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Current Lycanthropic Manic Cycles
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[ "Four-Legged Frog" ]

[ "Eight-Legged Day" ]

[ "Twelve-Armed Wheel" ]

Here's a secret: Right now, this bio is acting as a planner for an RP I want to make.

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Sirius sighed. Bryn had come a long way since they had first met, but two hours just wasn’t good enough. He yawned, creeping age getting the best of him. Well, they could do better, but now was a perfect time for a break. He pushed his own sword to the ground. It wasn’t his most favored weapon – he preferred a two-handed club, though he had always been told that such a thing was primitive – but, it was the weapon he’d brought along for this excursion. Bryn had taken to the rapier, and so she wouldn’t have been able to parry his club strikes unless she was particularly gifted (and, even then, it was unlikely).

“Well, I suppose we could stop for now. Enjoy the view. It’s not the reason I picked this spot, but it is a nice consequence which we shouldn’t ignore. Consider this a training in how to keep up morale.”

Training on the tops of the mountains was important. For one, it was closer to the gods, and they always enjoyed a pleasant show. But on the other hand, Sirius was as practical as he was holy, and he knew that so far up there was less air to breathe in. It was a subtle thing, but it would mean that the body would tire sooner, and it would become disciplined faster. He tried to bring her to such high places often, but it was also important that she got the feel for other terrains. A warrior who could only fight in the desert was ill equipped for a swamp, after all.

Sirius sat himself on a rock, taking a breath. He’d let Bryn rest for a few minutes, but they had to get back to training. Of course, if he pushed himself any further, they’d have to rest here. While Sirius hadn’t yet detailed his plans exactly, he figured that they ought to head toward some of the Southern grasslands, do some rounds and find a few places to train. The villagers there tended to keep to themselves, but there were a few mountains which he had gone to for pilgrimage underneath his own teacher. Admittedly, he would probably be committing a crime of some sort by training his own apprentice there, but at this rate it didn’t matter much.

Sirius stood, reaching for his sword again. Thirty more minutes of training, and then they’d still be able to make it.

“Bryn, you better lift that sword, else I’ll leave you ‘ere alone.”

Sirius was going to train, regardless of whether his apprentice followed suit. This last thirty minutes was going to be for him. While, physically, he hadn’t held back on Bryn, he was still using somewhat basic swordplay techniques. Thing he’d learned at her age, but with more than a few years of muscle memory to back it up. Despite being an unfavored weapon, he’d still learned at least a few things beyond just bare fundamentals, so he figured now was as good a time as any to show them to Bryn.

Sirius’s motions were swift, but less forceful. It was not that he was holding back, but rather, he was planning to disorient Bryn with a flurry of blows. While he was growing tired, he knew that his apprentice must be more so. Of course, it was important to him that she knew how to fight against it. His intense barrage was slower than he figured he could do, just a warm up so that his apprentice could see some of the openings in such an attack. Of course, he was no master, so perhaps it was too slow. But, Sirius reasoned to himself, it was good to train her observation skills.
Sirius chuckled. She was different than he’d been when he was her age, that much was true. But it was refreshing to see something different. Most Iriliean knights were very stuck up, especially early on. They knew this technique and that technique, had studied under this master or that, had a gleaming gem-encrusted hilt for their sword, were prepared to see men die, and so on. Once he’d heard a kid gloat about how proficient he’d grown at slicing goats. Some of the older knights laughed about how great of a butcher he should be, but he wound up being trained nonetheless. Someone in his family had, apparently, too much wealth on their hands.

But to hear someone admit that they want to learn was refreshing. It was rare. Or maybe he just hadn’t been listening. He’d never actually trained an apprentice, and there were some higher-ups breathing on his neck to produce an “heir”. He couldn’t take a female apprentice, however, so he would have to let the girl down gently. Still, she had promise. Purpose, even. Then again, she’d also just leveled a man to the ground. Then again, he’d done worse. A terrible predicament, really. So, Sirius opened his mouth to deliver the bad news.

And, just then, his back started to ache.

“Damnable age…”

The words came out as a mumble just barely under the breath.

“Tell you what. I need to gather some provisions. If you help me lug some of the stuff around, I’ll help you with your form. But that’s about it.”

Someone as persistent as her would probably follow along, accept the deal, and try to negotiate something better later. Easier to break the news without breaking his back. So, Sirius turned around, trying his best not to showcase his old age. His walk was still confident, filled with all the luster of an aged knight. Of course, part of him felt off giving a show, but knights were supposed to look their best. Or something like that.

Sirius weaved through the capital with expert direction. He’d been here many times. It was, arguably, his home. Of course, a nomadic lifestyle like his negated any real roots, but he had friends here. He returned his orders here. Wasn’t that what a home was? Sirius grumbled in his mind, knowing full well that the answer was no. He didn’t turn to face the village girl. With luck, she’d have sought out someone younger. That’d take a load of guilt off him.

Well, maybe his back ache was fate trying to steer his hand. That rule against ladies being knights was as old as the order itself. No wonder no fresh blood came in. A bunch of nobles sent in their vastly underprepared sons to play at being soldier for a few years before coming home without having done anything in service to their liege, or even worse, having been changed by the things they’d seen. The few village boys were often better at this sort of thing. They were used to hard work. Often, they were dedicated. Motivated, some of the time. Sure, Sirius himself had technically been the son of a noble, but he was already used to hardwork before then. A noble’s life never suited him. And, to be frank, it still didn’t.

“Aye, just up ahead in here.”

Sirius had navigated the paths offhandedly, not really paying attention but still knowing full well where he was headed. A little shop with walls overflowing with necessities. And, even better, the owner was a dear friend who gave him his favorite pastries. The owner gave him whatever pastries he’d baked for the day. A life of war was over for this shopkeep, twenty-two years too late. Those years would have been spent better at a bakery of his own. Regardless, too many pastries later and with an excess of other provisions to lug around (food, water, a couple of torches, and everything an old knight would need to be overprepared), Sirius was done with his business.

“Alright, basic weight training. Do this enough and you’ll be strong. Make sure you don’t throw out your back. We go until you’re tired, then I’ll help you with your form.”

Truthfully, he’d never trained an apprentice. And most of his knowledge was muscle memory. He’d forgotten what his instructor looked like by now. Well, not really. He still remembered him very vividly. But only his face. His name had escaped him some years back. But now that he was acting as an instructor, it almost came back. Not quite, though.
Sirius had found the day's events beyond boring. The world had turned slowly, dooming him to wait for what had felt like a lifetime for some commander or another to finish the same speech he heard every time he was required to attend a ceremony. Valor this, honor that, loyalty here, fiends there, and so on. In all honesty, Sirius found himself rolling his eyes at this young upstart of an officer. Before long he’d be replaced by some other stiff which would, inevitably, give the same speech styled with his own tongue. Thankfully, he was finally permitted to leave after shaking a few hands and kneeling at a few heads. He was surprised they hadn’t gotten the knights to lick their boots after all these years.

Sirius was set to go bandit hunting sometime this week, but his patrol was along some scenic routes which he had detested. Sure, he was getting old, but he hadn’t yet been reduced to a few steps per day. In fact, he could still outrun some of the younger knights. Irilean nobility had really been slacking lately. Maybe it was a sign that their militaristic views were slowly curling up like a spider does when it dies, but an old soul like Sirius knew better. If anything, the sudden ineptitude of the younger generation would spur a renaissance in their militaristic order. At least they’d have good knights, he supposed.

The Capital had plenty of places to provision oneself for an adventure, and this amount was tenfold for any knight worth his weight in salt. But Sirius himself had developed certain relationships with a few folks, so he always found himself being ripped off by a friend instead of checking out any of the new places. His path often took him through the market square, though he seldom found himself lingering for too long. Today was supposed to be no exception, but apparently the cruel hand of fate had deigned to amuse him today.

Some cretin had insisted on yelling in the market square. Such a thing wasn’t rare, but this wasn’t some cheap merchant trying to draw you to his stalls or some crier boy informing the masses of the outcome of some battle or another. Instead, it was one of those fools who seeks to duel a knight that crop up every few years. Most of the time they’re seeking mastery, but they only find humiliation. Still, it was probably something best ignored.

Well, that’s what Sirius had assumed until he saw who the pair of lungs belonged to. Or, more specifically, how she’d just smashed some poor lad into the ground. He couldn’t help but bite his tongue as a laugh began to well up in his gut. Of course, if he’d seen it, that’d mean that the guard were probably on their own way. This poor girl wasn’t looking for guards, she was looking for a knight. He pondered for a moment before remembering some line about a knight always heeding a call, then figured he ought to heed the call before him. But maybe he was just making up some excuse to intervene. Either way, Sirius made his way to the scene, arriving just a few steps ahead of the city guard.

“Aye, I’ll handle this lout for you. She was calling for a knight, after all.”

His authority was clear enough, but his tone was less imposing and friendlier. He was trying to signal to the guards that he’d take care of it because he was off-duty, and they ought to watch out for bigger threats. He wasn’t sure if that was clear, but he succeeded in taking over the situation. When he received the all-clear, he helped the victim of this poor village girl up and sent him on his way with a light kick to the rear. He had no intentions of punishing someone over something so small, but there must’ve been a reason she called for a knight. And besides, her show had pulled him away from some of the mind-numbing monotony of the day.

“Aye girl, why are you hollerin’ for a knight? And moreso, why’re you flipping men on their backs? It better not be a duel you’re hopin’ for. Too many promising knights waste their lives like that, and I’d hate to wind up as one of them.”

Sirius offered his mouthful with a slap to his belly, but his stance remained guarded. If it really was a duel he needed to be watching out for, then he couldn’t afford to let this girl catch him off guard. His posture was clearly defensive, while still carrying an air of practiced civility.

“You’ve called for a knight, and honor demands I heed the call. Sir Sirius Omul, at your service. Might you have a name, too?”

This video is recommended to me once every couple of weeks and each time I am compelled to listen to it.

Third Strike has one of the most lit soundtracks of all time, change my mind.

Sapporo, Japan
Ishin Academy, April 7th

Takara sat confused amid her fellow first years. Wow, so many faces! She’d have to get introduced to all of them. She took note of as many names as she could, but quickly lost track. Adachi Chen, Mizuhana Yoshiba, Ookouchi Yachiyo, Chikai Yuki, and, well, a bunch of others. Wow, it sure was crowded all of a sudden. She’d intended to introduce herself to, uh, Yoshiba (Yeah! That’s right!) and then meet some of the others afterward. There was probably going to be some sort of group introduction at the beginning of classes, directly or not. Whew, now there was some creep leaning over her to grin at Yoshiba. Yikes. Oh, now he was talking about Tokyo?

Hey! I’m from Tokyo!

Then some other kid, Yuki (Yeah! That was right too!), piped up about Tokyo too!

”Hey! I’m from Tokyo too! I’m Katō Takara!”

Takara practically shouted it at the Tokyo crowd. Her excitement was clear in her voice, and the way she swiveled to view the Tokyo crowd was a bit too quick to be mistaken for anything else. But she couldn’t see any girls in the Tokyo crowd right now aside from some girl from Okayama, which was a bit disappointing. She caught her name, Rin, just at the end of whatever it was that she was saying.

”I’m from Ryōgoku! What district are you guys from?”

Takara flexed her arms with excitement, pumping one in the air to express pride in where she lived. It was, admittedly, a weird place for someone like her to live, but considering her connection to Sumo, it wasn’t that surprising. It was mostly so her father wouldn’t have to commute far, but it made things a little more difficult for Takara and her mother. But still, it was her home and plus it was the world’s best place for Sumo, so of course she’d be proud to live there! Who wouldn’t?
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