Post by AFireInTheSnow on Jan 27, 2011 14:17:06 GMT -5
Bloodlines
Chapter Two;
...Blade...
---------------
Dazend stared with confusion at the katana in front of him, resting upon his desk. The blade was of sapphire hue, glimmering faintly in the moonlight streaming through the den window. It was imbued with magic, spells to prevent breaking or damage, curses on any who stole the blade from it's rightful owner...
But it wasn't responding to his touch. It was rejecting him.
He frowned. A waste of his materials, time and magic. He didn't need a sword that didn't work. He needed one that he could trust in a pack battle. This blade was not it. This blade was no more than a pretty ornament to hang upon a wall. In the Werecat world, that meant nothing. To a human he could sell it for a substantial sum; the craftswork of a Werecat was unparalleled by any human blacksmith, and many swordmasters would be interested in this piece. What did it matter to Dazen if he sold it? The magic ignored him, so the blade would never reach full potential in his hands. Why not hand it off to some unfortunate human who would never master it?
"Papa?"
The voice came from somewhere by his knee, where his one year old daughter was staring intently up at him. It was unnerving how piercing yet innocent that turquoise gaze was, coming from a human face. A five-year-old face. Dazen smiled down at the girl and gently picked her up, seating her beside the worthless lump of steel that he had wasted the past few weeks on.
"Nothing, Sira. Just working," he murmured as an answer to her question, gesturing to the katana.
"Ooohhhhh.... Okay!" she chirped happily. When had he been that carefree and happy? Dazen couldn't remember anymore. It had been decades since he was as young as Sira now was. He vaguely remembered life as a nomad at ten, but nothing of his age before that.
He frowned when she started to slowly extend her hand towards the blade, and he opened his mouth to caution her against touching the sharp edges of the katana. 'Sira..."
She gave him a look reminiscent of the look her mother had given him the first time he had warned her against using a sword. A look that said, "I'm not stupid, y'know..." The similarity between her and her mother there took him aback, and he stared at his young daughter warily.
Her hand brushed against the center of the blade, fingers trailing over the cool metal he had forged the katana with. Her hand rested briefly on the small handguard, then over the leather of the hilt and finally resting on the pommel, where an aquamarine had been embedded. The blade began to glow when she touched the jewel, and Sira tilted her head to one side, staring at it. Dazen's eyes widened, head tilting and matching his daughter's. Her mother had taught her the forest magic she bore, but Sira had no knowledge of blade magics, not yet... So why was this katana responding as such to her?
Sira's eyes flashed, shifting from turquoise to violet in a heartbeat. She looked up at her father with confusion in her gaze, tiny hand still resting upon the aquamarine jewel. "Did I break it?"
Dazen chuckled and gave the small girl a gentle hug, pulling her into his warm embrace. "No, little one... It chose you."
The confusion in her violet hues had become deeper when he pulled away from the hug, the little Werecat looking from the blade to her father, to the blade once more. "So that's what Fiasouwl was saying?"
"What what was saying?"
Dazen had momentarily forgotten that his daughter was but a year old, still innocent, and while her grasp of the inhuman tongue they used was excellent, she was speaking German. She had only begun learning German from her mother the previous month, and her speech was nowhere near perfect. She would get better, he knew, and easier to understand.
Sira frowned, then switched to her own language. "Fire-soul. The sword?"
"The blade's name...? Firesoul?" His daughter nodded to confirm his question, and Dazen thought for a moment before continuing. "Sira... I think you've found your Blade."
"My Blade?"
"Yes. Every Werecat has a weapon they feel most connected with. A sword, an axe, something. You found a Blade for yourself."
His words were calm, but inside Dazen was secretly shaking. His daughter wasn't ready for this. She was too young to have found her soul's weapon. Far too young. Werecats didn't find them until at least age seven. She knew nothing of spellwork outside of charms to help a flower grow with no sunlight, or the other spells that the forest-born Werecats used in their everyday lives. She shouldn't have found her Blade without the incantation. It was impossible.
No, it wasn't impossible. Improbable, yes. Impossible, no. The same thing had happened to Dazen when he was younger than the little girl sat in front of him. He prayed to every God, Goddess and Demigod in existence that this didn't mean what he thought it did.
He prayed she wasn't Feral.
Chapter Two;
...Blade...
---------------
Dazend stared with confusion at the katana in front of him, resting upon his desk. The blade was of sapphire hue, glimmering faintly in the moonlight streaming through the den window. It was imbued with magic, spells to prevent breaking or damage, curses on any who stole the blade from it's rightful owner...
But it wasn't responding to his touch. It was rejecting him.
He frowned. A waste of his materials, time and magic. He didn't need a sword that didn't work. He needed one that he could trust in a pack battle. This blade was not it. This blade was no more than a pretty ornament to hang upon a wall. In the Werecat world, that meant nothing. To a human he could sell it for a substantial sum; the craftswork of a Werecat was unparalleled by any human blacksmith, and many swordmasters would be interested in this piece. What did it matter to Dazen if he sold it? The magic ignored him, so the blade would never reach full potential in his hands. Why not hand it off to some unfortunate human who would never master it?
"Papa?"
The voice came from somewhere by his knee, where his one year old daughter was staring intently up at him. It was unnerving how piercing yet innocent that turquoise gaze was, coming from a human face. A five-year-old face. Dazen smiled down at the girl and gently picked her up, seating her beside the worthless lump of steel that he had wasted the past few weeks on.
"Nothing, Sira. Just working," he murmured as an answer to her question, gesturing to the katana.
"Ooohhhhh.... Okay!" she chirped happily. When had he been that carefree and happy? Dazen couldn't remember anymore. It had been decades since he was as young as Sira now was. He vaguely remembered life as a nomad at ten, but nothing of his age before that.
He frowned when she started to slowly extend her hand towards the blade, and he opened his mouth to caution her against touching the sharp edges of the katana. 'Sira..."
She gave him a look reminiscent of the look her mother had given him the first time he had warned her against using a sword. A look that said, "I'm not stupid, y'know..." The similarity between her and her mother there took him aback, and he stared at his young daughter warily.
Her hand brushed against the center of the blade, fingers trailing over the cool metal he had forged the katana with. Her hand rested briefly on the small handguard, then over the leather of the hilt and finally resting on the pommel, where an aquamarine had been embedded. The blade began to glow when she touched the jewel, and Sira tilted her head to one side, staring at it. Dazen's eyes widened, head tilting and matching his daughter's. Her mother had taught her the forest magic she bore, but Sira had no knowledge of blade magics, not yet... So why was this katana responding as such to her?
Sira's eyes flashed, shifting from turquoise to violet in a heartbeat. She looked up at her father with confusion in her gaze, tiny hand still resting upon the aquamarine jewel. "Did I break it?"
Dazen chuckled and gave the small girl a gentle hug, pulling her into his warm embrace. "No, little one... It chose you."
The confusion in her violet hues had become deeper when he pulled away from the hug, the little Werecat looking from the blade to her father, to the blade once more. "So that's what Fiasouwl was saying?"
"What what was saying?"
Dazen had momentarily forgotten that his daughter was but a year old, still innocent, and while her grasp of the inhuman tongue they used was excellent, she was speaking German. She had only begun learning German from her mother the previous month, and her speech was nowhere near perfect. She would get better, he knew, and easier to understand.
Sira frowned, then switched to her own language. "Fire-soul. The sword?"
"The blade's name...? Firesoul?" His daughter nodded to confirm his question, and Dazen thought for a moment before continuing. "Sira... I think you've found your Blade."
"My Blade?"
"Yes. Every Werecat has a weapon they feel most connected with. A sword, an axe, something. You found a Blade for yourself."
His words were calm, but inside Dazen was secretly shaking. His daughter wasn't ready for this. She was too young to have found her soul's weapon. Far too young. Werecats didn't find them until at least age seven. She knew nothing of spellwork outside of charms to help a flower grow with no sunlight, or the other spells that the forest-born Werecats used in their everyday lives. She shouldn't have found her Blade without the incantation. It was impossible.
No, it wasn't impossible. Improbable, yes. Impossible, no. The same thing had happened to Dazen when he was younger than the little girl sat in front of him. He prayed to every God, Goddess and Demigod in existence that this didn't mean what he thought it did.
He prayed she wasn't Feral.