him it wasn't true. But that fact he could not only assured his idea further. She had no time for him, not as she prepared for the threatening storm of fire.

This all left him feeling very alone in the tall grass, waving about them in the hot summer air. This seemed undue to him, the pounding heat of Syna upon them. As if a lie. He knew the massage of Syna, Leth's lover, very intimately, and he always thought of himself as their child. Syna like his mother, unbridled and full of love, and his father strong mysterious yet intelligent. But this day his mother did not watch him, she was not there, so then why was Syna? Where were the clouds to conceal them from her graces?

They were nowhere, and reluctantly Solicah's heart was softened by the thought. Syna was there, always, to comfort Solicah and watch him. He was never out of her sight, her loving gaze. Solicah squinted and looked up again, locating the sun. High in the sky. Illuminating everything. The Drykas boy was not one, like his family, to fall to darkness, for one reason above all else, when darkness fell on him he thought of the goddess, and Leth glowing there above him. He had no right to be sad, for he worked so hard through the valterrian in some past life, and had won the opportunity to live in this paradise, with Syna. Leth had saved her, and they had both returned. How could he justify feeling alone?

With new strength he turned his gaze back to his cousin. Another smile crossed his face, this one softer than the first, in no way cruel or challenging. It was accepting. Yes her failure had hurt him, but it had also hurt her. But he had a strength that she did not, the of Syna, and so he smiled, letting his smile pour over onto her. Moments before he wished only to run away into the darkness of their tent and hide with his mother, but once he had remembered where he strength came from he had renewed strength.

He would accept the strength the sun gave them, and he could in turn give it to his cousin. His smile grew wider, challenging and playful once more. Oh yes, he would push her until they were both perfect. Not because they had to, not because it was going to help save the Pavilion, but because it was good for their soul. Because giving into the pain, giving into the darkness would claim them all. And, Solicah knew just the wave of energy that could encourage his cousin along.

Staring straight into her eyes he focused upon the magic within him, and let it emanate, shine instead of flow out of him. Shine upon Wyndivere and grant her energy. She would keep trying, keep fighting, because there was no other option, because giving up was to die.

Solicah was surprised by the resistance he met, he had never attempted his art from such a distance. Still, the emotions came forth, and Wyndivere would feel a slight pulsing within her, her heart beating a tick faster, and emotions shifting ever so softly toward energetic. As subtle as a small boost of food, or the tiniest bit of sugar Solicah's hypnotism seemed into Wyndivere in hopes to encourage to onward, spur her challenging nature, and fight on.

With this he smiled and whipped back around, feeling the slightest wind brush against them both. Accounting for this he rose his bow up, aimed with the same sensing of muscles, focused purely on his makeshift target and let fly a new arrow. An arrow that fell, like the last, too high and too right. Solicah couldn't say he was proud so much, but he had not utterly missed his target area and so he was satisfied.

Not looking back at his cousin this time he drew another area, arched his back slightly for control, ignored his weak arms as they protected against another shot and took a deep breath before yanking the string back again. This one, and the following three came with calculated breaths, that steadily turned into a smile as his arrows scattered about, landing in varying distances from the center of his target but never quite succeeding. He was not discouraged.

Drykas strength came in many forms, and each Drykas much depend ultimately on one another to fulfill each and every task to perfection for any true success. Solicah knew one day this would be true, that if he was not perfect his loved ones, possibly Wyndivere, would die. And in a queer way, this lended him strength.

[Calavera]

Your Reward Has Arrived! Solicah Skills: Shortbow +2, Hypnotism +1, Observation +1 Lores: Mother is Always Right, Hand Me Down Arrows Stink, Drykas Children Get Left Out, How it Feels to Fail Additional Notes: It's always a shame when threads are abandoned. The only thing I could possibly complain about is that it was a challenge to read. Solicah, it's obvious that you have an admirable vocabulary but I feel that it actually took away from your posts. It was a tad stuffy. If you don't mind I recommend trying a looser form of writing. Read around in some others threads, maybe Riverfall, and check out some other forms. You're definitely on the right track, I just feel you could have earned more if it didn't feel so forced. Maybe think of it like you're actually talking to us, telling us a story like you would if we were face to face. Detail is good though, that's how you get experience! So don't be discouraged, this is just some constuctive criticism and advice. Keep up the good work and keep swinging at those posts! If you have any questions or further comment don't hesitate to message me.