The seventy-fourth day of fall, 515 AV
The clang of steel and grunting effort of men and woman scattered throughout the "arena's" muddy landscape was a different sort of noise than the hustle and bustle of the city proper. There was even a slight bite from the ocean that was just around the corner, wisps of sea-breeze drifting on the edges of those who had gathered in the early morning to hone their variable skills against more than air and imagination. For a time, he merely watched, eyes moving in a steady sweep of the pit, back and fourth, watching those who were clearly comfortable with their weapons of choice in hand to those who were little more than children with sword three sizes too big. It was strange to see so much activity in the early day with the sun's light only just beginning to cast a grey pallor over the haze of steam that rose from the efforts of those present, an odd mix of novelty and nostalgia, as the act of rising before dawn to hone his body had become a daily routine, only it had been a private act, not one shared by a heavy handful of others.
He had stumbled across the pits during his exploration of the city in his attempts to find some solace from the all-consuming noise, and he had thought returning at an hour when most in Zeltiva would have either been several bells out into the ocean or fast asleep in their beds might have given him a space to train uninterrupted. Instead, it seemed his idea had been hardly unique. While it had been an odd experience to stand and watch those who had moved unimpeded by those already present to do as they wished, Keene had decided it was best to find a place to himself. Atziri's training had not been forgotten, but it had been a good while since he had last had a living, breathing opponent to clash shins against. From what he could tell from his observations, the large majority of those present were focused on weapons rather than their own bodies, something that he held no interest in.
As he turned to leave, a man moved towards him, holding up a hand to stay Keene's movements a few ticks before he caught up to him. There was a slight glint in the man's eyes, but beyond that he wore little emotion on his features. It was, for anyone watching the two men stare at the other, like seeing both sides of a mirror. Neither made much move to say anything, both taking several chimes to simply gauge the other until finally the man spoke, voice low and smooth. "Fifteen mizas and you'll have yourself a sparring partner." The offer was one only in words, as the tone hardly suggested that the man was making a proposition of any kind.
When it came to money, Keene knew very little as to what was "fair"; Mella had handled the finances up until her untimely death, and the island had held little in the way of expenses. Usually, whatever someone asked for was what he gave them in terms of coin. He stared back at the taller, more burly man, a clear distinction of strength between the two of them. The man's offer was one that Keene, after much deliberation, came to decide was worth paying for if just once as a test. Handing him a handful of coins, Keene nodded, removing his cloak from his shoulders as the payment was counted with a soft whisper and clink of stone. "Very well."
Having had little practice in anything other than what Atziri had taught him, Keene followed at the beckon of his escort, moving with a soft step and sharp eye to keep out of the way of those focused on the whirling movements of their own training. When they stopped, there was a fair amount of room around them, the pit being less populated than his prior vantage point had suggested. When the man offered Keene a hand, it was taken lightly, the thin leather helping to mitigate the rush of goosebumps that clawed their way across his arm as he shook. "Name's Cecil."
"Keene." The moment the names were exchanged, he quickly let go. Already, he was having second thoughts. With Atziri, there had always been a shield separating her skin from his, something that had made what would have otherwise been bare contact a non-issue. He could, of course, craft a shield of his own, but he wasn't entirely sure how well received that would be; on the other hand, the magic wasn't an obvious one, and the first few flashes could be mitigated with a lack of attention to them. Deciding to take the risk if for no other reason than to test and see just what sort of reaction the defensive magic might draw from his temporary opponent, Keene drew in a slow, calming breath, appearing for all intents and purposes as though he was merely stretching out his shoulders and arms rather than preparing his djed to be woven into a crystalline armor. As it sloughed off of his body in an icy mist, wrapping around Cecil's frame as easily as a winter's fog, the man follow suit with Keene's swinging arms, loosing up his own muscles with a light bounce on the balls of his feet.
As the djed began to scintillate with an iridescent gleam, Keene pulled it back towards him, moving his hand over his arm to twist it to the side, tugging at the tight areas between his shoulder and back. The crystals began to form, gentle sweeping fractals forming over his skin, solidifying into a solid shell about a half inch thick, tasked to defend against any attempt Cecil made to touch him. Though his hands and neck were thoroughly protected, he kept the rest of his body unshielded. There was no point in drawing unnecessary attention, and he would have no way to gauge progress if there was no damage assessed. That was, of course, assuming that the other man wasn't strong enough to break through his magical barriers. "You ready, Keene?" There wasn't a hint of impatience in his voice.
"Yes. I am ready." He pulled off his gloves, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as the rest of the djed slipped over the pale length of the skin that was exposed, wrapping it up in the protective, opalescent glow of his defensive spell. The tick he slipped into his stance, Cecil moved, fists held close and up to protect his face in the few moments it took for him to close the small distance. Only able to see what was happening rather than truly react to it, when the fist extended with a whip-like speed, Keene was only able to knock the strike off course, forcing the fist to slam into his shoulder with enough force to send him staggering back a few paces. He had only a few ticks before Cecil followed up with a second strike, this one an angled uppercut that was intended for Keene's jaw. Rather than retreating, Keene took a step forward, Atziri's lessons of controlling distance and using an opponent's moment against them echoing through the quickly quieting whir of his mind as he side-stepped the followup attack with a quick jab to Cecil's exposed stomach.
What his knuckled connected with, however, was hardly the soft, supple flesh of one taken by surprise. Instead, there was very little give, and Keene was rewarded for his ploy with a sharp jab of an elbow slamming down onto the intruding arm as Cecil took a few shuffling steps back to regain his distance. A fain flash of light flickered at the first point of contact, but neither Keene nor Cecil paid it any mind as both began a slow, cautious circle, arms up and ready, legs bent, and weight centered, ready to shift at short notice. It seemed his coin had been well spent.
The clang of steel and grunting effort of men and woman scattered throughout the "arena's" muddy landscape was a different sort of noise than the hustle and bustle of the city proper. There was even a slight bite from the ocean that was just around the corner, wisps of sea-breeze drifting on the edges of those who had gathered in the early morning to hone their variable skills against more than air and imagination. For a time, he merely watched, eyes moving in a steady sweep of the pit, back and fourth, watching those who were clearly comfortable with their weapons of choice in hand to those who were little more than children with sword three sizes too big. It was strange to see so much activity in the early day with the sun's light only just beginning to cast a grey pallor over the haze of steam that rose from the efforts of those present, an odd mix of novelty and nostalgia, as the act of rising before dawn to hone his body had become a daily routine, only it had been a private act, not one shared by a heavy handful of others.
He had stumbled across the pits during his exploration of the city in his attempts to find some solace from the all-consuming noise, and he had thought returning at an hour when most in Zeltiva would have either been several bells out into the ocean or fast asleep in their beds might have given him a space to train uninterrupted. Instead, it seemed his idea had been hardly unique. While it had been an odd experience to stand and watch those who had moved unimpeded by those already present to do as they wished, Keene had decided it was best to find a place to himself. Atziri's training had not been forgotten, but it had been a good while since he had last had a living, breathing opponent to clash shins against. From what he could tell from his observations, the large majority of those present were focused on weapons rather than their own bodies, something that he held no interest in.
As he turned to leave, a man moved towards him, holding up a hand to stay Keene's movements a few ticks before he caught up to him. There was a slight glint in the man's eyes, but beyond that he wore little emotion on his features. It was, for anyone watching the two men stare at the other, like seeing both sides of a mirror. Neither made much move to say anything, both taking several chimes to simply gauge the other until finally the man spoke, voice low and smooth. "Fifteen mizas and you'll have yourself a sparring partner." The offer was one only in words, as the tone hardly suggested that the man was making a proposition of any kind.
When it came to money, Keene knew very little as to what was "fair"; Mella had handled the finances up until her untimely death, and the island had held little in the way of expenses. Usually, whatever someone asked for was what he gave them in terms of coin. He stared back at the taller, more burly man, a clear distinction of strength between the two of them. The man's offer was one that Keene, after much deliberation, came to decide was worth paying for if just once as a test. Handing him a handful of coins, Keene nodded, removing his cloak from his shoulders as the payment was counted with a soft whisper and clink of stone. "Very well."
Having had little practice in anything other than what Atziri had taught him, Keene followed at the beckon of his escort, moving with a soft step and sharp eye to keep out of the way of those focused on the whirling movements of their own training. When they stopped, there was a fair amount of room around them, the pit being less populated than his prior vantage point had suggested. When the man offered Keene a hand, it was taken lightly, the thin leather helping to mitigate the rush of goosebumps that clawed their way across his arm as he shook. "Name's Cecil."
"Keene." The moment the names were exchanged, he quickly let go. Already, he was having second thoughts. With Atziri, there had always been a shield separating her skin from his, something that had made what would have otherwise been bare contact a non-issue. He could, of course, craft a shield of his own, but he wasn't entirely sure how well received that would be; on the other hand, the magic wasn't an obvious one, and the first few flashes could be mitigated with a lack of attention to them. Deciding to take the risk if for no other reason than to test and see just what sort of reaction the defensive magic might draw from his temporary opponent, Keene drew in a slow, calming breath, appearing for all intents and purposes as though he was merely stretching out his shoulders and arms rather than preparing his djed to be woven into a crystalline armor. As it sloughed off of his body in an icy mist, wrapping around Cecil's frame as easily as a winter's fog, the man follow suit with Keene's swinging arms, loosing up his own muscles with a light bounce on the balls of his feet.
As the djed began to scintillate with an iridescent gleam, Keene pulled it back towards him, moving his hand over his arm to twist it to the side, tugging at the tight areas between his shoulder and back. The crystals began to form, gentle sweeping fractals forming over his skin, solidifying into a solid shell about a half inch thick, tasked to defend against any attempt Cecil made to touch him. Though his hands and neck were thoroughly protected, he kept the rest of his body unshielded. There was no point in drawing unnecessary attention, and he would have no way to gauge progress if there was no damage assessed. That was, of course, assuming that the other man wasn't strong enough to break through his magical barriers. "You ready, Keene?" There wasn't a hint of impatience in his voice.
"Yes. I am ready." He pulled off his gloves, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as the rest of the djed slipped over the pale length of the skin that was exposed, wrapping it up in the protective, opalescent glow of his defensive spell. The tick he slipped into his stance, Cecil moved, fists held close and up to protect his face in the few moments it took for him to close the small distance. Only able to see what was happening rather than truly react to it, when the fist extended with a whip-like speed, Keene was only able to knock the strike off course, forcing the fist to slam into his shoulder with enough force to send him staggering back a few paces. He had only a few ticks before Cecil followed up with a second strike, this one an angled uppercut that was intended for Keene's jaw. Rather than retreating, Keene took a step forward, Atziri's lessons of controlling distance and using an opponent's moment against them echoing through the quickly quieting whir of his mind as he side-stepped the followup attack with a quick jab to Cecil's exposed stomach.
What his knuckled connected with, however, was hardly the soft, supple flesh of one taken by surprise. Instead, there was very little give, and Keene was rewarded for his ploy with a sharp jab of an elbow slamming down onto the intruding arm as Cecil took a few shuffling steps back to regain his distance. A fain flash of light flickered at the first point of contact, but neither Keene nor Cecil paid it any mind as both began a slow, cautious circle, arms up and ready, legs bent, and weight centered, ready to shift at short notice. It seemed his coin had been well spent.
