Alanna of Trebond (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
the_lioness) wrote2004-08-22 04:03 pm
the_lioness) wrote2004-08-22 04:03 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Standing in her sparsely furnished chamber, Alanna begins the initial slow and precise movements of her Shang exercises. She stretches the longer muscles in her legs and arms first, preparing her body for a series of rapid kicks and punches. Spinning gracefully to her right, her fist rotates up from her waist and lashes out at an invisible opponent. Her body easily remembers the drill and automatically delivers her next move. Left leg kicking out with deadly precision, her eyes flash with a cold and deadly light. An unwise foe might perceive her quiet for boredom or overconfidence, but those familiar with Shang warfare would immediately recognize the control her brain exerts over her body. One corner of her mouth tilts up as she completes a spinning kick coupled with a punch designed to break necks. For the first time in days, she feels content.
"I really must find a new sword," she mutters as she grabs the two pieces of broomstick resting on the plain bedcovers. Furrowing her brow, she begins swinging her makeshift weapons with the ease of a seasoned warrior. One fake blade slashes forward as she brandishes the other high above her head. Gritting her teeth, she recalls the feel of the demon's sword in her hand, its heaviness as she took her first swing. She closes her eyes and imagines that she holds the magnificent blade and feels the resulting hum of power coursing through her body. Moments later, her foot connects with a loose floor board that sends her sprawling on the dusty ground. Cursing, she looks up. Against all reason and natural law, Roger stands before her, his weapon pointed at her throat.
Instinctively rolling to one side, she springs forward and wraps her hand around her discarded weapon but she no longer holds a broken broomstick in her scarred hands. Instead she wields the sword crafted by Roger long ago, the crystal hilt pulsing with frenetic evil. Determined not to succumb to the sword's maleficent seduction, she ignores the heady rush of power pulsing through her brain. Steeling her nerves, she looks Roger in the eye. "Why won't you stay dead?" she queries. Smirking, he says nothing as he circles Alanna, his tall body towering over her small frame. She rolls one shoulder and gets comfortable with the new sword in her hand, her emotionless eyes locked on his face.
When Roger attacks, he does so with all the fury of those who have nothing left to lose. Alanna swings her sword up, blocking his downward blow. Her arms struggle to maintain her defense, the muscles threatening to give way. She feels Roger's foul breath on her cheek, reminding her of death and perverse laughter. Suddenly enraged, she yells and disengages with near inhuman strength. Fighting for control, she attacks, lunging forward and forcing Roger to block her accurate blows. Her body surges, pressuring Roger back as years of repressed rage rise to the surface. Usually she circles and waits, letting her opponent underestimate her until they reveal a weakness or make a deadly mistake. Backing off slightly, she swings the weapon on the right side of her body, winding it up almost as if she intends to send it flying.
Roger sneers, his eyes momentarily darting to her chest in mocking acknowledgment of her gender. She grins, her eyes alight with a form of madness as she swings her blade around to clash with his. She waits quietly as he searches for an easy escape, her muscles screeching from the effort. Finally he attempts to twist the hilt of his sword until he can jerk hers from her hand, but she is too quick. She wraps her hand around his, forcing his blade down and to the side while hers whips around and then slices up. As the blade connects with flesh and sinew, the malevolent magic buried deep in the evil weapon sends shafts of ecstasy pulsing through her body. She shudders, her eyes briefly closing as she fights down the urge to revel in the kill. Roger is shockingly quiet and Alanna flutters her eyelids open, strangely disquieted by his lack of laughter. Looking at the man dying on her blade, she wails and throws her weapon across the room. Roger is gone and in his place is Thom, his bright robes dripping with blood and his accusing eyes locked on her anguished face.
She flails and falls to her knees, abruptly finding herself once more on her chamber floor. Shaking, she pulls herself to her feet and reaches out an unsteady hand for the broomstick handle. It was just a vision, just another dream. Sitting down on the bed, Alanna sighs and momentarily rests her head on her knees as she quietly allows the tears to burn down her flushed cheeks.
"I really must find a new sword," she mutters as she grabs the two pieces of broomstick resting on the plain bedcovers. Furrowing her brow, she begins swinging her makeshift weapons with the ease of a seasoned warrior. One fake blade slashes forward as she brandishes the other high above her head. Gritting her teeth, she recalls the feel of the demon's sword in her hand, its heaviness as she took her first swing. She closes her eyes and imagines that she holds the magnificent blade and feels the resulting hum of power coursing through her body. Moments later, her foot connects with a loose floor board that sends her sprawling on the dusty ground. Cursing, she looks up. Against all reason and natural law, Roger stands before her, his weapon pointed at her throat.
Instinctively rolling to one side, she springs forward and wraps her hand around her discarded weapon but she no longer holds a broken broomstick in her scarred hands. Instead she wields the sword crafted by Roger long ago, the crystal hilt pulsing with frenetic evil. Determined not to succumb to the sword's maleficent seduction, she ignores the heady rush of power pulsing through her brain. Steeling her nerves, she looks Roger in the eye. "Why won't you stay dead?" she queries. Smirking, he says nothing as he circles Alanna, his tall body towering over her small frame. She rolls one shoulder and gets comfortable with the new sword in her hand, her emotionless eyes locked on his face.
When Roger attacks, he does so with all the fury of those who have nothing left to lose. Alanna swings her sword up, blocking his downward blow. Her arms struggle to maintain her defense, the muscles threatening to give way. She feels Roger's foul breath on her cheek, reminding her of death and perverse laughter. Suddenly enraged, she yells and disengages with near inhuman strength. Fighting for control, she attacks, lunging forward and forcing Roger to block her accurate blows. Her body surges, pressuring Roger back as years of repressed rage rise to the surface. Usually she circles and waits, letting her opponent underestimate her until they reveal a weakness or make a deadly mistake. Backing off slightly, she swings the weapon on the right side of her body, winding it up almost as if she intends to send it flying.
Roger sneers, his eyes momentarily darting to her chest in mocking acknowledgment of her gender. She grins, her eyes alight with a form of madness as she swings her blade around to clash with his. She waits quietly as he searches for an easy escape, her muscles screeching from the effort. Finally he attempts to twist the hilt of his sword until he can jerk hers from her hand, but she is too quick. She wraps her hand around his, forcing his blade down and to the side while hers whips around and then slices up. As the blade connects with flesh and sinew, the malevolent magic buried deep in the evil weapon sends shafts of ecstasy pulsing through her body. She shudders, her eyes briefly closing as she fights down the urge to revel in the kill. Roger is shockingly quiet and Alanna flutters her eyelids open, strangely disquieted by his lack of laughter. Looking at the man dying on her blade, she wails and throws her weapon across the room. Roger is gone and in his place is Thom, his bright robes dripping with blood and his accusing eyes locked on her anguished face.
She flails and falls to her knees, abruptly finding herself once more on her chamber floor. Shaking, she pulls herself to her feet and reaches out an unsteady hand for the broomstick handle. It was just a vision, just another dream. Sitting down on the bed, Alanna sighs and momentarily rests her head on her knees as she quietly allows the tears to burn down her flushed cheeks.