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Unusual Strength [Shandy + Solitary]

Shandy

Planetoid
Joined
Dec 3, 2011
The village of Valens lay amidst a warm between two feuding nations. It was situated on the edge of Almus, a middle-sized country which had largely kept to itself during the course of its history. It had rich earth and was known for its produce exports. They barely even had a military force. Even so, the country to the east, Ira, had engaged in an unfortunate war with Almus. Ira was always reaching out for more land, more property, and it had its eyes on Almus.

Valens was a small village which specialized in farming. There were many families that lived there. When the war started, young men were drafted into the military and trained as best as possible to fight the soldier corps of Ira. They were only haphazard representations of soldiers, with makeshift weapons and weak constitutions. In the end, they didn't stand much of a chance at all. It meant a lot of deaths and a lot of soldiers who never returned home again.

There were few men left in Valens after the first few years of the war. They were all too old or too young, men who couldn't fight, men who couldn't work. They were all but worthless, and unfortunately, they knew that was true. The women tried hard for their part to fill the place of their lost fathers and husbands and uncles. Many worked the fields and the mills and the irrigation channels. They never seemed to stop.

There was one girl, though. There was one who had grown up with no mother, just a sister and a father. Her father had been a warrior, one of few true warriors that Almus had retained from olden days when the country was established. When war fell upon them, he had left his daughters in the care of a kindly woman in Valens. The two sisters never saw him again.

The eldest of the two daughters, Calla, had grown up being cursed by the village because of her father. He had been thought of as useless because he had no skill as a farmer, and his daughters had suffered for it. Calla had been in a lot of fights growing up, protecting her sister, Anemone, mostly. After their father had left, Calla had taken on the burden of the family. She was young at the time, a mere twelve, but she insisted upon working in the fields. She trained herself like she had seen her father do. She readied herself.

The day came when Valens was dragged into the war. It was one of the first villages to be taken by Ira during the war, as it sat just inside the border. They had taken their time to torture the country until they stormed it. In the middle of the night they came, raiding the village. They burned the fields. They torched houses. They killed the young boys and stole the young girls. When the soldiers came to the door of the kindly woman, Calla stood to meet them. She held a rusty old sword and held a makeshift shield. She was only fifteen. They had no trouble beating her down.

The last thing she had seen before she had her lights punched out was her sister being dragged out of the house, screaming and crying for her big sister. She could do nothing.

Nearly five years to the day, Calla was within the borders of Ira. She had traced the soldiers to a band of slave traders; now she was hunting the traders. A young woman now, she bore her own armor and shield, and lastly a broad sword. She wore a cloak to hide all this and her face and hair, as a woman traveling alone was never safe. Still, no matter how prepared, one must always sleep.

In the middle of the night she was come upon by a band of thieves. They caught her sleeping. She woke, of course, and when she tried to fight back they took something large and heavy to her head. She was knocked out cold and strung up inside a prison. It was there that she finally woke up, lacking her armor and her cloak, her shield and her sword. She was only wearing her leather and cloth, shackled to stone, trapped.

She cursed and hung her head, fidgeting inside her shackles, trying to find a way out. She wouldn't meet her fate here, and she wouldn't let them keep her armor. No chance in hell.
 
Calla struggled against her shackles for a good ten minutes before she finally gave up, breathless. She screamed, not knowing anyone was around, and tried to fight some more. It wouldn't help anything, but it seemed more productive than crying. She glared into the dark of the cell, her eyes used to it now. It was cold and dark and dirty and grim. She didn't care about the dirt. She just hated being held in a cage. When she heard someone call out, she screamed again.

"I'm here! I'm here, I'm chained to the wall!" She strained to see him. She couldn't see anything but dark and iron. Her voice echoed through the cells. But then for a moment, she caught the sight of someone's silhouette. Was that them? A man. Fantastic.

"Can you get free?" She called. A stupid question, probably, but she had to know.
 
Calla held her wrists, one after the other, rubbing where the shackles had been. There would be bruises after all that struggling. She watched him move the grate, standing beside him, but when he reached up with the sword, she simply stared back. They had stripped her of her armor and sword, and there was no way she was going to leave without that. Without a word, she reached forward and took the dagger instead of the sword, turning away from him.

"Thanks, but I'll be fine on my own," She said, walking off in her bare feet, wearing very little at all. It was just a leather bustier and a cloth skirt. Her hair was long, only half-tamed. Her eyes looked so angry, her lip piercing sparkling even in the dim light. On her shoulders, her back, legs and side there were tattoos, although they were hard to make out in the dark. She glistened from the water that had been thrown on her.

She reached the door of the cell block, peering back and forth. No one was there. She snuck out and down the hall, going away from the sound of people, avoiding them as best she could. She held the dagger at her waist, prepared to jab it at anyone who came along. She was not ignorant; Calla could fight.
 
Calla assumed he would have left her there by herself. That's why she was so surprised when she heard footsteps behind her. She turned and grabbed his arm, in one instant behind him with his arm bent up behind his back. The dagger was at his throat. When she realized who he was she let an unhappy noise out of her mouth and released him, walking away in a huff, peering around the corner again.

No one was there, again. She crept down another hallway, and another, until she found herself in a room containing a lot of loot. There was gold in stacks on the floor and plenty of dried food, fabric, and spices. Calla grabbed a bag and stuffed it full of gold of dried meat. There was a box in the corner out of which she pulled her chest plate, gauntlets, boots, cloak, and sword. She put them on and slung the bag over her shoulder. There was a window at the far end of the room. She unhinged it and kicked it open, climbing into the window frame. Before jumping, she looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes devoid of any interest.

"You coming, or what?" She said, and then hopped out the window to the ground outside. It was only a few feet, after all.
 
When he spoke, Calla almost fell over. What was he, an idiot? They were lucky enough to get out of there without being spotted, and he had to go and talk. "You STUPID IDIOT!" She screamed. It was no use being quiet when the enemy already knew where they were. She grasped the scabbard to her sword, pulling the disproportionate weapon out and against the oncoming group of angry slave traders.

Had she not been so angry, it was a definite possibility that Calla wouldn't have killed any of the traders. Her sister wouldn't have liked it. However, they had kicked her like the soldiers in her poor little town had done, and they had made fun of her, and thrown water on her. She was not about to let them off with a warning. And so, aiming for the edge of camp where escape would be possible, she swung her short sword to and fro. She might not have been a proper soldier, but she wasn't shabby either. People died if they got in her way.

Calla didn't look back. She fought her way to the forest, and then she ran. It was his choice whether to follow her or not.
 
Calla had escaped to the river as well. She would make her way over the course of several hours up the mountains nearby. There was a pass there where she would take shelter for the night. It had been getting dark when they broke out of the jail cell; by the time she had made the arduous trek up the side of the mountain, it was past midnight. All she could do was wedge herself in a small covered spot in the rock. There was a fire pit nearby, among other remnants of a camp. Calla stayed in the shadows, though, and wrapped her cloak around her cold body, hiding from the night chill.
 
When the sun peered over the horizon, Calla groaned. She had not slept properly on a bed for so long, she couldn't remember what it felt like. She didn't want to get up, but every day she sat waiting was a day the slave traders got farther into Ira. The thought forced her eyes open. She uncoiled her lithe body, climbing out of the little crevice where she had been hiding. She stretched her arms above her head, waking herself up a little, her belly button flattening and stretching vertically with the rest of her body. After a good stretch, she heaved a sigh and looked around the clearing where she had been asleep. It looked different in the daylight.

From behind her, she heard a twig snap. She jumped clean out of her skin, turning on her heel, and glared at the source of the noise. There was a man. But upon closer inspection, he was just that guy from the day before. The noisy one who wanted a horse. She heaved another irritated sigh, slinging her bag over one shoulder.

"Are you following me now?" She asked as she walked towards him. She was aiming for the path that lay behind him, not for him.
 
Calla grimaced, not even stopping in front of him, her eyes like frigid daggers. Stupid loud mouth. She didn't need to be hanging around with someone who couldn't rightly keep his mouth shut. ...But then, she thought, it would've been easier to travel with someone else. She got captured a lot because she had to sleep at some point or other, and it was far more effective to sleep in shifts with someone else. She stopped just after she passed him, looking at the dirt.

"Where are you traveling to?" She asked suddenly. It came very much out of the blue. Still, she thought, maybe if he was going to same way, he would be willing to help. Not that she wanted company, of course, she just didn't see the point in traveling completely alone if someone helpful was willing to come with her.
 
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