Flashback Daggers at Dawn

[Verin Rush]

3rd Day of Spring, 506AV The tamo daggers were tidily tucked away within each other. When his father had gotten him them, for the beginning of his fifteenth year, Verin had thanked the man and, once out of his father’s presence, had thrown them aside. Venser had received nothing that day, save for a brief, apparently meaningless, apology about the night previous. It had hurt his brother to receive nothing, and it had therefore also hurt Verin. He didn’t want to be overtly grateful to his father for anything when he knew how much his twin suffered at their father’s hands. Now, however, a year later, Verin had been rummaging though his personal possessions, only to come across the daggers that he had given no thought to since the day he received them. As a gut reaction, he glanced behind him, around the room. He knew that he was alone; Venser was out doing something only Rhysol knew about, and his father was… also out, though at this time in the morning, Verin also couldn't work out what. With their modest home to himself, he spun himself around and sat on the ground, with his back up against the chest he had just previously been looking through. Despite himself, a ghost of a smile flew across his lips as he looked at the sheathed daggers. He brought the pair up to his eyes, taking care to finally notice that his father had had the green handles inscribed, with his initials; a ‘V’ on one handle, and the letter ‘R’ on the other. They could, therefore, have been for either brother, or even both of them. But Verin and Venser knew better; their father would never gift the younger son anything more than a roof over his head, clothes on his back and a few decent meals in order to keep him alive. Venser believed that this minimal care was merely in memory of their mother, who had died in childbirth. Verin, however, still wanted to believe that there was some humanity and compassion in the man who raised them. It was possibly a flaw, but the elder was still keen to see good in everyone, even if it meant that his judgment was impaired. As he sighed to himself, he held onto one end tightly with his left hand whilst he ran his right index finger against the cool metal that was still sheathed away. Then, he gripped the other end and pulled it away, and up, from the other as he left hand pulled down slightly. Pale blue eyes widened as he watched them come apart; he had heard about daggers that worked in such a way, but had never seen them himself. Suffice to say, the Rush scion was impressed.

[Verin Rush]

Verin was careful, and slow, as he ran his finger along one of the blades. The other he had placed carefully in his lap for a later time as, for now, he was only in need of one of them. It was early enough that he was still fighting the effects of sleep. Though he knew that it was unlikely he would fall back to sleep, if he was given the chance, he was still careful; this morning was one of those mornings where the pull of sleep was still upon him, like a fog rested upon his mind, calling him back to bed, and to the peaceful dreams that slumber would undoubtedly offer him. He fought it, though, blinking numerous times in an effort to keep himself awake. And it worked, and he was soon back to examining the blade in his hand. He didn’t know much about the tamo daggers, nor did he know much about daggers, or other bladed weapons, in general. He wasn’t aware of how they were made, or how they should be cared for, or even how they should be used. All that he was doing, was based entirely on instinct. So, when he pricked his finger on the tip of the blade, he was not surprised to find it sill sharp, after having been left for so long uncared for. For a moment, he wondered how much use they would get before they became blunted, and if something as small as these required a whetstone to sharpen them again, or if they just had to be thrown out and a new pair bought. They were beautiful, he had to give his father that credit, at least. He doubted that they came cheap, especially with the engraving on their sides. He made a promise to himself to use them more often, at least to take them out, and keep them on his person, at long as they were hidden from his brother for the most part. Verin was not a vain or proud young man: he took no joy in flaunting his gifts in front of his younger brother. For now, though, whilst he was alone, he continued to inspect them. He had plenty of time, and nothing better to do, unless he was to return to his studies, which didn’t seem all that appealing to him right now. He didn’t get up, or move from his position, though, deciding just to sit quietly and learn about the implements in his lap and hand. He wanted to get used to their presence, to how heavy they were, and how they felt when he held them. He silently hoped that he would never have to use them for offense or, especially, defense, but if he had to, he wanted to be sure that they would not betray him. Or, more likely, if he did not understand what he was wielding, he hoped he wouldn’t betray himself. It took a few chimes, but eventually he was able to balance one of them along his index finger. And he left it there, getting more and more used to it.

[Verin Rush]

The blades were both light in his hand. In some ways, Verin imagined that this could be more of a curse than a virtue, in the long run. A weightier, more substantial blade, though harder to wield, would always be a constant reminder of what he was holding, and the damage it could do. Looking at it, Verin knew that this small blade could do a lot of damage but, at the same time, it seemed to be… almost harmless to him. He did not hold the same reverence for it that he might hold something larger, a more traditional weapon, as it were. And with that, Verin knew, came the fear that he might forget what was in his hand, and cause damage to himself, or worse, to another person. One that he didn’t intend to hurt. He had already learnt, from pricking his finger, that the blade could easily slice through skin, and most likely flesh, just at the simplest touch. Eventually, he placed the two daggers, still unsheathed, on his bed before standing up. Then he reached out and picked up the daggers again. Listening, he checked that no one had arrived home; he imagined his brother’s reaction to the tamo daggers. Of course, he knew that Verin had received the gift, and always gave off an air of interest to Verin’s more interesting possessions, but he did not want to provoke the younger boy’s sensibilities, and give him more of a desire to hate their father. Though he was treated better than Venser, Verin was by no means a spoiled child, and he wouldn’t risk his relationship with his brother over any gifts that his father gave him. He heard no one, however, and his gaze drifted down to the wooden door. A few steps and he was against the wall opposite the door. Glancing down to the dagger in his right hand, he rubbed his thumb up and down the handle as he moved it in his palm, in order to get a better grip. Once happy with its placing, he tightened his grip and raised his arm above his head so that the blade end of the dagger was facing forwards. Without much thought to the process, he picked a point on the door, which was a little bit higher than his eye-level, and centered on the door, and threw the dagger. Verin had seen much of the Ebonstryfe and their weapons, even once having seen them use those weapons, and knew how deadly and dangerous they could be. But he was still only a boy just past his sixteenth year, and the thrill of playing with the daggers made him slightly careless. The second one, he did the same, taking less care this time to prepare it in his hand, and, focusing on the same point, threw it as well. He was not standing far from the door, so he could easily tell where the pair had landed; the first, he noted, had hit the door, but it was about two feet lower and a few inches left of where he had been aiming for. The second hadn’t hit the door. Instead, it had hit the wall, leaving a thin dent, but the throw had not been powerful enough and it fel out, landing below, on the floor. The results didn’t deter the young man, though, and he strode over to collect the two daggers, taking care when removing the one lodged in the door, so as not to create more damage in the wood. With one in each hand, he walked back over to where he stood previously and threw them both again, with even less preparation than the first two throws. The second hit the door this time, and it landed a little closer to where he was aiming for, but it was again a weak throw, and it only remained in the wood for a few ticks before falling to the ground. From the sound of the first dagger hitting the door, Verin thought that the blade made no contact with the wood. Instead, he imagined that it was the tang which hit the door. With a huff of irritation, he walked back over and bent down to pick the two daggers up. A Quick inspection of the pair showed that they were not damaged or marked and, satisfied, he turned and walked back over to the opposite wall.

[Verin Rush]

This time, when he took up his position, he angled the dagger so that only his thumb and finger tips touched the handle, though they held onto it firmly. The blade itself was pointing backwards, towards the wall behind him, rather than having it aim towards the door like he had done before. He imagined that, with enough spin, he might be able to be more accurate. More likely though, his throws would be more powerful, as he was giving his arm more room to move and gain power in. Thinking back to all of the times he and Venser had chucked around the crudely carved wooden ball, he remembered that they both gained a lot more power in their throws when they threw over-arm shots, compared to underarm. Generally, given the small size of the room they shared, the brothers would only ever use the under-arm technique, but on occasion they would go outside and throw the ball further. Over-arm definitely had more distance, and as a considerable amount faster than under-arm. The same logic might work for throwing these two daggers, he thought. He threw the first and was satisfied to find that, though it was no closer to where he had been aiming for, the blade had travelled through the air much faster than before, and was deeply lodged into the back of the door. He smiled; he was glad of his theory being correct, though now he just had to work on his aim. After moving the second dagger to his right hand, he raised his arm once again. He kept his eyes locked onto the point on the door at which he was aiming as he breathed deeply. Not once did he allow himself to blink, lest that was the reason his shots were going all over the place. He checked his footing, to make sure that he would not lose his balance, and again, he threw the blade. A grin fell across his face; this one had landed mere inches from the place he had been aiming for. “Don’t get cocky Verin…” his father’s voice reverberated though his mind, as loud as if he was standing right beside him, “You’re only good if you can consistently land those shots. So far it’s just beginner’s luck, boy.” The Rush scion gritted his teeth as he stalked over to collect the daggers, hoping to leave his father’s voice behind. There was little friendship between his father and him. The majority of this now stemmed from his father’s desperate desire to lead a more Syliran life. He was relentless in his campaign to turn Verin away from the Defiler, and make him ‘see the light’ as he kept putting it. Verin wouldn’t give up his God. The blond yanked the blades out of the door and ran his fingers over the few notches now in it. Absently, he bit down on his lower lip; Venser would surely notice the damage, but he hoped that his father, ever the unobservant idiot that he was, would see nothing. Chances were, if he did see it, he wouldn’t ask questions, and his mind would immediately jump to the conclusion that Venser was at fault. He sighed as he dropped his hand from the door and walked away again, maybe he could ask Venser to tidy it up… carve a design into it or something.

[Verin Rush]

The sun was high in the sky by the time Verin finally decided to stop chucking the two daggers at the door. The door itself was looking substantially worse for wear now; the notches and splintered wood covered most of the door. Some were close together but, for the most part, his aim had been terrible and his father’s imagined words had been right – save the odd throw, the majority had not landed close to his target area, and more had hit the wall or the floor, rather than the door itself. He glanced down and grimaced as he realized that the floor around the door was littered in sections of wood that had splintered off. Leaning over, he placed the tamo daggers, still unsheathed, on his brother’s bed, which was closer to him, and bend down to scrape the splintered wood into a pile. He picked the pieces up carefully, as he didn’t want a loose shard of wood to dislodge itself and end up in his skin. Verin hissed a few times, when the sensitive palms of his hands caught against a particularly sharp edge of wood, but for the most part he was fine. With almost all of the wood in his hands, he walked over to the window and opened it. Like most windows in Ravok, he could look down onto one of the many canals in the city, but there was a reasonably large pathway between his building and the canal. He glanced down, in order to make sure that no one was walking underneath his window. Luckily, there was no one in sight, so he did not have to worry about injuring anyone with a sprinkling of wooden shards. He released the shards and wiped his hands down before returning to the door. The remainder of smaller pieces, Verin just used his fingers to brush towards the corner of the all instead; he doubted that they would get in anyone’s way there. Standing up, he finally returned his attention to the daggers. He took a seat on his twin brother’s bed and pushed himself back so that he was leaning against the wall. Lifting his legs up, he brought them up at an angle; a more supportive position than one of just letting his legs dangle over the edge of the bed. Once again, he inspected the daggers and was glad to find that there was no damage on either of the blades; they had not even been scratched. He imagined that, if he had been more forceful in throwing the daggers, he would likely have caused the metal to scratch somewhat. The fact that they showed little to no signs of wear probably wasn’t a good thing. “I’ll just have to use them more, I suppose…” He promised himself. He had enjoyed being foolish with the tamo daggers today, but his time throwing them had shown him that it was more of an art than he could have originally guessed, and he was determined to become more proficient in using them. Smiling to himself, he placed both blades in his left hand and reached down with his right to lift up the hem of his shirt, which he then used to wipe the two blades down of dust. Once satisfied, he dropped his shirt and sheathed the two daggers inside each other and pushed himself off of his brother’s bed before walking over to his chest of belongings. “Until next time…” he thought to himself as he put them away, covering them with other items, so that they wouldn’t be easily found.

[Abstract]

Grade Awarded!

Player One

Skills

~ Observation - 4
~ Weapon: Tamo Dagger - 2
~ Cleaning - 1

Lores

~ Holding Daggers to Get Used to Them
~ Lighter Blade: Curse of Virtue?
~ Throwing a Blade: Spin = Power

Other

N/A

Notes

Just note that Tamo daggers may not be well weighted for throwing - not all blades are.

On an amusing topic, did you know that the fifth image when searching 'tamo daggers' on google is one of Kavala's? XD