Solo [Sunset Falls] A Knight's Lament

[Rhuryc]

Summer 20, 513 AV Morning "Remember that, boy, true power comes from within.' The words helped to ease the pain. A distant memory, a cold reminder. Rhuryc slammed his fist into the exposed bark of a tree. A streak of red was left where he broke the already thick callouses. He could still feel the pressure, the scaring of skin, but it no longer phased him. Right. He punched the tree again. Left. Again. Right. It was a simple pattern, a strength training exercise mixed with conditioning. The bark was thinner now. Pieces of the wooden armor chipped off with each strike. Each new impact brought a sharp, stinging sensation to his knuckles. Good. He planted his feet and increased his pace. Two in a row. Three. Five. No breaks in between. The practice was miserable. The will to continue was half the battle. Break the enemy before it broke you, be firm, be strong. Shift with the assault. Put your weight into it. The technique was basic, but then again Rhuryc did not have any formal style. A punch would do. He kept his fists closed, his thumbs tucked to the side - though the cautious behavior seemed foolish. His fists were bloody now. He could feel the strain in the motions, the pain of progress. It wasn't masochism, it was training. "Courage, honor. All the skill in the world is useless without them." He paused. His hands shook. He raised an arm to wipe the sweat from his brow and stepped away from the tree, the target now stripped bare of bark where he struck. A grunt followed when he hit the ground, his arms extended out in front of his torso while he balanced on his palms and toes. Pushups. He bent his elbows and lowered his body just above the ground. His muscles strained, already tried from the arboreal assault, but he did not need precision for this exercise. He pushed and rose, his arms fulled extended. Down. Up. Repeat. More sweat. He watched the heat pour from his forehead, a work worthy mixture of dirt and perspiration. How many did he intend to do? He had never started counting. Down. Up. He continued until he felt his arms start to give way and hit the ground with a solid thud and a soft "ooph." Rhuryc rolled over onto his back and watched the waterfall. The early morning sun was caught in its glistening waves, a pleasant mesh of oranges and yellows that reflected from the clear, cool liquid. The rush of water as it met the pool below filled him with a sense of odd calm - it was a symphony, the collection of calls from the fauna, the swaying of the trees, the crash of falls. There were worse places in the world. "Never grow complacent. Be aware. If you lose focus, you lose your head." The clarion voice of his uncle roused the man. He leaned forward and forced himself up. His arms were tired and his hands would need a rest. Instead, he rolled up his pants and returned to the tree. There he stood, bereft of his standard articles of clothing - he had discarded his shirt already, his boots, all for better training - and covered in dirt, sweat, and blood. How appealing. He was stalling. With a grunt he kicked the bark. Same exercise as before, just a different part of his body. Conditioning, training, but for what? To kill bandits? To protect? Who? He grunted and kicked harder. Something chipped. The bark. He felt the skin break on his legs now. Good. He needed more callouses there. Why bother? Another kick. A second. A tenth. He adjusted his weight and involved his entire body now. An elbow here, a shoulder into the bark. Every third strike he stepped back and fell forward, did a series of push ups, then returned to his feet to continue the barrage.

[Rhuryc]

Ivak will come again, whether we like it or not, either this year or by the turning of next. More words. Rhuryc was scarce to believe they were real. From Tyveth himself. His family's pledge, his ancestor's patron. The vows he took. Was that why he trained? Why he travel? To learn, to search, to find what he could. The world he knew was still so small, and what was it he could bring to the favor of his God? An idle glance brought his attention to the mark on his arm. A Gnosis of truth, how strange a boon. To always know the truth of matter, to be burdened by the lies of the trusted. Those that will free him are growing close to his prison. Rhuryc stood. The break was over. His hands were wrapped now, the bandages covering the exposed wounds that decorated his flesh. They would heal. So what now? More training. Always training. He could never lose his edge. Not now. With some effort he slipped on his boots and grabbed his pack. The weight of blasted thing would make him work harder. He started at a slow jog. One booted foot over the other into the wood, through the dirt and flora. He made sure to stretch his legs out with each bound, landing gently as he shifted his weight between the ball and heel, his arms lightly following the motion in tandem with the clatter and clank of the pack. Running was cathartic. His mind wondered as he moved through the wood, his pace increasing by beats on the unwritten path. The persistent thud of his own feet, the crunch of underbrush, the cascade of thunder from the falls, it all joined together in an odd synthesis of man and nature - it was music to him. His breathing joined the mixture. Heavy, laden at first. He adjusted appropriately, forcing himself to take in slow, heavy drafts, to fill his lungs then exhale. The practice was familiar, if not mastered. He set himself into a rhythm as to separate the physicality of the movement - his legs were not his lungs, the latter paced itself while the former leapt ahead with persistent intensity. Around in a circle. He felt the additional weight wear him down, pulling him to the ground. That was the point, though, he supposed. Another bound. Rhuryc wove himself around the trees now, his speed picking up, he hopped over a log, a branch. He never paused to catch his breath - there was time enough for that while he moved, breath in, hold, exhale, all the while his legs brought him a rush of sensation. The wind whipped at his face and exposed torso. The passing trees filled his mind with vibrant greens and deep browns, natural hues that highlighted the untouched beauty of the wood. Alive and well. Peaceful. Only when his legs and shoulders burned did the man allow himself a moment to breath. He came to a slow halt and raised his arms into the air, placing them on his head while he took in measured breaths. Sweat dripped down his face and torso, unimpeded by the lack of cloth there. He must smell terrible. Beyond that, the sound of the falls was absent. How far did he run? You must be ready. The words of a god. Was he? No. Not yet. Rhuryc grunted and turned back toward the falls. One foot in front of the other. He started at a slow jog.