Do Battle with One another...
After a bandage change and some more soothing tea, Arista slept as well as any person who's love remained unconscious and one's arm throbbing painfully from sounds. If someone still watched over her, she didn't care. There were enough 'locals' to watch over them for her. She would not inform these creatures that she was a necromancer. Usually, the mere sound of the title ran her out of towns. *Damn those people who abused that right.*
She had thought she was the first one awake, even if she could not see daylight. Her body told her it was still sundown with a few more hours to go. Arista padded quietly through the rooms, looking for her sword, more than anything else. That, and the voices from the dead were already whispering stories of their previous lives and the lives of the living near them. They always looked for an ear who would listen. Her greatest pondering was how in the world did one of them touch the blade and not be harmed. The soul blade hated men; even Unknown didn't touch it.
Finally, her questions were answered. Her blade lay sheathed in a swath of silk from point to pommel. Arista recognied the room as a training area of sorts, and immediately the weapons around her reminded her of SamKai's dojo. Her left arm in a sling, she grasped the silken handle with her right. In response, the runes etched on the blade glowed as the sword seemed to purr.
The sword, at first glance, looked like a curved katana, perhaps made from damascus steel. But the guard was a little too elaborate, and the blade was double edged. The damascus designs were actually the runes that usually stayed quiet, but when the blade was excited, they would flash an eerie electric blue.
"Miss me?" Arista murmured softly, unwinding the silk as she admired the light. "I'm suprised that you hadn't eaten anyone. I know that you would not allow them insight in keeping you."
--The Lion's awake--
She swerved a second before she heard the sound of his voice. "Your blade has a soul that did not seem...amenable to anyone other than it's owner to weild it." There he was, fully dressed, as any of the other Turtles were, his own sheathed traditional katanas to one side.
"You understand soul blades?" Arista was interested in this one.
"I understand that swords become a life of their own. That is the way of the Shinto," Leo observed, his eyes following the movements of her blade.
"UniKazi has always been aware," Arista corrected, her grey eyes flashing to the Turtle. "He was created by Chaos."
"Uni...Kazi. Wind--"
"Demon Wind."
Leo shook his head. "No. If it were that, it would be Uni Kame."
"I did not name this blade, and it is not Japanese. Who knows what exact language was used to name it."
There was a long moment of silence.
"So...why are you awake?"
"Why are you?"
Because practise is in a couple of hours."
Arista turned again to look at Leo, shouldering her blade like a fishing pole. "I couldn't sleep. Decided to get my right arm used to sword play, since my left will be taking a vacation."
Leo watched her take a few tentative steps to the center of the training mats, her bare feet making no sound. "Do you remember anything prior to your arrival here?"
"Bits and pieces," Arista answered, making certain that her left arm was secure to her body. "There was a ritual, but I don't remember if I participated or observed. Something happened, a wrongness was felt. Was it an accident?" She removed the last of the silk and allowed it to flutter to a corner of the floor as she spoke. "Was it intentional? I remember a child's scream. Maybe it was my son's. I remember battleing against hell. I then remember waking up here."
"That's not much to go on," Leo commented.
"Never is."
Arista slowly experimented with the blade, carefully stretching her arm muscles with large circular motions, twisting her wrist so that the blade winked in the light.
"You seem pretty calm for a mother who's son might have been injured."
"I do not know the whole story. If my son was in danger, then my friends would then take care of him. There's no reason to panic before finding out if there is valid reason to." Gradually, she became more confident in her arm, and she began some more involved maneuvers. It couldn't be called katas, whatever it was she was doing, but it was definitely more involved than simply imagining an enemy to fight.
After a bandage change and some more soothing tea, Arista slept as well as any person who's love remained unconscious and one's arm throbbing painfully from sounds. If someone still watched over her, she didn't care. There were enough 'locals' to watch over them for her. She would not inform these creatures that she was a necromancer. Usually, the mere sound of the title ran her out of towns. *Damn those people who abused that right.*
She had thought she was the first one awake, even if she could not see daylight. Her body told her it was still sundown with a few more hours to go. Arista padded quietly through the rooms, looking for her sword, more than anything else. That, and the voices from the dead were already whispering stories of their previous lives and the lives of the living near them. They always looked for an ear who would listen. Her greatest pondering was how in the world did one of them touch the blade and not be harmed. The soul blade hated men; even Unknown didn't touch it.
Finally, her questions were answered. Her blade lay sheathed in a swath of silk from point to pommel. Arista recognied the room as a training area of sorts, and immediately the weapons around her reminded her of SamKai's dojo. Her left arm in a sling, she grasped the silken handle with her right. In response, the runes etched on the blade glowed as the sword seemed to purr.
The sword, at first glance, looked like a curved katana, perhaps made from damascus steel. But the guard was a little too elaborate, and the blade was double edged. The damascus designs were actually the runes that usually stayed quiet, but when the blade was excited, they would flash an eerie electric blue.
"Miss me?" Arista murmured softly, unwinding the silk as she admired the light. "I'm suprised that you hadn't eaten anyone. I know that you would not allow them insight in keeping you."
--The Lion's awake--
She swerved a second before she heard the sound of his voice. "Your blade has a soul that did not seem...amenable to anyone other than it's owner to weild it." There he was, fully dressed, as any of the other Turtles were, his own sheathed traditional katanas to one side.
"You understand soul blades?" Arista was interested in this one.
"I understand that swords become a life of their own. That is the way of the Shinto," Leo observed, his eyes following the movements of her blade.
"UniKazi has always been aware," Arista corrected, her grey eyes flashing to the Turtle. "He was created by Chaos."
"Uni...Kazi. Wind--"
"Demon Wind."
Leo shook his head. "No. If it were that, it would be Uni Kame."
"I did not name this blade, and it is not Japanese. Who knows what exact language was used to name it."
There was a long moment of silence.
"So...why are you awake?"
"Why are you?"
Because practise is in a couple of hours."
Arista turned again to look at Leo, shouldering her blade like a fishing pole. "I couldn't sleep. Decided to get my right arm used to sword play, since my left will be taking a vacation."
Leo watched her take a few tentative steps to the center of the training mats, her bare feet making no sound. "Do you remember anything prior to your arrival here?"
"Bits and pieces," Arista answered, making certain that her left arm was secure to her body. "There was a ritual, but I don't remember if I participated or observed. Something happened, a wrongness was felt. Was it an accident?" She removed the last of the silk and allowed it to flutter to a corner of the floor as she spoke. "Was it intentional? I remember a child's scream. Maybe it was my son's. I remember battleing against hell. I then remember waking up here."
"That's not much to go on," Leo commented.
"Never is."
Arista slowly experimented with the blade, carefully stretching her arm muscles with large circular motions, twisting her wrist so that the blade winked in the light.
"You seem pretty calm for a mother who's son might have been injured."
"I do not know the whole story. If my son was in danger, then my friends would then take care of him. There's no reason to panic before finding out if there is valid reason to." Gradually, she became more confident in her arm, and she began some more involved maneuvers. It couldn't be called katas, whatever it was she was doing, but it was definitely more involved than simply imagining an enemy to fight.