Closed A Meeting of the Mind and Stone (Zand)

[Sha'kar]

29th Day of Spring, 513 AV - Warfields Quite, that was the word, the silence that hung about him giving him great joy as he meditated. He was standing, blades, cloak, mask, shoes, shirt, discarded. His hands put together in a praying movement, lowered and stretched forward as he breathed out. Clear your mind, focus, think every action through before the motions begin. Flux, an art that was as deadly towards a for as it was towards the user. The last time he had use it he had snapped a tendon in his leg, and would have broken his arm if his punch had connected. Even so, with enough conditioning and practice, he could overcome that, and use it with little risk to himself. He focused on his right arm, pushing forward into a light jab in front of himself, then switching to his left and performing the same actions. Practice, practice , practice. Don't be brash, don't move to quick or you risk injury. Combat was an art form, it was to be used as such, its fluid movements and deadly products like the strokes of the brush when making a violent image. Emotion being the paint, and the muscles being the brush, without one to other became weak or useless. The warfields were perfect for this, those who crossed him may not be fit for the flux, but unarmed was a good substitute. He wasn't here to fight this day. He was here to practice, if someone wished to fight, they would be denied. He had been beaten once and didn't wish to be beaten again so soon.

[Zandelia]

“Do you know where they have gone this day then?” Zandelia asked in a hushed tone, she was within a small alleyway near to the imposing Headquarters of the Order of the Heavy Coffers and she did not want to be heard easily – what was being pieced together was tantamount to a death sentence.

“To the place where combat is tested” replied the messenger, a boy of no reo than fifteen years perhaps.

“Good, tell your master that what they ask shall be done. They will hand over full payment promptly within three Bells, Vysia will know who it is for. You need no name and will not ask for one…understand?”

The boy nodded and she cocked her head to the right as a gesture of his dismissal. She leant against the sturdy stone walls, the structure casting a small shadow across her still form. She would allow a good number of chimes before she emerged into the hustle and bustle of the world herself, she did not wish to be linked with the messenger boy in the minds and eyes of those walking the streets. No, anonymity would be her friend this day. In fact, it would be best if none heard of her at all or the events that she hoped would transpire. She needed the connection desperately and she would do anything to get it, even murder though she hoped it would not come to that.

All I need is information, though beating it out of them will probably be necessary. Death for me will be certain if it comes to that…if they survive. I hope this goes well… she told herself.

“Akajia, if you could see yourself clear to helping out a faithful servant I promise never to take your arse in vain again” she whispered, a small smile creeping across her lips as she pushed herself away from the wall and began the journey towards her destination – the Warfields.

It was the perfect ground for what had been planned, it was secluded and any combatant could enter into the fray provided that they took the consequences quite seriously. People were seriously injured on a daily basis. Deaths were less common but still expected every now and then – the perfect location to strike in a city of piously regulated laws, doctrines and powers. In some ways it almost felt as if she were going to re-enter Sunberth for a few Bells. It would be quick, dangerous and brutal – everything she enjoyed about the physicality in her line of work. As she approached the entrance to the maze-like region she spied something she did not expect to see however, a male…Ephyrian…practising.

One does not usually come here just to practise, though I have seen him before now that I am closer to him she mused internally as she approached him.

She was wearing her full martial arsenal this day, clothing under studded leather armour under Shadowsilk Robes – weaponry in place and a sense of purpose. Here, however, was an anomaly that she found intriguing. She stopped a few paces away from the Ephyrian male, he looked to be fake boxing to her gaze.

“What have here then? Not joining in the festivities today?” she pointed towards the Warfield proper by way of indication of her meaning.