[ P ] Demonstration

"Shall we show them?"
He stepped into the training clearing, the press of soft dirt all too familiar against his paws. With it came the quiet echoes of past aches. While his muscles had since healed and grown back stronger, it had taken years of practice to stand here as a lieutenant capable of giving the demonstration. Today, he was not a bright-eyed recruit or green soldier standing at the clearing's edge. No—he was walking in alongside a woman that was younger than him but the same rank. A Tiamat, one of the military dynasties in Rionnach. Unlike the others that boasted the name, her eyes were a fierce blue. That alone was her sole difference. In every other way, from the ruddy fur upon her to her fiery nature, she was one of those amazonian women that made the army home.

While he did not know her closely, he was familiar with her. Knew her name and that was it—but that did not diminish his respect for her. Others might have begrudged the young woman's position as being a product of nepotism, but Victorian had yet to see such things at work in the military. He had even heard word of lieutenant major's brother being exiled from the family for failing to endure soldier life. At least, those were the drunken rumors that had been passed around one night.

Readying himself, he awaited Ismailia's attack. She'd be the aggressor today.


@Ismailia

Rolling combat 1d20: 2
Poor - You barely hurt your opponent

Ismailia Tiamat

Oh, she had been busy. In the time of the drought and Nassar's betrothal, seeing her Father, Ismailia took that time to stray away from the chaos. Away from the public eye, letting her kin take the limelight. All the while, She had worked tirelessly, endlessly. Muscles had grown to aid in that proud, fiery lineage that boasted along her fine form. Her mind-through the teachings of Colonel Kvothe- Had become stronger... apart from some days, where the eyes of her kin still burned in the back of her skull.

Her name day had been and gone and now only one goal remained; proving herself. For with age, came the opportunity to become Captain and beyond.

But what did it matter, in Ankh's eyes, she would always....


"Shall we show them?"

A bark pulled her from her musings, ebon' ears perked as ocean eyes sought out the blazing familiar irises of another. Lieutenant Victorian parted from the crowd. As silent as a shadow, yet despite his foreboding size and stature, there was a softness to those eyes. As if he had stretched out an open hand and pulled her away from the shadows that tainted her mind. Perhaps he had spotted that glint-that chink in her perfectly placed armour, and rectified it.

Of course, them meaning the bunch of new recruits-Soldiers as green as the Fir trees that towered above them, who's eyes were already upon her. Expectant, naively excited. Anticipating.

But of course in her mind-they were all the same. Judgemental, whispers that would surely report back to Ankh... given the chance. Yet, the fire in the girls heart burned, spurring her to take that step forwards as she dipped her fiery crown in silent acknowledgement.

She took in a breath to soothe the fire that flickered within her breast. With every-well placed step, she snapped into training. The familiar thrum of her heart and steady draw of breath, the familiar silence that befell them.

Her eyes met that of Victorian's and dare a small smile curl upon her dark lips. Perhaps this was her way of offering a thank-you, if he were paying attention enough to notice.

Lowering herself into the aggressive combat stance; Ismailia soon focused upon the task at hand. Practicing the ritual she had done a thousand times before: Head lowered to protect her neck. Ears pinned to her skull, paws splayed evenly in the damp earth. She was ready.

Victorian did not move, he was perfectly chiselled obsidian against the earthy back-drop of the training ring. It was indication for her turn, Now it was time to prove herself.

Not just for them, but for her own sanity too.

With all the power she could muster and the fiery fury of all that emotion behind her, the Tiamat woman sunk into her true calling-dancing in the art of war. She aimed to attack the man at his side, be it shoulder or neck. She would obviously not aim to seriously injure, but she would not hold back, either.



@Victorian

"We are all young and naive still."

code & art by claerie

Rolling combat 1d20: 7
Poor - You barely hurt your opponent

While he thought he caught the barest hint of a smile, it was soon lost to time. Her expression soon hardened into one of concentration and that brief glint of softness was gone. Whether it had been directed at him or at the prospect of showing off her talents, he couldn't tell. However, he mirrored the expression with fewer reservations. It was exhilarating to be standing on the same stage as her after all of this time. Of course, he wouldn't be surprised if she soon rose in ranks above him again. While he knew he had improved, he did not have the same skills as her, and not due to lack of talent. He had no doubt that she was talented, but her prowess was born of hardwork and effort. No part of him wanted to diminish her accomplishments by blaming them on some sort of god-given gift.

As he readied himself, he moved through the steps in his mind. Lower your head, protect your neck, square your shoulders... Golden eyes narrowed and his heart began to beat quickly within his chest.

There was a moment of stillness—and then it was broken!

She shot at him quickly and aimed for his side, but it was a proper feint. Her teeth did not touch him, but in whipping after her, he wrenched his neck slightly. It was a subtle pain, but was hardly visible to the audience. As best he could, he attempted to scramble after her and land a mild bite on her shoulder. His aim was only to hold on, not puncture the skin beneath her fiery fur.


@Ismailia

Rolling combat 1d20: 12
Fair - You hurt your opponent moderately

Ismailia Tiamat

Thunderous was the heartbeat that fuelled the war drums in her mind.
Rapid, was the chaos of fiery thought and emotion that fuelled her attack.


The smell of smoke, sweet and bitter paired with a delicate twinge of male must, hit her nostrils. Much like the grey tendrils of a burnt out candle, his fur glided past her pale maw and only a whisp of a tuft brushed past her tongue. It was not the manoeuvre she was aiming for, nor the perfect start she wanted. A tidal wave of embarrassment flushed though her pale cheeks, twinned with the suborn, fiery determination that roared within her gut, it was frothing at the mouth, screaming to rectify it immediately and as her slender paws planted firmly upon the earth, Ismailia spun round in a flurry of fire and ice.

But of course, he opponent had trained along side her-she knew Victorian's capabilities and despite the embarrassment that threatened to loom over her, in a thousand lashing tongues, she was able to move just far enough to the side for him to miss. Akin to her own. Was this, an even match, after all?

Victorian had struck her as formidable, yes. The Lieutenant had come a long way, much like herself. But there was no denying the small part of Ismailia that burned at the thought of someone being better, or equal to her-that was not a Tiamat.

Not a Tiamat.


A grounding sigh flared through her nostrils; in, out. Focus on the present moment. A chilly, steeling breath. Then, she lunged again, this time for his muzzle, she would aim to drag him down and exert enough pressure. Hopefully, she would not draw blood.

Gods were not at the thoughts of her hopes, she did not pray that she would not miss. She was a Tiamat. She would show them how it was done. And she would not fail.


@Victorian

"We are all young and naive still."

code & art by claerie

Rolling combat 1d20: 8
Poor - You barely hurt your opponent

Although turmoil was threatening to drown her, Victorian was wholly unaware of any vehement embarassment or frustration on her end. The lava threatening to erupt inside was well concealed, at least in his pale eyes. To him, she was the picture of deliberate excellence. If she faltered, it was to make the battle more accurate, to help the trainees see themselves in her. A missed attack was a faint—and indeed she had thrown him off of his game. His teeth flashed through ruddy fur only to never find purchase upon her shoulder.

She rounded on him then, her teeth bearing down on his muzzle as she caught him by the side. Her grip was shockingly strong and he winced from the pain. The whine in his throat was cut off quickly as he did his best to hold it in—for fear of embarassing himself or causing Ismailia's reputation of being a spitfire to be blown out of proportion again.

He'd give her the benefit of the doubt. He was certain she didn't mean it—or so he hoped.

As he was dragged down to the dirt, he kicked out his hind legs in hopes of tripping up her forelegs and causing her to tumble.


@Ismailia

Rolling combat 1d20: 16
Competent - You deal a painful blow

Ismailia Tiamat

It was enough.

Her moment's reprieve; the chink in her armour had been rectified within a split second. He had not anticipated her righteous fury, had not expected. Indeed, she could feel it within the rigidness of his muscles, the strength behind the hold of his head. As obsidian clashed with ice and fire, he fell.

And Ismailia came out on top.

She aimed to pin him; placing her ivory paws on either shoulder. Yet as he fell, there was a pang within her gut. A stabbing twist that gnawed away at the furious flames; fanning the chaos, soothing the beat of the war drums. Her tail was raised and she was triumphant and yet...

Had there been a whine?

Ocean eyes widened, as the adrenaline coursed through her veins, that glorious sensation that drove away all other feelings; as her body and mind were harmonious and as one; she released him and saw a flicker of a wince.

A shocked expression briefly adorned her perfectly poised features, before the chorus of applause filled her ears. The initiates hollered with glimmering smiles upon their faces. And Ismailia-unconsciously removed herself from him. Hiding the panic. Pushing down the guilt.
"It is not just about who is the strongest. Or, being strong." She began to the greens that surrounded her---them.
"You have to out-wit your opponent. Like a game of chess, anticipate their move and react."

She then turned her attention to Victorian, her gaze-for a moment softened, as the guilt that rose from her stomach, rose to her chest.
"Well fought, Lieutenant. You were a fine match." She forced a smile, stepping closer. "May we speak? Afterwards?" Muttering just so hopefully-he would hear, before dipping her head. In silent respect.

I'm sorry.

@Victorian

"We are all young and naive still."

code & art by claerie

His legs kicked out but the angle was too large for his spine, pinioned down by the weight of her paws, to overcome. No amount of twisting would allow him to do much more than scrabble at her ankles with his nails, buffeting her toes without so much as a wobble. Her paws bore down upon him painfully digging into the tops of his exposed shoulder and causing pain to lance through the bone down to his clavical. He stilled, willing that she release him soon in light of her victory and the demonstration of feint and a pin.

At the sound of applause and calls from the enamored apprentices and initiates, Victorian shook his head and pulled himself to his feet. Initially, he glanced at his chest as he dusted himself off. It was an excuse to collect himself and mask any shame—or pain—that dared to show. He'd lost to a fine opponent and, at the end of the day, he'd suffered few wounds to his reputation. One of them would have to be the loser. Whether it was him or her, it didn't quite matter.

"It is not just about who is the strongest. Or, being strong," Ismailia cautioned as she addressed the crowd of earnest faces and bright eyes. "You have to out-wit your opponent. Like a game of chess, anticipate their move and react."

Victorian nodded and, thankfully, the throbbing in his muzzle was subsiding quickly. His shoulder would ache for awhile longer, might even bruise, but it was workable. At least, that much he determined by subtly rolling it.

As the trainees broke into pairs to practice, he glanced at his sparring partner. Her gaze seemed to conceal a mix of emotions that he couldn't quite read, and it was enough to cause his brow to knit slightly and one ear to flick back. Her compliment, however, allowed his expression to brighten once more. Perhaps he'd just imagined it. "Same to you. We'll have to do it again some time, a longer one." Maybe then he'd redeem himself.

"May we speak? Afterwards?" Her sudden closeness caused his eyebrows to raise. However, he honored her discretion with a quiet reply of his own: "Of course."

— time skip to evening

He could still hear the laughter and jests of the new recruits from the barracks and surrounding forest. It was early in the training season and they were savoring their last taste of summer before autumn browned the leaves and chilled the air. This was a night where they were free to rest.

Tomorrow would come too early, of course, but he was reticent to return to his den soon.

Victorian nodded to a couple of friends as he nursed the small collection of grapes he'd snagged from a local vendor. Idly, he kept an eye out for Ismailia. He'd never seen her at events like these, odds were that she chose to skip them in favor of training, but he wasn't sure where else to find her either. So he lingered, waiting to be called.


@Ismailia

Ismailia Tiamat

Once again, the fire had taken control. Like a volcano; simmering lava had pooled from the pit of her stomach, the anxieties crawled into stubborn spiteful fury and she had unleashed all of that Tiamat prowess and fire to end up overpowering. She had won.

But at what cost?

Of course, injuries sustained during Spars were normal, they were training for the worst outcome, after all. But it was not just the fact that she had caused pain to an innocent man that sparked most of the guilt, no. It was the fact that she had lost control. After months of practice, still still held that edge.

Her ocean eyes watched Victorian; scouring every inch of his frame to assess the damage, thankfully, there were no sure signs of blood. No dampened, obsidian fur, no real blood loss. Their eyes met briefly for a moment; and in that moment, something flickered within her stomach. It was the sounds of the crowd that pulled her back, aided by his own words. We'll have to do it again some time, a longer one A small smile, faint, but genuine, pulled at her maw.
"Of course. Whenever you have time, Lieutenant." She added, with a wag of her tail. Her voice was slightly strained, yet was quickly rectified as other members began to step into the ring.

"Pick a partner, let's see what we are working with!" Snapping back into her role; her duty. She would leave whatever emotions that rattled around within her, with Victorian. She would walk away; and focused on those that required her attention.

-Time skip to evening.

Ismailia took a moment to stretch after her meal, providing a small moment's reprieve to the tense muscles of her legs and spine. Throughout the day, she had found herself rattled with tightly bound muscles, achy legs, perhaps a lot more than usual. It had been a long day of training, for both herself and the new recruits. However with the raid upon the palace; a stricter regime had been put into place, the soldiers of the Kingdom had to be ready and waiting... for whatever came next. Ismailia was no exception to this, she would train day and night if she had too; just to ease the attention of Ankh off her back.

A small groan passed her lips as she straightened, soft ivory-speckled spine became bathed in the moonlight as she made her way into the heart of the Camp. Finally, it was time to rest.

Only as she walked; did she notice the toll the day had taken upon her body. With a full belly, fatigue came over her quickly. But it was the hustle and bustle of relaxed Soldiers that caused an un familiar pang to settle within her chest. Ismailia was not usually a demanding socialite, she enjoyed the company of others, sure. She would happily spend most of her day talking-so long as training, patrolling or hunting was involved... but she was a woman that required space. Independent at best.

But perhaps.. it was guilt- the jolt she felt Victorian make under her grasp flashed back into view and a soft sigh whispered into the night. Why did this effect her so much? And what for? It was not like he had been severely injured... no, he barely even bled.

And yet rather ironically, thankfully, she spotted him. As if she willed him to appear before her. The distinct ivory chest and paws; illuminated by the moon's tender grip. "Lieutenant-hm... Victorian!" She called, forcing those aching legs into a swift trot to arrive before him.

"I apologise for not catching you sooner, l... wished to stay with the new recruits perhaps a little longer than I should have." With an awkward laugh, she added a wince as she rolled her shoulders back to her perfectly proud posture.

She was never very good at admitting her faults.


@Victorian

"We are all young and naive still."

code & art by claerie

Her call caused him to look down, attention drawn from the moon to the autumn-painted wolf that dashed toward him. His ears perked and an inviting, friendly smile warmed his features. As if his shoulder recognized its aggressor, the muscles gave a familiar throb of pain. Thankfully, the swelling had gone down earlier and the pain he felt was mild. It wasn't even enough to cause him to wince or flinch.

"Oh no worries at all." Victorian dismissed her apology easily, it wasn't needed. Although... she did look positively stiff. While her posture was impeccable as always, she seemed... exhausted. "They're lucky to have you," he began with a small knit in his brow, "but I hope that you got a chance to rest."

Ismailia had been the primary instructor for the day while Victorian had been a sparring buddy. He'd stuck around for only a little while before departing on a patrol. After that, he'd been granted some free time to enjoy in the day's mild festivities. By the looks of it, Ismailia hadn't taken even a second to sit.

"Oh—do you want some?" He lifted the berries he'd gotten from the local vendor. Where were his manners? "And feel free to take a seat if you have the time. What did you want to talk about?" With a white-tipped paw he tapped the spot beside him.


@Ismailia

Ismailia Tiamat

Friendly,

His smile was warm enough to put her instantly at ease. Yet it did not do much to quell the rising guilt that lurched within her stomach. Her ocean eyes cast from his muzzle, to his shoulder. There was no evidence of a fresh wound... despite the fact that she could still heavily recall the tightness of his whole body against her own selfish onslaught.

"Oh no worries at all." As he smoothly spoke, she watched for a glint of rouge within the moonlight upon his muzzle-yet nothing. No twitch of pain. Simply a warm and inviting smile. A small part of her relaxed; easing some of the tension from her dull-aching muscles.

"They're lucky to have you,but I hope that you got a chance to rest." A small flush of warmth filled her pale cheeks. A blink. That was all she could initially respond with... compliments were always awkwardly received by Ismailia, she never truly knew how to accept them. "Oh." Dark ears pinned to the base of her fiery crown-perhaps it was the fatigue that brought out this sudden awkwardness? "T-Thank you. Hm. Sorry, I am not so used to... receiving complements." With an awkward exhalation of air, that burning in her cheeks flared to a wildfire; quickly darting her gaze to anything other than him. "I... Ha. Rest is not exactly in the Tiamat mantra." Oh, gods save her.

Why was she acting like a silly, little girl?

"Oh—do you want some?" Quickly, those ears perked as plump, dark berries were lifted up before her. Yes, anything to stave away the awkwardness. A warming smile, friendly-but forced, danced upon her lips before she took a bite. The berries burst a fresh, floral, fruity flavour upon her tongue as he invited her to sit. Dipping her head and of course, with as much elegance and grace as she could muster, she sat quietly beside him; her eyes casting to the bright, almost full moon above them.

"I wanted to apologise." The awkwardness soon faded, icy brows furrowing over bright eyes. "I felt you tense in the ring, I used too much force. I am sorry if I hurt you." She forced herself to look at him. To search those deep golden eyes. Though she saw no physical wound, it did not stave away the guilt she felt.

@Victorian

"We are all young and naive still."

code & art by claerie