Three hundred years is too much for some. It is not enough for me. I am Yaska and I have become venerable. I am almost three hundred, but I am only young. Most of my life’s excitement was during my first century. Life was simpler, I was granted my wings, my power. I lost my only true friends quickly after the first century ended. The second century was miserable. I was kept afloat thanks to those who aging have missed for one reason or another. Now I am ending my third and final century. The three hundredth birthday of a Shriken always marks its death. Always.
I helped save the Solune kingdom from certain destruction. At my side were four others. Of these, two still live. One, while less powerful than me physically, is more powerful in influence. The other still grieves for her lost husband. It has taken her conviction.
The partner of a now deceased man of virtue, like me, ages slowly thanks to her ancestry. More gradual than me. Judging by her bright, youthful face, I can tell she will outlive me.
Bradley Jeremy, while condemned to death long ago, still visits me. Although it weighs almost as much as I, I keep his time travel receiver close. I oft laugh watching him try to place himself whenever he enters my time.
My name is Solemn. That is not my name. It is what I am called wherever I go, in whatever language I hear. I speak all the languages I have encountered so far. I have an affinity for it. My name is Geoffrey. Six thousand years it too much time, and yet I live on, avoiding death. I have lost most of my spirit, but not so much that my life has lost value. Who is this now?
 Ancient Human, Modern Human, Elken, Deitic, Plainkind, Nokken and Underside Creole.
“What is that on your face?”
“That is not a suitable answer.”
“I need not answer someone so slapdash.”
“Ah. Well, I am only brash because I value my time.” Yaska opened her eyes. She did not like to be wakened, especially not by people asking about her face.
“You value you time? Mine is running thin.”
“That’s not good.” The stranger nodded, touching his hat. “How, can you tell?”
“A Shriken lives exactly three hundred years.”
“And what are your years?”
“Two hundred and ninety nine. I’ve but one month.”
“Usually I do not speak with those so near death.”
“And why is that?”
“Because they tend to die. You, however, have lived quite long. Do you need someone to pass your wisdom and knowledge to?”
“I pass my knowledge to Jin. She is young yet. And, why do you think I would give up my mind?”
“I can keep it safe, I’m sure.”
“You?” Yaska looked at him, incredulous.
The man nodded. “Yes, I, you see, cannot die.”
Yaska stood. “Would you test that?”
He hesitated. “Ah, why not call a duel?” He asked, drawing his weapon.
Yaska drew her sword. She used unbelievably heavy weapons in her early life, and the light weight of her current weapon still confused her muscles. It was very broad. The true edge, the edge that faced her opponent, was as thick as the man’s weapon. It jutted forward, away from the hilt and the false edge. The false edge was about one third the thickness of the true, and was not often used. In between the two edges was hollow space, the size of the true edge, about a finger’s length. This let Yaska wield a weapon of a size she was used to without the weight. The weapon’s length doubled the man’s. It matched her height, at three cubits. They faced off, and the man went to one knee and gave the prayer.
“Oh god of Duels, sanction this combat, that both sides may be immune to death for its duration. Ekklen.”
In an instant Yaska closed the gap, extending her wings to smallform and thrusting her sword laterally. The man was surprised only by her speed, barely blocking the attack.
“You know,” He said, stepping back and regaining balance, “I tend to parry and counter the first attack. That your attack was too powerful for me to do so is notable.”
Yaska stared at him, also stepping back. She had both range and power advantage and she would not waste it. This man sounded like a technical fighter, and so she would test just how vast that technique was.
He stepped in, thrusting his simple weapon at her. It will not hit from where he is, this must be a feint. Curious and confident, Yaska deflected the attack with the point of the blade. The man smiled and grabbed her sword, lacing his fingers into the weapon’s gap. He pulled it. Yaska smiled and let go.
Yaska stepped forward as the man tried to ignore his confusion. She launched her right fist into the man’s jaw, cracking it in two, turning bone to powder.
“Know how am I slupposed to tell youv mayh nahme?”
“You are still understandable. Speak now, before I remove your teeth.”
“Geoffry!” He shouted, stepping back.
He tried to lift Yaska’s weapon off of the ground, but it was too heavy. Blast, I haven’t dual wielded in too long. He slashed side on, missed, and returned the weapon to a guard position.
Yaska noted that he did not over swing his blade as she ducked beneath it. She took his upper leg in her hand and pulled it upward. Geoffry did not lose his balance and took the chance to cut downward, a weak but useful blow.
His sword did not even scratch her flesh. Yaska looked up at him and smiled, the dark draining from her deep red eyes. They were now two bright red orbs encased in white sclera, vertical slit pupils staring at him. She released pure white energy into his face.
He smiled, feeling it burn his facial flesh. “Ah, lazor eyes, classic.”
Geoffry’s irises bled down his face, and he fired his own lasers. They pushed Yaska’s back easily, this was not a strong suit for her. She attempted to pull his entire body up by his leg, but he was much heavier then she anticipated. He did, however, lose his footing. Lying on his back, Yaska moved to his side, keeping him down with her grip on his leg.
Her massive right leg plunged downward into his chest. She looked down at her foot, raised it and stomped again. She heard ribs cracking, and she heartlessly lifted her leg once more.
“Wait! I give!”
“Why did you let me win?” She asked, resting her foot on his injured chest.
“I didn’t think you were so powerful! But I assure you, you would have won had I let you or not.”
She moved, helping Geoffry up. With that the duel ended and his injuries healed in a matter of minutes, thanks to the god of Duels.
“Face me for real.”
The man drew a second weapon from his long, dark coat. It looked like a sword with an extra blade stuck on the true edge. The false edge was sharp and could cut, but the other would only make useless bludgeoning attacks.
“Your weapon cannot hurt me.”
“Maybe not, but I am a parrier at heart, and this lets me do just that with ease.”
She understood in an instant.
 A conventional cubit is a foot and a half, or one half meter, making Yaska around 4’ 8”.