Iriah Caitrak
06-29-08, 11:22 PM
((Closed))
Her knees slammed against the rough, beige stone. Pain shot up through her legs and into her hips. Hands fought against tight bonds in a pointless attempt to brace her body. Off balance, she fell and her shoulder and the side of her face scraped against sand and stone. Like the heat of a fire, she felt the sting and the burn spread along her cheek and the bare flesh of her arm, consuming both. Blood trickled and welled and began to mingle in the dirt and tiny pieces of grain worn rock, which dig into her flesh. She swore she could feel every small, razor sharp piece, which embedded itself into her flesh, digging further and further into her like a relentless little demon, rending her to bits. Fisting her hands into a tight ball, she tensed the strong muscles of her stomach and pulled herself up onto bruised knees.
A cold day in Fallien would be had before Iriah Caitrak willingly stayed on her stomach before anyone. It disgusted her to be forced to kneel and ate away at the pride that she could barely hide behind cold, silver eyes. Standing seemed far from an option for her though. It would merely prolong the inevitable and cause more bruises. She’d prefer keeping her face looking the way it was, as well as her body. It had taken years of training to get to the point she was at now. Given the opportunity, she’d gladly repay the bhandakhinya for the wound already marring her skin.
Drawing in a deep and somewhat calming breath, the Akhetamika warrior quickly began to assess the situation. Her hands were tightly bound behind her back by what felt like cloth and her pack had been taken from her. Her crystals still lay upon her person though, in plain view for all the blinded tribesmen to see, if only they would look hard enough. They were too intent on other things to even think of properly disarming her. Stupidly, they assumed that taking her hands out of the equation was somehow good enough. She would enjoy the look on their faces when she showed every one of them why they should never underestimate an Akhetamikan.
At least twenty people surrounded her. Their clothes were worn and brown and plain, marking them as one of the many travelling tribes throughout Fallien. Thin, layered robes covered their sun bronzed skin, protecting them from the harshness that could be Mitra. As well as the relentless winds and sands that could kill and dry the heartiness of warriors and travellers. Each one of them carried a weapon in their hands or upon their person. From the Kukri and it’s twisted blade and odd design, to swords and spears and Chakrams. Though Iriah possessed confidence in her skills, she had not come here with a death wish. There were far too many of them for her to safely battle and even then, she knew in the end she couldn’t kill them.
As anxious faces filled with worried and angry expressions watched her, one stepped forward. An older woman, her face still beautiful and yet worn by the elements and time. Iriah could even see white lines of hair fanning back from her temples and standing out in sharp contrast to the pitch black that coloured the rest. The layers of brown and red cloth covering her were ragged around the edges and the colour was fading, bleached by the sun. As she swept her eyes over her, Iriah noted the woman’s hand, resting upon the hilt of a Khanda and took note of the experience that lay within dark, aged eyes.
Their gazes locked. The dark of one and the constant, swirling silver of the other clashed and each warrior assessed while only one made assumptions. Iriah had learned long ago not to judge someone upon looks alone. A silent battle of wills waged between the two of them and neither even considered the option of backing down.
“Tell us what you were doing in the forest.”
--Two days earlier...
Wind gently slithered across her skin, pushing through the thin layers of her dark red and purple clothes and easing the heat pounding down upon her. The sun had yet to reach its apex, but already the heat in the desert nation of Fallien was stifling. It was a heat she had missed being away from her home for so long and one she had longed for in the humid and oft wet days spent in Dheathain.
Dheathain...
The one simple word held so much heartache for her. She needed to let it go and move passed what had happened. But it was hard, nigh it seemed impossible for her mind to wrap around it. She’d already spent long nights crying herself to sleep and waking up with swollen eyes and no rest. She’d dealt with the hollow feeling in her chest as she moved through the nation alone; so alone. It had been a crushing experience. She had spent months with him and now that he was gone, she found herself missing the little things, the big things and searching for him around every corner and in every dark alley. Eventually she’d given up. Otherwise, she’d crush herself under the weight of the past. And Iriah was a stronger woman that that.
“I think I love you.”
“But you didn’t, did you, Malagen?”
This was the first time his name had been spoken aloud in months. She’d called it out in her head, screamed it in her mind and echoed it in her dreams. It had always been there, but she’d been avoiding it, hoping that if she stopped thinking about him, he would just disappear. As if he had never existed.
It all seemed so much...less now that she had said it aloud and acknowledged him and the time they spent together. Then she began to feel the pain in her heart once more, making it hard to breathe. She placed her hand against her chest, as if that could fill the void, the emptiness. It merely allowed her to feel the rapid beats of her heart.
The months seemed to have helped very little.
Slowly she steadied her breathing and calmed the flutter of her heart. She’d let no man do this to her. She would overcome it, no matter how long it took. Instead of focusing inward, Iriah drew her senses to what surrounded her. Even though she’d been in The Valley of the Dead for over an hour now, she’d barely looked at it. Then again, what was there to look at? It never changed, never really changed. Each year more names were added, but the gentle slope of the soft beige and red sand remained the same. And the large spikes of jagged obsidian still jutted from the earth like disjointed claws. Upon each of them was a flat surface that ran the length of an entire side. Carved into that surface; names, hundreds of them, thousands of them. All the name of their ancestors since they had started recording the dead and no one was really sure when that had begun anymore. Uriahd’s name was in here and Iriah knew exactly which spire it lay upon.
“Iriah, you have a moment?”
Turning her head sharply, Iriah looked upon her friend Mika as she glided across the sand towards her. Her bright red hair looked like fire in the sun and only served to brighten the iridescence of her light blue eyes. For some reason, oddly coloured hair and eyes were part of the package of being an Akhetamikan.
“Of course.”
Her friend nodded her head and came to stand next to the rock she sat upon, eyes sadly scanning the valley as she spoke.
“Gereint has a mission he wants the both of us to go on.”
At least Gereint still trusted her. “How did you know where to find me?”
“He told me.” The corners of Mika’s mouth turned upwards in a slight smirk.
Iriah mirrored the expression. For a blind man, Gereint certainly could see clearer than anyone else she knew.
“When did you want to leave?”
“As soon as possible.” Iriah responded, “You know me, I’m always ready.” And I could use the release of a mission.
“Good, I’ll fill you in on the way back to Astaka.”
Her knees slammed against the rough, beige stone. Pain shot up through her legs and into her hips. Hands fought against tight bonds in a pointless attempt to brace her body. Off balance, she fell and her shoulder and the side of her face scraped against sand and stone. Like the heat of a fire, she felt the sting and the burn spread along her cheek and the bare flesh of her arm, consuming both. Blood trickled and welled and began to mingle in the dirt and tiny pieces of grain worn rock, which dig into her flesh. She swore she could feel every small, razor sharp piece, which embedded itself into her flesh, digging further and further into her like a relentless little demon, rending her to bits. Fisting her hands into a tight ball, she tensed the strong muscles of her stomach and pulled herself up onto bruised knees.
A cold day in Fallien would be had before Iriah Caitrak willingly stayed on her stomach before anyone. It disgusted her to be forced to kneel and ate away at the pride that she could barely hide behind cold, silver eyes. Standing seemed far from an option for her though. It would merely prolong the inevitable and cause more bruises. She’d prefer keeping her face looking the way it was, as well as her body. It had taken years of training to get to the point she was at now. Given the opportunity, she’d gladly repay the bhandakhinya for the wound already marring her skin.
Drawing in a deep and somewhat calming breath, the Akhetamika warrior quickly began to assess the situation. Her hands were tightly bound behind her back by what felt like cloth and her pack had been taken from her. Her crystals still lay upon her person though, in plain view for all the blinded tribesmen to see, if only they would look hard enough. They were too intent on other things to even think of properly disarming her. Stupidly, they assumed that taking her hands out of the equation was somehow good enough. She would enjoy the look on their faces when she showed every one of them why they should never underestimate an Akhetamikan.
At least twenty people surrounded her. Their clothes were worn and brown and plain, marking them as one of the many travelling tribes throughout Fallien. Thin, layered robes covered their sun bronzed skin, protecting them from the harshness that could be Mitra. As well as the relentless winds and sands that could kill and dry the heartiness of warriors and travellers. Each one of them carried a weapon in their hands or upon their person. From the Kukri and it’s twisted blade and odd design, to swords and spears and Chakrams. Though Iriah possessed confidence in her skills, she had not come here with a death wish. There were far too many of them for her to safely battle and even then, she knew in the end she couldn’t kill them.
As anxious faces filled with worried and angry expressions watched her, one stepped forward. An older woman, her face still beautiful and yet worn by the elements and time. Iriah could even see white lines of hair fanning back from her temples and standing out in sharp contrast to the pitch black that coloured the rest. The layers of brown and red cloth covering her were ragged around the edges and the colour was fading, bleached by the sun. As she swept her eyes over her, Iriah noted the woman’s hand, resting upon the hilt of a Khanda and took note of the experience that lay within dark, aged eyes.
Their gazes locked. The dark of one and the constant, swirling silver of the other clashed and each warrior assessed while only one made assumptions. Iriah had learned long ago not to judge someone upon looks alone. A silent battle of wills waged between the two of them and neither even considered the option of backing down.
“Tell us what you were doing in the forest.”
--Two days earlier...
Wind gently slithered across her skin, pushing through the thin layers of her dark red and purple clothes and easing the heat pounding down upon her. The sun had yet to reach its apex, but already the heat in the desert nation of Fallien was stifling. It was a heat she had missed being away from her home for so long and one she had longed for in the humid and oft wet days spent in Dheathain.
Dheathain...
The one simple word held so much heartache for her. She needed to let it go and move passed what had happened. But it was hard, nigh it seemed impossible for her mind to wrap around it. She’d already spent long nights crying herself to sleep and waking up with swollen eyes and no rest. She’d dealt with the hollow feeling in her chest as she moved through the nation alone; so alone. It had been a crushing experience. She had spent months with him and now that he was gone, she found herself missing the little things, the big things and searching for him around every corner and in every dark alley. Eventually she’d given up. Otherwise, she’d crush herself under the weight of the past. And Iriah was a stronger woman that that.
“I think I love you.”
“But you didn’t, did you, Malagen?”
This was the first time his name had been spoken aloud in months. She’d called it out in her head, screamed it in her mind and echoed it in her dreams. It had always been there, but she’d been avoiding it, hoping that if she stopped thinking about him, he would just disappear. As if he had never existed.
It all seemed so much...less now that she had said it aloud and acknowledged him and the time they spent together. Then she began to feel the pain in her heart once more, making it hard to breathe. She placed her hand against her chest, as if that could fill the void, the emptiness. It merely allowed her to feel the rapid beats of her heart.
The months seemed to have helped very little.
Slowly she steadied her breathing and calmed the flutter of her heart. She’d let no man do this to her. She would overcome it, no matter how long it took. Instead of focusing inward, Iriah drew her senses to what surrounded her. Even though she’d been in The Valley of the Dead for over an hour now, she’d barely looked at it. Then again, what was there to look at? It never changed, never really changed. Each year more names were added, but the gentle slope of the soft beige and red sand remained the same. And the large spikes of jagged obsidian still jutted from the earth like disjointed claws. Upon each of them was a flat surface that ran the length of an entire side. Carved into that surface; names, hundreds of them, thousands of them. All the name of their ancestors since they had started recording the dead and no one was really sure when that had begun anymore. Uriahd’s name was in here and Iriah knew exactly which spire it lay upon.
“Iriah, you have a moment?”
Turning her head sharply, Iriah looked upon her friend Mika as she glided across the sand towards her. Her bright red hair looked like fire in the sun and only served to brighten the iridescence of her light blue eyes. For some reason, oddly coloured hair and eyes were part of the package of being an Akhetamikan.
“Of course.”
Her friend nodded her head and came to stand next to the rock she sat upon, eyes sadly scanning the valley as she spoke.
“Gereint has a mission he wants the both of us to go on.”
At least Gereint still trusted her. “How did you know where to find me?”
“He told me.” The corners of Mika’s mouth turned upwards in a slight smirk.
Iriah mirrored the expression. For a blind man, Gereint certainly could see clearer than anyone else she knew.
“When did you want to leave?”
“As soon as possible.” Iriah responded, “You know me, I’m always ready.” And I could use the release of a mission.
“Good, I’ll fill you in on the way back to Astaka.”