8646/Nanda Parbat: Demon and Bat

Nanda Parbat: Demon and Bat
Date of Scene:	03 August 2019
Location:	Nanda Parbat flashback
Synopsis:	Bruce Wayne and Talia al Ghul flash back to their past in Nanda Parbat. A hatred that turned into something else.
Cast of Characters:	Batman, Talia al Ghul, Ra's al-Ghul
Tinyplot:	Hunted Demon

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Ra's al Ghul as NPC.

Batman has posed:
The Himalayas.

Many years ago ...

The trek was a long one, and though it was arduous the inhospitable snows and sheer cliff faces were almost a gentle relief in comparison to many of the challenges Bruce Wayne has already faced. The sherpas had left him days back, claiming 'raksasa' or 'demons' inhabited the forbiding peaks and inaccessible valleys of the mountain range.

He'd persisted.

Demons and ghosts were superstitions. Superstitions, he knew, were built around a society of killers so elite - so well-trained - that they had made their home here, in one of the secret places of the world where none would ever disturb them or their solitude. None, that is, except Bruce Wayne. As he surmounts the final ridge, the sprawling valley of Nanda Parbat opens beneath him. The Shifting City. The tiers of shale cottages that make up the servant townships give way to an immense fortress hewn into the very rock of the mountain itself.

Bruce pauses for a while, a shadowy outline against the impossibly blue sky at the top of the world. He wears a heavy, fur-lined coat with a well-used length of rope slung over one shoulder. His black hair is loose and long, a beard having grown upon his face to leave him looking somewhat older than his otherwise youthful features would suggest. Already he shows the scars of the life he has yet to choose, though they are nothing in comparison to what will come.

He descends into the valley.

Talia al Ghul has posed:
The wooden practice swords used by the youngest of students were made of lathes of wood bound together, clacking whenever they struck each other, or a body. Their sound intruded on Talia al Ghul's sleep, causing her to stir beneath the soft fur blankets. A fire burned, keeping the worst of the chill from the room, though she was warm beneath the blankets and not just from her own body's heat.

Talia sat up and stretched, saying behind her in a tone of quiet command, "Get out." The sound of the man leaving was satisfactory. She'd had what she required from him, and like any such man, it would be a one-time experience for him.

Gathering one of the fur blankets about her, she walked over to look down from the balcony at the training ground below. There was a sense of pride, being second in command of the League of Assassins at the age of eighteen. Those who had once thought her position was patronage by her father rather than earned, had already been taught the error of their ways.

Talia looked down on the students training below. A few showed some promise. But none that she needed worry about catching the eye of Ra's al Ghul. In time her father would see the truth. He needed no other successor to continue his work. He had that already in Talia.

The sight of a distant figure working its way up the path to the fortress received only a cursory glance. Another coming in search of training.

Probably no better than the rest.

Batman has posed:
Some weeks later ...

A row of twelve novices kneel in reverence before Prelate Barapha, the ancient and skilled fighter tasked with separating the wheat from the chaff amongst the League of Assassins' prospective members. A dozen have died already, either through their own stupidity or in direct, unchecked combat with their fellow students. Many of the men and women gathered before Barapha were already killers when they came here, and the choice of killing to climb the ladder was no choice at all for them.

Bruce Wayne is different. One amongst many, but different.

When he arrived he lacked a true understanding of hand-to-hand combat. His attacks were rarely form-perfect, and he seemed to cleave to the American art of boxing rather than the more respected Eastern traditions. A foolish quiray playing at secrets he could never hope to master. Yet he had. Everything his instructors had taught him remained with him, and every opponent sent against him had been defeated. Yet he had never killed. Never cemented his ascendancy in blood. Those he defeated did not last long, killed by others or sent to their deaths in the frozen heights of the mountains, but the young Wayne himself had never been the one to do it. He was adamant.

It was vexing. He required humility.

"Quiray," Barapha demands of Bruce in cracking Nepali, pointing a long and skeletal-thin finger at the kneeling man, "Rise to your feet. I have arranged a ... special opponent for you."

The Prelate grins his crooked grin, a low laugh like gravel rolling down a mountainside following his proclamation. He turns his bald head slightly, the curtains parting to reveal her ...

Talia al Ghul has posed:
Talia al Ghul strode out from behind the curtains, wearing leather pants that tucked into slender boots, and a halter top of leather that left her navel bare. For many of the students it was their first time seeing the Eurasian beauty up close. Large, sloe eyes took the entire class in, leaving most of the students feeling measured down to the last inch.

She had seen the new student - an American of all things! The same as she had watched all of them. Sometimes pointed out up on her balcony, at a distance she was but a silhouette against the brighter backdrop of the sky.

This American's skill had stood out to her, even on cursory examination. As he failed to be eliminated, she had put the test forward to Barapha. The man's reluctance was noticeable. He had lost more than one promising student to Talia's blades. But there was no question but he would relent.

Talia walks forward into the area left bare for such a fight. Bringing only one of her swords, knowing it will suffice. She draws it and rests the point on the ground, both hands on the pommel as she turns to regard the American up close for the first time. Larger than she had thought from a distance. A rugged jaw. Her jaw tensed to hold back the frown that wanted to form. Instead she lifted a hand, fingers motioning for him to come forward and begin.

Batman has posed:
In spite of the beckoning hand, Bruce does not immediately move to attack. Even here, where combat is the ultimate metric by which all are judged, he abides by the trappings of tradition long eschewed by many members of the League. He plants his balled fist into the flat of his palm before his stomach, bringing both bare feet together and bending at the waist to bow at her. He knows about the Demon's Daughter - he's heard tales of her, even if he has never met her - and he knows where she sits in the League's heirarchy.

But he has come this far. He hasn't quailed before a superior opponent before, and he won't now.

They launch into the fight like a choreographed dance. Bruce's own blade sings through the air, catching Talia's with rudimentary yet effective ripostes. His own attacks are never directed at her vitals, instead attempting to strike at her extremities with the flat of his blade. Even in the jaws of death, he clings unflinchingly to his refusal to kill. There is skill there, more than he showed a week ago - more than even two days ago - and it only seems to grow with each of her moves he observes. It is as though her method of fighting is a spoken language, and each motion brings him one step closer to fluency.

But he's left an opening. A place in his guard he either hasn't thought to defend adequately, or simply has yet to learn. It is a narrow gap in his armor, truly, but exploitable if she could only get at it ...

Talia al Ghul has posed:
Talia al Ghul returns the acknowledgement in kind, though the moment it is done her sword is up. Most of the students tense when they get into a fight. Talia looks like she's just ended a day at a spa. She flows into the attacks, feeling out the American's defenses.

Her feet move like a dancer's, and if it surprises her to find the American knows the steps to this dance, it does not affect the flow of her sword. Slashing, thrusting, feinting. The sword's sharp edge flashes in the light, the clangs of metal on metal coming faster like the increasing tempo of a song.

The man is far better than she expected. And he is only partially trained. For the first time, Talia al Ghul feels a threat to her plan to rule after her father.

Her blade whistles forward, drawing the American's in defense, but leaving that vulnerable part of his abdomen exposed. The steel enters his flesh easily. In and out like a whisper so that it might take him a second to even realize the blow.

The Demon's Daughter steps back smoothly, a dancer withdrawing from the dance. Barapha has a rag at hand, Talia taking it without looking and wiping her blade before sheathing it. She turns away from the American just as he sinks to his knees, blood leaking from the wound. Such wounds are usually mortal, but a painful way to go.

Talia disappears through the curtains from which she'd emerged. Feeling no satisfaction. Feeling nothing. It was just something that needed to be done.

Batman has posed:
"Oh, Mistress," Barapha says, a vague note of disappointment in his voice as he watches the American sink to his knees, clutching the stomach wound as blood begins to pool between his fingers. But he says nothing more, clapping his hands together sharply as three attendants rush forward to drag the mortally wounded man away.

"He will die," Barapha says to Talia, not daring chide her but simply stating fact, "None can survive such a wound."

Several weeks later ...

The League of Assassins pay little care to the sick and injured. When Bruce Wayne was stabbed, he was given a perfunctory once-over by one of the monks but his attendants quickly reached the conclusion that he would not survive. When the morning came and he lingered on, clutching the belly wound in agony, they said he would not last the week. A week later, he was still alive. The infection would kill him, then. But it did not. It burned through him like a brushfire and left behind something sparser yet ready to grow anew.

He returns now to the training area, bare-chested save for the roughspun cotton bandage bound about his torso. Barapha, though pleased to see him, does not make a show of it. The word quickly spreads throughout the Shifting City. The Demon's Daughter had killed a man but he had not died. The American with sparse training had not only given her a real fight, but had survived an otherwise fatal blow.

All of it reaches the ears of the Demon's Head himself, whose ancient visage cracks in the faintest of smiles ...

Talia al Ghul has posed:
Weeks later ...

The door to Talia's room practically bounces with the force of the slam. It is the first release of the emotions Talia kept tightly bound the entire walk back from the chambers of Ra's. She stalks across the room and opens the double doors to the balcony that is her favorite place in Nanda Parbat.

Down below, the advanced students are working out. One among them stands out. His size and skill would draw notice to the American from even an unskilled observer. But to Talia's eyes, he could not be more visible if he was rimmed in fire.

Her hand reaches to the carved bow that hangs on the wall beside the balcony doors. Not as powerful as modern compound bows, but always her favorite. Her fingers slide over the wood longingly before she pulls her hand away, stepping out onto the balcony to smash her palm onto the railing.

Her father's words - no, his 'instructions' - echoed in her ears. They fed her anger like kindling for a fire.

This was not over yet, no matter what he had said. She would show her father he was wrong about the American. He was not a worthy successor.

And Talia al Ghul belonged at no man's side.

Batman has posed:
Down in the yard, Bruce fights against uneven odds.

It is the only way his trainers will instruct him, now. Ever since the Demon's Daughter gutted him, he has not known defeat and even some of the more respected masters have been forced to yield to him. The only true workout he seems to get now is against several of his fellow acolytes at once, and even then it is a one-sided battle.

He moves like a well-oiled machine, stepping between attacks almost effortlessly before diving in to counter them. One attacker is struck in the mid-section by his knee, reeling backwards before collapsing on the stone in a gasping heap. Yet another dives at him only to be caught and thrown over the young man's head, a victim of his own momentum.

As the attackers regroup, Bruce's eyes drift up to the balcony that he knows she occupies. Even across the distance their eyes meet, watching her intently as she stands there watching him just the same.

What surprises him is that he does not hate her. He does not want revenge for the pain she gave him. The wound that even now he knows will leave a lifelong scar.

He just wants to see her again.

A blow to his ear momentarily rattles him, the distraction of Talia al Ghul enough to lower his defenses for just a moment. Though he collapses to one knee and the attackers begin to encircle him, it is but a temporary setback. Soon, he is fighting them with the same ferocity as before. His focus absolute.

Talia al Ghul has posed:
Talia stands on the balcony, the wind swirling her hair as she gazes down to the practice yard. She finds the American looking up, and for the longest moment their eyes meet.

It surprises her how much she hates him.

Though trained to kill, to maim, to undermine and ruin others, Talia has never been cruel. Skilled and efficient, yes. But she never understood the rougher members of the League who seemed to crave such activities. But this? Showing her father the American's faults? This would be something that she would enjoy.

Below, the American takes a blow that rattles him, but then regains his momentum and eventually defeats them. His skill with a sword has grown. To the point she no longer feels confident in the outcome should Talia face him.

Talia thinks back to how she's been watching the American so much lately. Her eye is always drawn to him first and foremost. She finds excuses to observe his training sessions. And Talia always comes away from them with her hatred flared. Hatred of what the American represents. Of what her father intends for him. And for her. That, worse than the theft of her legacy.

Troubling thoughts about the American's skill levels surpassing her own have arisen far too often. But a slow smile grows across Talia's lips. There is another test in which she does feel confident. She turns and strides purposefully back into the fortress, confidence renewed she can yet show her father the American's failings. If other means fail, there is always that final resort.

Batman has posed:
Some months later ...

The training will never be truly complete, Bruce knows, but he has learned enough now that he is being prepared for his ordination in the League of Assassins. Is this where he wanted to remain? He has not decided yet, but even though he felt he learned the bulk of what his teachers could teach some time ago he has been unable to bring himself to leave. On the surface he tells himself it is out of a sense of loyalty - to himself or the League - to learn everything before he departs. But in his heart, he knows ... he wants to see her again. To be near her again.

When he set out so many years ago, he did not think this would be his downfall.

So here he stands. One of four acolytes gathered together to stand as part of the Demon's Guard - all of them of similar size and shape, their faces and bodies concealed by ceremonial armor. The Demon's Head himself sits upon a raised dais, sprawled languidly over the throne. Only his eyes betray the truly ancient wisdom he possesses, the withering of age forestalled by the mysteries of the Lazarus Pits. His eyes raise when his daughter enters the throne room, his expression stern yet benevolent.

Talia al Ghul has posed:
The doors are opened and Talia al Ghul strides into the room. She is stunning. The dress is a fanciful creation. Dark silk that clings to her, baring daring amounts of her curvy body and showing the luster of her skin all the way down to her navel. The dress around her neck is more collar than garment. Purple and black with a large red ruby, and a smaller one suspended from it further down her body to draw focus. Where the dress meets skin are fanciful jagged components, giving the appearance of demonic claws coveting the more alluring parts of her body. Long sleeves cover where the rest of the dress does not, and hours were spent on her hair.



She strides forward, the dress pleasing her enough she continues use of the swaying walk she employed earlier. Perhaps showing off for her father how effective she was. "The Baron was quite amenable to the proposal," she tells Ra's al Ghul. One could count on two hands how many people in the world knew Baron Strucker to be the leader of A.I.M.. Two of them are present in the room.

Ra's leans forward slightly, smiling. "Excellent. This will provide us a number of opportunities in the year to come." Talia smiles back to him. "I doubt another could have-" she says, her eyes glancing about the room, passing over one of the guards, then moving back to him. "-achieved the same accord," she finishes, her eyes going back to her father.

Guarding her father was a favored task, only entrusted to those considered the elite. Talia's body tensed to find the American amongst those guards. Her previous efforts had fallen short. It was time to arrange for another training session.

Ra's smiles to his daughter and says, "You are a valuable asset, Talia. Thank you, you may go now." Talia turns, her eyes sweeping across the American as she does, and she strides out, affecting the same sway she used to such effect on the good Baron.

Ra's motions with one of his fingers. "You may leave now," he says to the guards. As they file out, the Demon's voice raises to the last in the line. "You. Stay a moment," he says.

The doors close behind the other departing members of the guard.

Batman has posed:
The next day ...

It had taken a true mastery of his own will to not react. His memories of the Demon's Daughter were hazy - after all, the only time he had seen her in person he had almost died shortly afterwards. But the vision of her in that dress only served to fan the embers of the strange infatuation. He could see it in her eyes, the way she hated him, yet he could not feel it himself. He found her captivating. Moreso than anyone he had met before.

The training area is empty save for the pair of them, weapons and armor cast aside to leave only loose-fitting training garb. Not even the usual guards are present, the entire area set aside completely without distraction so that the pair of them may spar bare-handed without any form of distraction.

Bruce rises to his feet as Talia arrives, offering that same respectful bow he did before she gutted him with her blade. There are no weapons now, though, and he has learned volumes more than he knew when they first fought. When she gave him that bitter taste of defeat.

He's heard a great deal about her skills. The crippling holds, the chokes that almost sever head from neck. He feels no safer knowing she is unarmed, yet he faces her all the same.

Talia al Ghul has posed:
Talia walks into the training area for the wrestling match. The space is empty, the hour late. She sees that the American is already there. Her hair is worked into braids made tight against her head to not give additional handholds. Talia's garments are loose fitting robes, but as she steps forward towards the mat she lets the robes fall away. Beneath she's wearing close-fitting spandex that hugs to her body to make it difficult to grip. Dusky tanned skin is on display. The top covers her, yet could not accentuate her figure more if it were spray painted on.

"Men will see their size and strength as an advantage over you, Talia," Ra's had told her so many years ago. "They will seek to grapple with you to use this advantage. This is why I stress you become the best wrestler the League has known. You will use your quickness. Your knowledge of anatomy. Your training. Even your body will become a weapon to distract your opponent," he had said. "And you, I shall teach things I have never taught another, that you always hold this advantage."

The training had been difficult. Painful. But as Talia strides towards the mat, she had never been beat. She knows the American will succumb as have all she has faced before.

Talia al Ghul moves onto the mat and returns the bow to the American. She gives a harsh glare as she studies him, the soft brown doe eyes showing a dislike for him seemingly without reason. She stalks onto the mat, her lithe, perfect build a vision in the tight clothing that was definitely meant to distract.

Batman has posed:
"Mastara," Bruce says quietly, paying the reverence duly earned by Talia as the penultimate ruler of the League. There is no arrogance or sarcasm in his voice, and the deference seems freely and willingly given. Yet he cannot mistake the hate in her eyes for anything other than what it is.

She will kill me, he thinks to himself, That's why she's here. She's out for blood.

But he prepared for this. He trained. His every minute spent in Nanda Parbat has been building towards this crescendo, and he feels ready.

He hopes he is ready.

No more words are shared as he darts forward, seeking to dive at her midsection and bring her to the mat. A feint, clearly, but one executed perfectly that allows him to fluidly move into yet another offensive move. He lays on his attack, intent on giving her no time to regroup or work him out.

Talia al Ghul has posed:
Wrestling with the Demon's Daughter is like wrestling with water. Her body flows, so well trained it moves with instinct rather than thought to evade the American's moves. There are moments he takes her down to the mat. Talia's teachings from Ra's make her aware of the flow of energy in their movements. There are times to resist or redirect the flow, other times to move with it.

Even when the American gains a handhold, he loses leverage in another place. As fast as he planned to move, he finds the woman moves as quickly. Shifting from attack to defense to the next attack so rapidly that even studied masters of the techniques would find difficulty in following their movements.

Talia fights dirty. There are times the more alluring parts of her body are pressed against the American's face in the split second before she moves to apply a submission hold capable of crippling.

Again and again they change positions, moving from top to bottom, sliding free of grips and avoiding positions that would allow a joint to be damaged or broken. Talia finds the American's skill to be remarkable, and finally she turns to the secret moves taught to her by Ra's, moves that she has rarely needed to use, but that have never been countered.

Batman has posed:
Even discounting their first foray with swords, Bruce already knows that the Demon's Daughter is the greatest opponent he has yet faced. Even his matches with the masters, the groups of elite students have all paled in comparison to what he does now. Talia al Ghul is almost unmatchable, and it takes all his focus, will, and training to keep up with her. The way she tries to distract him with her body almost fogs his mind, yet he fights through it. He holds the goal above all other things - and his goal is simple survival.

When he thinks he is winning, though, things change.

Suddenly, the Demon's Daughter is fighting on an entirely different level. One he had never seen before here in the Shifting City, and with moves that he had never encountered. He moves and weaves at first, simply trying to avoid the moves but alreayd realising that she won't tire. He needs to engage.

Their next grapple is a sudden, violent thing. He feels the crushing weight of her thighs about his ribs, his teeth biting hard into the insides of his cheeks to keep himself from shouting out in pain. All she needs now is to press her palm to the mattress, gain leverage with her hands and she will break him like dry wood. He already feels the bones beginning to groan in white hot agony underneath her assault.

But then, his hand clutches her wrist. The bend of it enough that the easy break of putting pressure against his thumb cannot be enacted. A counter to the uncounterable. He presses the wrist to the mat, pinning her with all his strength.

Talia al Ghul has posed:
The memory of what the move does to the body is in Talia's mind as she maneuvers the American into it. She admits it to herself, were it not for her extra training from Ra's, the American is better than she. But that is worth nothing considering she is not without Ra's extra training.

She stretches to finish the move, the perfectly applied leverage having no counter as her body becomes a lever, increasing the force as she brings her palm down towards the ground. Talia can already imagine how it will feel to break his back and-

He counters it.

The intricate placement of her body that served as the fulcrum is disrupted, and suddenly she is vulnerable. The American moves unexpectedly, even the flow of energy she's been taught to read is confusing to Talia as he moves against his own energy.

His ironclad grip takes her wrists, pinning her and placing her in a position he can hurt her. Can break her. And she can do nothing.

The American's face is above her, looking down at Talia al Ghul. Her eyes stare up at him wide and wild with disbelief.

The stare lasts for long seconds, the sound of her hard breathing the only the sound in the room. Something inside of her breaks, a barrier torn asunder by the escape of what it had quietly imprisoned.

Talias leans up, her lips pressing to the American's. Kissing. Kissing him hard. Kissing him with a need and want that she doesn't understand. It is no feint, not prelude to an attack by the teen. Her body goes relaxed, trapped beneath the American's bulk. Accepting as she is held in the strength of his grip. The kiss is deep and passionate, breaking only that she utter a single word.

"Bruce."

Batman has posed:
There is a brief moment where he thought his gambit hadn't worked. That the ploy made against her unbreakable, uncounterable move would fail him and he would be shattered into a million pieces. Left to die before his life's work had even begun.

A moment where he thought Ra's al Ghul had led him astray.

There are moves Talia would employ, the Demon's Head had said, that he would not be able to counter. Moves designed to play upon his own strengths and leverage them back at him, amplified and inescapable.

But, if he were to keep this in his mind. Understand to look for those attempts to redirect his own strength back against him. He might prove her match.

As she lifts her head from the mat, he half expects an attack. Some hidden blade to plunge into his throat and end his life then and there. But instead, it is a kiss. Passionate unlike anything else. Full of the same desire he had felt ever since he first laid eyes on her. Talia al Ghul.

Perhaps, in the darkest moments of their future relationship, he might wish it had been the blade.

As Bruce returns the kiss, his grip on her wrists remaining strong, an unseen figure high above watches with ancient eyes. Once more, an impassive facade like finely-chiseled granite cracks into the faintest of self-satisfied smiles. The Demon's Head turns away from the balcony, sweeping from the training area on silent footfalls.

Behind him, his heir's voice speaks his daughter's name to the otherwise empty hall: "Talia."