[SO-Zeltiva] No Time To Waste

[Razkar]

1st Day of Winter
Southern Ocean, three days south-west of Sunberth
10th Bell

"What are you creating, Myrian?"

"Something to destroy."

Razkar looked up after a tick and smiled, seeing his reply had dealt the confusion he had intended. The Svefra sailor just stared at him with his brows knotted like two fighting caterpillars, scratching a rough, rude, red beard.

"It will be a training model. Something for me to beat on in lieu of a willing human, yes?"

The sailor raised a doubting eyebrow at the vague outline and masses of place-less crap in the Myrian's lap, but nodded his head anyway. It seemed the thing to do, after all. This "Razkar" was their protection, was he not? Better he be practicing his martial form that just getting a tanned.

Well. Increasing it.

"Good luck to you."

"Thank you..." Razkar said with a polite smile, but it faded when he turned his face back down to his labors of the entire morning, still no more than a hunk of wood and some assorted padding. "... I will need it..."

For the tenth time that day and the thousandth time since parting with it, Razkar cursed himself anew for gifting his punching bag to that sodding Akalak Eranis. Ever since they'd left Syliras, he'd been sparring with air or battering tree stumps and now? He was making his own.

C'mon... surely it can't be that difficult...

In truth, it wasn't; it was, however, time-consuming. First he had to tie together two posts the Svefra kept on-board to shore up leaks. The rope was easily-acquired on the Calypso, and given he and Edreina's status, no-one was about to complain if the warrior wanted to hone his skills.

A bell later, he'd started wrapped folds and folds of towels, sheets, any material he could find that would not be missed. Murmuring Svefra, jabbering in flowing Fratava, found it great sport to see the dark-skinned savage toiling so diligently on what looked like...

Well, they didn't have a word for "scarecrow" in their sea-faring tongue, but if they did, they would have added "fat" and "shabby" to their description.

Razkar certainly did, when he stood back from his creation lashed upright on the deck, but it was with a glowing tone and a proud smile. That same sailor from before looked up from his rigging line and shrugged at a colleague.

Whatever makes him happy...

Then, to add an extra level of queerness to the scene, the inked and scarred Myrian pulled out... a book. Not bound in skin nor written in dried, black blood (they were back in Taloba, and were too expensive for the likes of him to purchase... but he supposed he could always create his own, one day), but a simple, ordinary, thick, heavy tome with curling corners to its yellowed pages. Razkar sat before the dummy with his legs crossed and opened the book... to the marked page.

"Practice will not only increase your strength with the Flux, but also the speed with which you can deploy it. By this point, you will be able to execute basic blows and, more importantly, you have found the fundamental truth of the Flux: that it is real and you can control it.

For now, concentrate on practice, for repetition is the mother of technique and strength.

What follows will be a chronicle of my own meddling with The Flux, and some observations I have made of it. I am far from a master in this discipline and I will confess at the outset that it will hardly be the precious mine of secrets and hidden lore you may wish it to be.

But, then again, I gave it the title of "Introduction" for a reason. The rest is up to you, my unseen and unknown friend. Practice. Experiment. Be watchful, be judicious, but never be afraid to test your limits."

FWAP!

The tome closed with that note of sharp finality, carrying over the waves parted and surfed over by the jutting prow of the Calypso. Razkar studied the cover idly for a few ticks, then a slow, appreciative smile crossed his face. He did not know this mage (or was he a warrior like himself, only with more brains and cunning?), but felt some connection with this voice that spoke to him from parchment over decades. He had learned the theory; now to the practice.

The Myrian got onto his feet in one fluid motion and breathed deep, chest inflating, heady sea air that he'd grown accustomed to filling his lungs. It was bitter, almost... spicy, but as bracing as Edreina always said it was. The rolling motion of the Calypso forced him to brace his legs but that was another thing he'd gotten used to.

Razkar couldn't help but grin. Ah, he'd come a long way, hadn't he, from puking his guts out on the schooner heading from Black Rock to Riverfall. Now he could face his fat and fuzzy enemy across the spray-specked deck with something approaching balance... raising his arms...

Calm... relax... reach into yourself... seek what is already there... beyond your flesh... under your bones...

His eyes, black and shining, gleamed a little brighter as he felt that now-familiar tingle across his shoulders, like goosebumps under his skin. His muscles prickled and he was always surprised his skin didn't glow or throb. Razkar felt such... power there... for the taking...

Careful. You are still barely even scratching the surface. Stick to what you know... for now.

Razkar let that intangible throbbing flow until he found it matching his own heartbeat, or trying to, the flow and thrust of the djed within him never truly in sync... at least not to his layman senses. But soon he found a niche; a starting point-

-snapped out two left jabs, boom-boom, fast as a Dhani's tongue. Hmm. He'd need to pad the head more, and pulled on his knuckle dusters, just in case.

I should really see about getting these in brass... damn!

As fast as he'd felt it arrive, tingling and caressing him like kisses from a lightning storm, the djed vanished from him. The foggy, prickly power of it dissipated like fog, seeming to... ooze, back into him and then it was just him, as Razkar's waking and mundane mind knew it.

He sighed and lowered his hands for a moment.

That's what you get for dropping your concentration.

Twin whip cracks sounded over the deck, and a few of the older sailors looked up sharply, suspecting a return of the whip the Captain always threatened to reinstate if work became slipshod. But it was, instead, the Myrian snapping his neck from side to side, eyes focused and driven now.

Seeking to atone for failure is one hell of a motivator.

Leather and metal studs cracked and boomed and thudded on wood and shabby padding. A few workshy sets of eyes forgot their duties and watched the Myrian slide and step around his target, arms lashing out, knees jerking up and even-

-Razkar slid around to his right and twisted at the same time, hands up to guard, body swinging around-

-leg thrown up and out, foot smashing into the kidney area of the dummy, making it creak and complain ominously.

Tingles. Or the promise of them. Tickling and rippling just under his skin, and he wasn't even breathing hard. Razkar shook a few beads of sweat away and continued with his kata, smacking two quick jabs, identical to his first, into the target's "head"-

-following it with a body shot, a bursting punch to the breastbone-

-and a left hook that swung him to the target's right-

-as his fist nearly knocked the ball of tightly-wound padding clean off the wooden spike it was stuck onto.

Give it time. Give it patience. You need to find The Flux in the midst of this... at the peaceful eye of the storm...

[Edreina]

The very moment, after yet another swim, Edreina pulled herself aboard and found Razkar busying himself with pummeling a dummy, she decided it was time that they begin sparring regularly once again. In their time in Sunberth, their lessons together had dwindled, and Edreina was sad to see it be so. But, they had both learned quite a bit on their own, she was sure. It was time that they test one another once again. As she disappeared below deck, seeking out her whip, the young redhead found herself wondering if her mysterious blessing from Yahal would come into play once again or if it only did so when she was afraid, nervous, what have you. In any case, she needed to practice with her whip and with her body.

During her time on land, her musculature had shifted slightly to favor moving and living on still earth. Swimming multiple times a day was starting to return some hints of the balance, grace of build and leg strength of her days on the Suvan but she would never have such a physique again, she shuddered to admit. She had even stumbled once in the early days on the Calypso. That had been a horrifying and embarrassing moment.

In any case, as she pulled her whip from her bag, something tinkled and clattered to the floor. Looking down, a glimmer of silver caught her eye and roused her curiosity. It took nearly a tick for her to remember that it was the necklace given to her by Matthew the Harlot before she left Syliras. She had taken it off while traveling the wilderness but now? It found its way about her throat in an instant, small silver symbol resting in the hollow at the base of her throat.

Slim fingers picked at it thoughtfully as Edreina found herself wondering if, somehow, Matthew had known of her connection to Yahal before she had. It was not impossible nor unheard of, but certainly strange to consider. In any case, it was certainly fitting for her to wear it now more than ever before.

Upon returning to the deck, Edreina rolled the whip between her hands, loosening it. A solid thump caused her to turn back towards Razkar and the Svefra barely raised her arms in time to ward off the wayward ball of whatever as it hurtled through the air as a result of whatever the petch Razkar had done. It managed to smack the flat of her forearm with enough force that her skin was set to stinging and turned a faint pink immediately. "Dammit, Raz..." she grumbled, flicking her hair out of her face.

A few steps brought her closer to the Myrian, close enough for him to see the glinting of excitement and curiosity in her wide blue eyes. "How about you practice on a real target? Use all that you've learned and I'll do the same! This way we can both know our limits and our strengths and all of that..." Her smirk harked back to another place and time even before the words left her lips. "It's been awhile since we've tested each other's limits..."

(c) Wanda Endust

[Razkar]

Fine, so he may have gone... perhaps a little too far.

Yes, and you took the poor scarecrow's head with you.

The Myrian had been getting into a nice, comfortable groove as his feet slid around his target. His legs had limbered up nicely and his combos came faster, more forcefully, but not all of them were imbued with The Flux. He was simply enjoying the chance to test himself again, making it a game.

Three blows in two ticks... next goal? Four...

But speed did not necessarily denote power, and much as the dummy swayed and shook, Razkar began to doubt he was putting true force behind his blows. Finally he willed the djed into his arms and felt the throb under his veins... took a breath...

Kicked out at its "kneecap", making it stagger and spasm-

"Hard as Stone..."

-following it with a short, sharp punch to the target's guts, then blocking an imaginary retaliation punch with his left forearm, tucking his right one back, arm bent almost double-

"-Quick as Light-!"

-and his Flux-enhanced elbow burst forward as his feet did the same, closing the distance as his arm swung around, only just within his control, muscles straining as force beyond mere flesh and blood filled them-

-slamming into the dummy's jaw with enough force to break a petching Dhani's-

SNAP!

"Shyke!"

Like I said: a little too far. The head came all the way off, innocent and untested wood (not to mention rushed carpentry) no match for such brute force, neck snapping, flying away like it had been hit by a bat-

-and barely blocked by Edreina's quick thinking

The Myrian chuckled throatily, even giddily, as the Svefra grumbled her mild curse at him. It was rare he managed to showcase his wyrd to her, and much as it... ahem, pained her in that instance, his skill in The Flux was minutely increasing. He straightened back up next to the headless dummy and flexed and swung his tingling arm, working the after-effects of the djed burst out of it.

"Did your mother not tell you about disturbing Myrians at play, hmm?"

"How about you practice on a real target? Use all that you've learned and I'll do the same! This way we can both know our limits and our strengths and all of that..."

Razkar's eyes flicked down to the whip curled at her feet and hanging from her hand like a tame snake. Fanged and barbed in a dozen places, it was a truly vicious weapon; one would never expect gentle, reasonable Edreina to carry it. But being those things did not make you soft or stupid.

The Svefra seemed to understand that wanting to finish a fight as quickly and brutally as possible did not make you bad: it made you practical. One good lick from that evil-looking device, and it certainly would be.

"Hmm..." The Myrian made a face of mock concentration, wandering absently to his weapon harness. "... mayhap we know each others strengths? When was the last time you even used that thing, hmm, apprentice?"

"It's been awhile since we've tested each other's limits..."

The smirk she threw him wiped his own off. The Myrian remembered that, as always, things changed. They were back on the sea... but not on the Anchorage, where he was the undisputed master and she a bumbling novice who barely knew how to hold a blade, let alone swing one. Granted, he knew his skill was still superior, but...

Much more has changed. And when was the last time you trained with her? Ah, yes... the Wildlands. Teaching her the gladius, and not the whip.

Razkar frowned slightly and bent down, freeing his bone-bottomed gladius from its sheath. As usual it molded perfectly to him, hand as at home around the leather-wrapped femur as it would be in his own skin. Razkar's eyes twinkled merrily... and that was the right word. To a Myrian, a Child of the War Goddess, such synergy between warrior and weapon...

It was sacred. It was beautiful. It was eternal.

"There are no true limits, female," he said softly, swishing the air with his blade. Two short strokes, and he had his balance. The two of them circled and neither begrudged the other to use a practice weapon. Razkar knew his blade, and his own skill: if he wanted to chop her arm off or slice a hair from it, he could do both. Not arrogance; physical fact. "They are temporary. They exist until we exceed them. Not limits, just... milestones to be surpassed..."

The circling stopped. Half the crew and most of the passengers watched from a safe distance now, the Svefra and the Myrian facing off with very different weapons. Razkar bent his knees and faced her almost sideways, gladius raised, voice as hard and sharp as when he'd trained recruits in Taloba, customers in Syliras and, yes, his dearest love in the Wildlands and the Anchorage.

This was more than training, after all: it was holy writ.

"Begin!"

[Edreina]

Her voice may not have held the same innate malice found in Razkar's, but she managed to growl ever so quietly in his feral tongue, "With pleasure." When fighting someone as skilled as the Myrian before her, it was a blessing to be gifted with the first attack.

In two quick steps, she whirled on her toes and lashed out with the whip, yanking it back at the last moment so that it snapped right before his eyes. Always she started with a move meant to frighten or startle in hopes of her enemy dropping their guard. A tick after that, she twisted her upper body, legs remaining planted as she lashed outwards with the whip again, this time aiming to score his dark chest. She did not fear a blow landing; Razkar was far too skilled to let a whelp leave her mark on him. Even if she did, it would not be met with anger, but pride in the fact that she was growing as a warrior and he was helping.

The motion of the whip carried her out and to the side, face splitting in a grin as adrenaline surged into her veins. The whip found itself limp upon the deck once again as she squared off against him, waiting for retaliation or critique.

(c) Wanda Endust

[Razkar]

Clever girl...

The Myrian didn't smile; his mind was focused on the task at hand, and his body would reflect his dedication, but his eyes shone with fierce approval when the bladed whip cracked and snapped mere inches before his face.

Not to mention surprise. Razkar had always been taught to close in fast for the kill during combat: that every blow should be a killing blow, or at least make contact, draw blood, cause your enemy pain and advance the battle to your advantage. But Edreina... seemed to enjoy her mind games.

His head snapped back and his arm up in response but by then the streaming, shard-encrusted length of leather had already snapped back to its owner's orbit, whirling around her again-

He would only have this tick to decide. That was why he hated the whip so much; it was like fighting air, so fluid and unpredictable. The perfect weapon for his Svefra lover, who was as predictable in a fight as ripples on the ocean.

-before slashing back towards his chest and Razkar dropped down like a stone, legs jerking out to the sides, split so low they nearly made the sailors watching wince and mutter. The Myrian certainly did, teeth gritted as his thighs strained and his head leaned back hard along with it, denying the whip it's target and then letting the motion roll himself backward, legs closing together again, going over his head-

-and he planted them behind it, pushing up-

-jerking back to his feet.

"Good start, apprentice," he murmured in his own tongue, fierce, almost sexual smile on his face, "My turn-"

He darted to her right and tossed his blade lightly from one hand to the other, left hand now filled with steel and jerking forward to stab at her stomach, hopefully driving her back. Razkar knew his female: she wouldn't miss such an obvious blow, twisting or turning away if she could-

-but she probably wouldn't expect his left leg to lift and brace itself on the railing swiftly joined by his right-

-and then pushing him off diagonally into the air, twisting him into an aerial cartwheel that would send him flying just over her head-

-gladius flying from his left, back to his right-

-aiming to land to her left, gladius sweeping low for her side... if he could regain his balance, anyway. The Myrian would feel a shudder like an earthquake as his body slammed back down onto the swaying deck, but maybe her beat of confusion at his sudden acrobatics would buy him the time he needed...

[Edreina]

The fierce smile that graced the savage man's lips sent an odd sort of fluttering dancing through the Svefra's stomach. Most would have known it to be fear or apprehension, she was surprised to define it as a patter of arousal most primal. It caught her off guard and caused her to stumble as she sidestepped the first blow, falling to her knees just as her love rocketed over her in a surprising display of acrobatics, one she had frankly thought him incapable of producing.

It was clumsy and barely controlled, telling her he had taken a risk simply for the sake of it. If the Myrian had taught her anything (and, truly, he had taught her a staggering amount) it was that any moment of weakness could and should be capitalized. He always chastised her when she hesitated in a spar, knowing that doing so in a real battle would end her life far too soon for either of their liking.

Bare feet braced against the use-worn wooden deck and her face set in a grim but determined mask. Her arm moved in a blur, whip lashing in the air behind her an instant before whistling towards the Myrian's exposed flesh, cruel and cold iron teeth glinting in the bare light of Syna with a fierce, unrestrained glee, as if they could already taste the hard-sought Myrian blood.

If the whip landed, Edreina would react in one of two ways. If Razkar made even the slightest noise or indication of pain, she would reflexively drop her whip and take a quick step back, hands coming up over her mouth to muffle the apologies her soul yearned to spout. As deeply as she knew that any injury would not be met with anger, she also knew it would always be met with guilt and remorse on her part. If, on the other hand, Razkar was stoic and took the blow without bared teeth or sharpened breath - or was not struck at all - she would dance away and resume her ready stance.

(c) Wanda Endust

[Razkar]

Suffice to say, Razkar didn't stick the landing. His agility was increasing with every duel, spar and battle he embarked upon, but he was far from an acrobat. His whole body shook with the impact and when they touched down on the boards, his torso was almost sideways, making him stagger to the side, throwing off his strike to her side-

-but Edreina was already moving, swaying back and throwing back her long, barbed whip, Svefra gasping as foot after foot of thin, tough cord knitted with blades flashed through the air.

The Myrian had just enough time to snarl. Gods, how he hated fighting such a weapon. It was like dueling air: impossible to truly predict, almost as hard to block and it afforded your enemy plenty of distance. All he could do was-

-leap and twist to his side as the whip came slashing down sideways at him, jerking his torso to his left as he turned it-

-not fast enough, score of bleeding flesh ripped down his front as he was a mite too slow-

"Shyke!"

-and he staggered against the railing, blood now introduced hissing to the open air, one hand pressed against it, growing wet, sticky...

She heard a clatter from behind her; a hiss of in-drawn breath that he knew well. Face hidden, back facing her as he hunched over, a slow, sadistic smile crawled over the Myrian's face. She didn't finish him. A mistake he would have to educate her about...

"My... wave..." He managed to groan in her language, bubbly tongue sounding like froth through his vocal chords, shoulders trembling. "It hurts... please... deep..."

He'd have to lay it on thick, of course. Hopefully she'd fall for his wounded Tskanna act, getting closer and closer, her guard down and concern peaked-

-and then he'd whirl on her, right arm smacking the flat of his gladius against the side of her right kneecap in a backhand, ruining her balance-

First the bottom, then the top.

-left arm cocking as he twisted around to face her, forearm parallel to the deck as if for a punch, exploding outward as he finally finished his whirl-

-heel of his hand smashing into her breastbone. Judiciously, though; Razkar had seen how such a blow could easily crack a bone or even puncture the heart, and he knew he was strong enough to do it. But it would be enough to send her flying away from him and to the deck of the Calypso.

"My wave..."

Of course, she had to fall for it, first.

[Edreina]

The Svefran words he used to name her were simple in definition, but he had thought them pretty, even with his shyke accent, enough to lay upon his love. His use of her tongue stilled her heart and caught her breath. If it was so bad that he spoke in a tongue able to be understood by even the simplest of deck hands, it must have been bad. Some moved to his aid but she waved them away as she approached quickly, leaving the cursed whip behind; she had been the one to cause his pain so it was only right she be the one to attend him.

The Myrian, despite his size and apparent ailment, moved more quickly than Edreina's untrained eye could follow. But damn it all did she feel it. Her leg exploded in pain, then her chest as she tumbled backwards, stumbling as her failing leg gave way until finally the railing caught her and she sagged, gasping as her heart thundered unevenly in her chest. Wide-eyed, she grasped at her front, hand fisting over her chest; holy fire flooded her limbs alongside the sharp tang of adrenaline.

Blue eyes froze over as she glared at him, cold and quite even as strength warmed her from nose to toes. Pain fled before the light of Yahal when it was needed; a Cursed One taking advantage of the kindness in her heart and purity of her faith seemed to justify it; Razkar had never held back on using his Myri-given gifts on her, time she return the favor.

In a single sharp movement, she rose to her feet. Gone was the excited, playful woman he usually sparred with; before him now stood a woman tired of being beaten for being kind. "Thing you forget, my love," she growled, voice sounding like the coming of a storm from miles off as she dropped into her native tongue, "You not my enemy. This not battle. This spar. I not know my limits. I could hurt you too easy..." God-strengthened limbs propelled her forward quickly, catching her whip up from the deck without breaking stride across the tossing deck.

Her arm moved in a pale blur as she lashed out at him, striking at only his rope-bound arm. If it landed, the teeth would quickly be caught in the fibers and Edreina would drop her whip immediately in order to keep it from being used against her.

For the first time in her life, she felt ready for him. Her mind raced at a thousand knots while the world around her was locked in running at about ten. When his return came, she would be ready, dancing backwards or, preferably, beneath him. If she could end up behind him, she would have an advantage on the tossing deck; his sea-legs were still paltry compared to hers. If all worked out, she would have a perfect (to her) plan laid out. Fire would blaze in her eyes, her hair, and her body as she lunged forward, aiming to drive her shoulder into the Myrians back with so much force that she would fall with him, but atop him. With so much untested strength, her clearer mind had room to worry about hurting him even worse. But, he had already scolded her once and, when this was all over, she would bear the bruises of it.

If they fell in a tangle of limbs, two long, pale would arms lock about his neck, pulling his chin up as far as she dared with the inner crook of her elbow while her hands created a vice, all before he could react. The wind would have been knocked from him and hopefully stunned him just enough for this to happen. She had tried this once before, but that had been seasons ago. Her strength and her skill had improved since then. One knee would then find its way to his back, holding him in place while her other would whip out and, with the flexibility a Svefra would pride herself on, attempt to pin his gladius wielding arm out and to the side, so that it could not be used against her.

Razkar had more skill than her, that was a given. But, Edreina was angry and Yahal's strength flooded her system, making her a bit more reckless than she would have been in any other spar. By hurting her for such shyke reasons, he had sapped her curiosity and excitement to learn, driving her to only wish to see the spar over. Her breath would be hot in his ear as she leaned down, wild hair like a veil around them, to growl, "Myrian mother no teach son be wary of strong woman? No mock woman?" She would hold him there until her adrenaline - and strength - faded or he used his superior skill to worm his way out, likely biting her with those damned teeth, if their past was to be considered. Any pain brought by retaliation would be worth it. She was damn tired of his blindness, his mindset that everything he did was always right and always best. It simply was not, at times.

Edreina hated violence, but he needed to learn that his rushing into it would not always end as he expected.

When they parted, she would stand and make her way to her whip, silent until it was in her hands again. Slowly, she would stride back over to him, voice low and eyes darkened by the fading annoyance in her heart. "The thing you keep forgetting, Razkar, is that I'm not your enemy, even in a spar. I'm your student. When the time comes, I will kill. But, I will not risk your life by trying to "end" it. One misangled punch, one badly placed whip-spike... You could be taken from me. This isn't Taloba."

And I'm no Myrian. Further her eyes dropped with the sigh that left her lips. He saw the fact she worried over hurting him as weakness and maybe it was. But, it was Edreina. If she had to kill, she could - faces flashed behind her eyes - but she took no joy in it. She did not crave it, as he did. She never would.

With that, unless he had something to add, she would stow her whip below and undress for a swim-

-ming lesson. At least two unassuming Denvali would end up thrown overboard in her own "do or die" - not literally, of course, as they were surrounded by able bodied Svefra who were ready to jump in and save their cargo if it was put into true danger - approach to making these land-striders swimmers worthy of being called a Svefra.

But, if it failed, she would likely end up gasping in pain on the deck. When Razkar's point was made, she would give him a long, slow look that spoke more than any written text and move below deck to carry out her own duties.

OOCRaz: You've godmodded every thread we've ever sparred in, why would I have a problem with it now? You're doing better, though. In any case, I think it is high time I return the favor. Long as we're both ok with it and stay within our skill-levels, should be fine. Keeps the story and the thread moving instead of becoming boring and stagnant. Just remember to lay off on it when threading with people other than me; they may not take it as kindly as I do.

To the mod: This thread was started and planned before the change in Yahal's gnosis.

(c) Wanda Endust

[Razkar]

He'd struck a nerve and though it ripped the light of reason and curiosity from her face, replacing it with a mask of anger, Razkar couldn't help but tip his wolfish grin back into it.

Good. That's the attitude you need, Edri. Kill or be killed.

But it was more than just frustrated, insulted anger driving her. Razkar could flip onto his feet from his back, but unsteadily and with a grunt; Edreina managed it faster, and with neither weakness nor sound. The Myrian's smile faltered a fraction, sensing something-

-her glowing palms-

"I could hurt you too easy..."

-and then she moved like red lightning, flying towards him on feet barely touching the deck, snatching up her weapon and snapping it towards him as her burning words were still echoing in his head-

-but the Myrian had been expecting it. If he hadn't, it would probably have flayed open half his chest. His left arm shot up diagonally and a length of the wicked cable snapped around the rope "armor" he'd crafted. It was odd, how the spikes bit and tore into the hemp but not his arm; he felt the impact and the hissing, slithering feel of it-

-waited until it had a good grip on his arm, and thus he on it-

-then jerked his arm back hard, vicious, trying to rip the whip from her grip and aiming a backhanded gladius blow at the Svefra's head, flat of the weapon aiming to brain her for the insult-

Shyke!

She dodged him! Evaded him! Slipped under his arm as smooth and seamless as a breeze. Razkar's face was a picture of surprise as his arm kept moving, shock destroying his composure and his form. Within a blink she was behind him, just as he started to spin back around-

-and a weight for more force than the lean Svefra normally possessed knocked him on his front. Scrambling limbs tangled around his neck, pulling back with unnatural strength and vigor, tightening around his throat. He tried to breath and failed, air stilling and stymied at his throat. He tried to bring his weapon back to bare-

-but her foot lashed out, holding it down, harder, stronger, heavier-

-the same as the knee in his back, stretching it mercilessly, rendering him helpless as he'd been when his older sisters had beaten him purple back in the jungle...

"Myrian mother no teach son be wary of strong woman? No mock woman?"

A spike of white fury suddenly set Razkar's body rigid. Of all the pressure points she could have picked... oh, such a mistake-

Use your free elbow. Swing it underarm, crack her ribs on her left side. Bite down on her arm after you do that, loosen her grip on you entirely. Then spin, put a foot into her face and finish up with-

Wait... Wait...

It could have been the lack of air to his brain, but Razkar... paused. Within his own mind. The fury stilled, like his soul was in the eye of a hurricane. He'd suffered the curse of a god because he had not thought things through. He'd just... reacted, as he'd always done, with violence being the fastest and more fitting solution.

And what would that be now? Beating, bruising and maiming his highest mortal love? Would he really sink so low?

Dark hands contorted into claws, into fists... but did not strike. He just lay there, unresistant but still taut, waiting... waiting... until she finally dismounted him. Chest heaving, he gulped down vast lungfuls of air, choking on the first few, hearing scattered sounds of her recovering her poise and her weapons between his retching.

Never gonna hear the end of this from the blood crew.

"The thing you keep forgetting, Razkar, is that I'm not your enemy, even in a spar. I'm your student. When the time comes, I will kill. But, I will not risk your life by trying to "end" it. One mis-angled punch, one badly placed whip-spike... You could be taken from me."

Razkar did the same, lurching upright and rubbing at his raw throat, hands trembling. Gods, but Yahal did give her strength. It seemed... almost twice what she was capable of. Strength of limb apparently equaled speed, too. But her mind... that hadn't change.

Still prudent. Still wise beyond her years and thinking in terms of strategy, not just tactics. Razkar saw the next move and was always hungry for it; she saw the board, and the consequences of the game.

And she loves you. She cares for your safety. Even now, with a god's favor putting her on equal terms with you, she cares not for her own power, she does not gloat or strut. She only fears that it may hurt the one she loves.

"This isn't Taloba."

"No... No, it is not."

The Myrian's lips quirked and he bit off the urge to add "more's the pity". Sarcasm and jibes wouldn't make his defeat sting any less, nor leech the wisdom from her words. Instead he just nodded his agreement... and sheathed his weapon.

He watched her walk (well, hobble) back down the stairs to the hold, shaking his head as the Svefra got back to work and the Denvali milled about, killing time in their myriad of ways. Razkar smiled softly to himself and breathed deep into strong lungs through a weak throat, sea air whipping at his locks as he stared out at the endlessly crashing waves.

The savage added nothing out loud to the frothing water; he sat and watched it as the Calypso continued its voyage, cutting through spray and shoal toward Sunberth, thinking on the spar, the words, her, him and all parts unconsidered.

[Eldritch]

Edreina :

Skills
Weapon: Whip +2
Endurance +1

Other
-Though use of Myrian for some time Edreina's proficiency can move up to Basic.

Notes :

Nice thread.

If you have any comments/questions/concerns about your grade please PM me and we will work something out.

Keep on writing!