52nd of Summer, 511AV
"Ixzo, I think you'll quite like this one." The Myrian sauntered towards her. She had gotten experienced with a bow, so when her mother had instructed her to meet with Olnat (he was the partner of the cousin of her mother's bond-mate or something like that), the Kelvic had protested the need to learn another weapon. She was already a creature of the hunt. She didn't have to compensate like her mother did. This thought, she immediately felt bad about. So she had grudgingly accepted the challenge, and was now waiting for her instructor. The words wove out through the gathering lunchtime crowd in the clan, although she knew most of the Shorn Skulls well enough to single out the man holding two hatchets.
It was not secret that the Kelvic didn't care for the weapons. She had found a passion with the bow, although not quite like she preferred to hunt. And unlike the other Myrians, her interest in weapons was near the level to her interest in killing. She stood out among her family for this reason, she simply didn't enjoy it.
"Why is that?" Teenage snarkiness crept into her words as handed her the light tomahawk.
"Because you don't have to get your hands dirty." The Myrian teased. Like the others he saw her distaste for killing as something to joke about. But, just like the others, Olnat pressured her to take weapons seriously. "But they still stick." He said, and then turned. The tree that held their target was nearly five meters away, and with an uncanny ease, he threw the hatchet. The movement looked easy, as if he hadn't put much effort into it, but the blade of the weapon embedded itself into the center of the target with ease. Ixzo whistled, impressed.
"Told ya." The older Myrian joked, going to retrieve his weapon. She took the chance to look at the tomahawk in her hand. Rust sprinkled on the edge of the dull blade, although the handle was firm and the metal seemed to adhere well to the wood. It was old, but very functional. Curiously, she tested the blade with the back of her thumb. There was nothing but the rough feeling of rust layered metal, it wasn't sharp at all. She frowned, pressing the pad of her finger into the blade now, and it was in no way sharp enough to cut her, even with the minimal pressure she applied.
"Olnat!" She called, as he came back, he raised an eyebrow to await her complaint, brushing splinters off his own extremely dull blade. "You know these are dull, right?"
"They are meant to be."
"Why is that?"
"So you don't slash your arm open." A goofy grin lit the man's face and she rolled her eyes. "Really, they just help you get a feel for it. When you get better-"
"If I want to." Ixzo muttered, but he ignored it.
"You can sharpen your hatchet so that it sticks better. One time, I decapitated a man from twenty feet away. Well, almost." He slid a finger across his neck, sticking out his tongue and lolling his head to the side comically. "But it was an easy enough finish. Really, Ixzo, I have to say these are the best." He lightly tossed a hatchet up above him, catching the thing with ease and Ixzo almost flinched when it looked like he was going to catch the blade, even if it was dull, but he didn't.
"It's still goin'a cut, it's still goin'a hurt, it just won’t hurt you." He finally informed her.
"So, lets do this. How does this work?" She asked, shifting the hatchet into her hand as if she was cutting wood.
"Well, first off, you are holding it wrong." Olnat stepped forward, taking the hatchet from her. "You want to hold it like the humans shake hands." He said, hooking his own tomahawk on his belt so he had a free hand to extend to her. She took it, giving a comical shake. Most Myrians thought that tradition strange, and she was no exception.
"Now open your hand, but keep it there." She did, and he fitted the end of the handle into her palm. She closed her fingers like she would on another hand, and at first thought the hold to be fairly awkward. Out of habit, she twisted the hatchet in her hand.
"Alright, so once you have it like that, you want to make sure the blade faces straight down." He twisted the handle in her hands back to where it was and then unhooked his own hatchet. He let go of it for only half a tick before grabbing it out of thin air. He held it out to show her, and she saw the blade as perfectly straight down.
"What?" She though it was some sort of handy-trick he had learned through familiarity with the weapon, like how she liked to flash her bow, twirling her arrow before hooking the nock on the string.
"Try it." Ixzo hesitated, and then quickly released her grip, catching the handle right away. To her surprise, the hatchet straightened itself out as well.
"A good, balanced tomahawk will always do that." He said and then twirled the hatchet between his fingers. There was the flashy trick she was waiting for.
"There, now when you swing it beside you, it should feel balanced." He gripped his own weapon and let it fall down by his knees in an arc before bringing it back up. She copied his movement and he nodded.
"It is important, but not that hard. Once you get used to it, you'll always hold it right." She nodded, swinging it once more. "Now, that is how you start the throw, to make sure you have it lined up." He said, and turned away from her. "Watch." He extended a finger up in front of him, to motion her to be patient as he lined himself up with the target. With ease, he swung the hatchet beside his knee before bringing it up past his head. Again, it seemed effortless as he let it go, but again the hatchet landed with a solid thud in the center of the target.
"Ixzo, I think you'll quite like this one." The Myrian sauntered towards her. She had gotten experienced with a bow, so when her mother had instructed her to meet with Olnat (he was the partner of the cousin of her mother's bond-mate or something like that), the Kelvic had protested the need to learn another weapon. She was already a creature of the hunt. She didn't have to compensate like her mother did. This thought, she immediately felt bad about. So she had grudgingly accepted the challenge, and was now waiting for her instructor. The words wove out through the gathering lunchtime crowd in the clan, although she knew most of the Shorn Skulls well enough to single out the man holding two hatchets.
It was not secret that the Kelvic didn't care for the weapons. She had found a passion with the bow, although not quite like she preferred to hunt. And unlike the other Myrians, her interest in weapons was near the level to her interest in killing. She stood out among her family for this reason, she simply didn't enjoy it.
"Why is that?" Teenage snarkiness crept into her words as handed her the light tomahawk.
"Because you don't have to get your hands dirty." The Myrian teased. Like the others he saw her distaste for killing as something to joke about. But, just like the others, Olnat pressured her to take weapons seriously. "But they still stick." He said, and then turned. The tree that held their target was nearly five meters away, and with an uncanny ease, he threw the hatchet. The movement looked easy, as if he hadn't put much effort into it, but the blade of the weapon embedded itself into the center of the target with ease. Ixzo whistled, impressed.
"Told ya." The older Myrian joked, going to retrieve his weapon. She took the chance to look at the tomahawk in her hand. Rust sprinkled on the edge of the dull blade, although the handle was firm and the metal seemed to adhere well to the wood. It was old, but very functional. Curiously, she tested the blade with the back of her thumb. There was nothing but the rough feeling of rust layered metal, it wasn't sharp at all. She frowned, pressing the pad of her finger into the blade now, and it was in no way sharp enough to cut her, even with the minimal pressure she applied.
"Olnat!" She called, as he came back, he raised an eyebrow to await her complaint, brushing splinters off his own extremely dull blade. "You know these are dull, right?"
"They are meant to be."
"Why is that?"
"So you don't slash your arm open." A goofy grin lit the man's face and she rolled her eyes. "Really, they just help you get a feel for it. When you get better-"
"If I want to." Ixzo muttered, but he ignored it.
"You can sharpen your hatchet so that it sticks better. One time, I decapitated a man from twenty feet away. Well, almost." He slid a finger across his neck, sticking out his tongue and lolling his head to the side comically. "But it was an easy enough finish. Really, Ixzo, I have to say these are the best." He lightly tossed a hatchet up above him, catching the thing with ease and Ixzo almost flinched when it looked like he was going to catch the blade, even if it was dull, but he didn't.
"It's still goin'a cut, it's still goin'a hurt, it just won’t hurt you." He finally informed her.
"So, lets do this. How does this work?" She asked, shifting the hatchet into her hand as if she was cutting wood.
"Well, first off, you are holding it wrong." Olnat stepped forward, taking the hatchet from her. "You want to hold it like the humans shake hands." He said, hooking his own tomahawk on his belt so he had a free hand to extend to her. She took it, giving a comical shake. Most Myrians thought that tradition strange, and she was no exception.
"Now open your hand, but keep it there." She did, and he fitted the end of the handle into her palm. She closed her fingers like she would on another hand, and at first thought the hold to be fairly awkward. Out of habit, she twisted the hatchet in her hand.
"Alright, so once you have it like that, you want to make sure the blade faces straight down." He twisted the handle in her hands back to where it was and then unhooked his own hatchet. He let go of it for only half a tick before grabbing it out of thin air. He held it out to show her, and she saw the blade as perfectly straight down.
"What?" She though it was some sort of handy-trick he had learned through familiarity with the weapon, like how she liked to flash her bow, twirling her arrow before hooking the nock on the string.
"Try it." Ixzo hesitated, and then quickly released her grip, catching the handle right away. To her surprise, the hatchet straightened itself out as well.
"A good, balanced tomahawk will always do that." He said and then twirled the hatchet between his fingers. There was the flashy trick she was waiting for.
"There, now when you swing it beside you, it should feel balanced." He gripped his own weapon and let it fall down by his knees in an arc before bringing it back up. She copied his movement and he nodded.
"It is important, but not that hard. Once you get used to it, you'll always hold it right." She nodded, swinging it once more. "Now, that is how you start the throw, to make sure you have it lined up." He said, and turned away from her. "Watch." He extended a finger up in front of him, to motion her to be patient as he lined himself up with the target. With ease, he swung the hatchet beside his knee before bringing it up past his head. Again, it seemed effortless as he let it go, but again the hatchet landed with a solid thud in the center of the target.
