FFXIVWrite Prompt #6 - Onerous
The near-empty training hall was still alive with the energy and sounds of a combatant training as hard as her body would allow it. Styrgeim unleashed unholy barrages onto the unsuspecting training dummy. Despite her smaller stature and slimmer physique, she still housed a strength comparable to a male double her size. Each crash of her fist produced splinters that jumped right off the wooden object and deep indentations.
After a half-hour of incessant attacks, it was time to finish the session with a flourish. Styrgeim jumped back and clenched her fists, breathing in slowly to allow the ambient Aether to surround her and empower her. A gentle bluish hue surrounded her body. She could feel each cell within her begin to heat up to a warming sensation, warmer than she felt during training.
As soon as she felt ready, Styrgeim’s burst forth toward the training dummy. An impressive flurry of strikes accompanied her movements. A roundhouse kick transitioning to a spinning back kick; a rising knee strike into double axe handles. Then a jab into a backhanded fist, into another jab, followed by a mid-torso kick. Finally, ending with the classic combination of a Bootshine kick, followed by a True Strike and Snap Punch, ending with a Six-Sided Star kick.
As her last foot connected with the dummy, she regained foot and took a moment to catch her breath. She could feel the aura that surrounded her subsiding, sweat pouring from her forehead and down her neck, the fabric of her Skyworker’s singlet catching most of the moisture. She panted softly, holding on to her inanimate training partner for leverage until she could steady herself easier. This was her second training session that day, and she had yet to break for lunch.
Styrgeim closed her eyes, placing her forehead on the training dummy. She was tired physically, her body burning from the strain of constantly working itself harder and harder after every sparring bout. Still, there was more to it than the fatigue which exhausted her.
Remember, you are under contract with me, girl. You enjoy your freedom because of me. You owe your impressive gifts in the Colosseum to me and my ever-so-benevolent nature. The same one that keeps you and your mother off the streets. Now, be my perfect little star gem, and keep fighting.
She hated listening to that conniving Lalafel she had to call a manager. She hated being reminded that everything she had and could provide for her ailing mother rested in the hands of a benefactor. A benefactor who only cared about selling tickets and winning matches, not his star’s well-being. Who could beat Styrgeim, the Heavenly Fist? The only way to find out is to pay 500 Gil a piece and enjoy the show!
Except she hated being the star of this performance. She hated the pain and near-sadistic streaks her opponents would get in the arena. She wouldn’t dare give all she had in her fights, not when her mother’s health and happiness came first, but at times she felt she had to quit. Yet the contract was clear that escaping from her responsibilities was a terrible idea, and contracts in Uld'ah were far more powerful than any Primal. So she made sure she kept enough money to start saving for her freedom. Having done so for over a year, her personal Gil purse was feeling heavier and heavier by the week.
Styrgeim walked to the corner of the training hall to pick up a damp cloth to dab at her face, then over to the table, which held a large waterskin flask. She took a long drink of the water inside the pouch when the door opened. She knew who was there and what it meant. Show time in two hours. She sighed but pushed away the present and took stock of the future. It wouldn’t be long now. She just needed to hold on a little longer.
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