Solo Five Fingered Poetry

[Ereban]

Season of Fall, Day 74, 513 AV, Docks The azure ocean leapt up at a distant skyline, blooming into mountainous clouds that would turn into spun opals come sunset. But with the morning sun just over the dunes, just resting on the flat roofs of the warehouses and harbor walks of the dock district, they stood out like white horses rearing frozen, ready to tumble back into the far away waves. “Greetings, you asked to see me?” offered Ereban from his pale cowl. The cool morning clung to his off white tunic and he kept his arms inside the cloak that hung over his thin shoulders. Boats crowded into the busy berths, their draped rigging waiting to cloud up with sails. The docks did not have cycles like the rest of the city. They did not rest, they did not slow or take up some different character for a time. The docks worked, all the time, for sun and for moon. His question competed with the creaking of salted ropes and stressed pulleys. Huge boxes and bags moved overhead and conversations in a myriad of languages drifted among the stacks of goods and nets full of products waiting to leave. The woman looked up puzzled. “Did I?” she mused. Her dust blond hair was wound in tight braids and secured in its labyrinth with bone pins scrimshawed at their flat ends, fish and skulls. Her face was broad with strong brows. Not unattractive but aggressive and powerful, her nose a bumped plain, her jaw square and hard edged. She dropped the bag partially hoisted between them. It hit the dock boards like a boulder. “Ah, yes, you specifically told me not to make you come looking for me.” Ereban explained, immediately regretting starting this conversation within arm’s reach. She thought about it a moment and then smiled revealing pretty teeth, one of them silver. She wore a leather apron over a simple tunic circled with a sword belt. But no scabbard or sword hung in the frogging. Her bare arms were slabbed with muscle and when she snapped her thick fingers it sounded like a bone breaking. “Yeah! That’s right. You was that lace from last night.” She said jabbing a finger at him. Perhaps it was the light from the passing morning but one arm looked a shade darker than the other. Her speech was accented but Ereban could not place the region, certainly nowhere near here. “Lace? I… no I am Ereban. My apologies for last night. The Pillars can be a rough place, the Scorched Skull even worse. I was delivering some plants when they came upon me.” He began but she cut him off with a chopping motion. “I was looking fer a puddle to make and they was all, eeeyy geet dat one doo.” She said with a laugh. “It is unfortunate you got dragged into that.” He offered but she shook her head. “Nah, them three was easy whoopin. The one with the sword was more fun.” “He was a fox, a guard. Well, a guard in training.” He nodded. She pointed at him accusingly. “You had some pretty moves back there, Boot-lace.” It was Ereban’s turn to look puzzled. “I literally did nothing. You beat three duskers and a sword wielding fox barehanded. You punched them until they ran away and I would be surprised if the fox has any teeth left on that side.” She chuckled at the memory and flexed her scored right hand, powerful fingers curling into a fist he could almost hear. “Heh, yeah. But I saw you slipping some shots in there Boot-lace. You ain’t no grasshopper, yeah? You’re in the go. You got a style, right?” The inquiry hit Ereban like a sucker punch and even if he had a mind to lie, he knew that his face had given up everything already. She smirked at the hesitation daring him to hide anything with a lopsided grin. “Long ago I practiced some arts, some of it has come back to me. I should practice more.” He sighed in way of admission. She nodded solemnly and twirled a finger at his booted feet. “Okay, you show me.” “Show you what?” he asked clearly stalling for time. “Show what you got.” She said slipping into a menacing drawl. “Ahh… I would rather not.” Ereban took a step back. “You thought that was a question. That’s funny Boot-lace.” She laughed and launched herself forward, powerful body turning, hard fists moving. He sidestepped the straight right but it touched his cowl like a siege-engine sling stone. Reflexively he shifted his weight to one side and drifted low, barely touching the ground, arms still hidden in his cloak. Two more punches followed him in strafing succession and then a vicious chop that he narrowly avoided by planting his feet and turning sideways. A quick back step left some room between them and his back against a stack of crates taller than him. Over her shoulder the tall bow of a ship in its rope swaddled berth had filled up with people jostling for a view of the proceedings. One of them yelled for her to give him the spinning oar. Ereban was certain he did not want the spinning oar. She looked delighted and murderous at the same time, strands of blond hair waving in the salt breeze, fists up and turned slightly inward, feet wide and ready to brace back. There would be no knocking her over, no tripping her up. Pinned against the crates, he would have to find another way. The words of a long dead master of movements came to him, a memory from his training a lifetime ago. “All steps have their mirror, one way an opponent wants to go and one way they cannot imagine.” Ereban stood and slowly moved his hands outside the cloak then flipped back the edges over his shoulders. She chuckled and bounced lightly in her soft boots before settling down again into that rock solid stance blocking his path past her. He set his hands in front, one at chest level and the other lower and inside, palms up. The distant deck crew hooted and laughed, certainly money was passing hands. Tired of waiting, she moved in with a left jab, a feint. He tapped it in way of a block but it was like slapping at an oak branch. The looping right that followed had more promise and Ereban stepped into it twisting his hips. The force of her punch carried her into him and his thin hands touched her wrist and arm almost delicately. He swung their bodies around and she turned expertly, avoiding the throw even as her back slapped the crates, their positions reversed. The crew went up in cheers. Even as he backed up she was on him. He tucked his arms back inside the flapping cloak making his target area as slim as he could. Swishing punches sliced past him and an uppercut glanced by his shoulder spinning him completely around but he made a ghost of himself dodging and drifting just out of reach or turning out of her arc, making her dance to keep up. It didn’t take long to understand that she was just toying with him, getting the gist of his method. Her footwork alone marked her as an expert and Ereban felt she could bring his to a messy end whenever she liked. It was time to withdraw, time for the step she wouldn’t imagine. After a series of short punches, any one of which might have plucked out a rib had he not spun sideways for his life, his hands flipped outward from the cloak again. They locked onto her corded wrists and his boots spread into a firm stance. Ereban set himself just like she had, a wide stance, powerful and immovable. It was a dare, a challenge. He spoke directly to her training and it answered him in kind like a swallow to its mate. Her fists opened and she grabbed his arms as well locking the two of them together, a swift shift of her feet and then the inevitable, the flow of power up from her toes through her flexing knees and locked hips. It surged up through her torso like an ocean wave to smash into him, a throw to break his stance, to send him flying. And then his stance disappeared. Ereban went as loose as a bed sheet and all that power blazed through him like a charging bull dragging her forward right off her feet. He folded backwards as she sailed over him. Had he been more accomplished he might have planted a kick then or perhaps something more dangerous, but he was more than happy to roll back from his shoulders to the satisfying thump of her crashing into the decking. He turned to his feet and made to exit immediately but his cloak snatched tight at the clasp, a sudden garrote fueled by his own haste. He choked and looked back to see her kneeling, holding the wet hem of his garment in her fist, a grim smile on her wide face. The crew laughed riotously pounding on the carved balustrade and pointing. He tried to turn, tried to slip out of the cloak but this was clearly a step he had not imagined. Just as quickly she was on her feet and holding up a hand, the universal gesture for “hang on a second”. Dropping his cloak she produced a small bag from her belt and from that bag a chunk of white cheese. She snapped up easily half of it in one bite and stepped forward offering the rest of it to Ereban. “Kulga.” She mumbled around the pungent mouthful. He wasn’t sure exactly what to do but accepted the cheese. The crew was in full huddle now exchanging money in earnest. She cut them a wry glare and then turned back to him. “My name is Kulga Given.” She said it with a nod of her head. “Ereban.” He responded hoisting the cheese piece like a toast and then sampling a bit of one edge. It hit almost as hard as she did. He wrestled with his face before mastering the bite. The deck crew watched and then went back to passing money back and forth. She blew through her lips. “Yeah, yeah, look you’re pretty switchy there with the dodgey bits. What was that?’ She motioned back to their impromptu battleground. “That was ‘steps becoming the breeze’. It is part of the air movements in the Four Elements style.” He replied. She nodded again taking it in, obviously playing it all back in her mind. “And the flippy thing?” “That was ‘earth falls into water’ a mixture of two other movements.” Looking back he could see why one might want to incapacitate an opponent on the way over, especially if one were wearing a cloak. She took that in as well and then clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, you come back while the Merry Gale is in port and we can talk some more, yeah?” She indicated the ship. Ereban looked up at the crew still gathered and peering over the railing at them. He carefully and clearly took another bite of the cheese. Half their number threw their hands up in disbelief as the other half burst into laughter immediately demanding their wagers from incredulous companions. Kulga guffawed and thumped him with an elbow. “You’re alright, Boot-lace. You’re alright.” . .

[Timshel]

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Ereban:

• Withheld. Your CS is good, but you haven't been active for over two months. If you come back, PM me, and I'll add your grade here.