(( Someone once asked me why I enjoyed RP. It's simple. I have these characters, in this world, and I can just let them live and do the silly things they want to do. It doesn't need to have a purpose, it doesn't need to tie with anything else. Just a snapshot in time in a life I cannot live for myself. As such, here's a random day in the life of Stefan Pyrak. Nothing more, nothing less ))
The stage was set, and the actors were awaiting the starting bell.
Standing on the remains of an old wood boat, his plated boots resting in an inch or two of sea water, was the main actor. He only wore his boots, and, for modest decorum, a pair of light pants. The black leather straps that always characterized his persona were noticeably absent, and a blood-red headband kept his wild hair in modest order. He held a pair of plain long swords at ease, letting the sharpened tips barely touch the top of the water.
A perfect statue, the warrior stood and listened to the waves lapping against the boat, the dull thudding sound amplified by the empty hull. The silence extended so far around him that he could discern all of its elements. The birds high above, circling and diving down for a catch; the wind in the distance rustling the large leaves of the few half-sunk palm trees remaining; the slow and controlled sound of a nearby heartbeat.
What started it he could not tell, nothing had broken the silence. But the warrior was suddenly leaning away, his body tilting backwards gracefully as a short dagger cut just a hair away from his throat. As his movement came to a stop, his attacker made a soft amused sound and he found his lips curling in a deadly smile. The dance had finally started.
"Come get me Sugar..." She whispered soft as the wind before simply vanishing.
With slow, deliberate care the warrior straightened himself, his gaze taking in the surroundings. He committed every element of the scene to memory before turning to his left. A small smile curved his lips as he lifted his foot and stomped it on the floor, letting the water ripple outwards. He continued to slowly turn, each time stomping his foot in a beat that would make any troll proud. Each time he would watch the water move, seeking any irregularity in the pattern. And then finally he saw it, a very slight distortion in the otherwise perfect circles.
Before she could finish a breath, the warrior cut the water in front of him in a semi-circle, a curtain of water suddenly rising before him. In the same fluid movement, he raised his second blade to parry the incoming attack, grinning madly as the rogue cut through the water straight at him. Her expression mirrored his, the crazed look of those who live by the blade's edge, always appreciative of the skills of another, never willing to back down.
They met in a clash of blades, the sound ringing loudly in the open space as time froze in a deadly painting. But time waits for no one, and the moment vanished as both fighters committed themselves to the task at hand. Within seconds the air was filled with the ringing of steel. Each cut was precisely calculated, the rogue dancing between the longer strikes, always trying to move in closer but never quite making it. In turn, he parried and moved them across the stage with deceiving ease, his footing alternating between strong and solid, to gliding across the water.
Always he kept one foot on the ground, his body pivoting and sliding as his steps carried the beat. Completing the dance as his graceful partner, she seemed to never touch the surface of the water, her movements a blur of speed and steel that set the tempo of the fight. Occasionally the splash of water would chime in, adding to the growing symphony of battle.
The stage was set, and the actors were awaiting the starting bell.
Standing on the remains of an old wood boat, his plated boots resting in an inch or two of sea water, was the main actor. He only wore his boots, and, for modest decorum, a pair of light pants. The black leather straps that always characterized his persona were noticeably absent, and a blood-red headband kept his wild hair in modest order. He held a pair of plain long swords at ease, letting the sharpened tips barely touch the top of the water.
A perfect statue, the warrior stood and listened to the waves lapping against the boat, the dull thudding sound amplified by the empty hull. The silence extended so far around him that he could discern all of its elements. The birds high above, circling and diving down for a catch; the wind in the distance rustling the large leaves of the few half-sunk palm trees remaining; the slow and controlled sound of a nearby heartbeat.
What started it he could not tell, nothing had broken the silence. But the warrior was suddenly leaning away, his body tilting backwards gracefully as a short dagger cut just a hair away from his throat. As his movement came to a stop, his attacker made a soft amused sound and he found his lips curling in a deadly smile. The dance had finally started.
"Come get me Sugar..." She whispered soft as the wind before simply vanishing.
With slow, deliberate care the warrior straightened himself, his gaze taking in the surroundings. He committed every element of the scene to memory before turning to his left. A small smile curved his lips as he lifted his foot and stomped it on the floor, letting the water ripple outwards. He continued to slowly turn, each time stomping his foot in a beat that would make any troll proud. Each time he would watch the water move, seeking any irregularity in the pattern. And then finally he saw it, a very slight distortion in the otherwise perfect circles.
Before she could finish a breath, the warrior cut the water in front of him in a semi-circle, a curtain of water suddenly rising before him. In the same fluid movement, he raised his second blade to parry the incoming attack, grinning madly as the rogue cut through the water straight at him. Her expression mirrored his, the crazed look of those who live by the blade's edge, always appreciative of the skills of another, never willing to back down.
They met in a clash of blades, the sound ringing loudly in the open space as time froze in a deadly painting. But time waits for no one, and the moment vanished as both fighters committed themselves to the task at hand. Within seconds the air was filled with the ringing of steel. Each cut was precisely calculated, the rogue dancing between the longer strikes, always trying to move in closer but never quite making it. In turn, he parried and moved them across the stage with deceiving ease, his footing alternating between strong and solid, to gliding across the water.
Always he kept one foot on the ground, his body pivoting and sliding as his steps carried the beat. Completing the dance as his graceful partner, she seemed to never touch the surface of the water, her movements a blur of speed and steel that set the tempo of the fight. Occasionally the splash of water would chime in, adding to the growing symphony of battle.
