WEAVER
Weaver has always preferred fights with a little danger. What was the fun in a wooden sword? To learn as a child at first, sure, but otherwise? Honestly it was useless. You didn’t fight with wood. You fought with steel and magic, in whatever form you had either. When you did have those, you fought with your body, with the rocks on the ground, and well maybe a branch. You fought with the threat of blood and wounds. Though they trained without the threat of death, you needed to be prepared for the pain. You needed to know how to take a hit and keep on fighting.
Weaver is surprised when the kick lands, watching the vulture tumble away. She dances backward slightly to give herself some space to try and predict the vulture’s movements better. The fire on the floor is useless, and Weaver lets it go as Kiada is diving toward her from above. Well, that’s easy enough. Waiting until Kiada is close (ish), flame erupts above Weaver’s head like a blanket, a horizontal wall to block the vulture’s path.
Weaver is surprised when the kick lands, watching the vulture tumble away. She dances backward slightly to give herself some space to try and predict the vulture’s movements better. The fire on the floor is useless, and Weaver lets it go as Kiada is diving toward her from above. Well, that’s easy enough. Waiting until Kiada is close (ish), flame erupts above Weaver’s head like a blanket, a horizontal wall to block the vulture’s path.
I was made to be wild, wicked, and free
