[The Training Yards] Humility

[Razkar]

Continued from here

Training continued without relent until the sun was highest in the sky. After half of the recruits were dazed, battered or unconscious, the instructors were satisfied with their first sparring session, and took their students aside for individual training. Split into smaller groups, maybe four or five to each instructor, they came forth, one by one, and were shown what true ability was.

Razkar's group was led by Herliz.

"Again!"

She had them line up and practice the blows she had demonstrated. A combination of sweeping horizontal strike that immediately turned into a vicious backhand and ended with a two-handed vertical blow that would cleave a skull. Already Razkar's limbs were growing used to the movement, but he had questions rattling around in his head.

What about armor? And shielding? What if the first blow was parried? What about your other arm, what was that doing? How-

"The movements are just that." Herliz barks at them, looking dead at Razkar when she did it. "Movements. They will not save you; training will save you. Training your body to know these motions and utilize them when you need them. Repeating them again and again until your body knows them better than your mind does. Razkar!"

She turned to him, baton behind her back, chin jutted out.

"Attack me."

Razkar did not need any further goading. Females were only a few steps below the Goddess-Queen herself in their realm, but here, on the training ground, she was just another challenge to be overcome. He licked dry lips and lunged forwards, right arm swinging-

-he barely saw her baton move. Just a blur as it snaked out with lethal accuracy and crashed down onto his wrist before it had even reached her body, battering it from his hand.

But before it hit the ground his left leg was sweeping up and around, aimed for the middle of her own leg, cutting her feet-

Herliz jumped it without so much as changing expression.

Before her feet had touched back down on the sand, Razkar's leg still moving, she lashed out again with that baton, striking him on the temple. His world went black, vison of skulls and stones and red-brown sand vanished in an avalanche of pain and darkness. He staggered, feeling himself totter over, hearing words from far away...

"Always be on your guard in battle. Your enemy will not fight fair... and you should not, either."

A final crash, a sound like an ax smashing into a tree, and Razkar is knocked into the void.

[Razkar]

It was the jungle. Always the jungle. Where they lived and hunted and fought and bred and strove. Their enemy that bred them to be strong, their guardian that provided for them almost as much as the Goddess-Queen. By now, Razkar had no horror for the jungle.

But it had sights yet to show him.

The Yukmen were rampaging in numbers unseen for a generation. Already the horde had wiped out a village, and with every Myrian they slaughtered, the entirety of them became that little more educated in war. By the time Yurta's tribe stood before them, half the raging monsters had weapons.

Razkar would never forget the way they looked. Myrian but not Myrians. Skin paler, with dirt and stones buried and gouged in their skin. Eyes black all the way around, no pupils or irises, just... endless, ancient hunger.

Yurta merely grimaced in utter disgust, and raised her gladius. Behind her, a fifty blooded Myrian warriors did the same. In a solid line, they waited, and listened, as the sounds of marching and crashing and "yuk-yuk-yuk" grew louder. Razkar stood by his mother, and she spared him not a glance.

There was blade work to be done.

Wraiths coated in pitch, mud and stone exploded from the foliage all around, and fell on the Shorn Skulls like shrieking furies.

----------

Everything faded. The jungle, his clan leader, his brothers and comrades and their enemies. All... swallowed. Subsumed and drowned in a swimming blackness. New voices drowned them out, guttural and harsh, dragging him from memory, not coaxing...

"Hey? Hey, wake the petch up!"

Razkar's eyes fluttered open and an orgy of pain kicked off in his skull. Two of his fellow recruits stared down at him, disdain with a very thin veneer of concern writ large over their faces. The older grunted and stood back up. That's when Razkar realized he was still on his back.

"He's alive."

"Got banged up pretty good."

"Petch him, that's what we're here for."

And they stayed. He wasn't expecting that. After what had happened... and he was slowly remembering that... and the general attitude here, he expected them to leave. But the man and woman a little older than he just folded their arms, the woman cocking an eyebrow.

"Gonna get up or just petching lay there?"

He got up. Eventually.

----------

He learned over his ration of nearly-raw meat and brad that Herliz herself was grudgingly impressed by his attempt at a leg sweep. Most recruits wouldn't have had the sand to try it after their weapon had been taken, and that didn't impress her. Which made her angry. Which led to a beating.

"You got off easy," the recruit on the other side of the table said, mouth full and dripping juice, "Most just freeze up and she takes her time. Legs, arms... she breaks them first, then puts you down."

Razkar just felt the growing bump on his temple, then winced and decided not to touch it anymore. His wrist was no better. A normal human would have probably have something broken in it. Fortunately for Razkar, he wasn't a normal human.

The woman snorted. "Welcome to Taloba."

[Razkar]

She moved, as Razkar had always thought, like Myri herself. He chided himself constantly for the blasphemous comparison, but that was just how he saw her. Fast, brutal, accurate, powerful and merciless. She was the epitome of a Myrian warrior-princess, not the head of his clan but certainly one of the most feared and proven war leaders.

That was how Razkar would remember his mother.

Yurta didn't hesitate when the Yukmen attacked, exploding out from cover hacking and slashing, spears flying. She simply turned to the nearest enemies charging her, raised her sword and with a bellow of challenge, she began.

Razkar saw one fall with her first strike. A second had his thrust parried with disdain, then with one slash his entrails spilled onto the floor. She sneered down as he collapsed to his knees, not even giving him the honor of a killing blow.

Her son, one of many but the one with her today, grinned with joy and turned his own eyes back to the business at hand. A Yukman ran screaming at him, spear held in both hands, plunging towards him.

He ran to meet him, gladius raised-

-then struck it away from his stomach, blade held horizontal, slashing it upwards to split open the thing's neck and face. He fell, blood-hungry scream turning to one of agony, and Razkar sidestepped him-

-and with a flat arc, took his head off his shoulders.

Chaos around them. Dozens of warriors locked in combat. Blood sprays arcing through the air like scarlet ropes. The stink of sweat and viscera, waste from loosed bowels. The Shorn Skulls came here to halt the horde, and even if it cost them all their number, they would do that.

Razkar's next problem was a towering Yukman with a war club, who moved fast and struck hard. Its first blow shook his arm as he blocked it and the follow-up boot to his stomach nearly knocked him over. Down on one knee he parried his next blow and reversed his grip on his gladius, lunging forwards from his knee and one foot into its chest-

-burying the gladius in its ribcage.

It roared in fury and agony, hammering down with its club again onto his back. Something cracked in his ribcage. He screamed but it turned to a snarl as he ripped down with the blade-

-and sliced the thing's heart and lungs in half.

It bled out fast, teeth still peeled back in hate and fury even as it died. Razkar struggled to his feet.

A screame. He knew the voice.

He turned and through the smoke saw the arrow take his mother in the chest.

----------

His eyes snapped open. Not with terror in them, or fear, or even grief. He stared up at the dark ceiling, sounds of the sleeping recruits surrounding him... and all he felt was that same, burning rage...

Razkar knew only one way to ease it.

----------

The figure frequented the rooftops of the Training Yards. Her evenings often grew dull, and this was a cure for it. Familiazing herself with the stones and structures of Taloba was, as she saw it, part of her ongoing training. And just because she was now the one instructing, did not mean her own education had stopped.

And all hers. To one degree or another.

Her ears pricked suddenly. She stopped moving. A new sound... feet on sand. The vague ting of metal flying through the air.

She blinked. Interesting...

Shadows enveloping her, seeming to mold, expand and lengthen just for her, she made her way to a tower overlooking one of the barracks. Outside of it, lit by a single torch, she saw a figure. A male. Face rigid and fixed in fierce determination, going through endless routines and combinations with his ax and gladius.

She cocked her head. And he should be asleep, too. Such transgression...

But she saw something more in the smoldering stare of the young man. She saw a delicious, raging hate that could burn a forest to ashes. A thirst for bloody vengeance that could lay waste to a nation and still not be slaked. Sweat started to pour off him but he kept moving, following strikes with punches, kicks, knees, headbutts, every advantage and angle possible...

But much as the sight amused her, reminded her of the girl she had been so long, long ago, her eyes narrowed in a flicker of concern. Passion was one thing; blood-lust was another. But such an overwhelming desire for vengeance, without tempering or direction...

That was not what her people needed.

Herliz smiled coldly, and decided she would keep a close eye on this pup Razkar, whom she had bested with ease earlier that day. But had a distinct feeling that she would not get many chances to do so again. He had... potential. But it needed to be molded, and that was what she and her sisters were for.

Long after the shadow had flitted away for other sights, Razkar was still practicing.

[Razkar]

The recruits learned quickly that everything they did in Taloba was by their instructor's permission only, and that included any and all bodily functions. The young Myrians were ruled by words and barked orders, but that was not the key to the training. Not just mindless obedience, which they could get from a Tskanna.

No, Herliz thought as she scanned the faces of the recruits, lined up in a Training Yard and ready to fight, the key is to make them long for the orders, be eager for the command. Make them lust for the chance to cut loose...

"Begin!"

The last syllable was barely out of her mouth before two dozen dark-skinned Myrians flew at each other, a tremendous crash of wood upon wood. She and the other two instructors circled, arms crossed, watching, evaluating, occasionally breaking up a spar to point out mistakes.

Herliz kept her eyes on Razkar, now sporting a nasty bruise on his temple. And, apparently, learning.

----------

He was training with his hand ax now; or, rather, the wooden hand ax he selected from the cart. The first weapon he'd ever held was an ax, given to him by his mother as soon as he was able to swing it properly.

He was six. The blade was as beautiful as her.

Now Razkar wields this pale imitation of that blessed weapon, but he's remembering well his lessons from the night before. The instructor was right: muscle memory was certainly a help. The boy across from him was faster, broader, but for the moment, Razkar was keeping pace-

Or nearly.

He blocked a horizontal slash from Ypil's wooden gladius and tried to punch out at the boy's face, but his bigger opponent just swayed backwards, fist missing his face, and as he head reared back, his boot lashed out.

Razkar yelped and staggered, pelvis on fire. Luckily it missed his crotch, but it wasn't much consolation. He was nearly bent double as Ypil stood there, smirking, tossing his gladius from hand to hand, enjoying his pain. Razkar snarled and forced himself to straighten, willing the pain away.

And charged.

He slashed out with his right, another horizontal sweep, but Ypil swayed backwards, gladius thrusting towards Razkar's chest. Razkar stole the big man's move and swayed to his left, sidestepping, sweat flying off his hair in droplets as the sword passed in front of his chest. He slashed upwards, aiming for his wrist-

But Ypil jerked his arm back, keeping his weapon close, denying him an opening. Razkar smirked back at him. Not so easy now, is it?

They circled like dogs, hair on end, sweat gleaming on their faces, studying body language as best boys like them could. But both were proven fighters; he knew Ypil's clan, the Roaring Tigers, and they lived up to their name. So how best to...

Razkar charged again, bracing himself for pain.

He came in with a backhand this time, aiming for the boy's mid-section. Ypil jumped backwards like a jackrabbit and slashed vertically at the same time, knocking Razkar's blade away. But when he came up for a kick this time, long leg extending towards Razkar's crotch, the shorter man sidestepped-

-and caught Ypil's heel with his left hand and with his opponent momentarily helpless, swept his remaining leg out from under him.

Ypil's toppled back like a felled tree, white-hot agony shooting up and down his back as he hit the sand. But he reacted fast, hardened by experience, teeth bared as he slashed blinding at knee-level. Razkar yelped again as the wooden gladius smacked into his left thigh, making him wobble as he stood over the boy but he still bought the ax down-

-slamming onto Ypil's chest.

Once. Twice. Three times. After that, Ypil dropped his weapon, and the spar was over. Razkar stood over the man and studied him. That felt... good. More than good. Freeing, liberating, powerful... but...

Ypil clutched his chest, bloody bruises already blooming, face twisted in pain. He could be marching by his side one day, Razkar thought. He might save my life. Or I his. He is Myrian, like me, blessed by Myri and Dira both. And the fight is over.

Ypil screwed up his eyes in pain, but when he opened them again, he saw a hand extended to him. Razkar's blank expression was above it. For a few moment the kid just stared at it, then Razkar made a beckoning motion with his fingers.

"Take it or lie there. I don't care which."

Ypil took it. Razkar has to plant both feet firmly in the sand as he heaved the big man back to his shaky, unsteady feet, still rubbing his bruised chest, back on fire. Once he was up, Razkar looked him over critically.

"It'll heal."

"Yeah." A short pause. "Good move."

"Good fight."

----------

Herliz watched with approval from across the Yard, finished with a couple of females who simply had no petching idea what footwork meant. She saw Razkar use that leg-sweep he tried on her, but that time, he made it work. She watched him mercilessly beat his enemy until he was not only defeated, but disarmed and not getting back up again. That was a victory.

And most importantly, she watched him give his brother a hand to get back up.

The instructor and the recruit locked eyes. Razkar wanted to scowl, but his frown under the brutal sun did the job for him. Herliz cocked an eyebrow slightly, glancing at the now-slower-moving Tpil... and nodded. Once.

Making progress, boy. Bit by bit...

[Schism]

Ask and You Shall Receive… Razkar Skill(s): Gladius +3 Handaxe +4 Tactics +1 Unarmed Combat +5 Lore(s): Why We Train Aim To Impress, If Not Kill Learning from Mistakes Wielding one’s Furies and Passions Humbleness in Victory Note(s): I like the subtle buildup of Razkar’s skill and ability to becoming a hero of hi people. Very nice… I like that altered version more than the original too. Typo on Ypil’s name in the last mentioning as “Tpil” if you want to edit that. Definitely an improved version, and plenty of character development in there. I was generous with points, gladly so. Once you reach higher levels with your weapon skills, start working on the details that go into the combat rather than the furious hack’n’slash. Unarmed combat really won out with the use of the footwork and that leg sweep ultimately. More of that, please!! Let me know if you want to talk anything else over. And keep up the good writing!!