[Training] Pain [Open]

[Corvo]

Timestamp: 11th of summer. 510 AV.
Location: Training grounds, early morning.

Green eyes starred upward at the barren stone ceiling. Sleep had come in bitter and jagged pieces for the most of this night. He dozed off for minutes at a time only to awaken yet again and in a fright no less. The only real sleep he had gotten had lasted for a few insignificant hours that were fraught with nightmares that whispered disgrace and damnation into his mind. The purchase of an actual weapon had weighed heavily on his mind; it was something frowned upon by his clan to say the least, although minor. For him it would be different. He was considered the runt of the littler when growing up with four sisters and brother. All of them found him awkward and incredibly easy to tease, but his issues do not simply lie there. He ignored their crude and often inadequate barbs; they simply left the smallest of emotional scars that have shrunk into almost nothing now. The real damage done was by his parents to put it simply. At best his father was a distant moment who spent most of his life either hunting or in the barracks. He often looked upon his children with dreary and often cold eyes. This didn’t impact his life all that much as he and his other siblings were raised by their mother. This is where his real emotional trauma lied. Since he was small child he could remember his mother praising the others and always overlooking him or offering the slightest biting comment. But that was only early childhood. As he grew her contempt for him grew as well. With every minor mistake he became a disgrace in her eyes. He never bothered to find out why and has no urge to do so. These wounds were long buried, or at least he thought they were. Despite what his unsupportive mother had said he always trie to hold himself with respect and honor his clan’s beliefs, and sticking to unarmed combat was one of the more respected beliefs. The purchase of a weapon had rocked him on a subconscious level. Memories came flooding back in the land of dreams. Memories he preferred to let rot in the blackest part of subconscious. Muddles and clouded thoughts filled his head. “I need a walk…” He mumbled under his breath, making sure not to walk any of the others in the barracks as he crept out with sword gauntlet it hand. His feet moved on their own as his head sorted through muddled emotions. Rain continued to pour down and bounced off the stone structures like tiny pin bouncing against a plate of steel. The sound was a soothing one that almost put his restless mind at ease, diluting his feelings of self-betrayal with thoughts of past summers. Eventually his feet had dragged him to the training grounds. He had expected the place to be deserted at such an early hour, but a small group had fled to the training grounds. Many of them he had seen around the barracks before. The majority of them were average soldiers and would remain as such in Corvo’s opinion. He saw little to no drive in them, but it seemed that he may have been wrong with his assessments as all of them were gathered at the training grounds at such an ungodly hour. His mind told him to wander off back to bad in hopes of getting an actual sleep before the day began but curiosity had gripped him, compelling him against his better sense of judgment to go over and watch, maybe even participate in whatever they were doing. After a few moments of standing around and listening he had gathered that this was more or less a very early sparring session. The group was split into two sections. One for unarmed combat and one for a mixture of armed and unarmed. Almost instantly he had gravitated to the first group, but then the smallest of voices reached up from the back of his mind and pointed out that he had yet to train with the new weapon. With the smallest of sights he trotted off to the other group and slipped on his sword gauntlet. The pearly white bone it was made from was cool and inviting to the touch, an unusual feeling. A weapon actually feeling inviting. Everyone paired off at random. Corvo had gotten stuck with some who preferred to wield a long sword. This would prove to be interesting .

[Sheika]

Unnatural? Far from it. Myrians were expected to train, to practice, to fight, to hunt, to survive, to devour those that opposed them, and even on such as Sheika, a Witch Doctor by his own claim, speaker with the undeparted ethereal dead, the apprentice Maledictor of his dead mother, and now a man that seemed awkward within even his own people, yet still accepted as one, as he held some value yet. Sheika had been standing in the training grounds for a solid hour now, watching, not the training, not the Myrians brawling and learning, he knew them all to be powerful warriors, and he himself could not match up to them. There was an average, and Sheika was below said bar. It bothered him not however, he was still Myrian, still powerful, skilled, and he was a Maledictor. He wore his mother's head on his head, her skull at least, shaped into a sort of helmet that really offered no protection, but it held his mother's skill, or at least a mild portion of it. With that, surely, Sheika would be able to hold his own. Once the witch doctor was chilled to the bone, the skin across his limbs becoming fairly numb to the touch, shivering due to his near nakedness (He wore nothing but a loin cloth), since he had a personal belief that contact with spirits came more easily he would sacrifice simple comfort for his interests. On his back was a simple backpack, emptied of anything burdensome or that could be kept within his home, and on the straps lingered his trusty dagger, his blowgun, and within the pack itself was an alarming stack of needles, one hundred to be exact. Sheika approached the training group as the just began to disperse into groups of one on one, and recognizing a man he knew (who probably did not know him since Sheika had a tendency to stalk people that he wanted to turn into maledicted merchandise), and without a thought of hesitation, approached him and his randomized partner. Sheika would place a hand on the swordsman and lean his head in close, whispering something in his/her ear. Moments later and it was Sheika and Corvo, standing there, staring at each other. Sheika, again not hesitating, pulled his dagger (which was actually steel, rather than the typical Bone weapons found, probably something he haggled off of from another Myrian who found some explorers or something) from his pack and held it. The void glare in his dark brown eyes told little about this Myrian man, and those that did not grow up along side him tended to know little about Sheika anyhow. He was secretive, mysterious, wasted no time in sharing about his past when there was the present to polish and a future to construct. From inside his boned helmet, the very essence of his mother's remaining prowess, his cheeks lifted as he smiled. "I sense a greatness within you brother. Arms, they hold strength. Legs, alacrity. Eyes, cunning. Truly a work of majesty! Myri bless me! I pray that when this one falls in battle, though that day be grim, deliver me his body so that I may return such potential to his brethren! For Myri." There was a faint motion behind the bone mask as Sheika gently licked his lower lip as he watched the man. It was just a spar, training, method to enhance one's fighting ability, he had to remember this. Forgetting that he was not to turn this man into a corpse could cause him to find himself dead. Myri did not want her children slain, Sheika, as much as he desired to turn the bones of Corvo into clubs, small spears, trinkets and jewelry, could not let his obsessive hunger become the better of him. Control, he must keep control. Besides, a corpse can't help you learn the ways of a dagger better.

[Corvo]

Corvo, at this point was pretty damn confused and mildly disturbed by his words. While, he had never met or saw this man before he had a good guess of who he was. In every culture and society throughout history there were always the oddballs, the ones who swayed from the norms set forth my generations of tradition and cultural identity. And this…Sheika was it? He was certainly one such from what Corvo had heard from his peers, thought Corvo wasn’t the model Myrian either. He too wasn’t even close to being a model myrian. His personality graded on his fellows, his words would often bite and cut in place of a knife or dagger causing others to only talk to him when they needed or wanted something.

“Uhm…Okay?” It was all he could really manage to say in response. He knew little of magic but figured he wanted to do something with his bones, it was a common enough crafting material for his people…he found his statement to be somewhat unnerving. He had a feeling magic was involved. He didn’t consider himself to be the superstitious sort, but the unknown did unnerve him. He pulled his thoughts from this and concentrated on the impending fight. It seemed the oddball wanted him to make the first move. Sadly, that would not be the case. He would wait for an opening and then would pounce. Brutal and unforgiving. What few movement he would make would spell doom for his opponent.He took a low stance, keeping his center of gravity low. He would become a rock, only moved by the strongest of forces. The problems that plagued his mind only moments before had become a thing of the past as he entered the Myrian mindset. Kill or be killed.

[Sheika]

Sheika did not particularly plan for Corvo to make the first move, he did not plan beyond three seconds or a steady breath to be honest. Combat was not his forte, sure he had skill and he was Myrian after all, but fighting, hunting, they weren't the things that he most cared for, no, it was the Spirits, the Malediction, the practices of his mother. Sheika was not a natural born strategist, he was not Myri's male counterpart or reincarnate, nothing close, all he was was his mother's skull on his head and a knife in his hand. A knife which he did not intend to use. It was too lethal, too dangerous, perhaps perfect for deflection against the gauntlet, perhaps a good way to force Corvo to step away if he became too close, too personal, too vicious, but he would not risk the man's death. That would swiftly be followed by his own anyway. Sheika, once his little prayer was spoken, his honor and respect given (in his eyes, that's what they were indeed), he stepped in taking the dagger in his right hand and moved it into his left a moment before swiping with the now empty right hand, a distraction. As the man swung hard, his body would spin in attempt to bring a fierce rounding kick, though it had been raining, the earth underneath his footing was slick, and his unarmed expertise were not grand. Sheika found himself on the ground, lying on his chest, confused as to how he could mess up such a simple task. A simple kick tossed him off balance and to the ground. How Shameful. Sheika jumped back up to his feet, doing a few hops in place as he spun around to face Corvo again, then realizing his dagger was still on the ground, he knelt to grasp it once again in his left hand before standing tall, facing Corvo. He nodded lightly, as if saying 'I'm ready. What you just saw was intentional.' Sheika was an interesting find.

[Corvo]

Corvo had braced himself for an assault, raising his left arm slightly in an attempt to shield the oncoming blow, his state of mind was shattered by the mans antics, completely bringing him out of the moment and back into the real word where his problems existed, though that wasn’t even at the forefront of his mind. Currently his efforts were devoted to trying stifle the laughter that was bubbling up from the back of his throat. “Yes…I’m sure that was intentional…”

The sarcasm riddled every syllable that came out of his lips. In all honesty he wanted to believe that such a display was intentional to get him to drop his guard. Now that he actually thought about it that sounded like an excellent strategy. This one was tricky! He only waited moments, nay! Mere seconds before launching a counter offensive after his foe had composed himself. At first, he simply moved closer to his opponent, testing the waters, but as soon as he was within striking distance. He darted forward, lobbing a quick punch aimed towards stomach, hoping that it would stun him just long enough to get off a heavy handed punch to the face.

[Sheika]

Sheika stepped back, his instincts telling him, screaming at him to get more room, to use the knife, but he was quite slower. The obviously better versed Myrian, also known as Corvo, threw a solid fist straight into Sheika's stomach, Sheika felt as his knuckled pushed his skin and prodded the intestines? Perhaps he was a little dramatic, but he imagined such an image. Sheika grunted, groaned in agony as his dagger was dropped from his grasp, his left hand forming a fist and lifted into the air. The attack would have been portrayed several moments before it was actually in effect, but a 'hammer fist' of sorts was aimed towards the top of Corvo's head. Sheika was sent stumbling to the side moments later, he had seen the attack shortly before he felt it, but to move in time to avoid it was out of the question. Blocking was impossible. This man was a warrior. If only he could make a necklace from his hair, his collar bones, it would be so very useful. Sheika took several moments to recover, even if he was still partially dazed. He turned again to face Corvo, his head bobbing naturally as if trying to follow the wavering images of the Myrian that refused to merge into one single figure. It was already difficult to fight this man, but now there were two! This was ridiculous. Sheika charged in, his appearance that of a startled bull but with significantly less ferocity, danger, and intimidation involved. The Witch Doctor swung a heavy, inaccurate, predictable right hand, though rather than backing up immediately, he proceeded to follow through with his charge, attempting to grasp the man around the chest and simply take him to the ground. He had no idea what he would do from there if he managed to take Corvo down.

[Corvo]

Corvo dashed back as the fist came towards, it was a sloppy and delirious punch that only the greenest among his fellows would get caught by. But momentarily Corvo would be eating his own words. The fact that his opponent hadn’t pulled back and done the sensible thing caught him by surprise. Corvo had let his small victories in the fight cloud his judgment. He had expected him to play it safe and look for a chink in his armor; he had expected him to act like a man. Not like an animal that was outclassed. The brutish charge had taken Corvo to the ground with a thud, knocking the breath out of him. The charge was sloppy but effective. It took him a few sluggish and frantic moments to regain his stability. He wouldn’t stay down for long, he had a good couple of pounds on the man on top of him. He raised his gauntlet hand in an attempt to block any incoming blows from on top of him while pounding the man’s side with his free right hand. He knew the strikes would be weak compared to the previous ones, but hopefully after enough of them he would relent, or at least weaken giving Corvo a chance to launch a new offensive.

[Sheika]

Sheika was surprised to find both Corvo and himself on the ground. He assumed he would easily be thrown to the side, but this man wasn't exactly stronger than him, maybe taller, but they were about equally matched in strength. As they hit the ground, Sheika himself gasped, he hadn't expected the collision, though at least he was on top, which meant more weight on Corvo. Within moments, Sheika was already being assaulted, light punches to the side of his head, annoying, slightly disorienting, he threw a hard right, only to find his knuckles beat against Corvo's guard in futility. The Myrian must have predicted him again. Sheika was pretty much a picture book of unarmed fighting. In attempt to outdo the man, he would wrap his fingers around Corvo's gauntlet arm and push it, attempting to place said left arm of Corvo across his face, his throat, or inhibit his other arm, which was really starting to bother him. Once he was fumbling with Corvo's left arm, he took his left arm and tried to throw his own punch at Corvo's head. He then felt another punch right in his temple, this would be getting dangerous before too long. That would have to change. Sheika, thinking of more ways to utilize his entire body at that moment, pulled up his knee and threw it into Corvo's side, which turned out to be more towards the hip unfortunately, not quite what he wanted, but any hits he could manage would make him happier. "I'm going to bone you." Sheika whispered between gasps of breath, he wouldn't be able to keep this up much longer. One heavy push would easily separate the witch doctor from his mounted position.

[Corvo]

His position was continually growing worse. A heavy punch landed, causing somewhat blurred vision. This was no time to simply idle. He needed to get back to a standing position. He mustered as much strength as he possibly could and lobbed another punch at the witch doctor’s side, just as he made contact a knee slammed into his hip, taking away some of the force from his punch, hopefully it’d still be enough to cause some amount of pain. As his opponent spoke Corvo felt very uncomfortable, I’m going to bone you wasn’t the best thing to say to someone you were on top off, he was hoping it meant something very different than what it was generally used for.“You…have some issues.” He said as he pushed upward with his right, using his opponent’s fatigued state to his advantage. It worked, once he had gotten the man off of him he scrambled to his feet and pointed his blade at the witch doctor’s throat. “Still want to bone me?” Damn it! Now that he said it out loud it sounded a lot better in his head.

[Sheika]

Sheika accepted defeat as he was picked up and practically thrown off of Corvo, who was simply the better athlete and fighter. Sheika panted wildly as he lied there, facing the sky, continuously pelted by the oncoming raindrops that had soaked his loin cloth, which is all he was wearing, as well as his body to the core, or so it felt. In said defeat, the witch doctor chuckled out loud. His jaw, his temple, his face, all burning, all aching, all throbbing, and it felt great. What Corvo had said wan't incorrect. Sheika had issues, such as masochism, he enjoyed pain, and even though his body was screaming for him to stop, he enjoyed the alerts being fed to his mind. He nodded slowly. "Yes. But not until you are dead. Myri would be upset with Sheika if he did that now." Sheika grunted violently as he pushed himself up into a sit. There was no doubt now, he was giving up. He had nothing to offer in a fight. He was outmatched, continuing would only cause damage. Sure, Sheika loved the feel of pain, but damage was just foolishness. He wouldn't deal with that. The Witch Doctor stood up slowly, picking up his dagger that he dropped before he charged Corvo madly, and placed it back on his backpack, with the blowgun, which he was now thinking would have been better to use. "Sheika senses uneasiness in you. You don't understand Sheika, you don't have to. Sheika understands you. More training is to be done, Sheika will leave you here now. Many things to work." Sheika shrugged his shoulders as he randomly altered his words into third person. Perhaps Corvo hit him a little too hard? Sheika offered Corvo a wink before starting off, home to do more exercises surely, perhaps work on turning a tooth into an earring, who knows.