[Training Gallery] Pride & Anticipation (Sthargon, Closed)

[Lirilazula]

3rd of Spring, 510 AV [Purpose: Unarmed Combat Training] The air was thick with body heat and fever, just the way the Dhani liked it. Encircling the entire training gallery, tiers of spectators crowded in, impatient for a match. This, to the Dhani, was the ultimate art. For the men, it was about pride, in many forms. For the women, it was about anticipation: the prospect of a mate, and a feast for the eyes. And for the entire nest, it was tradition. The first week of Spring, the dawning of a new year, and a battle of brawn to rouse spirits and appetites. Two wrestlers slithered around the center of the arena, circling. The cool blue of the glowstones lit the sweat on slick bodies, caught the intensity fierce in slitted eyes. Between them, a tense silence. From the back rows came rallying shouts from the men; and from the first rows, the sly whispers of discerning women, sizing up the fighters. One such whisper came from Nythali, a sleek, gold-haired Dhani with a series of tattoos wound about her neck. She leaned in close to her cousin, a lazy smile on her lips. "Which do you wager to win, Lazula? The lasst one standing will faccce Ssthargon, and then..." A low chuckle. "Then, I plan on luring the winner to my bed." Lirilazula rolled her eyes. "You, and every other female here, Nythali." "And ssso? The more, the merrier!" Every nearby woman who had caught a hint of the conversation erupted into snickering laughter. It seemed, by and large, that all were in agreement with that sentiment. "Ssssee, Laz," Nythali continued, "we're none of us prudess like you." Lazula knew Nythali better than most anyone, and knew the play of teasing in her tone. And still, even if she hadn't known it, Lazula wouldn't have much cared. It didn't deserve a breath for a reply. She had had her lovers, she mused. Could have them whenever she liked. But didn't much care to carry any of their offspring. So, aside from the occasional indulgence, which was distracting and pointless, why bother? And, since she hadn't bothered, she also hadn't seduced herself a male to serve as her protector. The logical solution, to Lazula, was to simply learn better how to protect herself. And Sylthea. "Tell me again what your plan is, sssweet." Nythali nudged her cousin for added irritation. "Rather than bed the winning man, you'll... sseek training from him? I'm ssure he'll be utterly charmed." "Why should I care if he's charmed? It's not for his benefit. And stop prodding me." She exhaled sharply through her nose, and fixed her eyes on the wrestlers. It had only taken the first few moments of the match for Lazula to regret sharing her intentions with Nythali. She rarely shared anything of note with the females of her family, having learned long ago that it was better to avoid any such intimacies. She always ended up disgusted, for one reason or another. But Nythali had usually been an exception; at least tolerable, enjoyable company, and a woman of brilliant tastes. She and Lazula shared a love for finery in the form of clothing, and Nythali was a tailor whose work was coveted by anyone with any taste. Now, brushing her fingers over the silk sash wrapped about her waist, Lazula remembered why she tolerated Nythali, and decided to shrug off her annoyance with good humor. After all, it was difficult not to be in an unusually good mood during these festivities. "Ssso then, I sewed you a sassh for no reason. No sssense wearing one if you've got no intentionss of offering it to the man you want to sss-sseduce." "Nythali," Lazula groaned. She gave the sash another admiring glance. "You're lucky I like the things you make so much, or else I might have less patience for your antics." "How ssweet. But you know..." Nythali slanted her cousin a narrow look. "Much as you don't want to be, you're jussst like every other woman here. I've sseen you ssstaring at him." "I'm not staring at him," Lazula said. "Who?" "Sthargon." "Ha!" Nythali laughed. "I knew it. You're caught. You are a woman, after all!" Lazula felt a flustered protest flutter in her throat, but quieted it. Instead, she said, smoothly, "It's not a stare, it's a scowl. And will you shut up? It's starting, and I want to watch." "Fine. But you're impossssible." "Impossible. I'm fine with that," Lazula said. "Now leave me alone." And so saying, turned her eyes to the center to watch the winner emerge.

[Ashivirsthargon]

Sthargon wished he could have felt more pride at making it to the final match of his division, but he could not. After this match would come those more seasoned warriors and their matches, and after that would come the truly elite. Making your way to the top of novice-level competition was no real honor, but he did not dare enter the lists above his. Even a Dhani possessing an average level of the grappling skill expected of them stood a fine chance of submitting Sthargon without too much effort. The shame of being the warm-up entertainment was nothing compared to the shame of overstepping one's limits and being defeated as a result.

The young man across the circle from him was Ihassath. Sthargon trained with him often. He was a competent grappler for his level. He was not as strong as Sthargon, but quick - quite dangerous in his own way. More than this, however, he was principled. He had several strange personal rules and notions of honor that Sthargon found alternately amusing and infuriating. There is no standard that cannot be bent. There is no law that cannot be broken. To submit yourself to higher, inflexible ideals was to be weak and brittle, yourself. Much better to bend if that's what the circumstances required.

Both combatants rubbed their hands in powdered chalk. The signal torch was lit, the timekeeper began his deep drumming, and the pungent incense filled the air. Both men headed for the center of the circle, and the fight was on.

Ihassath, being the quicker, dove for Sthargon's midsection, trying to wrap his arms around it. A perfectly orthodox, textbook maneuver. If he got the hold, he would pull Sthargon's waist toward him while pushing forward with his shoulder, and Sthargon would go down with one, heavy Dhani on top of him.

Sthargon, however, had been experimenting with his wrestling, using sparring partners both willing and unwilling to try all kinds of strange escapes, reversals, and takedowns. Most of his experiments ended in disaster, but he still held that superiority in combat lay in presenting the enemy with something he did not know how to counter, and if Ihassath had any weakness, it was his rigid adherence to rules.

As Ihassath's shoulder made contact, Sthargon let the force rotate his body like a gear, allowing the other Dhani to slide along his right. With this motion in play, he slammed both of his elbows down on Ihassath's back and let all of his weight drop behind them, throwing his opponent to the ground. Ihassath took his breath in a sharp inhalation as those elbows drove deeply into his back with the impact, but to his credit, he did not pause.

He obviously knew Sthargon would have his back unless he moved quickly. With tremendous torque, Ihassath pushed against the ground and flipped over - now chest to chest with Sthargon - and he reached up and cranked the other Dhani's neck in a powerful headlock.

This was bad news.

Sthargon could already feel his air being cut off as the tremendous muscles in Ihassath's arm contracted his airway. His head was held at a painful angle. He knew he was caught, and if he did not tap the floor to signal his surrender, he would be unconscious in a matter of seconds.

Frustration filled him. He would not surrender to a self-righteous idiot like Ihassath. The man would not gloat. In fact, he spoke very little, but Sthargon was sure he would be thinking it. He would be thinking that he won due to his devotion and discipline, while poor, misguided Sthargon would never truly achieve victory, because...

It was enough.

As stars began to dance before his eyes, Sthargon blindly shot his hand out to Ihassath's face in a strike that was neither fluid nor well-executed, but the raw force of it slammed into Ihassath's jaw and turned his head. Sthargon continued to extend his arm, then reversed it and brought it down the other side, hooking Ihassath's neck in a headlock of his own, and he wrenched back with all his might.

Ihassath was completely unprepared for such a wild, last-ditch attempt, and was yanked forcibly into the lock before he even realized he'd been struck. His smaller vertebrae made little, popping sounds as Sthargon leaned back, pulling his neck into a hyperextended position and closing off his oxygen.

Ihassath tapped the ground.

Sthargon did not let go.

Ihassath tapped harder.

Still, Sthargon did not let go.

People from the crowd were yelling at Sthargon to release his captive, who was slapping the ground furiously, now. But Sthargon could not hear them. He simply leaned back, holding his opponent until he felt his struggling cease and his muscles go limp, unconscious.

He dropped Ihassath unceremoniously and stood up, glaring defiantly into the crowd. There was plenty of applause, but a great deal of uncertain hesitation as well.

As acolytes removed Ihassath to a chamber where he could recover, Sthargon turned for the door. He would watch the rest of the matches, yes, but he could not bring himself to sit with the others.

[Lirilazula]

The next matches were, for the most part, unsurprising, but Sthargon's fight had set the tone. Amidst the most critical pauses, breaths were drawn and held and knuckles drained to white. For some of the crowd, it was a reaction to fear; and for others, a thirst to see blood. But for most, the quick rhythm of tap and release that signaled the end to each match brought relief. No one wanted to see serious harm done to one of their own inside the nest. That would be a waste. Lazula watched raptly. Unlike her cousin, who tended to whistle and jeer and dangle herself over the ledge as though offering herself as some sort of living trophy, Lazula was a thorough observer. It was difficult not to be entranced by the powerful grace exuded when two Dhani men vied for domination over one another. It was stunning, she thought, the way two forces could work so vehemently against one another, and yet move in what, at times, resembled a smoothly-choreographed dance. The long, tense moments of consideration and determination. The subtle fight to snap the precarious equilibrium. And all the while, the sheen of human sweat glazing serpentine scales, the swell of veins, and the long lines of endless muscle. Lazula appreciated this living, physical art, inside and out. And she wanted a taste of it. Certainly, she mused, the greater part of her desire for training was to protect herself. But beneath her pragmatism was a channel of stubborn pride. Priestesses were kept carefully preserved, and women were not expected to risk their lives. In fact, much the opposite. And although Lazula understood entirely these measures taken to preserve the race, there was enough of an edge to her pride to simply disregard them. If she wanted something, she got it, and she got it herself. She didn't need to be told what to do, or to have it done for her. So she would have her taste of this, no matter who protested. Lazula's eyes were just beginning to glaze over. Enthralled in the movements of the two men below, and swelling with her own determination, she wasn't expecting her cousin's exuberant shriek as the match came to an end. "Oi!" Nythali bit her finger in an effort, Lazula hoped, to silence anymore of those irritating squeals. "Lazzzzula, honey, they jusssst keep getting better. Did you sssee Zhoslor jusst then? I mussst have him." She leaned over the railing, her predatory gaze flashing as she eyed up the winning man. "I suppose I'll let you get your handsss on Sssthargon, tonight. Zhossslor is mine." "I will be doing no such thing, tonight." Lazula stood, interested enough to size up the object of her cousin's new fascination. "Besides, what makes you think you won't have any competition for Zhoslor? Perhaps I want to claim him." Nythali's head snapped back, and her pretty mouth gaped. "Oh, really!" Her eyes thinned. "I doubt that. I'm sssure you're just trying to aggravate me. Besidessss..." Her fingers floated down to clasp the sash around her hips. "Whossse ssscent do you think Zhoslor will find more appealing?" It was a challenge, Lazula knew, as Nythali snapped her sash from her waist and turned to dangle it over the rail. The silk was a flag of offering, sanguine edged in ivory, their family colors. Zhoslor was making his way along the line, his chest still heaving with his efforts. He spied the dancing sash and grinned. "Let me think a moment," Lazula said. "The scent of a fresh, virginal priestess... or that of a seasoned old matron like you, Nythali?" A dark, slender brow cocked above one eye. "What do you think? It seems obvious, no?" A scoff from Nythali. "Virginal, Lazzzzula? Please!" And as Zhoslor snatched the sash from between her fingers, Nythali turned triumphantly toward the other woman. "You are hardly that." "First I'm a prude, and now I'm a whore? Ahh." The faint twitches of a grin pulled at her lips. "Which is it, my cousin dear?" "Ugh. I wissh I knew, you sssslippery thing." Nythali laughed delightedly and sank back down into her seat. "Well." Placing slender fingertips on her cousin's shoulder, Lazula looked toward the stairway. "Much as I enjoy the matches, you have effectively sucked the life out of it all for me, this evening." Though her tone was mild, there was a playful glimmer in Lazula's eyes as she turned to go. "Besides, no doubt I will be needed in the medicine hall after all of this. Enjoy Zhoslor." With Nythali's laughing protests rising up behind her, Lazula descended from the seating and slipped into the first curve of a tunnel. She would take the back way, she decided, and glance in on Sylthea along the way. If the girl was awake and feeling well, she could accompany Lazula to the medicine hall for a bit of live instruction. If not, it was just as well. Lazula was in a brooding sort of mood. As she rounded the corner, she caught sight of Sthargon in a sliver of light. He was sitting in one of the antechambers of the training gallery, watching, or perhaps brooding, himself. Though she had all intentions of passing by, she found herself stopping dead in the doorway. Bah, she thought, and reached up to her neck to toy with the holy symbol that hung there. "Ah, Sthargon." She slid in across the threshold. "Well done." She waited for a moment, but didn't allow him enough time to respond even if he'd wanted to. "As it happens, I decided before tonight that I would seek training in unarmed combat from the winner of your division." Her fingers released the symbol, danced across her collarbone, and then came to rest against the stone doorway. As her fingers settled, so did her eyes, zeroing in on him. "That would mean you."

[Ashivirsthargon]

Sthargon's defensive hackles went up. It was often difficult for him to tell exactly where the young priestess was coming from, and he'd learned to assume the worst. He lowered his head and peered intently at her - tongue flickering from his lips to get a sense of what she might be about. As usual, there was a haze of impressions that was difficult to sort out - superiority, irritation, the involuntary responses that males and females of a sparse race seemed to have around each other.... If there was anything that made Sthargon cautious, it was an abundance of variables.

After a sufficient, weighing pause, he replied, "Thisss iss sssome kind of joke at my expensse, yess? Ssah."

He gestured toward the arena.

"Plenty of maless are better at thiss than I. Why would you want to learn from a novice like mysself? Besssidess, you are a priesstesss, ssah. If you have to grapple anyone, sssomething hass gone very wrong, yess? You sstay within thesse wallsss. Zinrah is defensse enough for you. Sssiku keepss you, yesss."

It was true. It was a strange request. It was not unheard of for a female to be drawn to combat for various reasons, but it was rare that someone actually sought instruction, and it was certainly unheard of to seek instruction from him. Too much seemed unusual, here. It was best not to let his guard down.

[Lirilazula]

She'd had a feeling Sthargon wasn't going to be easy about this. Of course, she had known it was a possibility that he would stand as the division's winner, and she would have to answer to her own challenge with herself by requesting - or commanding - his time and instruction. And she felt some irritation at even having to explain. But rolling it over in her head, she didn't see what good it would do to force him. Certainly, she could. But he would make it miserable, she knew. And she could coerce any number of other men of his level to cooperate with her. But Sthargon wasn't going to just say yes. He was probably going to make her twist his arm. And somehow, that thought made her more determined that he would be the one to train her. So she explained. "I am not joking. And I did not choose you, exactly." The fork of her tongue shimmered across her lips. "The events that transpired chose you. As I said, I decided to seek training from the winner of your division. Men of your level of skill still have much to learn, and will benefit from training another. No doubt you would learn much by teaching a female." As the swelling beat of drums echoed in from the arena, Lazula slithered farther into the chamber, so as not to have to raise her voice. This wasn't exactly something she wanted everyone to know about. "Besides, I do not require an expert. I am not looking to become a master. And our experts have their hands full enough with teaching the likes of you." Her tone was not demeaning, but cool and logical. "As for my station and the protection it affords..." A shake of her head. "I choose not to take that for granted. I have to have some way to fend for myself if I..." Choose not to have a male around to protect me. She faltered, then added, "If I need to. "What's more, I am fascinated. And not simply satisfied just to watch. I would like to experience this art, from the inside, at least once."

[Ashivirsthargon]

There was no encounter that was not a battlefield. There was no situation that should not be examined for risk and opportunity. This was no exception.

On the one hand, something about this did not feel right. Lazula's explanation made a degree of sense - learning from an advanced beginner would provide benefit to both. What was more likely, however, is that it would be more difficult to have an implied superior\inferior relationship when then the teacher was not far more skilled than the student, and this was likely closer to why the priestess had targeted his division in specific, in Sthargon's opinion.

Even that, however, might not be her true motives. Despite what logic there might be in her reasoning, it was difficult to believe those benefits outweighed the benefits of being taught by a true master of the art - or the liabilities of being taught by Sthargon. The two had never really gotten along well. Although, in fairness, Sthargon never really got along well with most Dhani.

On the other hand, it wasn't often a male got to rough up a female outside of mating play. The females of Zinrah went about virtually fearless of the males, and why not? Not only did they rule, but it was certain death to do violence of the least kind to these preservers of the race. Although Sthargon had no particular desire to do violence to them - at least, no more desire than he felt to do violence to the men - it always grated on him how difficult they were to intimidate. The very thought of it made him slide closer to Lazula so he could tower over her. His greater size was really the only tool in his arsenal, here, and it had precious little effect around his so-called masters. He weaved his torso subtly to emphasize his physical presence compared to hers. One took what one could get.

There was always the possibility, of course, that Lazula legitimately wanted to be trained. If this were the case, that put him in a good position. It could not hurt to have a priestess who felt she owed you a favor - or at the very least was intimately aware of what you would be capable of if angered. Also, he noted, Lazula had asked him even after seeing what he had done to his opponent in the match. He was not yet certain what this revealed about her, exactly, but he liked it.

Either way he played this, he would have to stay vigilant.

"Very well," he agreed. "I am, after all, at the ssservice of the priesssthood."

Something about the way he said that had a little hook in it, as if there were something more elaborate and possibly sinister under the admission, but if there were such a thing, he did not elaborate. Rather, he slid toward the center of the chamber.

"As you remember from your sssmall amount of combat training you no doubt recceived from your Order, there are multiple rangess of combat depending on what form you are in. Thesse rangess are defined by the range of your limbss and jointss."

He extended a fist and pointed at it with his other hand, continuing to point as he named off the appropriate parts.

"Fisst. Elbow. In humanoid form, foot and knee. And then there iss the clinch. The closssest range. Body to body. The closser an opponent is, the better it is for a Dhani. We are built for closse-range fighting. Come, I will ssshow you."

He beckoned for Lazula to join him in the center of the room.

[Lirilazula]

The way Sthargon swayed his height above her, threading the image of his physical dominance through her mind, made Lazula smile. It wasn't a very nice smile, and it certainly lacked any note of charm, but there was a sultry sort of challenge on the crook of her lips. "Here and now, then?" The priestess raised a brow as Sthargon gestured for her, sparing a glance over her shoulder toward the doorway. She had had every intent to see if she was needed in the medicine hall, even if she was not on duty this evening. And yet the idea of getting started had its own appeal. If Sthargon was willing, so was she. Frankly, she was surprised it had been so easy to convince him, even if he did seem reluctant. She had been fully prepared to put up a fight about it, and the fact that they had bypassed much argument and were about to begin was somewhat electrifying to her. That she would be wrestling was somewhat forbidden, and all the more reason to want it. Though, certainly, she was not just some girl tittering in the face of rebellion - there were more logical reasons she wanted to do what she wanted to do. As she stood there, reasoning with herself, Sthargon waited and stared. With a flick of her tail, she shook the preoccupation from her mind. The sash around her waist would only get in the way, so she untied it and draped it across a chair in the corner. Then she moved to the center of the room.

[Ashivirsthargon]

A skittering memory flitted across the surface tension of Sthargon's brain. It was not so long ago that he had invited Hesse to train with him under very different circumstances. The red violence and cold betrayals of that night always arose, unbidden, when he prepared to instruct someone. It was as if Hesse's revenant hovered ceremonially over all such engagements. The thought that someone could be even more present with you in death than in life was an uncomfortable one for Sthargon, and he banished his demons by circumscribing his thoughts around the task at hand.

"Grappling iss sssomewhat different depending on what you are grappling. A humanoid creature is besst grappled at the waisst or below. A Dhani in our usssual form is besst grappled around the upper body - essspecially the head or arms. A Dhani in sssnake form is grappled behind the head or not at all."

Sthargon raised his arms vaguely as if to demonstrate but seemed to lose some volition as he thought about how the training should progress.

"If you are wanting to learn to grapple human prey, I should change form. If you are wanting to hold your own in a Dhani wresstling match, I will retain thiss one, but the techniquess I sshow you will be very different depending on your goalss."

He swung his upper body to the right, placing his solid, muscular trunk of a body against hers, allowing the scales to crackle and poke as he slid across her. He angled his torso so that she could still easily face him.

"You did come here with goalss in mind. I have no doubt."

[Lirilazula]

She didn't miss the haunted look that darkened the grey of Sthargon's eyes. To her experience, he didn't seem one to hesitate or to second guess himself. Whatever it was that had made him pause, though, bought her a few minutes to study him. She hadn't realized, until now, that his eyes were grey. Too often, he was much too close to her. She had felt him more than she had seen him - oddly enough, for a woman who spent much of her time purposefully distancing herself. Clearly, it seemed to her, Sthargon wanted to make certain that Lazula was aware of his assets - and she was. His sheer size; the way he exuded physical power, in any form whatsoever. His scales were more rough than glossy. His scent was deeply male: earthy, damp rock and sweat. Not at all unpleasant, to her mind. His tongue, much unlike his skin, was smooth, and its sound like satin each time it emerged near to her ear. She knew all this because of the way he hovered around her, but she couldn't have named the hue of his scales or imagined the shape of his mouth. Till now. The scales were like his eyes, but tinged with green, and the mouth was wide and quite expressive. It suited him. She liked it. When he finally spoke, she prayed to Siku he hadn't seen the way she was staring at it. "Ah..." She snapped her chin up, to meet his eyes as he closed in on her again. Yes, she had goals. What were they, again? "Let's begin like this, I suppose. I might as well learn from the inside out. Human form later. Unless you have a better idea."