Flashback With feeling.

[Alva]

Spring 59 511 AV

Alva hit the ground with a loud groan, closing her eyes as pain flashed around several different points in her body before centering on her left shoulder where she had landed the hardest. Her opponent, a man in her Fang, hooted gleefully and she smiled with some amount of feral amusement. It had been a good throw, but he underestimated her and the resolve she had to win.

She shot forward on all fours while her opponent slapped his chest and made a mighty ruckus about how great his throw had been, planting her hands on his sweaty back and shoving him with all her might, knocking him to the ground to the laughter of the people watching. Before he rose, she took advantage of his prone position and undisciplined style. A true Myrian warrior would have risen and beaten her senseless already, but this man's ignorance told her he was new to this game. She jumped on to his back, sitting down and reaching over him to pin his hands to the ground. Their wrestling match had turned into something more violent and unruly but the position she held her opponent down was one most recognised.

She expected him to fight back and so prepared herself to be knocked off again, but he just lay there, panting with exertion before he grunted his defeat with a great amount of reluctance. There was shame to be felt in crawling away from a fight like a whipped pup, but there was something noble about it too. It said much that a man could admit defeat and she allowed it without a word, getting off of him and stepping aside to catch her breath and wince as her injuries caught up with her now that she was moving again. She could tell there would be bruising. One did not get thrown and land on their side to come out without a massive bruise for their trouble. She had to admit she was glad the man had let the fight stop. She didn't think she'd have it in her to let him get her around the waist again and chuck her.

Tossing back her mane of red hair, she stepped lightly to stand aside by herself as somebody else took advantage of her area with his friend, immediately getting into another wrestling match as though to show her up and prove that a real Myrian knew how to throw down with the best of them.

She curled her lip and watched.

NoteI'm not that great at opening threads recently, so I hope this works for you. Let me know if it doesn't.

[Razkar]

Razkar had to admit, he did take a certain, secret pride in the way the new blood moved respectfully from their path as he and Erama moved through the Training Grounds. His obsidian eyes saw much of himself in them, wide-eyed and with too much meat on their bones, but with that same fierce determination burning in them.

Three years. Much had changed. Faces came and went in Taloba, save for the instructors, who seemed ageless and just too stubborn to die or retire. But h and his fang... they had stayed as they were. Just became harder, more focused, their fire tempered into a dull yearning.

Some of them were not there to walk across the sands that day. Razkar had carved their named into the memorial wall that rose high and proud on one side of the barracks, and into his own heart.

Brothers and sisters all. But there was more to be done in their absence.

"What do we know of this group?"

"Nothing too special." Erama said, not breaking step or turning as she answered. The two of them had been killing and fighting side by side for their entire three years here, knew each other as well as any old comrades. She was older and female, but she knew his quality, speaking to him as a near-equal in their fierce matriarchal world. "One of the eastern clans, forgot the name. Arrived here a few weeks ago. Oh, they have a Kelvic among them."

Razkar arched an eyebrow as they came into the Training Yard where their new meat would be waiting for them. He'd never even met a Kelvic before, let alone sparred with one. He'd heard all the stories, though. Shapeshifters.

"This will be an education for all of us, then."

"You're too much the anthropologist, Razkar. Always eager to see new races."

"And learn how to kill them."

Razkar's words were spoke without rancor or emotion a simple statement of face. Through the short, darkened tunnel he could see a head of fiery red push a large male to the ground and then straddle it. Pale skin with strange marks on her face. Freckles. That was what he had heard they were called.

Out of proportion and awkward, but her will drove her to move with sureness in the Training Grounds.

Razkar decided this newcomer would need it. The Myrians accepted Kelvics with far more speed than they did any other race, but they were still another race and thus had to prove their abilities. To try for the Taloba Army was a big step for any of them.

The circle of recruits looked their way and met their cool looks with the cocksure expressions of youth. Standing bolt straight and with her arms crossed, the older female instructor nodded at them curtly. Erama and Razkar bowed slightly. They may have been veterans by this point, but respect was always shown to elders.

"Break it up and line it up, scum!" The female barked, and the recruits obeyed quickly, making a ragged line before her, the Kelvic near the middle. "These are your trainers for armed combat." She pointed to the rack of wooden practice weapons. "Better you get some experience from warriors in the field, even if they're no much older than you mewling petching whelps. I shall return in the hour."

She left without another word, but that was the way of the Training Grounds. When chosen to train or be trained, it was understood that you would do one or the other. If you did not, you were punished, and the punishments were always higher for the superior officers of older Myrians, of both sexes.

Because they should know better.

Erama strode forwards, a tall, broad-shouldered figure with intricate tattoo lines covering half her face like a dark mesh. She swept her eyes across the fresh blood and walked before them, Razkar staying put and silent. She was the female; she spoke first.

"My name is Erama of the Rended Flesh, warrior of the Fang Rehkuna," she said, voice carrying as she spoke of their squad, named after their sergeant like they all were, "The male behind me is Razkar of the Shorn Skulls."

A few glances were tossed his way at the statue-still male. Six foot tall, lean and tightly muscled in ropes and cords, much of his torso and arms were already covered in tattoos. The baleful eye scratched into his forehead was most prominent, seeming more alive than the cold, impassive orbs below them.

"We will be training you, as your instructor said. All of you, choose a weapon, and then choose your partners." The group flinched and twitched, muscles ready to move, and then she stopped them again. "But first! We will have a demonstration of ability. Razkar... against your pet Kelvic..."

There was a brief murmur of surprise and Erama's face split into a sadistic grin. Reazkar remained expressionless but there was a brief glimmer of amusement in his eyes. When she turned back to him, there was a lightning-fast wink.

"Alright, get your weapons!" The recruits dashed over to the racks and jostled to get a good one. Erama nodded over and then at Razkar. "You, too, male."

"My thanks."

"Don't make me regret it."

[Alva]

A murmur of appreciation creeped through the line of new recruits at the word 'pet', a murmur that Alva did not appreciate herself. She was nobody's pet and would inform them all of that fact by the end of the day. She gave Razkar a glare that promised she would do her best to knock him down and bit her tongue. She knew to give elders respect, but she still longed to snap back at Eramu.

Instead she settled for running forward with the rest of her fang, unceremoniously shoving rivals out of her way as she too strove to get the best weapon, emerging victorious with a relatively unscathed wooden sword with something of a sharp curve to it. Tiger hook the type was called. Before now she had longed to have one in hand and now that she did she felt gleeful. It was a good omen to have a tiger hook in the hand of a tiger, in her opinion.

She stalked forward with the grace of a jungle cat, separating herself from the line of Myrians she fought among, eager for proving herself. Her injuries from her last tussle were smothered by a wave of fierce battle joy. She may not look like a Myrian but she did feel like one at that moment.

The weapon switched hands, from right to left. It felt right somehow in her left hand, oh so awkward in her right hand. Her fingers clutched the weapon tightly as she watched her soon to be opponent grab his own weapon and move to face her. She tried to see the way he moved to get a feel for what he was like in combat. She knew he would be better than her. He probably had Myri's Prowess too as well as a greater understanding of it due to his age than the whelps she had trained with since day one. The fight was weighted in his favour but she wouldn't back down.

[Razkar]

Razkar cocked his head to one side as he studied the Kelvic and her weapon. A tiger hook. He hadn't seen one of those in a while, but remembered they were to be respected. The curved hook could trap and disarm, and the crescent blade serving as a wrist guard added a lethal power to a punch. Even the bottom of the hilt was sharpened and spiked, perfect for a downward jab.

But Razkar knew from experience that the sword was just a tool; the wielder was what made it.

The Kelvic moved smooth and purposeful, and he assumed her animal form was some kind of cat. He'd seen tigers move like that before: graceful, economical, rippling with power and poise. Her eyes spoke of that same deadly calm he had seen in them, too.

Razkar smiled. Always nice to find a worthy opponent.

He replaced his iron hand ax with a wooden one, swinging it a few times to loosen his muscles, prepare them for what was to follow. A rough circle had formed around them, Alva's fang and Erama, arms folded and face a mixture of amusement and anticipation. They all knew better than to whoop or holler or pump their fists. This was a training yard, not a gladiatorial arena. They were here to learn.

Razkar nodded at the Kelvic, and lunged.

He slid to his right, swinging his ax diagonally at the Kelvic's side. But she slid away from him, further to her right, and the blow missed entirely, cutting nothing but empty air. She thrust forwards with her sword, curved hook jutting for his chest-

-he pivoted, twisting to his left, going from facing her to sideways in a blink, her own blow missing-

And her weapon within his reach.

Razkar's left hand jerked up and clamped around her hand holding the weapon, pulling her forwards and throwing her off balance, surprised-

Then in a deal of pain as he jerked up his left knee upwards into her gut, spearing her onto it.

Razkar let go and stepped away as she doubled over, waiting for her to right herself. His words were level and clear as he circled her, eyes wide and staring now, relishing the challenge before him.

"Never rely just on your weapons. Steel and iron and wood, all these are fine means to fight. But a true warrior uses everything at his disposal..."

In a flash the Kelvic was on her feet, springing at him like an animal with her weapon swinging, and Razkar was soon eating his own words.

[Alva]

Her breath was knocked from her with that blow to her stomach, sucked out and leaving her hunched over to seethe quietly. There was a part of her, one that had long observed the Myrians and their ways, that found being beaten by a man to be frustrating and demeaning. She angered easily and even as he lectured her, instructed her, she vowed to herself to repay his kindness. His only redeeming quality was that he didn't go out of his way to discriminate for her racial inferiority, yet.

As his lecture came to a close and he circled her, undoubtedly judging her and seeking weaknesses, she swung out with her sword violently, lashing out in an uncontrolled fit of rage with all the pent up power and anger she held inside, aggravating her arm, before she reclaimed her senses and went at him, ready to gouge with her claws or hack his legs off, forgetting for a moment that she held a wooden weapon. There was certainty to her swinging despite the general awkwardness of her body. She tried to keep in mind that opening up could mean a figurative death and that a brunt assault of savage ferocity would be a death sentence out where it mattered.

She stabbed at him and when he went to block, attempted to startle him into her blade by swinging out with her free hand in the form of handful of claws. She seemed capable to forget she was a human, for she hissed as well when he hit her with that wooden little axe and would have roared had she the lungs to summon her real voice.

Sweat trickled down her back as they circled one another in a moment of clarity. She was bruised heavily, she could feel it, but the pain fueled her anger and her desire to return the feeling. She had to temper that, she knew she did. It wasn't good form to enrage at a training exercise. She would surely get lectured about it later and wouldn't hear the end of it for weeks.

Alva came in for another attack, her arm pulled back as she prepared a swing, unleashing it as she neared him. She kept low, almost crouching, because being so far down felt natural to her, safer. She swung for his legs, wanting to knock them from out under him, but with her weakness with the blade the attack was likely apparent and he could dodge it and probably pin her with his little axe again, which wouldn't do well for her attempt to reign in her temper or assuage her easily pricked ego.

[Razkar]

He had wounded her pride; that much was obvious from that wild swing when she lurched back to her feet. Razkar's face was still an impassive mask as he swayed backward, avoiding the hooked blade easily. The Kelvic turned on him and he saw embers in her eyes of the tigers he had faced before: a raw, predatory, primal aggression that brooked no argument or enemy.

Well, he thought wryly, we're not all-the-way tiger, are we?

But she surely hissed like one, seemed as strong as one, swinging for his side and he felt his hand ax vibrate painfully when he jerked it down to block, her other hand swinging to his head, claws extended... no, actually those were just fingers.

Razkar frowned and swayed away from the punch-slash-swipe, then slammed his hand ax from his side, where it had met her own wooden weapon, and into a short, painful strike at her breastbone.

The Kelvic barked in pain, rubbing her chest, backing up, and Razkar stalked forward, shaking his head.

"Do not lose yourself in the rage of battle," he said sternly, to her and everyone else, pointing with his gladius, "Do so there, and it will end you. Your form will decay into wild, frantic movements that even a raw recruit could pick apart. You will blind yourself to your enemy's weaknesses, and in your blindness, he will take you."

He narrowed his eyes slightly.

"And remember what you are in battle, Shapeshifter. If you can't even keep your head in a training yard, what good are you to your fang?"

That, apparently, was a word too far and with a howl that sounded exactly like those dead tigers, she flew at him. Well, flew would be a bad word. She was low, knees bents, moving in swift, short strides, swinging at his legs, and closing fast.

Now Razkar backed up, unable to get that low with his weapon, stepping back and back but she kept swinging, and finally he bent his own knees, blocking her next blow with his hand ax-

-too slow.

Wood met wood but the sheer strength of her blow meant it still thudded into his leg, just not as hard as she had hoped. Razkar winced, pain shooting up from the side of his right shin, impact knocking him to his left, staggering-

-as the Kelvic came on again, mouth open to shout, sword raised over her head, slashing down at him-

-only to thud to a stop as his horizontal ax met it above both their heads-

-and his left arm, bent at the elbow, exploded outwards, straightening into a short, hard jab against her already-bruised breastbone, his body pivoting in the same direction to give it even more force.

"And remember what you're told here."

[Alva]

Alva backed away, rubbing that sore spot on her chest that he had continued to attack, glaring with a mixture of wrath and angry, resentful respect. She may have hated it, wouldn't have admitted it, but she did not think lesser of him for not being cowed. If she had come at him, skinned as a tiger, she couldn't be sure he wouldn't go at her as strongly as he had today.

She hadn't spoken much of a word during their entire fight, but to cry out in the violent shocks of pain he had caused to ripple through her body, but she wasn't ready to talk yet, even to ask for reprieve. She didn't want to give her fellows the chance to mock her later when Razkar and Erama weren't around to scold them.

She jumped back into the fight with Razkar, and attempted to keep her head. He did have a point when he had instructed her to not lose herself, to not forget she was not a tiger right now. It was harder to resist what she was on the inside, though. When words had failed her, and the bullying had gotten worse, she wore the face of her tiger half and let the children and teens know she was not pleased, often by roaring in their faces. She hunted as a tiger more often than a human because she had learned that most things avoided facing a grown tigress in it's natural territory. She wanted to snarl and swipe with her hand. It would be good training to learn to work with that ferocity and channel it into her arm when she used her weapon, or into her legs when she needed to leap.

She swung at Razkar again, aiming for his hand with the intention of disarming him. Even as her muscles ached with tiredness and exertion, she wanted to push on until he conceded defeat and she could feel proud she had defeated someone in a higher station than her.

[Razkar]

The Kelvic looked tired, but her ire had not abated one iota, as far as Razkar could tell. She struck out at his hand, an amateur move, and he adroitly jerked his arm back, cocking his ax into a striking position, arm jabbing out-

-only for her to sway away from him, stepping back and pivoting away...

He nodded slightly, eyes glittering slightly.

"Good. You are learning." He raised his voice a little and gestured at her strange sword as he spoke. "Disarming blows are... pretty, true, but they were only useful when you want prisoners. Better idea? Always go for the killing strike."

Razkar came on and swing heavy, obvious, with his ax, a diagonal sweep from right to left, knowing she would sway back to avoid it-

-before stopping the swing and reversing it, crouching slightly to deliver a backhanded blow at the top of her right thigh. The Kelvic half-gasped, half-snarled as she staggered, but her body seemed to react-

-straightening her arm and thrusting the hooked sword into Razkar's gut.

The veteran warrior felt a whoosh of air escape his lungs, felt his body double over slightly and a fissure of pain ripple through him... but he was smiling. The Kelvic was tired, yes. She was inexperienced, true. But she did not often make the same mistake twice, and she was learning to channel her strength, temper it with cunning and intelligence.

He nodded again, and this time a smile came with it.

"Better." He said, straightening up and lightly flipping his ax to his left hand. "Again."

Without waiting for a reply, Razkar charged forwards, swiping for her chest.

[Alva]

A fierce glee glittered in her eyes as she finally got him back, but it faded quickly enough. Simple rule of the jungle, don't brag before you've defeated your prey.

She caught her breath as he spoke and encouraged her, maintaining her silence as she rolled her neck and stretched, glancing around soon after to see the other trainees like her were as interested in the fight as before. They weren't her friends, though, she didn't take pride in their attention.

They were back at it soon after, him coming at her with the ferocity of his training and she swinging at him to deter him from taking advantage of her exhaustion while she tried to find some sort of opening to exploit herself.

She smacked out with her weapon, looking to rap it across his arm, or even his leg if she missed her first target, eyes narrowing in anticipation of his return strike and the feeling of pain that would follow as his waraxe sank into her stomach, or some other part he hadn't yet bruised. She growled, fingers tightening as the expected pain rippled through her, and she lashed out with her shoulder, the one she had landed against earlier, letting the pain flare around it but hoping to feel impact with his shoulder.

She stepped back, heavily breathing and finally ready to submit. She fought back the watering of her eyes from the hard pain in her shoulder. She chuckled, her ire having abated with the rush of pain, and lowered her weapon. "Okay, I give," she said finally, breaking her silence and inclining her head. "Let my Fang beat on eachother now like I know they want to." She nodded her head, as likely to speak with her body than she was with her voice by the many gestures and expressions she used.

OOCSo, it took longer than ten minutes, but this bowl of perogies brings the taste of victory to me as I wrote this.

[Razkar]

"Okay, I give. Let my Fang beat on each other now like I know they want to."

Razkar cocked his head to one side with a clear amusement in his eyes. The Kelvic was battered, slathered in sweat but still she stood. Stood and gave orders, apparently.

The male nodded amiably and stuck the training weapon in his belt, smile on his face. He held out his hand for a shake when he got close-

-and then Alva's vision became nothing other than a speeding forehead-

-and she crashed back to the sand.

When she opened her eyes, Razkar was standing at her side, one foot on her right upper arm, pinning her. She could not see the other but he made sure that she could see the wooden gladius an inch from her throat. The smile was still there... but only on his lips. His eyes were blank and black once again.

"Two things. First of all, your duel is over when your enemy is dead and bleeding at your feet, not standing and still armed. Remember that for your next session. Secondly, recruit..."

Just a flex of his arm, and he tapped the tip of his wooden blade to her jugular vein. Raging animal eyes glared up at him but he just stared back. He'd seen the eyes of true tigers before, and they had far more fury in them, from a far darker place, than these 'shifters.

"You are food for the Taloba Army. Not even worthy of engaging our enemies on the Goddess-Queen's command. I am an instructor. You do not make demands or requests of me, girl. And if you think I am too cruel, remember this..."

He pulled the blade away and stepped back, letting her get back to her feet.

"Others would have taken your nose or broken your pretty legs. Get back with your fang. Learn your lessons this day."

Razkar turned from her and snapped up a finger to one of the others. The female kept her chin up but in the stark and burning sun of the Training Yard, he could see she had... whitened, just a little.

"You. Next." He cracked his head from side to side, fast as a rattler, neck bones snapping like breaking twigs. "Then my comrade will take her turn."

Erama just chuckled knowingly, chewing on a Tajir root. She spat out a foul-smelling chunk and nodded.

"No rush, male. Just enjoyin' the show..."

OOCNot a problem, love, just good to hear from you! If you think I went too far here, let me know and I'll edit.