"What if I fall?"
Oh but darling
What if you fly?
Oh but darling
What if you fly?
2nd of Cylus, 718
- Truthfully, the "training" facilities we're hardly anything at all. Empty, spacious rooms, where the drones ran around and tossed boulders to strengthen their physique. It was a bit disheartening to the Naer who once upon a time, had trained in Augiery - the underground city with a bone to pick. Back then, there had been every weapon imaginable, with life sized dummies to brutalize or even live slaves of that was one's preference. Whips, swords, daggers, maces, bows, nothing short of the imagination. By Delroth's gold, there was even poisoned darts. And now?
The dark haired woman was dressed comfortably, her supple leather boots barely a scuff against the cold floor, the length of a blackened bullwhip like a snake coiled at her feet. With the flick of her wrist, she brought up the weapon, familiarizing with how it struck through the air with every shift of her arm. Whips were curious things, far more unpredictable than swords or daggers but, as her mother had always said, held great power. Capable of splitting open muscle and fat, choking an enemy or even breaking bones in the possession of a skilled user, they came in a variety of deadly shapes and sizes.
Navyri had gotten hers from a slaver who had spent some time in prison in Ne'haer for brutality and in his old age, decided to retire. After a few drinks and a lost game of cards, he had simply slapped it on the table, and with a shake of his head, motioned for her to take it, "Only cruelty can control it."
She heard his voice even now, swinging her arm cautiously, her own arm spotted with red welts from where the weapon had reared back and bit her. Trying to get it under her power was proving to be a challenge, but with each swing, she felt a mocking familiarity with it's thong.
Hissing in surprise when she reared her arm back and the tip nearly smacked her across the cheek, Navyri growled and cast aside the weapon. She prowled around it like a displeased panther, hands on her hips as if deciding if it was worth the trouble or not. How many times had she been whipped in her life? She remembered how her mother would swing effortlessly, giving only moments to roll out of the way before another crack of the whip became a lightening bolt in a storm of pain, striking down without mercy.
Why now, could she not conquer the secrets of this weapon? Why did it elude her so? Running a hand over her braided hair, Navyri crouched just as a figure clad in armor caught her attention from the entrance. She knew who it was without even needing to look at the man, as her companion sat perched upon a stalagmites, ever vigilant in his watch over her. There was only one she knew of that never appeared without protection, and from her familiar's vantage point, she could see the singular dark wing elegantly folded against his shoulder blade.
Still looking at the discarded weapon, she finally slipped her clawed hand beneath it and rose, "Good morning, Mercy. It's a bit early to train, is it not?"