18th Trial of Saun, 720
Underground Fighting Arena
She hadn’t planned to be here, at least not tonight. But loneliness had just grasped its devilish hands on her tent zipper and had begun to draw it down. She did not want to spend another night wide awake with the stars as her only company. She did not want to endure several grueling hours of listless thoughts ambling towards the negative. So she had gathered her things, slung her backpack over her shoulder and made way for the city, carelessly avoiding any pre-planned destination. It was her own two feet that guided her to the building. It looked abandoned from the outside: dilapidated and inhospitable with broken windows and shingles in shambles laying on the ground beside the main door. Even the entrance was hanging on decaying hinges, mould ringing the lintel.
She had stepped through without difficulty and headed for below ground via the stairs. Before she had even made it to the bottom floor, she had heard shouting and cheering. Glass bottles were clinking too, somehow making a form of harmonious music that danced around her head like faeries.
She was already hypnotized by the smell of cheap ale and sweat. There were so many bodies contorted and twisted in a way that screamed for space but was easily denied it. Isodol even found it a challenge maneuvering through the sea of people herself as she tried to scavenge a decent viewpoint.
Her eyes glanced up towards the ring. Two young men were already in its middle, arms and legs melting into one another in a struggle to be the top alpha.
The crowd had seemed to part into their respective sides- each one cheering for the opposite fighter. She couldn’t choose who to cheer for, as she had just arrived, but by the way one man was holding the other, she didn’t have to wait long before predicting who would come out the victor.
She had a goal tonight and her current attire spoke of this goal. She wore cut off pants that reached just above her knees and a haggard shirt with unidentifiable stains. Her hair had been pulled back into a messy pony’s tail and her face was set to a look of determination.
She had so much on her mind; her heart was commanding her to clear her head of these obstructive thoughts so she could think without hindrance. She would do just that, and by doing so she would saunter up those steps to the ring’s center, bump fists with her opponent by way of respect and brawl until the only thing she was able to think about was whether to punch or kick or perform some combination of the two.
The match she had walked in on didn't last much longer. The man Isodol had previously assumed having the upper hand was indeed the one who had his fist raised in the air in triumph. It was the way he had held his adversary, she reflected. His feet were an equal width apart, as though he were riding an imaginary horse. His form was proper, his balance unwavering, as he held the other man from behind. The other man’s footwork was sloppy by comparison, one leg in front of the other but with inadequate space between them. Isodol wouldn’t have been surprised if he had lost by being tripped. Her attention, however, had been elsewhere; trapped deep within her head, searching for ways on how to handle her own forthcoming fight.
There were many practices of martial arts. Some taught fighting with vigor, emphasizing low stances and broad attacks; heavy steps and forceful blows. Other practices encouraged energetic prancing, quick jabs, and preferred defensive measures. Isodol admired the technique of using your opponent’s strength against them. It was the strategy of manipulation that really spoke to her and the very fact of not necessarily getting your hands dirty. Because why would you waste your own energy if you could waste theirs on your behalf?
Tonight she was unsure what techniques she would try. She had never been one to plan in the first place, but had found it smart to do so in situations such as these. There was always the thrill of going in blind, but you could poke an eye out doing that... or something of that nature.
Underground Fighting Arena
She hadn’t planned to be here, at least not tonight. But loneliness had just grasped its devilish hands on her tent zipper and had begun to draw it down. She did not want to spend another night wide awake with the stars as her only company. She did not want to endure several grueling hours of listless thoughts ambling towards the negative. So she had gathered her things, slung her backpack over her shoulder and made way for the city, carelessly avoiding any pre-planned destination. It was her own two feet that guided her to the building. It looked abandoned from the outside: dilapidated and inhospitable with broken windows and shingles in shambles laying on the ground beside the main door. Even the entrance was hanging on decaying hinges, mould ringing the lintel.
She had stepped through without difficulty and headed for below ground via the stairs. Before she had even made it to the bottom floor, she had heard shouting and cheering. Glass bottles were clinking too, somehow making a form of harmonious music that danced around her head like faeries.
She was already hypnotized by the smell of cheap ale and sweat. There were so many bodies contorted and twisted in a way that screamed for space but was easily denied it. Isodol even found it a challenge maneuvering through the sea of people herself as she tried to scavenge a decent viewpoint.
Her eyes glanced up towards the ring. Two young men were already in its middle, arms and legs melting into one another in a struggle to be the top alpha.
The crowd had seemed to part into their respective sides- each one cheering for the opposite fighter. She couldn’t choose who to cheer for, as she had just arrived, but by the way one man was holding the other, she didn’t have to wait long before predicting who would come out the victor.
She had a goal tonight and her current attire spoke of this goal. She wore cut off pants that reached just above her knees and a haggard shirt with unidentifiable stains. Her hair had been pulled back into a messy pony’s tail and her face was set to a look of determination.
She had so much on her mind; her heart was commanding her to clear her head of these obstructive thoughts so she could think without hindrance. She would do just that, and by doing so she would saunter up those steps to the ring’s center, bump fists with her opponent by way of respect and brawl until the only thing she was able to think about was whether to punch or kick or perform some combination of the two.
The match she had walked in on didn't last much longer. The man Isodol had previously assumed having the upper hand was indeed the one who had his fist raised in the air in triumph. It was the way he had held his adversary, she reflected. His feet were an equal width apart, as though he were riding an imaginary horse. His form was proper, his balance unwavering, as he held the other man from behind. The other man’s footwork was sloppy by comparison, one leg in front of the other but with inadequate space between them. Isodol wouldn’t have been surprised if he had lost by being tripped. Her attention, however, had been elsewhere; trapped deep within her head, searching for ways on how to handle her own forthcoming fight.
There were many practices of martial arts. Some taught fighting with vigor, emphasizing low stances and broad attacks; heavy steps and forceful blows. Other practices encouraged energetic prancing, quick jabs, and preferred defensive measures. Isodol admired the technique of using your opponent’s strength against them. It was the strategy of manipulation that really spoke to her and the very fact of not necessarily getting your hands dirty. Because why would you waste your own energy if you could waste theirs on your behalf?
Tonight she was unsure what techniques she would try. She had never been one to plan in the first place, but had found it smart to do so in situations such as these. There was always the thrill of going in blind, but you could poke an eye out doing that... or something of that nature.
