Flashback The Proving

[Shouta]

82nd Day of Fall, 512A.V. The red city of Nyka, built upon the ideals of the four Celestials and forged in the fire of humanity's will to survive. The place had been home for Shouta ever since his first steps through the gate and into the Northern Quarter. He had felt a jump in his heart, almost a memory. But it had been a memory of the soul, not the mind, deja vu as it was sometimes called. He had felt a stirring, where everywhere else he had felt nothing but loneliness. Thus Nyka had become home, and the Order of the Sharp Blade his aspiration. Now he squeezed the smooth hilt of his kusarigama in the pulsing manner that was characteristic of his nervousness. The day was hot, uncharacteristically so actually. The dust in the air created a haze with so many people standing around. The vantha's eyes shone a light purple now, displaying his nerves for all to see. After five years of training himself, and watching the monks train, he had decided to go for the initiation. Enough with his conflict between Leth and Uphis. He had decided to take the fork of passion rather than that of instinct. Leth was his master, but Uphis was the one who had shown him his way into peace of mind. The highly stylized way he fought with the kusarigama had been taught to him by a monk who had left the city to be a farmer. The Crane and Fox style had made Shouta focus himself, and decide to find a purpose in life rather than wander in the dark for the past. Perhaps that decision doomed him, for he was forsaken. But he knew what he wanted, and that was more tangible than grabbing at wisps of long dead memories. So he would earn his place among the Monks of the Sharp Blade. Thud! Thud! Crack! A short bald man wreaked havoc upon the chest of another with two well aimed punches and a vertical kick that landed his heel on the collarbone of his opponent. The victim's shoulder cracked and he slumped to the ground, attempting to raise his arms in defense. Only one went up and left his side open. The bald man landed another kick horizontally, slamming his weight into the soft neck. A sweaty head snapped to the side and the man slumped to the ground, knocked cold. Shouta frowned. His own unarmed style was very similar to that. He relied on strikes and kicks rather than holds or chokes. Kicks and wide strikes were easiest to implement with the kusarigama. But his lack of knowledge in grapples was worrying, and he could not pull off such a seamless kick to the femoral as the bald man had just done. He took a step forward and silently waited his turn, just another man in the crowd right now. Two Acolytes refereed the nearest set of matches, robes simple and commanding respect by all. One held a spear loosely, clearly proficient with the weapon. The other had a belt where two twin daggers were sheathed. Both men wore the hard faces that were common among the monks of Uphis. "Bah! You won't join our ranks with that kind of nonsense!" The one with the spear said, smirking at a man who had just missed a critical palm strike in his match. "Better you go stir the milk with the women, boy!" He pointed his spear at the offending combatant. "You're all less than nothing!" Nyka, the red city. The divine home of gods and men alike. The monk kept laughing as the man he had insulted was pummeled.

[Balderdash]

Perhaps it was good fortune, or a Prior with an ear for braggarts that caused Shouta's name to be barked at that moment, along with a fellow whose name was apparently Avery, and for him to be ushered rather unceremoniously into the atrium. It was, for all intents and purposes, an indoor training ground, but its curving roof left much space for all the aerial maneuvering that even an Akvatari or Zith could ever want. While normally the expansive training hall would be filled with the sound of clashing metal and straining men, it was mostly silent at the moment, albeit much bloodier. The floor wasn't the cobble of the rest of the headquarters simply because fractured skulls weren't in the monks' best interest. Their rivals could provide those just as well. Instead, it was a light colored sand taken from the coast. Making sure ships didn't beach themselves meant moving quite a bit of it, and what Xannos' monks rejected for glass, Uphis' and other Quarters' happily used for padding. Well, light colored usually. The grains were slick with scarlet blood, almost certainly from the failed applicants that had preceded Shouta, and were covered in dents and ridges from where men had fallen. There might have even been a tooth or two mixed in with the gravel. Sitting cross-legged against the wall were two squat, diminutive looking monks in the same coarse brown robes as the rest of their order. Their hoods were turned up, and from the distance Shouta was currently at, it was difficult to make out faces. Out of the corner of his eye, Shouta would notice a twisted and bloodied arm vanishing behind a quickly closing door next to them. A large pile of weapons sat next to the door, and it quickly became obvious why. A reedy voice belonging to the left monk piped "Weapons away, please!" whilst languidly pointing at the Vantha with a body finger. Two ticks later, a small brush of wind alerted him that his opponent had arrived. Avery was shorter than most, standing a full four inches below Shouta, but he made up for it in pure muscle, and he liked to show it. All the man was wearing were a pair of loosely fitting, puffy orange pants. His arms were almost as wide as the Vantha's head, and while barrel chested, he appeared capable of cracking nuts between his pecs. The rest of his torso wasn't much more encouraging. If one were to be hilariously hyperbolic, they'd think arrows would bounce off his abdomen. Despite that, and the fact that his head was completely shaved, his face still looked quite boyish, with dumpy cheeks, a round jawline, and baby blue eyes. That being said, he was a very angry looking boy as well. Indeed, though he couldn't have been older than thirty, his brow already had a permanent furrow. The only attention he paid to Shouta was spitting on his feet in passing. "Applicants will proceed to the center of the hall." the same monk said. When they had both done so, he remarked wryly, "You know, back when I was a boy, we used to have the contestants bow to each other, to show respect and decorum. But then we decided 'They hate each other anyways, why waste five ticks of our time?' So petch it. Go kill each other!" At which point Avery roared and charged Shouta like a midget bull.

[Shouta]

Fear cooled his blood. Shouta. Had he heard the man correctly? Yes, he had been called. And he would be tested. As instructed he set the kusarigama down, hesitantly. The room wore war like a lake wore fog in the early morning. It’s harsh marks were obvious, yet subtle as well. Weapons hung sentinel on high arching walls. The light sand warmed his feet and occasionally changed a pinkish red, a memento of past applicants. Shouta would leave such a mark upon the sand, he would force it out of any who stood facing him. A tingle on his bare foot drew his attention as the monk called the name Avery. Glancing down he saw a gleam on his toes as Avery pushed past him. The damned scoundrel spat on him! Insolent filth! Rage slid warmth into his heart and he clenched fingers into fists. Avery was a stocky fellow, short and brutal looking. Shouta assessed him immediately. He looked like he could pound sand into glass and stone into dust. Well, shyke! Shouta calmed himself. Anger was not the way to win this fight. Technique and focus were needed, because he sure didn’t have the level of strength it would take to muscle his way into a victory. He thought about the man’s weaknesses. Reach, he had almost none, much less than Shouta. So he must be some sort of grappler. And Shouta may be faster, or at least more reflexive than Avery. He was just formulating a plan of attack when the monk finished his short dialogue with a viciously spat “Go kill each other!” Avery roared across the sand like an animal. Anger flared in his eyes and Shouta stepped to the side. He was about to spin around and strike out for Avery’s abdomen when a force hit his back and sent him into the sand. Maybe Avery wasn't as slow as he’d thought. Shouta yelped in pain and stumbled forward quickly, attempting to get out of range of the muscle bound assailant’s blows. Tucking a shoulder and turning his face, Shouta executed a smooth shoulder roll and landed on his feet. Avery charged him once again. But this time Shouta was more than ready for him. As the man charged, Shouta side stepped and lifted his right foot off the sand. When Avery adjusted and went in for the strike Shouta’s quick, forceful kick collapsed his knee. As the man fell with a grunt, Shouta seized an the opportunity. He exhaled quickly, twisting his horse and flexing his right arm as he drove the heel of his palm into the soft ear of his opponent. Avery’s fall was quickly jerked away from Shouta. Knowing he was the underdog in this fight, Shouta pressed his advantage. As Avery sprawled on the sand, a low growl of fury escaping thick, harsh lips, Shouta dropped a vertical kick on the man. But Avery was no novice. He caught his ankle in his hand and spun Shouta off his feet with a practiced twist of his arm. Landing hard on the sand, he coughed and blindly kicked out with his other foot twice. Break his nose, break his damn nose. His bare foot connected with something smooth, Avery’s head maybe? Shouta yanked away while Avery recovered. “Oh, the little bumblebee’s got a sting does he?” Shouta barely heard the words. This was combat. This was the struggle between those who endure and those who break. Humor, spite, those were things for other realities. In this one, this sandy place, only skill mattered. Skill and blood. Avery stood and faced Shouta again. He hesitated though. Shouta knew he was thinking of a way to get in close. If Avery got within arm’s reach of Shouta for more than a few seconds he could deal some real damage. Avery stepped forward. Shouta threw a jab and Avery deflected it with one meaty forearm. He threw a return and it glanced off of Shouta’s collarbone, inflicting agonizing pain. It washed through him like hot water, burning his nerves. He threw out an elbow strike hastily, aimed at the same ear he had hit earlier. It did not connect. Avery grunted as he bodily lifted, and slammed, Shouta into the sand once again. Winded and hurt, Shouta struggled against the massively heavy man on top of him. He was done. Avery had him on the ground, almost pinned. Shouta was not as strong as the thick necked bully. He had just enough time to tuck his chin as Avery slammed a forearm down on his throat. Instead it rubbed against his chin and lips brutally, struggling for a lock on his windpipe. Slowly the weight of the fight pressed down upon him. Shouta knew this was it. The climax of it all. Was he a failure? The next few moments determined it. He shifted his legs out from under Avery’s slowly. It was easier because of how short the other man’s were. Skin ripped on his chin as Avery attempted to burry him with sheer force and anger. He felt a slow ooze of spittle fall from the enraged brute’s mouth as he ground his teeth together. This boy was not better than Shouta. Taking a deep, calming breath, Shouta prepared for the only move he could make. He thrust his pelvis hard into Avery, striking up with all his force in both elbows. It survey to loosen the man’s pressing grip on him and he was just able to roll out form under him. Winded, bloodied, and tired, Shouta stood and faced his enemy.

[Balderdash]

As Shouta pulled himself to his feet once more, it was becoming clear that the blow to Avery's collar was one ignored, not negated. The brute seemed to be flagging slightly, and every shift of his muscles caused him to grimace. Proving that subtlety was not his strong suit, the little bugger opted to charge at Shouta once more, drawing his left fist back to swing a wild haymaker at his jaw.

[Shouta]

His heart felt as if it was trying to rip through his chest, a much frailer thing than ten minutes ago. Avery was strong, and unrelenting. But he seemed to really be dumb enough to attack the same way every time. Shouta had thought it was a ploy to lure him into a false confidence. But Avery had not varied in his attack form. And a punch practiced a thousand times is better then a thousand punches practiced once, but having only one form was suicide. Avery charged again, swinging his meaty fist out and preparing for another strike heated with the man's anger. Shouta leaned to the side just as Avery threw his punch. A forearm was what Shouta counterd the blow with, but it was not enough. The fist slammed past the forearm, causing a dull shockwave through his appendage and into his shoulder. It forced him down to his left and Avery's right. But Shouta was determined to carry out his initial purpose, he hefted his legs into the air. Secretly, he hoped he'd kick Avery in the genitals and end this fight with a few vicious blows to his head as the man cringed. But instead his legs were trampled and collided with those of the other. Shouta attempted to stand quickly as Avery was sent sprawling on his face. His shoulder throbbed with a severe pain, that haymaker was indeed deadly. He could not rise and instead swung his body around on the sand. With a growl he accosted Avery with his legs. Toes pointed straight, he tried continuously to connect his shins with the man's vitals. He could barely see anything of the man but kept kicking, not knowing wether Avery blocked his blows with arm, face, or throat. The monk who had called their names was standing nearby with his hands hidden beneath long robes. His face showed neither disappointment nor approval. Shouta wondered at that. Did the man not have any drive? Was he so soulless he could not show an interest in the fight. Or perhaps this fight was simply boring for him. After more thought, Shouta knew that must be it. He was a Monk of the Sharp Blade. This uncouth brawl of the scum of Nyka was not worth his interest! Shouta suddenly wanted those robes so much more.

[Balderdash]

In the end, it was Avery's single-minded pursuit of damage that did him in. Though he had succeeded in his goal of striking his opponent, and only a handful of blows from him would end a fight, he had never had to defend as thoroughly as he did with Shouta, and it meant the Vantha was able to wreak havoc on his ribs and liver. The hulk managed to sieze hold of Shouta's shoulder and wind back a fist for another blow, before a spasm passed over his face, and he vomited over his foe instead. Avery then decided to punctuate the moment by collapsing, and the monk of the Sharp Blade barked, "Enough!" The right monk rose to his feet, and motioned to the Vantha with a jerk of his head. "Shouta. Come with me." This monk sounded like he was trying to talk through a mouthful of gravel, and was about as polite as could be expected. They didn't go through the door that Avery was now being dragged to by a dusty-haired slave boy, instead opting to pass through one on the left side of the training room. This led to a a long, narrow hallway with simple cobble floors and open, arch-shaped windows that let sunlight stream in. On the other end of the hallway was another door, this one leading to a very spartan office. Simply a massive bookshelf on the far end of the room, and a pair of straight-backed wooden chairs on either side of an oak desk covered in papers. The Prior sat himself down in the chair closest to the bookshelf, and gestured for Shouta to seat himself as well. The elder monk chose this moment to pull his hood down. He was a bald-headed man. Pale, with heavy wrinkled creasing his forehead and brow, with busy, iron-gray eyebrows and a number of scars on his jaw and cheeks. His nose was flat and crooked, most likely because it had been broken repeatedly, and he appeared to be missing teeth. Still, he had both eyes, which happened to be a shade of icy blue, and his hands were still intact. This was a good thing. "So. You don't have broken bones. How do you feel about that?" the Prior asked.

[Shouta]

Relief, and an overwhelming wave of sore exhaustion, was the first thing Shouta felt when the word enough was uttered. He had done it! He had beaten the muscle bound Avery. He was continuing on his path. As he hurried to gather up his Kusarigama and follow the monk he gave a silent prayer to the God of Blades. But he had been puked on. The stench of the waste overwhelmed him momentarily and he became dizzy. Petching Avery! Scowling he followed the monk into a small room. The elder monk, a Prior, sat and pulled his hood off. Shouta was invited to sit across from him and did so. The monk’s face looked to have been shattered half a dozen times, the marks of a life of combat. But he was still here, and still a monk of distinction, which indicated great skill. Shouta bowed his head in respect momentarily, this man was a blessed warrior of Uphis, and his ambition incarnate. He would respect and adhere to his words. “So. You don’t have broken bones. How do you feel about that?” The monk’s gravely voice rolled across the room with ease, the power of authority laced into his words, though the man probably did that naturally. How did he feel? He felt liberated! He felt powerful. He caught a remembrance of Avery’s stench on his clothes and shivered. “I feel blessed, Prior. Although he did not have to leave such an odorous memento.” Shouta spoke softly.

[Balderdash]

The elder monk snorted. "Me? I'm a little disappointed. Used to be a day when a match between recruits was considered incomplete unless someone was permanently crippled." Despite his words, the Prior's face held a smile. "So, let's say instead of another contender, Avery was a foreign attacker, or a different monk? You kick him in the liver, he pukes on you. What do you do?" Shouta had survived the trial by combat. Now he had to survive the lances of his potential superior.

[Shouta]

Drained and agitated, Shouta was far from prepared to withstand a mental prodding from a stranger, but it was required. The room danced and swayed in the shifting light of the torches and candles. The monk was shrouded in both dark shadows, and orange lights. They rhythmically battled for his features as Shouta tried to find in his old eyes a secret meaning to his words. “He would have been bent over, and strained with the vomiting. I would have struck him with an elbow in the back of the neck, knocking him out.” He watched the man for a reaction. “And if need be, I’d break his neck at my leisure.” He wasn’t sure if that was the correct answer, but being as it was the truth, it was right.

[Balderdash]

"So you wouldn't care about the vomit?" The Prior grinned, revealing several gaps in his crooked teeth, and chirped, "Excellent! Just a few more questions... What's Uphis to you, why do you want to serve him?" The elder monk fell silent for a moment, before jumping a little and saying "Oh! I almost forgot. I'm sure you know already, but there isn't any pay for being a monk. We can't, and don't, have a single penny, or anything much more than our beds, our brothers, our weapons, and the clothes on our backs. How do you feel about that?"