First Age Memories: Practice (Exalted Fiction)

So while fleshing out some setting and backstory stuff for my game between sessions, the following mini-fic kind of popped into my head fully-formed. Like the previous 'First Age Memories' thing I posted, it's a glimpse at some characters as they would have appeared in an earlier Age. As with the last one of these I did, this could be a dream someone has had (or is about to have) or just a sunken memory rising to the surface. One of them, if you're paying attention, is clearly the First Age incarnation of one of my players' characters. The others, though... without spoiling too much, let's just say that at least one is running around in some form and another's influence is still felt even in the Time of Tumult. But I've gone with a light touch on certain details, partially so as not to spoil things but also so as not to make too many 'declarations' about my PCs' past incarnations.

(Incidentally, there are multiple non-binary characters in this story. I apologize if the multiple uses of 'they' pronouns make it hard to follow -- if that's the case, let me know and I'll see if I can tweak it for readability.)

Anyhow, on with the show!

Practice

The three onlookers winced as the jackalfolk girl hit the ground hard. Rashida rolled away from the impact and back to her feet, but not as swiftly or smoothly as if she had taken the fall better to begin with. The teenager resumed her stance, bouncing from one foot to another as if dancing, and lunged at her opponent. With their own dancing movements, they wheeled away from the open palm strike aimed at the face, only to realize too late that it was too high to hit just in time for a furred foot to impact their chin and snap their head back.

Nebet, with skin like golden wheat and a loose topknot of deep indigo hair, staggered back. They shot a broad, proud grin to their daughter and resisted the urge to gather up their essence for something dramatic and showy... but no. That wouldn't teach her better awareness of her form or his posture. The lesson, in that case, would be not to challenge a Lawgiver, which was the wrong lesson. They held up a hand to stop the spar.

A short distance away, three other Chosen watched them go over the match. One, dark-skinned and with long, pointed ears of the same golden fur as their daughter, dressed in a sarong invoking the spray of colors from a volcanic eruption. Gold and silver jewelry clinked along their arms and dangled around their neck. 

The other two observers wore many-layered ensembles of haori and kimono that would be too elaborate to be comfortable if not kept cool by dyes made from the powdered breath of an air elemental. Both appeared human, with paler skin and darker hair suggesting their origins on the Blessed Isle. The sunlight gave one a shadow that moved and danced to an unseen beat, and their kimono bore the design of a bamboo grove that swayed when the wind caught the silk, with a silhouette just barely visible between the stalks. Their mate's kimono showed a figure in a broad hat striding across a field of grass that also swayed in the breeze. Standing next to each other, as they did now, the kimonos rippled in sync and seemed to depict the figure in the field approaching the bamboo grove, possibly seeking the shadowy figure within.

"You said they were rehearsing a dance, not fighting. Last I checked, dances don't have winners and losers," the one with the less expressive shadow said with a chuckle.

"Our dances do," the jackal-eared Lunar replied with a side-glance. "Dances are a language of their own to my people, from the days of raksha oppression when spoken word was forbidden." Their facial expression soured for a moment. "At your festivals, people act out scenes from legend, from plays and the like, yes? Our dancing duels are the equivalent of portraying a battle of wits."

"I know some of this," he said with a nod. "Maybe I know less about Shasaman culture than I realized, but I'm not sure exactly what 'battle of wits' I'm seeing here."

"Now that you mention it..." the Lunar with the dancing shadow chimed in. "Exactly what is this festival for, Omari? I feel like I missed something."

Rashida and her other parent began a fresh round, sparring in the local martial art known as Sonorous Festival Style. Nebet's slightly-stiffer movements reflected their original training in Dreaming Pearl Courtesan style, which had been incorporated into the Sonorous Festival techniques over the last couple of decades, but they were no less swift or graceful for it.

"Our festivals have many meanings. This... is a debate. Nebet and I have stood as protectors of the island since they came to our shores and Luna Exalted me and together we led the people to strike down the Placid Baron." Omari spat into the dirt upon saying the name. "The Shasaman people have officially rejected monarchy since then, but sometimes they look to us as rulers and offer us thrones. We have declined as politely as possible, as I bear no royal lineage and Nebet is not even from here."

The jackal-aspected Lunar gestured to their daughter as she backflipped over a low kick and then went prone to slide under a higher strike.

"The people say that now there is a 'princess,' born on this island to parents with a Heavenly mandate. And that it would be rude to deny her the proper respect as such," Omari continued, trying to sound serious but with a smile reflected in their golden eyes. "So... tonight's festival is when we will accept our formal stewardship of the island. Their dance is going to be a debate to settle the issue."

"You're going to make them fight for it?" the one in the bamboo kimono asked, barely repressing their shock.

"No," the one in the grassy field kimono said with a shake of his head. "The decision's made, they're just playing it out for the crowd. But she's gotta make it look good."

"She will," Omari said a little too quickly, though more prideful than defensive. "You have helped Nebet and I train her well. But being one of Creation's finest martial artists not to bear the grace of Incarna or Dragon doesn't mean that she doesn't have to practice."

The overly-dressed Solar-Lunar pair exchanged a look that carried an entire conversation in the span of a wave rising and crashing on the nearby shore.

'So this is why you dragged us here,' began the amused quirk of the corner of a mouth. 'To see your student crowned a princess.'

'Not just that,' replied a huff through a thin nose, before continuing on the inhale. 'These people are friends, and I want to be there for this important occasion. Yes, watching a dramatic exhibition of a martial art I contributed to is a factor, but what of it?'

'And what am I supposed to do during this festival besides sit around and try not to get fat on snacks?' asked the slight lift of an eyebrow.

'You're good at making your own fun. Besides, over the course of a Shasaman festival you're going to see a dozen different ceremonial dances, surely one of them will be one you can join in on,' countered a slight eyeroll.

"You're doing it again," Omari said without looking at them.

"What, they can have a debate that we can't understand, but we can't have a discreet aside?" the Lunar in the bamboo kimono asked without missing a beat, their shadow visibly bristling with annoyance.

Their mate's eyes widened at the outburst, but before he could say anything Omari burst out laughing. They let out a deep, hearty laugh that actually startled the sparring parent and daughter enough that Nebet caught a kick squarely against the side of their head. That got a little more laughter out of Omari before they rushed over to the pair to apologize and check in on how they were doing.

Meanwhile, the Solar in the grassy field kimono gave his mate a good-natured glare. The Lunar in the complimentary kimono just smiled without looking at them.

"Okay, so maybe I can make my own fun."