[Flashback]Only the Best…(Xalet)

[Valorae]

Guest moderated by Valorae! HD approval

Timestamp: 47th of Winter, 510 A.V., sometime in the early afternoon It was a crisp and dry winter day, as one might recall. Windy too, but just a breeze. It was plain to see really, from the light snow fall to the shifting clouds of frozen breath lingering before their mouths, even as they trotted along. Any long time spent in such weather was sure to bring forth cracked lips. The grasses that still reached through the frost weakly waved in Morwen’s breath, dull golden shades against the blanket of white. The rush of the textures against each other sounded in the silence of the day. Too, there were faded sounds of great men barking orders, fieldworkers and their overseers cleaning up or tending to the most enduring of winter vegetables. And of course, the clicking. Muffled even by the thin layer of snow, horse shoes clicked against stone and cooling earth alike. The source of the sound was very clear; two figures towered over the rest of the low and gently rolling plain just south of the castle walls. The leader of the two was a women, a seemingly thick woman under all her armor and cloth. Bare metal against skin was a foolish thing to wear in this weather. One needed to layer to keep warm. Her chest protruded out past her shoulders under the light armor, the Windoak crest mounted proudly on an otherwise modest woman. Her cloak spread over the back of her steed, and served as the flag for her company to follow, a young Akalak squire. The woman was none other than the Akalak’s patron, Sergeant Irine Bralkin. Despite conflicting pride and modest, it was definite that she was less than pleased. It didn’t show itself in a grand manner much like it would on the vocalized knights, but was something subtle. Her gaze, locked on the horizon before them, that tired look said it all. She had a right to of course; it was her time off from duty. She didn’t ask for much, simply the time to recuperate from her own shift. Certainly, escorting a squire in the cold winter day was not the way she was accustomed to resting. Today Squire Xalet was to receive training in mounted combat. From the barracks her Sergeant hoped to see him lead off by noon. She liked her knight strong, ready, and smart, the best…something that wouldn’t happen in the barracks. The squire’s instructor was more than late, as a courier soon informed the company, but promised to meet the squire in the usual training field. To let him go unattended would certainly lead to more harm than good, especially if he was under her command. She went with him to await the training instructor. Sergeant Bralkin, in her own white presence, radiated a calming sense. Unfortunately, it alone wasn’t enough to combat the weather. She could, at least, combat the silence. “So, fine weather, no?” her words were soft, and a bit raspy. He might not have even heard her. She grunted, trying to clear her throat. She coughed lightly afterward. The weather was certainly not being kind. She went on, “Squire, how are you fairing? Are you learning much?” Her horse slowed down a bit. She had pulled the reigns back when she turned to face him. Perhaps a more direct approach would ensure she’d be heard. Her tone was very unusual. Perhaps it was her apparent illness simply taking hold, a lacking of concern for formality. She led her horse to the side, and the squire’s own steed alongside hers. This was more suitable for a proper conversation.

[Xalet]

Winters always held an interesting appearance when confronted with Xalet's Akalak eyes. Those silvery spheres watched as the warm mist rose from the mouths of both he and his patron, as well as the few laborers he could see during their movement through the fields. Syliran winters were cold, but mild compared to the harsh climate other places in Mizahar were subjected to. As the snow fell and covered the land in a brilliant sheen of white it made everything appear so uniform. The long tufts of hair at the bottom of the legs of Xalet's warhorse attracted that snow, leaving the darkness of it's coat with a stark white contrast toward the bottom near it's hooves.

To Xalet, silence wasn't awkward. When he went anywhere with his Patron he was just as content to stay silent as he was to participate in verbal conversation. 'Speak when spoken to' wasn't something Xalet had to be reminded of often. Still he was alert and prepared, his attention focused elsewhere when not directed toward communication. Sometimes some of his focus had to be diverted in order to keep his dark-half from making his life more difficult, especially recently. Though the squire would think himself to be increasing in his mental prowess, the desire of that other side of him to rise to the surface was strengthening, perhaps becoming desperate for 'his' time in the sun.

Compared to his Patron's lighter armor, Xalet wore the typical heavy plate of a Knight, complete with chainmail beneath, and a heavy cloth gambeson under that to keep out the cold and prevent chaffing against his violet hued skin. His weapon of choice, the gladius, was shorter than a typical longsword but every bit as deadly in combat due to the potential damage caused it's ability to both puncture and lacerate. A shield was always his compliment to his weapon, as well as the heavy crossbow that filled the gaps of his short ranged weakness.

Xalet had heard his Patron say something. Was she commenting on the weather? When her mount moved up next to his he turned slightly in his saddle and listened to her voice. That tone she carried had lost some of it's warmth, perhaps the winter was penetrating more than just her skin. "Yes Sergeant. I have worked with several Knights and squires now. I have been studying magic as well. Not for use, but to defend against." he replied. Everyone knew Xalet would never be caught manipulating his Djed in the pursuit of magic. Instead, most recently Xalet had gained something of an obsession in learning about the art in order to find some way to circumvent its supernatural power.

[Valorae]

She nodded. Not much was to be said under these circumstances. She knew well enough what it takes to become a Syliran Knight, the entirety of the process. One could only hope their comrades proved themselves to be of such worth. She trotted alongside him, knowing too well of his reserved nature, though perhaps that was best for an Akalak. Bralkin shifted on her saddle; she stood up leaning forward and shifted a bit. She coughed a bit after she settled back down. This weather surely was a pest, at the least anyway. The sounds of hard labor stayed far back from where they had come. Now only the quiet wind and rhythmic trot of the horses was heard. After listening so long, you could even find yourself making a song of it. It wasn’t overly pleasant of course, and only drove the Sergeant to break the near silence. “What kind of work then? What kind of training and magic have you learned? Please, tell me.” She spoke hastily. The music must have been a bit unnerving. Turning to young Xalet, her face was clear and calm still. Her nose was turning color though to that soft rosy hue. Her eyes seemed yearning for knowledge of her squire’s progress, if not some company on this quiet, cold day.

[Xalet]

The side to side motion of the horse beneath him felt somehow soothing, as if it would have been enough to put Xalet to sleep. The Akalak still had some distrust of horses though, and that constant state of caution around the animals kept him aware. The squire had come along way since the first time he had tried to sit upon a saddle and was promptly tossed to the ground. Equines just seemed to have a natural distrust of Xalet, and in return he began to share their resentment. Trust really did work both ways. After enough practice though Xalet was at least able to mount and ride without many problems, just much like two enemies begrudgingly working toward the same goal there was always some kind of unseen atmosphere of tenseness.

"I'm constantly training my body, as you've told me." his words were true enough, especially when speaking to a Konti working with an Akalak. The Sergeant knew where Xalet's strengths in combat were. He had the size and the strength, and there was merit in developing it to it's greatest potential. Endurance and conditioning were two building blocks that made an effective fighter, and were a necessity in any martial art. Those physical foundations were the backbone of combat training, one could say.

"I have found myself against two types of magic, Reimancy and Glyphing. Reimancy seems quite fearsome, but the effects are easy to spot and detect. Some can be defended against physically. Glyphing appears to have no overt danger unless combined with something else. I'm still seeking to find a good counter to magic. Many have suggested learning magic to fight magic, but I refuse. I'm sure there is some way I have overlooked thus far, but mostly it just appears one would need to read minds to most easily defend against magic." Xalet still remembered the feel of Reimancy, the danger of the elements wielded so nonchalantly by a skilled mage. Inside he knew the unhealthy things magic did to the Soul. Magic seemed to change people. It made them forget a part of their morality, and Xalet wasn't about to use something that weakened his psyche as a crutch.

"Also I had been working on my mounted combat. I am understanding the basics now, both with the crossbow and gladius." he added to his previous statements, although it pained him slightly to think of his mounted combat training from the days past. If it wasn't such a necessity in becoming a proper Knight, he probably would have left such a skillset be, happy to keep both feet on the ground and rely upon his own reflexes.

[Valorae]

OOCI am so sorry for the wait… It was a hell of a week. However, I hope this makes up for it. The fun is just starting. Sergeant Bralkin provided him with her undivided attention. Nodding and humming high tones of approval, she only encouraged his speech and detail. Her head slowly bobbed back and forth to some of his words, his precautions and observation of the magical arts. Of course, that was not to say he was entirely correct. The wind picked up a bit, the winter chill penetrating to the bone. Morwen always provided a challenge to those out and about under her reign. The light powdery white over the icy crust was swept up in her breath and sprayed over the horses and plate making the most unpleasant of noises to compete with. Whatever it was she said was not heard over the frozen roar across those rolling hills, and her attempts to speak louder, and louder proved in vain as the thunder of iron against a cleared stone path grew. That cold felt trot of horses in motion called the sergeant to arms. It was an unlikely thing for friendly men to speed towards each other unless one was in need. She turned her horse about, sword drawn in her left hand and the other on the reigns. The windswept over her shrouded guise, revealing the sternness in her calm stare, even through squinted lids trying to combat the weather. The party of two was soon upon Xalet and Sergeant Bralkin. Through the hastened air and snow, the flurry it produced, they soon be held the images of two knights, Sylarin to some relief. The sergeant lowered her blade and steadied her horse. The knights approaching also seemed to slow with their approach, fumes rising from their visors. They must have kept them down to prevent a chill. By some means Sergeant Bralkin identified the knight up front, sheathed her sword, and steered toward the new company. “You’re late,” she said as if from the icy lips of Morwen herself. “Do you think I take joy in cleaning up after the mess of others?” “Now, now, wait a minute right there –“emitted from a familiar voice… “Do not ‘now, now’ me.” She turned to Xalet, “You’ll follow him to your training young squire. Best of luck.” With that note she gathered herself and rode back to the castle against the wind. Xalet hadn’t much time or means to say anything before she was leaving, but time certainly is of the essence in such…times. But yes, a familiar voice in deed, and all the more familiar when that visor was shifted up. It was the bloody officer from before! The instructor who toyed so cruelly with Xalet before in an effort to “train” him; hardly the word to use, it was more of an ass whopping. However, this time, he brought someone else. Another stout figure, quiet on his steed, his voice gasping for air with a shiver on his breath, the metallic bursts from the helmet as the air rushed past. This was going to be – “Squire, state your name, son!” Oh by all the heavens, why –oh –why did it have to be him!? The officer awaited Xalet’s answer, though with little patience. The day, though young, would not be enough to teach all there was to be taught. And even so not enough time to hone such skills to perfection.

[Xalet]

Xalet felt that chill, and he could only note how lucky he was to have the thick frame he did. With the muscle that was packed tightly upon his bones, part from his Akalak heritage and also due to his diligence in strength training at the hands of his unnaturally strong Sergeant, it helped to keep some of the cold away and kept the circulation of blood moving quickly throughout his veins. The very top of all that metal covering him managed to ward off the various flakes that pushed against him from the speed of the wind. Beneath there was an extra heavy layer of cloth meant to keep the armor from chaffing against his skin, as well as the chainmail that lay over it. All that weight was enough to make anyone that carried it all the time fairly strong.

He could see the eyes of his Sergeant focusing on the distance, and throughout the obfuscation of the snow his own ability to visualize heat signatures showed a potential squad of two men coming toward him. He froze slightly in his actions, although as his Patron drew her weapon, he found himself doing the same. It wasn't long after that that the men were easily identified as Knights of Syliras themselves, and both he and Irine stowed their weaponry. All this while Xalet had no clue that he was meeting anyone at all, but the Sergeant was good at being ambiguous like that. She would often tell him that they were going out to train, and then only once they got to where they were headed would she further explain the nature of their training. Seemed she was going to be consistent in this. No problem though, the Akalak was determined from the start that there was nothing he couldn't handle.

Until he saw that man. "Oh Priskil no." he groaned to himself, but dared not let his disapproval show in the face of the Knights and his Sergeant. Being a squire was very much about how much you could...absorb without giving up, after all. Just do what they tell you to do, and find some way to benefit from it, that was the way of a lowly squire. He'd certain remember all of this when he was a Knight himself, though.

Akalak's were the only non-Human race that had a significant presence in the Syliran guard, and so it could have been possible that the man didn't recognize him initially, that was good. Of course then the man asked Xalet for his name, and that was bad. The Akalak's unique name had gotten him in trouble more than once, mostly because those that heard it couldn't forget it. Why couldn't his mother have named him a more Human name?

Things got a little bit worse when his Sergeant abruptly commented and turned to head back. She wasn't staying!? "Sergeant?" Xalet asked nervously. Nope, she certainly wasn't staying. There she went, bye Sergeant. "Yes Sergeant, thank you..." The Silver Tongue of Syliras was right, somehow she always managed to talk him into nearly anything with minimal effort. Of course he couldn't resist anyway, given his station, but it always left him for a loop when a simple training would turn into something much more nightmarish.

Xalet then turned his frame back to the Knight he had dealt with in the past, that season ago, and answered his query, "It's Xalet, Ser. he responded. His visor did sit in the up position, but his trademark height couldn't truly be seen while seated atop his horse. All the while all Xalet could think of was, "Here we go again. Luminous Lady save me."

[Valorae]

It was rather cruel, but Sergeant Irine Bralkin did hear his murmur, grinned, and rode off with full intention to leave those two together again. He might not realize it now, but the instructor’s brash personality was good for him. Xalet’s words could have hardly slipped out in before the man was on him again. “Who you cryin’ for, son?! Sergeant’s got work to do, son! Don’t eye ball me like that, son. What’s yer name I asked!” The poor squire answered with that underlying grave tone. The man was silent for a moment in some sort of deep thought, well deep for his own good. “Son!” the words erupted with such a force a second Valterrian might have struck – well, not quite, though it was certainly alarming enough. The officer was clearly enthusiastic with his rejoining to Squire Xalet in the art of warfare. Ah, the sweet smell of sweat to come on the crisp winter air was exhilarating, to some. “How’ve ya been, squire?! Didn’t think you were rid of me, did ya? I heard plenty well what you be tellin’ the Sergeant! Think I’m a fool, do ya, son? I ain’t no fool, son!!! Get down and give me fifty, both of ye’!” A lowly groan escaped the helm of the company rider. He had dismounted and waited for Xalet to join him in the activity. Meanwhile, the training officer continued on in his lecture until they were finished… “Do you know why we’re here, boy? Well, sonny, do ya? How about you over there?!” His crude chuckle emitted from the collar of his helmet. He took his helmet off and placed it under an arm. “Beautiful weather ain’t it? I said, ain’t it?! Ha! Beautiful weather for some sparring I tell ya! That’s why you’re here, son! You’re here to fight! We gonna be fightin’, boy’o! Now don’t go and get all emotional on me! I know you were a bit butt-hurt the last time I beat’ya so damn much! You ain’t gonna’ have any tears left out there, son! Ain’t gonna’ have none! You know why, son?!” He gave Xalet perhaps a brief instant to answer the officer, though it was merely a trap. “You’ll be dead, son! You’ll be dead!” He walked over to Xalet and placed his big, metal greave on his back, pushing down with moderate force. “Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, boy? I didn’t address you, son! When I want you to answer, I’ll address you for Sylir’s sake! I’ll address YOU, Squire!” He crosses his heart in Sylir’s name, may the Windoak watch over him…and these poor squires. “Something funny over there…? That’s it! Another fifty!” He was sure to push harder on Xalet’s back with his foot for another fifty agonizing push-ups. This would surely warm hem both up, maybe wear them out a bit as well…but that was irrelevant! “Funny ones, aren’t yas? You’re next, Squire! I’ll see fifty more when I’m done with him! Then you can taste some metal! Don’t groan! Don’t you laugh either, son! Do you want another hundred?! Let’s do another hundred then! Seventy-something for each of you with my help! I can’t hear you!! Let’s go! Start counting! Together now! We can count, can’t we?! I said COUNT!!!” No sound but the wind and his voice could have been heard… The first fifty went without his help, then seventy-five for Xalet with the officer’s assistance, and the remaining for the guest squire. Assuming neither collapsed all would go according to plan. Somewhere along the way, however, Xalet’s counterpart would slow down… “What’s the matter, Squire?” The metallic voice echoed lowly, cloaked in some hoarse tone rasped by the cold and perhaps illness, “Nothing, sir.” “Then keep up!” His weighted foot pushed more with the stress in his words, as if to root himself down. Perhaps it was the volume of his voice with which he fought. He might fall over speaking without the proper stance. The officer patiently waiting for Xalet to prove his strength and endurance, for those final few with his big, fat boot on his back. “Feels good, don’t it, son? Well…? Does it, squire?! Squire Xalet!?” Priskil, by the name of all that is sacred, give this young squire strength to continue on! OOCTake advantage of the dialogue. I expect thorough detail of his thoughts and sensations throughout this next post! None of this repetitive crap about scenery, boy! Every fiber of his body will be thoroughly exploited for its agony! Feel the lactic acid take hold and burn! let it mold him into a greater soldier! We only want the best here, son! ;P

[Xalet]

The squire had strong feelings about the situation his Patron had gotten him into. He had strong feelings about the Knight that was going to be training him as well. Strong feelings. All of these feelings were unanimously negative. Did that man have feelings as well? Did he remember Xalet? Part of the squire was hoping perhaps he would have forgotten. It was possible right? With all the squires Knights had to deal with, trainees came and went. Even fully grown individuals from other cities came to Syliras with the hopes of joining the Knighthood. There was over seven thousand members! That was working in Xalet's favor. Judging by the look on the man's bearded face, it was entirely possible that their previous experience together had just been filed in with various other training incidents. Perhaps he was lost and forgotten. That would be perfect.

Then the look of sudden realization crossed the Knights expression. Oh no, that could only mean one thing. The tone at which he addressed Xalet confirmed it all. The impression, that past those two had together, it was still there, lingering in the Knights mind. The squire would have rather the man had an accident involving a grievous head injury and forgot all that, even if he'd have to apologize to Priskil for thinking such a thing about a superior. What was this animosity he felt toward the man? It was something Xalet had never experienced much of before, it was different from the oppression and name calling he had been a part of in his past. Did he truly hate it? Or did part of him crave this...attention?

He couldn't be craving this. Because if he was that meant that he should be happy he was dismounting his horse and finding his way upon the snow dusted ground. Push-ups, oh how Xalet knew them well. The squire had done plenty of them during his time as a squire, both as a punitive measure and as a strength training exercise. There was that man as usually, hovering so close, spewing his words down atop Xalet's horizontal form. All those words certainly did a good job at getting the blood flowing throughout Xalet's vascular system. He didn't even need the push-ups to get warmed up, all that talk directed toward the two victims of this training was getting the Akalak full of fire. Push-ups? No problem, Xalet could do plenty of those. He had in the past, and he would do them now. Fifty was just a morsel, a taste of where his muscular endurance could take him. He wasn't some malnourished urchin from the street, Xalet was an Akalak! Built and trained for war, eating the fruits of combat, drinking the wine of chivilry!

The Ser was asking him a question, and he was prepared to answer it, "I don--" but it had all been an elaborately crafted trap, leading Xalet into the jaws of indignation. "Uungg..." Xalet groaned as he felt the extra weight pushing down on his back. Ok, so perhaps now the push-ups weren't going to be quite so hard. He could feel the strain in his wrists. The tension moved up the cords of his muscles to his biceps before wrapping around his shoulders and then moving to his pectorals. As his muscles flexed beneath all those straps and all that armor it pushed against the mail shell that made up his defensive armaments. Xalet's body swelled from the punishment it was receiving as freshly oxygenated blood moved around his bulging veins, seeking to provide his slowly abused muscles with the strength to go on.

'Another fifty!' that antagonists voice echoed. Was he serious!? Another fifty!? Even Xalet had his limits, but at the same time he wasn't about to lose to some thick winded Knight. It was a matter of personal pride now, and that was something that fueled Xalet's body right along side of his blood. His teeth clenched together, his jaw aching from the tension it provided the rest of his body. His arms shook as his motions throughout his push-ups became more jerky the longer and the more he did. The up and down motion went from a quick, reflexive push to a rest at the top before a deep drop downward. From the bottom, Xalet had to summon every bit of power he had to blast his heavy upper body back up into the front leaning rest position.

For a moment Xalet's vision was obscured by something. It wasn't tears was it? There was no way the squire was going to allow that man to make him cry. No, luckily it was jst sweat. Sweat! In this environment! It was a cold sweat, and the dampness seemed to freeze against his skin just as quick as it was created. That would provide some interesting muscular aches later on. Or would it instead be beneficial? 'Put ice on it' his Patron would often say when he pulled something, or overworked one of those muscle groups. Certainly she could heal it easily enough with her gift, but that type of short cut was left up to her discretion. Xalet had to learn to operate without her Mark to aid him.

The Akalak could hear the man doing the exercises with him having his own struggles, and as a brother within the Knights, Xalet did want to help him. Except he was barely able to continue doing his own. In the final stretch, Xalet could feel his mouth salivating, some of the spittle being thrust from his lips as he forced his body to work overtime. This was insane, but this was how strength worked. The body built itself bigger only when it had a reason to build. If you continuously worked within your proven limits, then there was no reason to grow. If you went outside of those limits, if you pushed it to the breaking point, to the point of failure, then the body reacted. The body didn't like to lose. The body didn't like to be told it couldn't do something, and so it evolved. This evolution was body building. To those with robes and glasses it was science, to someone like Xalet it was a way of life.

Xalet did count as he worked, and with the final few pushes upon him he counted his final push-up, his body crumpling down to the ground. His chestplate went through the packed snow and struck what was beneath it with a resounding smack. His fingers tingled from the force of his exercise. This was a warm up? If the instructor had him do this after a bout of training, there would have been no way he could have completed such a task. "It feels like...liquid fire. Everything burns, Ser." he replied. He couldn't tell if that was what the man wanted to hear, but it was the truth. Each word that escaped from Xalet's lips did so just barely, as he was spending far more time taking breath in than he was trying to discard it with replies.

[Valorae]

The squire’s struggling words were met with great laughter. “Liquid fire! You’re a funny one, son, damn funny!” Removing his greave from the back of Xalet’s counterpart, he moved in close to the young Akalak and spoke softly, “Now I wanna’ tell you something, son, that right there…” as he adjusted himself with a grunt, “that right there ain’t nothin’ like fire of any kind. Oh, we can show you fire, and burning liquids, flaming oils…of the heat. That’s liquid fire, right there. This, this ain’t just but some kind of…’eh, sissy behavior.” Still nice and close to Xalet’s helm, his face nearly buried in the snow with the rest of his body, “We ain’t be wantin’ no sissies, we ain’t got to show you the fire. But, we can, we absolutely can. And I assure you, little squire…son, that ain’t nothin’ like any god forsaken fire you’ve ever felt! Back on your feet, both of you! Now, now, now!” Ser himself was up in a light and reaching for the reigns of his horse. “I said on your god be-damned feet, squires! The battle is just over that hill! Don’t you hear it, the sound of your comrades dying in pain and agony? Hear them screamin’ and a hollarin’, clashing of swords on wood and metal! On your feet! No, damn-it, your feet. I mean your horse, maggot! Faster, faster, we ride!” Quick to his steed, the man drove on past them both with Zultrav’s speed. Taunting war cries echoed behind him as he approached the base of the hill that passed over fields into some distant meadow now coated in white. The horses were certainly bred ready for this, but what of the squires? Dira would not still her touch for those too slow to escape her! It was a mere thirty seconds ago that he had lifted him weight from theirs and lectured so, now that Ser stood atop the hill looking down upon the squires. They were struggling, their aching muscles fighting against their wills. It was hysterical. He watched as they fought with themselves and their weighted plates to get up from the ground, on their heels, and to the steeds they would drive. Not too far from the top he shouted, “Come quickly, the battle does not wait, squires! Perhaps I should award the first to the top!” With this note clearly ringing, the eager squire accompanying Xalet paid the dearest of attention to the words spoken against sweeping wind, a sound whistling through the glimmering helmet. He then turned to Xalet, furious eyed behind the shadowed guise. But briefly that rival’s stare hovered over Xalet, and then he pushed himself and his steed forward. He wanted to win, leaning with the horse’s movements, riding it like the wind. The squire’s steed began to push ahead of Xalet’s. Surely he wouldn’t be showed up by some other squire?

[Xalet]

The Knight wasn't wrong in his chastising. Xalet was truly inexperienced when it came to real mortal combat. The streets of Syliras were the safest in all of Mizahar, and even the outskirts of the castle city were well patrolled and protected by what amounted to the largest and best equipped fighting force in the known world. Inside those walls there wasn't a man, sane or mad, that would challenge the power of the Knights. Because of this, Xalet had never had the opportunity to feel a blade driving it's way into his body, or a club deflecting itself off the bony ridges of his body with the intent to kill him. True combat, that was something Xalet had not yet tasted. Sparring and training were one thing, but was the life of a combatant different when they believed they were going to die? Perhaps if sent away from the city or after taking up a post someplace within the circle of authority for the Knights, Xalet might find out.

Now he drove his hands into the ground beneath him. Those large fingers coiled up into fists, and the fists met the hard frozen ground beneath the snow. With that tensing of his muscles he did one final push-up, the push-up required to jump start his body in getting back to his feet. His large upper torso heaved upward as one foot shot up and planted itself beneath him. His legs still worked, but his arms felt limb and numb. The cold seemed to infiltrate most of his body when he was close to the ground, but his arms were spared the bite of such a temperature having been fueled with hot blood simply in order to finish the Knights grueling warm up.

The weight of his armor did not help him move any faster, and when he looked up past the slit of his helm to his trainer, that Knight was already so far away. He tapped his helm slightly, causing a few chunks of ice to free themselves from his visor and fall back into their rightful place upon the ground. There was a large disturbance in the otherwise uniform snow where Xalet had been working his body as far as he could push it. He only got the chance to look down upon it momentarily before the Ser was already serving up his next order.

The Akalak never wanted to be a competitive man. He didn't ask for that burning drive to outdo someone, but he had it. It was the intrinsic nature of his people to improve, to be superior to his competition. Of course to be humble and to use wisdom with the strength of experience and skill was important, but Xalet never liked coming in second. Call it the flaw and personal preference of a man raised to never accept a defeat.

His hands gripped the horn of his war-saddle, the high back made to aborb the impact of a lance or weapon blow and keep the rider upon it was the secondary hold for his grip. With the already fluid muscles that took up space inside of his large arms he pulled as hard as he could. It was much harder than a Human, as Xalet had all that extra weight of a substantially larger body and likewise, a larger amount of plating to cover it all to deal with. The horse snorted beneath him, it's breath shooting out into the cold air like a geysers hot steam erupting. With the limited vision of his helm slit, Xalet fished around for his reigns for a moment before finding them, and then called to his mount as he squeezed his heels, "Hyah!"

He shifted his hips backward slightly as his torso leaned forward into the saddle and his horse took off. With each galloped step his tattered old shield slammed against his back in a thud that echoed the pace of his horse's gait. He shucked the reigns, trying to get his mount to work as hard as he had. He wanted to get there, he wanted to get this over with, and in the back of his mind, he wanted to win.