The Short Fic Weekly Challenge Thread!
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10.17.2012 , 05:52 PM |
A rather young Lord Sylvia Vizloch, because Morgani asked
"Even out your breathing. Your sabres are an extension of yourself. Let your being flow into them. Let your rage and your hate ignite and fuel their blades."
Sylvia stood, poised and tense. She turned slowly, with arms outstretched, the training weapons in each hand feeling uncomfortably heavy.
"No, not like that! Your arms are too stiff. If you struck anyone like that you'd hurt yourself more than them," Her mother grabbed at her arms and adjusted each joint before stepping back. "You must be supple, yet strong, like a whip. Try again."
Sylvia repeated her dance. Her arms ached from practicing the forms and she was growing tired. She spun suddenly, bringing one arm in and then flicking it out again to contact with the practice dummy. It knocked gently against the wood.
"Mum, I'm tired."
"Nonsense, you haven't practised nearly enough to be tired. Your practice dummy is still in one piece."
"I've been doing this since morning!" Sylvia let the weapons fall to her sides and power down. She turned to her mother, sullen and pouty. Her mother only sighed.
"You must channel your anger into the blades. Every Sith must do this. You are not going to leave this room until you have done so."
"But I'm not angry!"
Her mother merely pointed at the practice dummy. Sylvia shuffled towards it, shoulders hunched. She whacked the dummy a few times and then gave it a small kick. The dummy did not even wobble.
"Every Sith has anger in their hearts, Sylvia. That is a fact of life."
"I'm not angry."
"Perhaps not now, but you will be. Believe me child, you will be."