Placeholder Queen Of Knives (Tinnok)

[Razkar]

40th Day of Winter, 510AV
The Training Yards
14th Bell

"A'right, you glorious petching shyke-sacks! Fall in!"

Two fistfuls of days had been enough for the high of War Party Rehkuna's annihilation of the barbarians to subside into the usual grind of life in the Taloba Training Yards. Oddly enough, Razkar felt a wry smile cross his face as Herliz's merciless bark cut across the red-sand, bounced around the stone walls and fled up into the sky.

Razkar sympathized.

A dozen proven warriors filed into one of the tall yards, many of them sporting fresh tattoos that bespoke of their recent achievements. Razkar was among them: the coiling line of tiny skulls that unwound its way like the fossilized skeleton of a snake across his back had a few more additions to them. There was a cockiness in their step usually, the way people looked at them that said, "those were the ones... the ones who cleansed our lands..."

But in the presence of grizzled, glaring and apparently never-dying Herliz and her equally-ruthless assistants, every one of them was as a fresh recruit, fidgeting as they stood to attention at the sight of her, the familiar, frightening sound of her lead-soled sandals crunching down on the sands...

"Think yer warriors now, eh?" She said in a dangerous, mocking trickle of a voice, walking up and down their rank. "Butcher a few humans and suddenly yer all heroes and your shyke smells like waterlilies. Pah!"

A gob of unimpressed saliva sizzled on the sand and she didn't even deign to wipe her lips. Dark, perpetually-frowning eyes swept across them and a training baton whipped out like a Dhani's tongue to smash against the fresh tattoo on Oxil's shoulder.

"Fuck's that?"

"M-Ma'am?"

"You deaf as well as fuckin' stupid?" The big male outweighed her by at least thirty pounds, but it was who who quailed as she jutted her chin upward. "Symbol of yer clan, is it?"

"N-No, Ma'am. Not... Not really. Wh-When we achieve a victory, we mark ourselves and sinARGH!"

Oxil folded but he his knees did not press into the sand. Razkar suppressed a proud smirk. In the old days, one blow from Herliz's steel-cored baton would have felled Oxil, curled him into a nearly-weeping fetal ball of agony. But now he gasped and grunted and straightened back up... and she was still there.

"So... you think you earned it, hmm?"

Oxil stared back, jaw twitching but eyes cool and unafraid. "I know we did."

The fang stiffened like an icy wind had just blown over them. Eyes flashed to each other, muscles tensed and Razkar felt Erama sag next to him, though whether it was in despair for her big friend's coming beating or pity for his brains, he did not know. The man himself just stood there, waiting, expecting, knowing what would come and yet-

-a flash of polished wood rocketed towards his head, and Oxil didn't give the old bitch the satisfaction of closing his eyes-

-not that he needed to. The baton stopped. Herliz's smile gleamed like an arrowhead for just a moment, and then rare yellow teeth showed behind her lips... and she lowered the baton.

"Maybe... Maybe..." She walked away, voice rising, sliding away from sadism and into her usual hard-nosed educational tone. "But one victory, two, five, ten or a hundred does not give you reason to slacken in your training!" Her baton shot out again, pointing to a distant wall and runes older that some entire clans still stark and clear in the afternoon rays of Syna. "Read it!"

A dozen voices shouted out the mantra, repeated a thousand times before, burned into their brains: the words of Blessed Myri herself.

"No Best! Only Better!"

"Indeed! You can win a hundred times... but you only need to die once! And then you're fucking useless to anyone." Herliz snorted like a dying boar and spat again. "And I for one don't want to have to waste twenty petching years waiting for your souls to grown up and come back here to my warm and accepting sodding bosom!"

Razkar resisted the urge to shake his head. How in the hells old was Herliz?!

"But you will not be alone..." His ears twitched as she spoke. The distant but approaching sound of... leather, slapping on stone. Walking feet. The smell of sweat and polished weapons. "You aren't the only ones who need to train!"

Fang Ioxera marched into the rays. The differences between the two groups might have been invisible to a barbarian, but to a Myrian, they were very distinct. Where Rehkuna's brawling bastards were built for the bloody scrum of blades and clubs and axes swung in savage melee, Ioxera's minions were... a little more subtle. Bows and blowpipes were over half-a-dozen shoulders; the blades were smaller and on lither frames. Markings that denoted experience and aptitude tracking and stalking and hunting fugitives on two legs and four were emblazoned on their skin.

The two fangs looked at each other across the gulf of red sand, an inevitable silent spasm of challenge passing between them. Herliz seemed to relish it, grinned at it, nodded her head and deciding this was a good idea.

"Right! Partner up, the lot of ya! Get your practice weapons from the rack on the wall and get to it! No fucking slacking, no waiting and it's a full day's leave if you can put that-"

Her baton swung out and pointed at a yellow-eyed figure who had long since grown immune to such unoriginal bigotry. Razkar lowered his eyes for a moment, ground his teeth...

Remember last time you met. Remember the lesson. This is Taloba; this is Falyndar. This is how your people have to be...

"-in the petching infirmary." Herliz spat again as she walked to the wall; this time she made sure plenty of it spattered over Tinnok's sandaled feet. "Good luck, snake-shit..."

Erama flashed a look at Razkar, warned him from whatever foolishness he would try as she saw the anger rise in his eyes. He saw it and nodded sharply, setting her at ease. No, he could not aid... what was it he called her? Wolf?... in her daily mocking... but he could make sure it was he who partnered up with her.

Whatever protected her best.

[Tinnok]

"Awww, does that mean none of us can get leave, Ioxera?" Chinra feigned disappointment, but the truth was that all of her fang would revel in watching her get the shyke beat out of her just as much as the Tigress's fang would enjoy doling it out. The half breed merely rolled her shoulders, the bones popping in their sockets. This was only the beginning of her torments, but she had to show her strength for Caiyha and Myri, had to rise above the flood of racism that threatened to pull her down...and break most of the bones in her body.

So even as the eagle's eyes turned toward her in the promise of protection, Tinnok strode toward the tattooed female at his side, covered head to toe with ink. "How about it? Be the first to skin the snake?"

Erama glanced once at Razkar, then back at the abomination before giving a small shrug as if to say, "Well why the petch not?" Tinnok's fingers slid into her belt, sliding around the handles of two well worn knives, and she backed up, step by step, ignoring the glances and glares, especially the hot one coming directly from Razkar. Oh he would get his turn, whatever he had meant to do, to help her again, she didn't petching want it. The last thing she needed was more attention, and a Myrian male showing her kindness and if not that than at least equality...it wouldn't help, at least not here.

She glanced at the sheen of her daggers as Erama stepped forward with a long slightly curved razor blade of a sword clasped in both hands. She was getting better with her smaller blades everyday, and had tried them in both hands more than once, but she was not very good at dual wielding. It wouldn't be her most impressive display today, but...better than nothing.

Without warning Erama surged forward, sword twisting in her grasp as arms rotated delivering a vicious downward swing at Tinnok's left shoulder. The half breed twirled her knives in both hands, twisting her body and bringing both daggers up, shoving the hilts together to form a neat V to catch Erama's blade. What she hadn't realized with this defensive maneuver, however, was that it was exactly what the female was expecting, and she let out a low moan as a sandal-ed foot connected with her kneecap, sending her body staggering, and ruining her stance with the blades.

So the sword came crashing down. Instead of trying to dodge with her knee on fire, Tinnok let her weight fall, going down to both knees and re-forming her daggers int he process. She was still at a severe disadvantage height wise, but again she caught the woman's blade with a twang of steel upon steel, a much better deal than a sliced open shoulder.

And at this height, Tinnok could also retaliate with a well timed punch to Erama's gut, giving the abomination enough time to stand and take a couple paces back, wiggling her injured leg around as the pain slowly faded. She flipped her daggers into a reverse grip and took the offense into her own hands, charging Erama and getting in close before swiping both blades horizontally across her stomach. It was hard timing it properly, and the female rotated nimbly out of the way, using the momentum of her turn to charge up a vicious sweep of her blade that could easily spill Tinnok's guts upon the ground. She growled, leaping back a step and sliding, one foot behind the other, waiting for another attack. She watched the blade carefully, knowing that her best option was to get in close for quick moves out of the direct range of the blade, which Erama could use to keep her at a distance if she tried. Yellow eyes blinked, breath coming in slow lungfuls as she glanced over at Razkar's progress.

[Razkar]

Stupid, stupid male! Did you learn nothing from her?!

Fortunately, Razkar was spared any public embarrassment... at least for now. He hadn't leaped to Wolf's defense, nor growled out a threat. He hadn't even glared at Chinra... but the point was already public, as it were. Everyone remembered how he'd defended the abomination after the human caravan was wiped out. Razkar just remembered the aftermath... and the shame that came with it.

Chinra's sadistic smirk slid over with her gaze and found him there; he could feel her sickening delight in him discomfort, and immediately positioned herself before him. Razkar stared levelly at her, willing himself not to reveal any weakness.

She can take care of herself. You know this; you've seen it. So concentrate on your battle, not hers.

"Ah, the Shorn Skull... I have been looking forward to this."

The words were light and airy and, frankly, they made Razkar want to curl his nose and check if he'd stepped in anything. Short, squat Chinra looked like something that had arrived late to the world of upright beings, but a feral cunning gleamed in her eyes at all times. Brawny arms reach up and unsheathed the longsword she'd carried.

Razkar studied it for a moment. Clearly of barbarian make, judging by the pommel and blade guard, it looked old, too, but scrupulously maintained. The blade had also been modified to make something more... Myrian, shall we say. The straight, sharp edges had been nicked and marred by a dozen serrations on each. They were deep and were angled a touch downward, Razkar could see...

And the male felt a curious thrill of admiration and unease for the sadist who'd crafted it. The blade would swing better, but once it was inside the enemy, all it would take would be a twist and a pull-

-and the serrations would rip open a hole beyond belief, hope or healing.

"You like?" Chinra said with that same, irritating grin, holding the four-foot-plus weapon in both hands, blade long enough to almost cover the distance between them, even now. "From my clan. Made for... someone else, originally."

Something clouded her eyes and voice for a split-tick. Pain and grief that Razkar never expected from such a sadist; but one never does, from bullies. Their pain is all people see; few bother to wonder why they cause it.

Razkar pushed the thought from out his mind, and concentrated on the blade, hovering before him, gripped by one he knew could use it well.

"Fine weapon," he said simply, drawing his own gladius and hand ax, filling his left and right hands respectively. The female grunted with a sneer.

"Ah, one for each. Just like your... friend..."

Chinra could make even a polite comment sound like the bitterest curse. Razkar blinked, forced himself not to rise to this. The bitch would use everything to throw his of-balance; words were just part of it. Instead, he bowed to her briefly and came up in a defen-

Shyke!

-as she flew at him with a huge, heavy swing, his gladius barely jerking up in time to stop the blade-

-but not the force.

Razkar grunted as the blow knocked him sideways, sheer weight and concussive energy of the heavy blade nearly knocking the gladius from his hands and he stumbled away from Chinra. Her grin was even wider now, sensing his pain and confusion, his realization-

She's not sparring. She's really trying to do some damage.

"Hold yourself, female!" Herliz snarled over the clang and crash of dozens of weapons, glaring dead at Chinra. "Dead recruits are worth fuck all to Myri."

"Yes, Instructor!"

Fuck you, bitch.

The longsword flashed in her grip, reversing, horizontal now, pommel and hands at her cheek nearly, blade pointd towards him-

-as he lurched forward, ax swinging for her side, hoping to draw her out-

-but she slid backwards, spinning, whirling, letting the blade spin with her into another massive swing at his midsection, not wasting time blocking him when she could just avoid instead, knowing he had to close-

-but he didn't. The male swayed back, letting the blade fly past his chest, then knocked it onward with his gladius as it passed, throwing her a tad off-balance, forcing her almost sideways-

-and he rushed her, nearly in a crouch as he gladius thrust for her right leg-

-only for her so slide again to her side, avoiding his thrust, kicking out at his forearm and drawing a grunt of pain as her foot hammered into his wrist, but he only tightened his grip, ignoring his body's reflexive demand to just drop the damn thing-

-and punched straight out with his right instead, hammering his fist into the middle of her thigh. Wrapped around the wooden ax handle, it was even more powerful, and at that sensitive, tender spot-

-Chinra yelped, that time, staggering back, leg tingling savagely, almost numb-

-but vindictive enough to sweep low with her longsword as the male straightened back up, just before he could step back-

-drawing a scarlet line at his shin, blade's tip grinding briefly against his bones, a mere taste of the amputation she could have accomplished had she been closer.

Razkar staggered, pulsing pain pumping up his limb... suppress it; dominate it; the fight matters, not pain; she is not invincible... and blew out a tense, angry breath. She was limping; but so was he. They really hadn't damaged each other but they'd both learned. No clear advantage or damage... stalemate.

"Do not sacrifice your initiative!" Herliz shouted as she walked through the mess of sparring pairs, the yard now filled with individual little worlds of move and counter-move. She glanced his way as if reading his mind. "Your enemy has weaknesses! All enemies do! All you must do is find it, and exploit it!"

Razkar managed to flash a feral grin that knocked Chinra's aside for a moment. Ah, fine advice... but easier said that done. He still spat to his side and swung both his weapons in a full circle, once, a showy move, perhaps, but enough to show the female he was far from finished.

He realized he hadn't even glanced at Tinnok... nor did he, right before he slid forwards, pace zigzagging across the burnished sand, and launched a feint with his gladius with a yell.

Nope, Wolf was not a concern for the moment. He had a bigger bitch to worry about.

[Tinnok]

Erama did not give the half breed time to admire the eagle beating upon her most hated of fang mates for very long. Flipping her daggers into a reverse grip the abomination dropped to the ground, right onto her rump as a vicious slash of Erama's jagged sword ripped overhead. Kicking her feet up Tinnok smacked Erama's wrist, knocking the blade from her hand and continuing to shove her legs up over her head, rolling her body so that she tumbled backwards and back onto her feet, leaping up to find that the move had taken her a bit too long to execute to take advantage of her disarming the inked female, who already had the point of her blade and was shoving it back towards Tinnok's chest.

She growled, breath leaking through flared nostrils, twirling her body upon her left foot and bringing both hilts, clutched tightly in her fists down upon the hilt of Erama's blade again, getting rewarded by a cry of anguish from the woman and being punished by a shallow cut that ran from armpit to the middle of her ribs.

Both women backed up, licking their wounds when a scream echoed out through the yards.

"SWAP PARTNERS MAGGOTS!"

Erama gave another one of those little shrugs, not willing to compliment the abomination, but unable to fully insult her performance either, and Tinnok just nodded, readying her hands for whatever might com-

THUMP

A massive foot, sandal included slammed into the small of Tinnok's back, knocking her face first onto the ground. She got a mouthful of sweat covered dirt in addition to biting in her lips and getting the air knocked straight out of her lungs. The weight of the foot stayed there and she could hear muted chuckles and jeers coalescing around her from the display. The abomination wriggled and squirmed in a most undignified manner trying to get the slightest bit of leverage from beneath whatever heavy set opponent had her pinned. His identity became abundantly clear when a somewhat squashed looking face belonging to the one she vaguely remembered as Oxil leaned forward with a cocky grin plastered to his face.

Opportunity found Tinnok wasted no time spitting in the mongrel's face, causing him to reel backwards and the half breed to rotate rapidly, getting on her back and using her current position to launch both feet into a conveniently place groin that hung just above her since the male had been straddling her.

Now it was she who was grinning proudly when Oxil had recovered from that particular embarrassment. It was only when his thick brows drew into a sharp v that the half breed noticed that the muscular hulk of a male Myrian wasn't holding any weapons, practice or real, and just an instant later her opponent bull rushed her, head slamming into her ribs and sending her flying across the training yard.

Apparently he had taken the idea of breaking all of her bones quite literally then...


c

[Razkar]

She saw his feint for what it was and knocked it aside, but quickly, perfunctory, turning her body and the huge sword in her hands to face the real threat-

-Razkar's ax, swinging for her side, under her ribs and the soft, vulnerable kidney's waiting for it-

-and then denied it as steel smashed into steel as her vertical blade blocked him, right foot lashing out while the impact still jarred their arms-

-and the male staggered back as her toecap drove his stomach a few inches higher than it needed to be. Abdominals flexing and spasming insanely, Razkar still managed to keep his weapons up, snarl marring his face, expecting to see a wolfish, sneering grin...

There was none. Only cold, outraged anger that the mere male had managed to wound her. Chinra's face bore no smile now, no mocking smirk of victory. She merely adjusted her grip, and charged.

Ah, shyke-

But now he was starting to see the flaw in such a massive, vicious weapon: it was so massive. Chinra couldn't spare a hand to do anything else, and the weight of the toothed longsword, the momentum of it...

With every swing, it pulls her. With every impact, it numbs you. So, what is the solution?

Avoidance, not interception.

Razkar put his own internal advice into action, and for a few ticks, where everyone else was busy slamming steel into steel, the male was swaying and twisting away from the increasingly-enraged Chinra. Her diagonal sweeps aimed to bisect him down the middle-

-and he would sway away, knocking her weapon away from him as he went, further throwing her off.

She would aim for his stomach, a low, sweeping disembowelment-

-and he'd jump back, light as a sparrow, grinning as anger and embarrassment flashed across her features, the longsword pulling her nearly off her feet as it kept on going without anything to hit.

"Oh, come now, female," he said, voice as smooth and encouraging and poisoned as hers had been, "Even the abomination would have knocked me down by now. But then, I was not expecting much from you-"

She roared. She screamed. She screeched. A warcry that spoke more of chimes of stark failure than a martial thirst for vengeance exploded out of Chinra's throat and she swung the longsword over her right shoulder, bursting forward as her perpendicular stroke burst closed in, looking to cut him in half yet again, one final desperate-

Desperate.

Yes. About time.

Razkar threw himself into the strike, not avoiding it this time, gladius and ax swinging out towards the longsword coming from his left, teeth gritted, knowing what was coming-

-a shattering, merciless impact that was all physics and no romanticism, stopped only by both weapons working as one, bringing male and female close-

-and Razkar in a half-crouch-

-grinning-

-at Chinra with her arms up and away from herself-

"Moron."

-and he straightened his back leg as he drove his head forwards, filling Chinra's vision with his tattooed dome of a forehead a before crashing it into hers like the head of Oxil's club.

The female staggered, reeled, vision full of dancing black stars and red shapes that twisted and deformed and blinded her. Razkar smiled, feral, wild, sensing weakness and Goddess Be Praised, in one he truly hated. Chinra tried to focus herself, one hand leaving the hilt of her longsword... and it trembled, too big and unwieldy to be held with one hand.

One, maybe two blows to take that from her, then we can see about keeping her in the infirmary for a few-

"SWAP PARTNERS MAGGOTS!"

"Gods-damnit..."

Both of them snarled at each other, Chinra through a haze of blood and tears, but they drifted over to the next on command, like everyone around them. Razkar turned to see Tinnok-

-go flying like a leaping tiger, only it was the massive bulk of Oxil propelling her. His eyes widened and he hands twitched to help-

No! Focus! Remember what happened-

A whisper of air. The crunch of sandals on sand. A shadow slicing towards his own-

-Razkar spun around with his gladius raised, sparks flaring into life as a thin, curved blade slamed into it just before it could cut a stripe out of his shoulder-

Hiteo's calm face and unblinking eyes stared at him impassively over the space of that frozen tick. He held no other weapon and wielded the wakizashi one-handed, meaning-

-his other hand reached out to grab Razkar's wrist-

-and he twisted, ducking under his own blade and Razkar's, back to the Shorn Skull male's front, ass in his crotch-

What-

-and then threw himself forwards and jerked Razkar straight over his head like he was a slow, clumsy child... which is exactly how he felt.

Razkar smacked into the sand with all the pain and shock that a blow that came from fucking nowhere could supply, needing a tick or two to roll onto his back, then jump to his feet. Hiteo was waiting patiently, pacing back and forth, tossing his wakizashi from left to right... flourishing it in each hand as it landed... never taking his eyes from Razkar...

Goddess. Talk about sending a message.

Then the Shorn Skull rose. Two weapons... no, that wouldn't aid him here, insane as it sounded. So he tossed his ax to one side and switched the gladius to his stronger right. Hiteo cocked his head to one side like a falcon trying to work out why the mice wasn't scurrying down the hole.

But just like any predator, he didn't dwell on it long.

[Tinnok]

She flew as if a large graceless bird might in its final moments of life. Her body torqued during flight, trying alter how injured she was going to be upon landing, but that just left her chest first as she crashed into the ground a dull aching throb setting into her solar plexus, a pained moan seeping out of her mouth.

"Up, Skurak."

Tinnok as a rule of thumb did not enjoy being commanded to do anything, but she didn't have much choice, as her body would ill serve her plastered into the ground. She grunted in response, rolling over with a choked cough to see Oxil staring...no leering down at her. The half breed leered in turn, but since the brute had learned from the last time he had been above her, his distance away was too far for another groin shot. Tinnok smirked bending her knees tight to her chest, then hurled them forward. She could see Oxil's face, a mask of incredulity and haughty attitude at the abomination trying the same trick twice when he was much too far away, but the whites of his eyes showed as the half breed used the momentum to flip herself up and onto her feet in one fluid motion, following through with a closed fist that struck the male upon the right side of his jaw, sending him reeling backwards...though not flying as she had.

Tinnok used the moment of her opponents pain and closed eyes to let out the own intense throbbing surging through her fist at the impact, knowing she'd have bruises on the knuckles to show for it, but she had to take advantage of her position. He was not taller than she, but was stronger physically, and she could almost see steam pouring out of his ears.

Yellow eyes flickered over toward the eagle and Hiteo dancing a deadly game, before flipping her daggers into a tight grip and charging her opponent. She still didn't have the right coordination with both weapons, so all she knew how to do was move them in shaky mirror images of one another. A horizontal slash across the male's chest was knocked away like playthings, and Oxil suddenly grabbed both of her wrists wrenching them in all of the wrong ways, forcing the abomination to scream in pain.

And unlike any other training partner, though they had been beaten, this was not the end. He pulled them further, further. A low keening whine escaped from Tinnok's lips, knee shooting into Oxil's groin for a second time, only to double over, the pain gone from her wrists only to be replaced by an explosion of the male's fist in her gut.

She dropped like a sack of mangoes onto the dirt floor and a sandal covered foot connected with her ribs once, then again, and again. She couldn't scream anymore, but the images of days not unlike this, sister screaming obscenities at her, sullen eyes of her mother, jeers and happy grins of children just wanting a scape goat. Goddess it wasn't fair, but that was the lot she had been given, and she had made it this far.

The next scream to echo across the training yards was not from the abominations lips, but Oxil's. Their little scene had caused more than a few heads to turn, and now they could see her dagger stuck deep into his inner thigh, which Tinnok had put all the weight she could muster behind it so that it dragged down through his skin, a gash a couple feet long and inches deep that blood was now pouring out of on top of the half breed and the training yard dirt.

"Get him up and off the leg. Now." Ioxera's long slender legs strode across the training yards, eyes fiery and furious, all of it aimed at the piece of shyke abomination she had been stuck with as a fang member. Recruits began breaking away, but the fang leader gave them glares, her own leadership under scrutiny in this the yard that trained Taloban soldiers.

"Training is still on. Swap partners and begin again." Her voice was not loud, nor demeaning, but the huntress did not need volume to convey the danger of disobeying her orders. Even Rekhuna seemed taken back, if only for a moment, and Ioxera offered Tinnok a hand, lifting her to her feet. At first the half breed was startled by this gesture of camaraderie, as were her fellow soldiers, but its purpose became clear when Ioxera's lips pressed again her blood soaked ear.

"Now you get to face me, snakeling."

That was when the fang leaders sent a roundhouse kick to Tinnok's stomach, sending her right back down into the blood and sand. A shiver shot down her spine, pain building up, but her mind knowing that what Oxil had done to her was only the very...very beginning.
c

[Razkar]

Razkar's father always taught him that speed, true speed, you couldn't learn; you were simply born with it. You could train your reactions and your reflexes... maybe augment them further with certain wyrd rites... but sheer, greasy quickness of movement was in-built and bone-born.

That was what Hiteo had.

His curved blade moved so fast it was a blur, and yet whenever it struck, it was with deadly results. After the first few times, Razkar could see that was because his slashes and thrusts were being redirected, not blocked.

A strike to the shoulder went to his side, opening Razkar's chest up to a shallow slash-

"Shyke!"

A thrust to Hiteo's slim waist was knocked down between his legs, dropping Razkar's guard entirely, making way for the elbow at his nose-

"Goddess...!"

He staggered back, Chinra leering at him from her own spar, both of them now with matching bloody lumps in the middle of their faces. Eyes tight and burning, Razkar grasped it with his free hand, jerked-

-hissed as the bone set with a snap, and Hiteo just blinked. The little man seemed to be taking no joy, no anything in the whole spar. It was just... business. He was working out as Razkar would with a training dummy, and though he broke a sweat, beads of it running down his chin, he seemed no more impressed than he would be with a straw-stuffed sack or a wooden mannequin.

Alright... fuck doing it his way...

Razkar spat out something unpleasant and cracked his neck from side to side. As if in response, Hiteo flourished his blade again, one hand behind his back, head high and straight like some barbarian duelist. Razkar let a wry half-smile cross his face.

Yeah. This'll be much more productive.

He charged in fast and close, gladius swinging to Hiteo's left-

-then redirecting, a thrust heading straight for the man's guts-

There was a spark, just a brief one, as Hiteo saw his opening, sword slashing down with calm, cool accuracy, no doubt it would hit Razkar's own, knocking it down-

-and away-

-but Razkar's grip was weak, purposefully slow, and when it was robbed of its weapon, it closed into a fist-

-still moving-

Finally there was some mortal reaction from the Fang Ioxera mute: a grunt of surprised pain as Razkar's blow connected with his stomach. The shock of it shook and yet stilled him, things for once not going his way.

Razkar was not going to waste it. He wrapped his left around the man's shoulders, gripping tight as that curved blade started to whip around, throwing his left leg around Hiteo's right-

Either way, this is going to hurt. Just make sure it hurts him more.

They went down in a heap of flailing or fixed limbs, Hiteo baring his teeth as his blade cut across Razkar's back in one final swoop. The male cried out as he felt the sting slash across hi back, one great stripe of pain across his flesh-

Focus! Don't waste this!

They rolled and Razkar's weight worked to his advantage now, greater than Hiteo by a good twenty pounds, pinning hin under his weight, right arm instinctively clamping around the smaller man's wrist-

-right hand hammering into his face, the first two blows desperate, sloppy, just making him mad-

-as one of Hiteo's own caught him in the ribs, grinding, bruising, then clawed at the livid, dripping blood onto his face, around Razkar's breast-

The male cried out again but it became a roar, letting the adrenaline and feral intensity of the moment fuel him, numb him-

-give him the strength to slam Hiteo's hand over and over again onto the sand, loosening his grip on that damned blade but not removing it entirely-

-jerking his knee upward between Hiteo's legs, and a sound somewhere between a gurgle and a scream was torn from the little Myrian's throat, piercing and agonized-

-his right hand rose and fell, over and over, closed and intent now, not sloppy, until Hiteo was more focused on blocking than attacking-

"Enough!"

Strong arms grabbed his shoulders and hauled him off so quickly he went ass-first into the sand and lacked the strength to straighten back up. Herliz loomed over him like a wrathful god, one of her underlings helping the blood-spitting, gasping Hiteo to his feet.

"Know when yo stop, for Myri's-"

Then the scream cut across the Yard, harsher and more choked than anything that had come before. Razkar jerked his gaze across and his eyes widened in horror at the sight of Oxil, staggering, one leg a ragged, dripping mess of blood, knife still embedded in it.

Under her, Tinnok squirmed and gasped but her other blade was still up... until Ioxera came marching over with all the determination of a mortal enemy, glare so deep and hateful he was amazed that the half-blood didn't burst into flames.

"Oxil, Goddess, are you-"

"He'll be fine, boy," Herliz growled, hand like a claw carved from flesh and teak clamped on his shoulder and holding him back, "If he can't deal with a little cut on his thigh, what good is he to us?"

"But the vein there, the big one, it could-"

"If it was, believe me, we'd already know," Herliz said in thw eary, impatient tones of one who does indeed know and doesn't want to explain it to some petching shykehead, "Lot more blood and, for another, he'd probably already be dead."

Razkar opened his mouth again but a dull whomp cut him off, rippling out from behind him like a miniature explosion. He turned just in time to see Tinnok go flying, yet again, like some ragdoll the bad kids in the creche just loved to abuse. He winced as she touchd down, rolled a little ways and then got back to her knees, thick and sandy blood hanging in thick, ugly strands.

This is too much. They'll beat her to death and no-one will care. How does that aid in Myri's Glory?! Losing such a valued warrior?

He'd decided. He started walking, fists clenched, ready to do what he had-

"Hey?"

"Huh-?"

WHAM!

He saw Rehkuna. Well, part of her, anyway. Her fist, namely. A short, sharp jab to his right eyes, merciless and precise, knocking him back and blinding him in the same instant. His eyes exploded, his ears filled with white noise and his equilibrium vanished; the spars with Chinra and Hiteo had left him bruised, bloodied, weakened-

-his body shook as his knees collapsed, falling down, one eye barely open, the other one already swelling and useless... seeing a figure circling him slowly... patiently, like a jackal waiting for its prey to just die already.

"You heard the female," Rehkuna said with knowing relish, "Training continues, and since me and you just happened to be next to each other..."

The pacing stopped. He could just about hear it. He blinked, but it did nothing but make his lids ache. The male spat more blood, wondering if he had any left in him and took about a thousand years to get back to unsteady feet.

"Come forth, male."

What choice did he have?

[Tinnok]

oocApologies for the extreme delay!

It always struck the abomination's nerves to see a proud full blooded Myrian woman fighting her. The essence of beauty, strength, and power. Merely half of her genes had kept her from such standing herself, and it grated her to the core to still look upon her fang leader with respect and awe even with all the negative treatment and harassing that had been laid upon her in her brief stint as a soldier. As Ioxera swung one of her katanas fluidly around her wrist, almost as if it was magnetized to her joint and not her fingers, Tinnok tried to calculate a strategy. Her fang leader had skills she had no hopes of matching, speed and grace that she could only envy, and the hate of a millennium of Myrian ideals built behind it. All Tinnok could seem to hold against her was two weapons instead of one, when she barely knew how to hold both of them together.

Thinking time ended as Ioxera gracefully strode across the space between them, not a charge so much as a short dash, her body twisting around and the blade creating a corkscrew motion with the tip twirling from around her knees to up and across her shoulders as she spun. The half breed swiftly realized she would be minced into a pie if she stayed put, so her feet jumped back, air hissing by her and a nick gracing her cheek from the speed of her fang leader's attack. Deciding that staying upon the defensive would likely kill her, Tinnok's weight had just finished shifting to her back most foot when she pushed off of it, and jumped into the air, one arm coming clumsily down in an attempt to knock the katana out of her way so that her second dagger could slice towards Ioxera's collar bone.

For her attack she was rewarded with another foot in the gut and her body upon the ground, just enough time to roll to the side and squeeze her arms and legs together, rocking on her back enough to shove herself to her feet and lunge away form the next vicious downward sweep of the thin elegant blade.

Her lungs roared with pain, every breath an exercise thanks to Oxil's repeated poundings. The half breed slowly turned, steel smashing against steel as she brought her dagger hilts together in a perpendicular shape just in time to catch Ioxera's blade between hers. The fang leader showed no weariness, nor anger, and dark eyes assessed her fang member gravely before taking two large steps backward and waiting for another weak attack on the part of her lesser. Tinnok sighed through her nose.[/
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[Razkar]

OOCChrist, I nearly forgot about this!

Don't try and attack her head on. Stay on the defensive. Let her wear herself down on you and look for an opening.

Ah, it sounded so simple and therefore doable when he thought it, fevered and skittering though his mind was. But within a few ticks of getting within Rehkuna's, range, Razkar was swiftly reminded of another Myrian expression.

"The best laid plans of mice and males..."

It wasn't her power that stunned him... well, it was, but the speed she delivered it with was... beyond words. And, unfortunately, his capacity to counter. In the space of a blink her fists blurred, then her knees, pounding at his forearms as he tried to block, bending him double with a shot to his kidneys, then she exploded upward, hammering into his guard with her knee-

-knocking him back as if he were a child and not a proven warrior.

The sand greeted his back yet again, shock of it rattling his spine. Syna glared down at him in stunning disapproval, then was eclipsed by the leaning figure-

-that he barely rolled away from, a knee that could have shattered ribs smashing into the place where he'd been.

"C'mon, male! One little tap and you're running like a child?!"

Nothing would goad a Myrian male into flinging himself back towards his foe more than that... except in Razkar's case, he knew exactly who his foe was. He managed to roll back up to his feet and Rehkuna was on the move again: lithe, graceful, but economical and in no hurry. This was training for her as much as him. The male shuddered mentally at what she could do to him if she really was trying.

"Remember what you have been taught!" She snarled as he backed up and up and tried to do just that. "Your enemy has the initiative! What do you-"

He didn't wait for her to finish, which was what she was expecting... maybe. He burst forward and tackled her low, lifting her up-

-screamed as an elbow apparently made of granite hammered into his back, crunching something probably important and definitely painful-

-and they tumbled down together, Razkar rearing up, hand raised into a fist-

-giving her just the opening she needed to snap out a fist in a tanned blur, connecting with his jaw and sending a red flare blossoming across his eyes-

Hands gripped behind his ears, painfully grabbing onto hair and skin, just as his vision cleared-

-and Razkar thought he must be hallucinating, seeing her race rocket upward at such a difficult angle, like she was doing a sit up with him straddling her, erking his face forward at the same time-

The red flare was a kiss on the cheek compared to the supernova her headbutt gave him. Razkar's nose broke with a nauseating crunch and he felt blood fill his mouth, choking him as he fell back from her-

-saw shadows of her getting up, to one knee-

Quick!

Instinct had his leg jerk out and hammer into her knee, the feel of her flesh under his sandal and her grunt of surprised pain a potent elixir. Other shadows were circling them now, training momentarily suspended as the rest of their minions watched the Fang Leaders beat the petching half-breed and the arrogant male like temple drums.

Razkar roared as he twisted his prone body to his left, swinging around his left leg, upward and towards her as she wobbled-

-catching her in the side, knocking her over, and... and...

Just get up and finish her off.

Oh, shut up.

Razkar spat blood and crawled away, back and face and torso a mass of blistering bruises that stabbed at his insides. Weakness... exhaustion... he could feel them begin to gnaw him now like fish around a corpse floating in a river... but even as he drooled blood he swayed upright again.

Rehkuna was already on her feet. Grinning.

"Ah, shyke..."

[Tinnok]

There was no way she got out of this any less injured than she already was. The half breed's eyes were wide, as if opening her lids a little farther might help her against Ioxera's next attack.

Turns out it didn't.

She clutched her daggers tightly, slid a foot back, lowered her hips like she had been taught, but none of it helped as the nimble female surged forward. Her sword dipped down for a horizontal slash across her waist, but even as Tinnok struggled to block it, bringing her knives down and rotating her hips to catch the blade upon her side Ioxera rotated and swept the blade up, slapping the flat of it against Tinnok's chest and sending her reeling backward.

Her whole body felt hot, both with pain and with anger. All she wanted to do was scream and run at her superior, to try to take her off guard with a wild ferocity that was slowly building in her gut. But Ioxera would face that with the same steady determination, and it would show her as nothing more than the abomination all thought she was. She snorted, and charged.

Ioxera held her blade diagonally across her body, readying it for any kind of defense. Tinnok flipped her daggers into a reverse grip. She still didn't know how to use them together, but she knew each of them apart, and perhaps she could use this as an advantage. First her right hand swung out in a punch towards Ioxera's jaw. Her sword knocked her attack painfully away, as her left arm stabbed her other knife towards her gut. This was also blocked, Ioxera's blade twirling masterfully with a clang of steel to thwart both of Tinnok's efforts.

But her final attack the fang leader did not see coming, and that was Tinnok stamping her right root down as hard as she could upon Ioxera's left foot. It would give her only an instant she knew, and so even as she saw her fang leader's eyes open in surprise only to narrow in pain, Tinnok's left leg was already up in the air, hips twisting to deliver a powerful kick to Ioxera's chest.

It didn't go off the way she wanted, Ioxera flying across the ground as she had, for the fang leader caught the half breed's leg in her hands, dropping her weapon in the process. Both women fell to the ground in a heap, Tinnok groaning in pain from her previous injuries. Well, at the very least she had taken her fang leader down...in some regard.
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