Colours of My Empire

Fate gave me 12

Ashoka~

The sweat on my brow drips into my eyes, my Guru has made training today all about endurance, I had been dueling with my brothers for 3 hours thus far. Avatar made a deep slice for my head, he was younger than I and had much to learn about his strokes, he went for power and left himself open. I avoided his blade calmly and using the curve of my own in the valley of his sword continued the stroke a bit farther than his aimed tragectory.Acala stepped backwards, annoyed at the inexperience of the 5th prince. He came back as Avatar rolled away from me and made quick jabs towards my feet, forcing me to the side where Acala was already cutting sideways for my neck, I ducked under and was up again cutting once again into the top of his blade with my own. I guided him past his feet and sent my open palm into his chin. He fell backwards and used his other hand to drag me down as well. Grabbing the collar of my Kurta, I twisted as I was falling and managed to fall beside him.

Avatar had been trying to impale me this way, but seeing as I dodged that one he couldn't stop his stabbing sword I was on my back so I quickly rolled into a backwards somersault and kicked my leg out, shoe hiting the blunt part of his sword which stabbed the stone beside Acala's head.

"Avatar, you reckless brat, go train before you think to join an actual fight. Why would Guru Ananda even think of bringing you here, you would kill us both with your clumsy hands." Acala huffed, picking up his sword and walking away, skipping a class again, the same as Tissa had before him. His shoulder length hair was dusty but still well kept, my brother was extremely popular amongst the women of Pataliputra.

Avatar breathed heavily, he still retained the meat of his childhood days the boy was still 13 years at 4 and a half years younger than I. His frusteration was prevelant as his nails dug crescent moons into his palms. The boy took his sword and stalked off,  giving up just as Ashoka had in the past.

Absolutely no pity would grow in the barren wasteland of Ashoka's eyes, the boy gave up on his own accord, no desire to improve and none to succeed, his time of birth would be his safety, he coud step out of the struggle for the seat that occupied the minds of his brothers. Ashoka cooled himself breathing in and out air as hot as the sun and returned to the practice of sword chatter. 

Ashoka started practicing his dodging moves, a style he had created after hours and hours of trial and error, one that used the energy and curve of the blades prevelant in the world to force the enemy to lose energy to the Earth. All battles he would partake in happened, after all, on fields, battlefields.

They were comming, the soldiers felt the storm before they saw it, like animals. He himself had turned his own nose, optimistic, to the wind and his discovery was shocking. The unrest in lands faraway that had been ignored by my Father, the Emperor and by Prime Minister Kautilya was of wuthering heights. It was my opportunity to take care of the problem, Kautilya would support my request to the Emperor and I would go crush infedels with an army of loyal men, or so I dreamed. Father would never pick me, it was optimism that ensured my feeble attempts continue towards the wall. 

"I need to work harder" Ashoka steeled himself, anger was my horse, motive is my chariot and me, the pitiful, driverless, warrior prince would hold the reigns with one hand and a spear with the other. Like lightning, when the time is right, the spear would descend.

The stokes were of poor quality, worth none of the precious food and water used to power them.

"Frusterating truly" he exhaled in between breaths and blissful, momentary darkness as the sword blocked the sun for a milisecond. His mind wandered to his grandfather who founded this empire, he a  master of a defenseless sword style, duel executioner blades were gripped in his hands as he fought. The fear he was skilled at inducing was the shield infalible because it was made by no man. Speed was his virtue, a ruler who was at the top of the world and descended into pace of a mercenary. If he did not move, he would die and this he knew. He abandoned all idea of having reliable defence, his origin were of dirt and scrounging, a slum boy became king. He was an invisible monster of a man, he had no shield because he had never had one.