Location [Syliras Location] The Welcome Home

[Stitch]

Stitch chuckled slightly, shaking his head at Jaq's comment. "This one is flattered by your words, milord." Stitch quickly changed stances during the slight pause, straightening his knees and facing Jaq straight on. He stood loosely, as if off guard, only his open palms held up to defend. They were both facing Jaq, one at the twelve o' clock position, the other at nine. It was a basic defensive stance, something Stitch figured would be of importance against the skilled swordsman. "Milord is quite talented, too." Stitch mentally glanced at the wooden sword, a small idea coming to his head. Best to wait until it truly mattered to use it, not right now, during a practice round. This practice round was for strategy, for feeling out his opponent, for preparing for the serious fight. Taking a deep breath, Stitch briefly relaxed, trying to center his thoughts. Meditation and breathing exercises had been a vital part of his martial arts over the years, but he had neglected them. Now, during the slight pause of battle, he took a moment to breath, to relax his muscles, calm his nerves, and center his soul.

Jaq moved, and Stitch finally found something to train the man on. He had been worried he would not be able to help the man, to increase his learning experience. But he had found a flaw, and even though he would press it, he would point it out. To try and help, to try and teach, to try and mold Jaq into the fighter he was trying to become. Stitch spoke as Jaq attacked, and Stitch would continue to speak as he himself attacked right back. "Not wise, milord, to point your sword at this one. To go from a stance that has you aiming at this one, like you wish to stab this one; to a strike that comes from above, a downwards slice... It requires milord to lift his sword high, to bend his elbows back to get the correct height on the sword..."

The sword strike came down, and Stitch was already moving forward, once more getting much too close for comfort. With a powerful step, he once more thrust his body weight forward, just as Jaq came forward himself. He turned back a bit at the waist as he stepped in, turning forward to deliver even the slightest bit more momentum behind his counter, and strike. His nine 'o clock palm struck, chopping to the side to smack at Jaq's wrist, and knock the cautiously delivered blow aside. His twelve o' clock palm snapped straight forward, a simple blow, aimed powerfully at the center of Jaq's chest.

Stitch finished his sentence midway through his powerful blow, his striking arm rotating just slightly to add power, muscles relaxed until time of impact. "...it makes it easy for this one to see, just as plain as day."

[Jaquise Emittere]

The good patron of the orphanage deftly knocked aside Jaq's strike and proceeded to deliver a powerful strike to his chest. Once again Jaq realized there was more to this blind man then funny puns and a good nature. This man was skilled, so much so that Jaq began to wonder whether or not the strike that hit earlier was the result of luck and not skill on his part. If Jaq had a moment to laugh at the thought he would have, as it was his hands were full.

There was little he could do to stop either from happening, so once again Jaq was forced to take the hit. The strike to the chest was certainly more painful then falling on his back had been, knocking him back a step and making him a little unsteady. The moment he recovered from the hit Jaq let turned the sword in his hands, facing what would have been the blade on a real sword up at an angle. Then he quickly brought up the blade in an upward swing hoping to catch his opponent in the stomach.

When Jaq completed the strike he brought his hands back behind his head and positioned the blade in front of his face. With a smile on his face Jaq held this stance. "I thank you for the lesson my friend, I shall remember it well."

Secret :

Sorry it took so long to respond, was finding this image. This is the stance he's in now. http://i901.photobucket.com/albums/ac216/Arillius/kenjutsukasumi2.jpg

[Stitch]

Jaq was pushed back and step, and Stitch nearly followed through with his blow, wanting to press his advantage. He had staggered the man, he had scored a point and managed to even up the scores, and he was eager to try and finish off the swordsman here and now. Something held him back though, and he hesitated midstep, pausing in his rush forward. His instincts proved right, and Jaq managed to recover from his stunned state fairly quickly, flipping the blade over in his hands and going for an upwards strike. Stitch instantly sprung backwards, his eyes focusing on the aura of the blade. He knew his hesitation had cost him, he knew he wasn't going to make it, if only by half an inch, if not less. The aura of the blade came flying up to catch him by the very, very tip, about to score a hit on his chest.

He finished his spring back, landing on the balls of his feet, crouching and bringing a hand to his chest. The blade hadn't touched him. The aura of the blade had, but the wooden top had not. He had been hit by the magical, but not the physical. How had that happened?

Jaq spoke to him, but Stitch was too deep into his own thoughts to hear him. What had happened? That should have been a blow. It had barely missed, he had felt the wooden tip skim by his skin. But he had visibly watched the aura slice through his skin. Had something happened with his sight? He thought back to the few words he had been told about the art, about Auristics. He thought about the words he had read about it, and it was then the obvious answer dawned on him. Why hadn't he seen it before? Why hadn't he even considered it? It was such an advantage against hand to hand combat, and a very small advantage against melee weapons. The aura of an item extended just a bit beyond it's actual mass. This entire time, Stitch had been trying to dodge the aura of the object, assuming it was the mass of the object.

He had a small margin of error to work with.

A smile flickering across his face, Stitch slowly rose from his crouch, letting his hand fall to his side. Suddenly blessed with this information, his confidence soared. Perhaps the half inch margin of error wasn't a big deal to some, but it was for him. That was just that much more room he had to dodge, which was really the only defense he had against a blade. Stopping a few feet away from Jaq, right out of his range, Stitch settled into his stance. Body sideways, left shoulder facing Jaq, left hand outstretched a bit to point an open palm toward the fighter, and right fist cocked at the elbow and tucked back. "Again, milord?"

He was offering Jaq an open invitation to strike. Would the man take advantage of it?

[Jaquise Emittere]

Perhaps any other time Jaq would have gone straight in with a swing or lunge. Perhaps with any other person he would stick to the offense and keep attacking. So far though two of Jaq's attacks had been deflected. Jaq was facing an opponent who was skilled at turning aside any offensive move and then using the momentum that was left against them.

So Jaq had taken a defensive stance. Well not really defensive. It screamed of openings that bid the enemy to attempt a strike. Its potential for stopping any such strikes was limited, but in this stance the swordsman was thinking evasion, not blocking. Perhaps it wouldn't work against an unarmed opponent, perhaps it would. Sparring was good in that a mistake didn't mean death. Jaq smiled at the thought and began circling around Stitch.

[Jaquise Emittere]

Jaq circled the man for perhaps ten minutes, wondering when the attack was going to come. When not attack was forth coming Jaq began to wonder if the man even noticed the opening the mercenary had left in his defense, perhaps whatever sense he used to substitute for his sight was not that accurate. His patience wearing thin, Jaq decided to make his move. Bringing his blade around in a deceptively quick arc, Jaq stepped forward and swung for an attack against the man's side, in a slicing angle that in a real blade would follow the ribs through the side as opposed to meeting the resistance they would offer.

"YOU!" A high pitched voice yelled out, echoing across the back of the welcome home.

The sound so surprised Jaq that as soon as he heard it he tried to stop his swing, nearly falling forward and losing his balance. Jaq looked around to find the origin of the shout along with all the others in the area. All eyes eventually fell upon a petite woman who couldn't possibly have reached such volumes with her voice. Next to her, on the ground, was a basket of spilled apples. Apparently a gift for the children

"YOU!" Indeed she had though, and this time the voice seemed even louder. Jaq had no trouble detecting the vehemence in her voice, and the way she staring at him with wide hate filled eyes the 'you' she was referring to was most likely the mercenary. Jaq wondered for a moment what could be the reason for her reacting in such a way, perhaps the other woman he had encountered at the front door had convinced her he was a threat, when recognition flashed through his mind. Like the others this one was a widow. Jaq knew because he had met her before, on the day of his father's execution. He had been younger then, cleaner shaven, and whole lot less scarred. Despite the changes though, it appeared the widow had no trouble recognizing Jaq. Considering he was the son of the man that got her husband and son killed, Jaq didn't think it much of a surprise though.

"How dare you! Hasn't your family done enough already?" The woman began crying, but instead of sorrow her faced was deformed by raw hatred. As she spoke her eyes began welling up with tears, and her breath became racked with sobbing. "Was not my Johnny enough for your wretched family? I will not let you have any of these kids. Be gone summoner of demon's, conjurer of nightmares! Begone from this place before I stick my courage to the sticking place and take a knife to your heart!" As she said this the woman reached into a pocket on her person, perhaps for said knife.

Having dealt with similar reactions before, though not since he had last been in Syliras, Jaq knew enough to not try and argue or reason with the woman. Instead he dropped the practice sword, raised his hands, and inched his way over to the belongings he had hung on the fence. Such actions were wise indeed, as he just finished doing this when the woman brandished a knife that looked like it might have been made for cutting the apples. Yet her hate filled face reflected off the metal, giving what would normally be a simple cutlery tool a savage and sinister edge. After slowly putting on his jacket, hat, and sword, Jaq turned from the woman to Stitch. "It seems we should be cutting things a bit short. I do wish you well." Jaq moved his gaze from Stitch, to the children, and finally rested it on the woman. As his gaze settled the woman flinched, the knife visibly shaking in her hand. It wasn't fear of Jaq that made the hand holding the blade shake so, nor was it the the sobbing, Jaq could tell. "All of you."

Never turning away from the woman, Jaq slowly backed himself down the path he taken to get here. When the house was between the woman he turned onto the street and set off to look for a bar. He needed a drink. Despite the distance he put between himself and the orphanage, Jaq could not stop hearing the crying of the hate filled woman who had lost her family.

[Harlequill]

Weighing in... XP Awarded Character: Jaquise Emittere Experience: 3xp Katana Lore: A Woman's Wrath, Fighting an Unarmed Opponent (basic) Character: Stitch Experience: 3xp Unarmed Combat, 1xp Meditation, 1xp Teaching Lore: Margin of Error (Objects), Unarmed Versus Armed Tactics Notes: Stitch, if you come back to the site and do not want this clogging your location, then we will move your posts to a new thread where I will move your xp award.

[Rhuryc]

17th of Summer, 510 AV
Early Morning

Since the day Rhuryc saw it the sign had plagued his thoughts. At first he discarded it. He was not the type to venture out into the world. He was a blacksmith, an apprentice at that; his days were spent in the Ironworks, hitting the anvil one strike after the next. Who was he to be trusted on some grand adventure? Such were his initial ideas, but as it often did his curiosity took hold. He imagined the journey, the treasures, everything that might be found outside of the city. What more, these people would head off with or without him, who was to say they would come back alive?

If there was ever a reason to leave the city this was it.

Rhuryc arrived in his usual form. Solid tunic, breeches, thick-soled boots, and his ever present leather coat - a nice decor, one that gave him the appearance of a well established vagabond. The sword belted to his waist only helped the image, the plain sheath and undecorated hilt of the weapon adding to its credit. Who, after all, would bring a decorative blade to a hostile environment? In a not all-too different manner Rhuryc appeared as if he had only recently woke. His hair remained a mass of uncontrolled bangs at varying lengths and his beard, while still decent, was at the point of a necessary shave. Much of this remained unknown to Rhuryc, though, as he seemed more concerned with the ask at hand. He could die. More likely, he would die. How exciting.

He knew about The Welcome Home, but not once in his life had he ever visited. Now that he stood in front of the three-story building he found why the name fit. Even the grey stone seemed comforting, set amidst the less characteristic buildings with a subtle charm, one that Rhuryc could most definitely appreciate. He climbed the front steps in a single bound and stopped before the door, a hand rising as he rapped his knuckles on the door. Strangely, he saw the shingle after the act.

[Stitch]

Only a few moments of silence passed before the door was gently tugged open, revealing Stitch on the other side. The blind man stood there, smiling brightly, observing what seemed to be the first respondant to his little adventurer ad. He hadn't expected anyone to come this early in the morning, but here this young man was. What a pleasant surprise. Stitch was lucky that he had already been quite busy today, and had been awake to answer the door for the young appprentice. Rhuryc would be met with something of an odd sight, something that was painfully obvious as the two men met face to face for the first time. Stitch was a tall, somewhat handsome man; by all accounts quite normal. There was only one thing that was off about the Orphanage owner, and that one little thing was easy to notice. Stitch was blind. White bandages were wrapped tightly around his head, covering scarred and unseeing eyes. Stitch seem quite unperturbed by his handicap however, and stood there quite normally, a beaming grin on his face. The grin was oddly warm, oddly open and friendly, as if Stitch had just laid eyes onto a long lost friend. He spoke, and his voice was warm and inviting. One could easily see why he was the owner of the Welcome Home.

"Come on in, milord. This one assumes you are answering to the ad this one posted? This one is happy to see milord here so early, such initiative is truly admirable." Motioning for the man to enter and pointing a finger at a desk and chair the man could sit at, Stitch stepped back, holding the door open for him. "The application is quite short, this one just wants to make sure he can trust the good people his ad brings in. Life threatening adventure and all that sort, so this one is trying to be a bit cautious." He spoke rather casually of the dangers of the journey that they might undertake together. Casually might not be the word, it was more of a... happy naivety. Stitch continued on with his explaination, no matter if he was still holding open the door, or closing it behind the man as he entered.

"This one does not know if you are uncomfortable with magic, but that is what this one uses to see. Auristics, they call it. It reveals a little more than simple sight for this one, the important thing being that it will reveal your nature, if this one looks for it. Your morality, perhaps. This one just wants to see if you are a good person, if you don't mind this one looking." Stitch smiled, chuckling a little bit. "If none of this makes sense, then this one apologizes. This one is bad at explaining things. Just think of it as this one wanting to get to know you better? This one will certainly ask you some questions."

He smiled brighter, if that was possible, and would suddenly offer a firm handshake to Rhuryc. "Oh, this one forgets his manners. This one is Stitch. And milord would like to be called by...?"

[Rhuryc]

Rhuryc blinked. Blind? Huh.

Despite Stitch's own height Rhuryc still found his gaze at a downward angle. No matter, he was surprised to find the owner not only aware, but active and well. At once Rhuryc warmed up to the genial, jovial manner of the orphanage owner and found his company a treat, if anything. Such a being set inside the towering walls of Syliras was a nicety Rhuryc never expected, silent reminder, perhaps that there were still good people to be found among the crowds. Yet, what did he expect? This man owned an orphanage after all. Unless he hired the children out as low-wage labor than there was no doubt that he was a genuine individual. Whatever that meant.

The thud of Rhuryc's boots accompanied his entrance. He one hand inside his pocket and the other on his belt, a single thumb hooked in around the vicinity of his blade. The intention for violence was non existent, but ingrained habits were difficult to ignore. A quick survey of the area brought Rhuryc to the offered chair and circled about, hefting his weight down onto the wooden furniture without much fuss. The whole engagement was strange. Blind? Magical sight? Hell, he did not know the first thing about magic, and what was with the act? With that sort of emotion Rhuryc imagined the journey was far less fraught with danger than advertised. Somehow, he was a little disappointed. He smiled despite the revelation.

"Rhuryc. No need for the title," His first words were uttered with a thick baritone, one that held a slight musical quality to it. Strange, such harmony did not fit the large, imposing form. "I don't really understand much about magic," He started, pausing only to grasp the extended hand in greeting. "But I don't much mind it's presence. Means that there are greater minds than mine about." The man's head bobbed in agreement with his own sentence. For some reason he just assumed anyone capable of wielding magic to be years ahead of him in intelligence.

"So, ah." He blinked, confused as to what the process actually entailed. "Do your thing. Your voodoo. Whatever that is."

[Stitch]

Stitch chuckled, sitting across from the man, at the other side of the little desk. Both the desk and the multiple chairs in the room were a bright blue, matching the outside paint job. The inner walls of this particular room were blue as well, but covered in little pieces of paper with roughly scrawled drawings. It was obvious that children inhabited the place, but it did seem to be rather quiet for being an orphanage. Perhaps the children were really well behaved, or still in bed, or something like that. Stitch reached out, grabbing at a little bowl of peppermints, and held them out to the blacksmith's apprentice. "Candy?" At the statement directing Stitch to drop the formal title he had bestowed upon Rhuryc, Stitch chuckled again, nodding. "Yes, milord Rhuryc. Certainly not a problem." He didn't say it in a mocking way, it was more like he was just totally overlooking the fact that he was still actually using the title.

"Well, this one... Well, it is hard to explain, milord. Thank you for trusting this one with it." Stitch was slowly unweaving the bandages from his head as he spoke, letting them gather in a pile on the desktop. "This one will only take a moment, promise." Finally the bandages fell free, and Rhuryc would be allowed to see the blind man's wounded eyes. He was the first to have been able to see them, in quite awhile. They were pure milky white, with an even clearer white having been slashed through them. It appeared as if something had raked at Stitch's eyes, and that was what had blinded them. The colors of his eyes had once been a black, surrounding the equally black pupil, but now both had faded into a dim and milky gray. The eyes were unfocused, obviously unseeing, staring off into the distance as if he was in some daydream.

A vein twitched in his forehead, extending from one of the blind eyes, and it all began.

He had removed the bandage in order to fully unleash his Auristic vision, to make the Aura reading that much easier for him. Normally he had the very small, thin Aura of the bandages between him and the rest of the world, and had to look through them in order to really see. At first it had been really hard, but now, it was a simple taste. Still though, when he took off the bandages like this, everything became so much clearer. Like he had just put on glasses, and the world had finally been unblurred. He focused for a moment, and slowly began to wrap his mind around Rhuryc's Aura, letting his own blend with that of the human. One person was a simple matter for him, all he had to do was focus, and let himself slip into the sight of the Aura he was trying to focus on. It was like dipping his head into a pool of water, and then just thinking about the water.

"That sword fits your hip well. It has it's own Aura, but this one will not pry. Perhaps this one could take a look at it sometime for you, unless you are already quite familiar with your weapon. This one is glad to see you know how to use it, though. It's Aura swirls with yours, easily molding to you." Rhuryc was bright and warm, and his Aura actually made Stitch feel quite... Nice. It was straightforward and honest, good and true. The man didn't seem to be hiding anything from him. His Aura was simple, and pure. Stitch couldn't help but smile a little brighter, and nod his head approvingly.

That was easy. Should he even ask any questions? Maybe one or two wouldn't hurt.

"Are you able to handle yourself in combat situations, milord? Are you good with surprises, especially dangerous ones? This one will certainly keep an eye on your back, but this one wants to make sure milord is also confident in his own abilities."

The odd thing was that even though Stitch's eyes were still dimmed, and still unfocused, Rhuryc would get the very eerie sensation that Stitch was looking at him extremely closely. Observing him much deeper than the skin, much deepr than normal eyes should be able to do.