The basement was lit only by dim candlelight, but that was more than enough to see what was happening.
It was a bare room, with stone walls and a stone floor. No furnishing adorned it except, hanging from the ceiling, a heavy punching bag. Along the wall, training dummies. Some sort of makeshift training room, or perhaps an armory that had been totally gutted. In the center of the room, though, stood Amari.
The sound of her fists against the bag echoed through the small room, along with the sounds of her rage. She attacked it brutally, her slender form still running with blood. She didn't care, even as the blood ran down her back. She barely felt it. She didn't care, as the slash along her arm screamed in pain. She barely felt it.
She'd come here to grow stronger. She'd come here to learn more. She'd come here to find a place where she belonged. What had she found, though, except misery? Except defeat? Nothing. She'd Ascended so far, reached so far above anything that had ever been in her past. But in the back of her mind, she heard it--The little voice that told her it would never be enough. The voice that told her how to grow stronger. How to advance to the next level. She tried desperately to ignore it; What it suggested was dark.
Did she have a choice, though? That question burned at her mind more fiercely than any of her wounds as the punching bag rocked back again under a salvo of strikes. Was it even an option? No. There were so, so many here who could beat her in a damned heartbeat. What could she do against that? What could she do against men that could fly, or conjure monsters to their aid? What could she do? Nothing, that's what.
The voice in the back of her head urged her on. She could almost hear it in her ears, telling her to let the hatred consume her again. To let her true power shine through. She knew it was lying--Knew it was false. Power didn't come from wrath. Power came from practice, from training. But... What kind of training could she ever get to match these monsters? She had no idea. And so, she continued, focusing every struggle into her fists.
She wanted nothing more than to unlock her Sorcery once more, but no amount of meditation had found the solution. No longer did she have the fists of flame that she had once wielded. Now, she had the Gift. But it wasn't the same--She may be stronger like this, but still, she missed that old power every day. Was hatred her path? Or was it her downfall?
Again, she released a salvo of blows onto the sand-filled canvas. Again, she reveled in the satisfying feeling of impact after impact, her fists bruised and bloody. Again, she lashed out, striking it. Where? Where could she find greater power? How could she grasp it? She'd hard that the Arken could help, but she had nothing to offer. Nothing except her body. Nothing except her life. Briefly, she contemplated it--Contemplated giving up her own essence for strength. If it came to it... She would use it as a last resort. She would attempt to call out to whatever lay beyond. She refused to die here, in this city. Not... Not before she'd achieved her mission.
She continued into the night, beating at the punching bag until it burst under the strain of her repeated, powerful blows... All the while, wondering how she would ever surpass anything like the monsters that had stormed the Keep.
It was a bare room, with stone walls and a stone floor. No furnishing adorned it except, hanging from the ceiling, a heavy punching bag. Along the wall, training dummies. Some sort of makeshift training room, or perhaps an armory that had been totally gutted. In the center of the room, though, stood Amari.
The sound of her fists against the bag echoed through the small room, along with the sounds of her rage. She attacked it brutally, her slender form still running with blood. She didn't care, even as the blood ran down her back. She barely felt it. She didn't care, as the slash along her arm screamed in pain. She barely felt it.
She'd come here to grow stronger. She'd come here to learn more. She'd come here to find a place where she belonged. What had she found, though, except misery? Except defeat? Nothing. She'd Ascended so far, reached so far above anything that had ever been in her past. But in the back of her mind, she heard it--The little voice that told her it would never be enough. The voice that told her how to grow stronger. How to advance to the next level. She tried desperately to ignore it; What it suggested was dark.
Did she have a choice, though? That question burned at her mind more fiercely than any of her wounds as the punching bag rocked back again under a salvo of strikes. Was it even an option? No. There were so, so many here who could beat her in a damned heartbeat. What could she do against that? What could she do against men that could fly, or conjure monsters to their aid? What could she do? Nothing, that's what.
The voice in the back of her head urged her on. She could almost hear it in her ears, telling her to let the hatred consume her again. To let her true power shine through. She knew it was lying--Knew it was false. Power didn't come from wrath. Power came from practice, from training. But... What kind of training could she ever get to match these monsters? She had no idea. And so, she continued, focusing every struggle into her fists.
She wanted nothing more than to unlock her Sorcery once more, but no amount of meditation had found the solution. No longer did she have the fists of flame that she had once wielded. Now, she had the Gift. But it wasn't the same--She may be stronger like this, but still, she missed that old power every day. Was hatred her path? Or was it her downfall?
Again, she released a salvo of blows onto the sand-filled canvas. Again, she reveled in the satisfying feeling of impact after impact, her fists bruised and bloody. Again, she lashed out, striking it. Where? Where could she find greater power? How could she grasp it? She'd hard that the Arken could help, but she had nothing to offer. Nothing except her body. Nothing except her life. Briefly, she contemplated it--Contemplated giving up her own essence for strength. If it came to it... She would use it as a last resort. She would attempt to call out to whatever lay beyond. She refused to die here, in this city. Not... Not before she'd achieved her mission.
She continued into the night, beating at the punching bag until it burst under the strain of her repeated, powerful blows... All the while, wondering how she would ever surpass anything like the monsters that had stormed the Keep.
