Completed [Tuvya Sasaran] Once More, With Feeling

[Hirem]

72nd of Spring, 514 AV
11th Bell, 31st Chime

"Begin."

After the first match, his ego was wounded.

"Cease."

After the second match, his knuckles ached painfully.

"Begin."

After the third match, Hirem was beginning to despair of ever taking down an Akalak trainee in single combat.

"Cease."

The fourth match left him feeling a little bit better, as he had finally managed to subdue one of his opponents.

"Begin."

After the fifth match, however, Hirem was confronted with the truth: whatever skill he thought he had acquired in combat, whatever prowess he imagined that he had, was insufficient compared to even the most basic of Akalak disciplines. He was no stranger to the art of combat, but he kept making rookie mistakes that his rivals found easy to exploit. They flipped around him, they ducked and weaved under his careless attacks, they lashed out at his unprotected sides and left him crippled on the floor. His fifth opponent didn't even bother with a guard; lunging under his wild swing, the young Akalak wrapped an arm around his shoulder, hauled him off the ground, and slammed him onto the floor, pinning him in one effective manuever. "Cease!" The master cried, and just like that, the bout was done, the Akalak warrior already pushing himself to his feet.

His body sore and groaning with pain, Hirem nonetheless struggled to get up alongside his opponent. "Good match," he wheezed, gripping his knees tightly. "I don't think I've ever been so quickly defeated before." He struck his hand out, as a sign of respect.

Grinning, the blue-skinned boy took the hand, shook it vigorously, and clapped the rising Benshiran twice on the shoulder. "You are strong and big, and hard to knock down... but you have the grace of a cow, and you expect your enemy to move just as slowly." The criticism was frank and harsh, but Hirem did not feel its sting. If anyone can beat me as soundly as this young man, I, frankly, deserve it. As the two trainees walked towards the edge of the practice mat, the master already signalling for another pair to take their place, the Akalak boy turned and frowned at the Benshiran. "Did you ever get taught how to fight with your fists?"

Some, back in Yahebah, but my attention was focused more towards study of history and Yahal. What I have learned, I learned in the desert... and the streets of Ahnatep. He remembered his last night in the Eypharian city, his desperate attempts to escape being stalled by a gang of three rugged men from the Pillars of Dust. He remembered how harried and tense that fight had been, Hirem's own lack of skill nearly bringing about his downfall. In previous battles, I won thanks to blind luck, my own rage, and Yahal's graceful hand. Without all three precious gifts, I would have long ago died. Since he had been soundly beaten of air, however, the Benshiran only offered a quiet shake of the head to answer the Akalak.

Frowning, the boy once again pat him on the back. "You've come to the right place, then. You just need to work on your instincts. Learn how to move with the enemy, and how to stop them from moving in circles around you."

He is very young, but speaks with the wisdom of a master. I should consider myself blessed for receiving such an opponent. Thanking the boy again for their bout, Hirem retrieved his clothes, excused himself from the hall, and found himself an empty practice room in another corner of the school. Dumping his coat, tunic, and backpack onto the ground, the Benshiran took a few moments to steady himself before he leaped back into his training, draining his waterskin and wiping sweat off his bare skin. The school's custom held that tunics were to be doffed when practising unarmed combat, a tradition Hirem embraced thoroughly - allowing himself to be bare-chested was a luxury scarcely afforded in the desert. He was only slightly self-conscious of the faint Gnosis mark upon his back, as few Akalak students had managed to recognize it thus far. The less attention drawn upon me, the better.

When he felt that he was ready, Hirem set himself before one of the practice dummies, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. The master had earlier given him a series of basic drills to run, simple attacks that nevertheless improved his form, and it was these that Hirem now rehearsed in his head. Strike to left shoulder, return, kick to right ankle, return, kick to right shoulder... Gritting his teeth, the Benshiran then began to practice the blows in earnest, his fists and feet lashing out against his fake opponent. Though he felt weak and tired, the man's sheer determination helped sustain the exercise as he thoroughly pounded the dummy into submission.

I'll have to get a lot better than this in order to take down my Akalak friend.

[Hirem]

Though his heart was in the right place, Hirem could only maintain a few chimes worth of rehearsed striking before being forced to give in to weakness.

Part of the problem was his right arm - the tsana's jaws had done more than just tear skin, and although Hirem had managed to obtain skilled healing from one of the Riverfall-bound caravan members, his arm would still take weeks yet to become fully healed. It stung painfully whenever he applied weight to it, and the act of punching a straw dummy, though he did so tenderly, had become too agonizing for him to bear. Even now, as he stepped away from the dummy and let his back collapse to the floor, the arm throbbed with a blinding heat, forcing Hirem to wince and bite down on his tongue. Earlier, during his practice bouts, the arm had still been in pain, but the rush of actual battle had managed to blind the Benshiran to it. Now that he was alone and left with his own thoughts, the strain was almost impossible to ignore.

But, more than just suffering from his still-healing injury, Hirem felt weak in every part of his body. His head was pounding away painfully. His breathing was ragged. His intact arm felt only loosely connected to his shoulder, and his legs shook tenderly even as they lay sprawled on the ground. And why should he feel like this, he wondered, when the other students had been fighting just as hard as him and were managing to yet continue with the same furious effort? The truth, when he arrived upon it, hurt him nearly as much as the exercise. Letting out a low sigh, Hirem stared up at the squat roof of the practice room, feeling the sweat from his brow trickle down his cheeks and drip slowly onto the floor.

I'm unfit, he thought to himself, and knew it to be true.

He knew that, just by his own size, he didn't appear unfit. His form had not shriveled up in recent years, and he certainly looked like a powerhouse at any distance. But this strength he was given, this body... he had not obtained it for himself. Rather, it was a gift from his parents and the gods, as well as sheer, blind luck. He didn't look unfit but, deep down in his aching bones, Hirem knew that he was dreadfully out of shape. Any energy that he possessed was quickly drained, any task he applied himself to always seemed extraordinarily difficult. And is that any wonder? I have been walking the desert alone for years... feasting only on Hik fruit and what scraps I could beg from other wanderers. Such a lean diet was bound to end up stripping me bare.

He was nothing like the rival Akalak students, who could fight for days without getting tired. They seek to become great warriors, he thought, and have trained their bodies to become their first and most powerful weapon. It's a commendable attitude to take. Amused, Hirem took some time to compare himself from four years ago, to the Akalak youth that had just bested him in a training bout. I thought I was a great hero then, a paragon of self-discipline. Now, I realize that I was but a shadow, throwing my weight around and convincing myself that it was strength. Groaning, the Benshiran put a hand to his aching head and closed his eyes. I want to become stronger, he swore to himself, not just to carry out Yahal's commands, but also to become the man I always aspired to be.

And, he thought wryly, there's no harm in living up to my birthright. The Hirem of the tales could carry the entire belongings of a Tent upon his back... lift oxen over his head with both hands... wrestle barals to the ground with an arm tied behind his back. I could settle for being able to wrestle barals... at all.

The question now, of course, was how could he exercise and avoid placing stress on his injured arm? I'll think of something, he vowed. I'm ready to exercise, after all! Yes, I am very ready! Ready to start straining my body to the point that it breaks, ready to transform this into a daily routine, ready to start eating properly and sleeping properly and living properly! But he didn't feel ready; Hirem could never fool himself for long.

Sighing, he stared up at the roof and did not move from the floor. Oh Yahal... give me strength.

[Hirem]

When he felt that he was ready to begin, Hirem closed his eyes, took one final deep breath, and launched into the exercise.

He did not bother getting up from the floor of the practice room, for the exercise that he had finally settled upon did not require him to stand. It was a move that he had first come into contact with in, of all places, his Ahnatep jail cell. Memories from that difficult time were few and far in between - the most that he could usually stand to remember was horribly uncomfortable feelings of claustrophobia, paranoia, and self-torment - but one peculiar sight had managed to remain marked within his mind.

There was one prisoner, an Eypharian that refused to be named, that had seemed to be content with his temporary abode within a jail cell; every morning, when the Jackal guards pushed open the prison doors and allowed scant light into the hazy underground, the Eypharian could be seen on the ground, doing some strange head-jerk upwards from his laying position. What was truly remarkable was that the Eypharian used none of his six arms to assist him to rise: he hauled himself up using only the strength of his abdomen. Later, Hirem had learned that the move was called a "sit-up", designed to train the strength of the torso.

If the Eypharian can do it without using all six of his arms, I can attempt it without using one of mine.

It was time to begin. Gritting down on his teeth, the Benshiran brought his knees up and bent forward to greet them with his chin. "One," he hissed, feeling his aching chest strain with pressure, feeling something pop deep within his skin. "Two," he hissed again, after letting his back slam onto the floor and then repeating the action. "Three!" He grunted now, feeling his whole body stiffen with anticipation as he curled and uncurled his stomach. His arms, meant to be useless, grew stiff at his sides, yearning to be used, yearning to assist in the burden his chest felt pressed with. "Four! Five!" He called out, after the next two were completed and he felt his body grow as limp and useless as a stray flower in the fierce desert winds. How could that Eypharian manage hundreds in a day when I feel exhausted after five?!

He managed to reach thirty before he gave in to the overpowering urge to give up, letting his useless limbs trail limp against the ground. Just like that, he was back to staring at the roof, feeling sorry for himself.

The first step to regain control of his weakening body was breathing. Hirem closed his eyes, emptied his mind of thoughts - as best as he could - and gave a large, deep inhale. Once he felt absolutely brimming with buoyancy, he opened his mouth and let go of a long exhale, feeling his pounding chest already beginning to settle. He continued to breathe like this for a chime, calming his frenetic heart and letting the pains in his muscles sap away into the empty air. Meanwhile, his mind continued to churn with frustrations.

My problem, he realized with sudden clarity, is that I am too intently focused upon my body and its stresses. If I were to let go... if I were to distract myself, then the pain would not be so keenly felt. It seemed like a good plan in his head, and Hirem felt much better about the idea of exercising when it was not the sole idea consuming his consciousness. Giving out a low breath and stretching his limbs out in all directions - twisting his back to either side to relieve some of the stress it had undergone laying on the floor - Hirem tried to make sure his body felt loose and easy to work with.

When he felt that he was ready to begin, he closed his eyes, took one final deep breath, and launched into the exercise.

"From the fall of the Goat:" he grunted, reciting the text from one of his Penita scrolls, "Go to, my children... go to and strike off the chain of your ancestors." His voice growled and hissed with every second word, straining to speak as he continued to exercise, but he nonetheless kept talking for the sake of talking. "But I do not refer to the chains wore by slaves, in the markets of flesh... I speak instead of the chains wrought by fear, by discord... by confusion. Uncertainty is the great plague of your time, and only by being strong of will shall you live to see my wonders. But take heart... your path is easier to find than you might think. All you must do is cast aside your doubts, and believe..."

"And, for your efforts... you shall be given the world as your paradise."

Forty-eight and counting.

[Hirem]

91st of Spring, 514 AV

"Are you sure that you want to do this?" The Akalak youth questioned, laughing casually as they left the main chamber. To the instructors and students that they were leaving, they must have looked an odd pair - the young blue-skinned boy walking next to a towering desert giant that dwarfed him twice over. Reaching out, the Akalak clapped his bare hand against the Benshiran's shoulder. "Maybe you should pick another sparring partner, one closer to your size?"

"No," Hirem responded, already easing himself out of his tunic. The chill morning air that filtered through the Tuvya Sasaran excited his bare skin, made him feel alive and present. "We know my size gives me no help against you... and that you are more dangerous than you say." he murmured in basic Common, unabashed at referencing his past failings. There was still some shame to be had in losing to a youth, but Hirem was past the point of self-deprecation. Gesturing to the practice room that they were now entering, he shot his rival a grin. "I would like a rematch."

An excited glint flashed in the pale eyes of the boy. Hirem could tell that he was, if nothing else, flattered by the compliment. It was difficult to gauge his true age - it was difficult for him to gauge the age of any Akalak, after he had heard about their long lifespans - but the Benshiran was willing to gamble that this boy had only recently completed his so called Rite of Trial. He carried with him an ingrained sense of arrogance that could only emerge from youth, backed up by the still-vibrant sense of major accomplishment. Brushing his black ponytail over his shoulder, the Akalak boy finally nodded his head and clenched his fists. "I must say, I am interested to see how this turns out..." He held up a hand. "But first, I must know something: who is the man that is so intent upon beating me?"

A fair question. "I am Hirem, from the tents of Alachi, of the sons of Rapa," he answered in the traditional style, offering his rival a respectful bow. "And you?"

Bemused by his flowery introduction, the Akalak boy took a moment to strip off his tunic before replying. "Soran Vaekar," he proudly announced, before mirroring Hirem's bow. "You know, me and my friends have seen you outside of this place. Just yesterday morning, you were trying to race up the tiers, weren't you?"

Smiling softly, Hirem nodded. "Yes, that was me. I was not trying to race myself, though; I was trying to jog up the cliff." It was yet another aspect of his quickly growing exercise routine, joining the many stretches and workouts that he performed whenever he had free time available. Every morning, sometime before dawn, Hirem would depart for Riverfall's base, bringing only a filled waterskin with him. He would then spend the next two bells trying to run up each of the city's tiers and then back down again, moving at a brisk and exhausting pace. The first day that the Benshiran attempted this, he swore his legs were burning with the intense heat of Ivak himself, cursed to never run again... the second day, while still incredibly tough, was only slightly easier in this regard. It was now the sixth day of Hirem attempting this particular exercise, and while his body still ached and groaned with morning pains, he was feeling significantly more refreshed than when he had first started the runs. I can get used to living in this city, he had thought, if it grants me the security to test myself like this!

As if in disbelief, Soran slowly shook his head. "You act as if you are training to become an Akalak... in which case, I'll call you a deranged cousin of the dark brother." Smiling to himself, the boy kicked aside his clothes, stepped onto the practice mat, and settled into a combat position. Hirem, noticing the abrupt shift in mood, approached his opponent and adopted a similar stance. He kept his back straight for stability, his knees bent for quick mobility, and his hands low to his sides, fearing another quick and sudden manuever from Soran that would bring the fight to a rapid close. I can't let him close in again. This time, I'll keep him at a distance, and tire him out. "You know," the boy began, still smiling that prideful smile of his, "there is more to being an Akalak than just training. All the exercise in the world won't help you if you don't have the strength to win your battles. To be an Akalak, you must be disciplined enough to build on your strengths... and aggressive enough to use them." Curious, Hirem began to open his mouth to inquire more about this mindset... which was the precise wrong thing to do.

For, in one quick flash of blue, Soran had suddenly launched himself at the Benshiran.

He distracted me with a lecture! Realizing that the boy had gained the upper hand in this battle already, Hirem quickly lashed out with one thrusting foot at his opponent, hoping to unsteady him. The tactic worked, as Soran gave a grunt of pain when the foot slammed into his abdomen and halted in his charge. Hoping to press his advantage, the Benshiran lunged forward and swung a tightly-clenched fist for the Akalak's chest. Infuriatingly, his opponent managed to dart off to the right, completely evading his powerful blow. Now that the initial salvo of attacks was over and there was some distance between the opponents, they began to circle around each other, keeping their guard up and their fists high.

Soran was again the first to charge, letting out a furious roar of delight and throwing himself at the Benshiran. Hirem tried to swing his arm forward in time to catch his rival's face, but the Akalak boy ducked underneath his swing and threw a series of quick punches at Hirem's unprotected stomach. Each blow stung as painfully as a rock scraping against his flesh. Grinning with a vicious fury, Soran followed his attacks up with a strong kick that landed squarely in the middle of Hirem's stomach, knocking the Benshiran off balance and sending him toppling to the ground.

Before Hirem could push himself to his feet, Soran was on top of him, throwing blow after blow into his exposed stomach, wrapping his free arm tightly around the Benshiran's neck. It was a stranglehold that Hirem found it difficult to break free from, as the Akalak had superior leverage and was constantly distracting his opponent with fierce, hard punches. Finally, when the Benshiran felt that his stomach was ready to explode from the abuse that he had suffered, he gasped, "You win!"

Immediately, Soran let him go, cackling with an enthusiastic energy. Throwing himself onto his feet, the boy reached down and offered a hand to the fallen Hirem. "You did good, Benshiran... better than the last time."

Still struggling to breathe, Hirem gratefully took the proffered hand. "Again!" he hissed.

Soran looked at him as if he was crazy. "Again?"

"Again!"

Deciding to accept the offer, the Akalak and Benshiran agreed to spar off again. After the second match, Hirem's knuckles were aching painfully.

"Again!"

After the third match, his head was throbbing.

"Again!"

After the fourth match, he could barely stand straight.

"Again!"

But during the fifth match, he was finally able to repay the favour.

THE END

[Ragdoll]

Grade Awarded!

Skills

Skill	Points
Unarmed Combat	4
Bodybuilding	2
Observation	2
Tactics	1
Meditation	1
Socialization	1

Lores

• Having the Grace of a Cow
• I Was a Shadow
• Want: Get in Shape
• Workout Routine: Strike, Return, Kick, Return
• How to do Sit-Ups
• Well-Deserved Victory

Injuries

Owies: General soreness all over from exertion. Will be gone in two days tops.
Shoulder: From pushing himself too hard, Hirem's arm is going to take three or four days longer to heal than it would have.

Comments

I've been looking forward to grading one of your threads ever since you arrived in Riverfall, and this thread did not disappoint. You are a great writer.

Don't forget to edit your grading request! Though I try my hardest to award you what you deserve, I may occasionally mess things up! If there's something you'd like to discuss about your grade, then please don't hesitate to send me a PM and I'll be happy to work things out with you.