PM to join Pain is Fleeting, Experience is Everlasting. (Imellion)

[Alexander Faircroft]

Description "Alex Common" Alex thoughts "Myrian" "Fratava" "Others"

In the brief clash she spoke, she knew her future. A small smile crossed Alex’s face as she spoke.
“Then prove it.” His attack blocked and her own parried, he found himself open. His arms were too far open in that brief moment for him to block or deflect the hit instead he stepped slightly to the side. Her blade scraped across the steel of his torso. He pressed his upper arm into the blade and stared her down. He reached forwards with his shielded arm and attempted to pin her sword arm in place. Whether or not he could get a hold he’d step back. Pulling her completely off balance if he had a hold of her sword arm.

A strong tactic he’d had used against him by the much smaller pycons. However he channelled his fights against them and called upon some of the precision he’d had to use against them. He swing his sword out and around Aiming low as he stepped back. She was off balance and he had a perfect opportunity to try and knock her feet out from under her. If he’d managed to puller her further off balance the strike would be even harder to avoid. However as soon as he latched a hold of her arm all the plans he’d made crumbled to dust. Her body carried through with the momentum ploughing into his chest. He shoulder caught him square in the sternum. Even through the plate it knocked the wind from his core.

This combined with the pain in his gut from the flux empowered knee he’d sustained days earlier he was in agony. He couldn’t catch himself against the impact and felt himself tumble. She landed atop him as he fell. Further amplifying the pain. He groaned loudly and twisting his shoulders and abdomen attempted to throw her from him. If not he was in a bad spot. He brought his shielded arm up to block her strikes to his head if she attempted any and to try and assist in throwing her off of him. He would have used his sword arm, if it wasn't pinned beneath one of her knees from the position he fell in.

He was in far too deep. If throwing her off of him didn’t work he’d repeatedly try to knee her in the back to throw her off of him that way.

[Imellion]

Imellion only just heard his brief reply as she focused forward on the assault, lighting up briefly in excitement as her sword slipped through his guard. Her face fell, however, as he stepped aside, leaving her with nothing but her blade scraping along his armor.

Then she crashed in him, with the sound of metal banging against metal ringing in her ears. Imellion clutched for breath as she bounced against his own armored form, knocking the wind from her lungs and throwing her limbs askew. She briefly heard her sword clatter against the ground from where she had dropped it. She retained her shield, although it bounced off the ground, nearly striking against her helmet.

Alexander raised his shield and tried to throw her off, leveraging his body against hers. She wasn't thrown off, but she did slide off and skid across the stone. The sound raked itself through her teeth and down her spine. Imellion shuddered at the sound.

Then she pushed herself up, awkwardly balanced on gauntlet and shield rim. The armor rattled and she swayed off balance, but pulled herself to one knee. Her sword was almost in reach and she lunged for it, falling off balance again.

But she had it. Her hand wrapped around the hilt. It was such a comforting feeling, even with armor, to have the ability to fight back and protect herself. She went to stand, but the armor was so heavy.

She staggered and tried to get her feet under her again, but she was too splayed out and fell to one knee. Imellion cringed as the impact rang through her knee, like the floor of a wagon.

Her other knee sank to the ground as she sat now in a cage of wood and iron, trapped until death would free her. Not now, not soon, not before the worst to come, but eventually.

She tore at the image, fighting it off as she would fight a brigand, slashing at it, dancing away from its claws of emotion that would rake apart her armor, and then driving back with a shield. Not a shield of metal or wood, no, that would not survive such a battle. This was one of hope and rage, fear and sorrow, compassion and stubbornness. Imellion refused to bow before this assault. She pushed her mind against it, gritted her teeth, felt the ache and the pain begin to creep through her jaw. It was strength and fire to fuel the forge. Burn away the memories and the phantoms.

The fire curled at the edges of her mind, pulsing red and hot before flickering into flame, radiating across the image. The memory peeled away, burnt to a crisp, leaving only the present moment. Imellion staggered in place for a moment and caught a glimpse of Sera Lynia's face. The older woman had her lips pursed and a frown in her eyes. She was worried. But then, she had reason to.


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[Alexander Faircroft]

Description "Alex Common" Alex thoughts "Myrian" "Fratava" "Others"

He’d gotten her off of his chest, perhaps with a bit more force than he’d intended given the sound of the skidding clatter that followed. Alex rolled over stabbed his sword into the ground using it to haul himself back to his feet. He heaved over and coughed, hard regaining his bearings and slightly hunched over still from the pain in his abdomen. His shield arm hung by his side, and his right shoulder started to sting, both had been hurt earlier in the season and it was beginning to rear its ugly head again.

Both it seemed to him at least took a moment before shifting again. Her down on one knee, he was bent over and bracing for a follow up which never came. Perhaps fighting too many aggressive types had blinded him to the more tactical warriors. Alex took a deep breath and felt the flames of pain in his body burning and roiling. The cold air seeped into them and started to smother them. He finally rose to stand fully his body screaming pain at him as he did so, his bastard sword resting on his shoulder again as his left arm hung by his side the shield there pulling on it hard.

Eventually she rose. Something else in her eyes now. A fire, a rage and a fury that he knew well. Wild and untamed, anger directed towards everything. He took a slow breath again, and stared her down. A spark of electricity in his eyes, focused flame. A rage with a purpose. He’d failed too many people and he was not going to fail another. No matter what stood in his way he’d push through them. Remove the obstacle. However in the distance he heard a familiar voice.

His patron rose over the edge of the training grounds possibly looking for him. Contrary to Alex’s hope upon seeing him, Greyheart wandered over deciding to stand next to Sera Lynia. Alex now had taught him. Alex with a good amount of strain hauled the shield up. And rested his blade atop it. His eyes now locked into hers, and a small smile appeared on his face, as an unnerving calm began to flow off of him again. He wouldn’t show the pain, he wouldn’t give his opponent an upper hand. In this instance, it was about helping not harming, not so much dishing out punishment as taking it. Testing her limits, Alex had almost forgotten that was what was asked of him. So instead of charging he waited, poised and positioned to take the heavy strikes and see exactly what she could do now.

[Imellion]

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The anger still burned in her chest, and Imellion felt her breathing pick up. Faster, shallower. She gritted her teeth and lifted the sword and shield again, ignoring the burn in her limbs and trying to force through it. The memory still hung at the edges of her awareness, tattered like a torn spider-web, but still there, its edges crumpled and fluttering beneath the hot winds.

Alexander picked himself up now, slower than she. Imellion found that odd. He was bigger, stronger, even faster at this point. Something small and barely noticeable clicked in her brain. He was hurt. That tempered the flame and her arms sagged a little. Sera Lynia had not yet given the order to stop however, so she would continue, or until this new knight intervened. Was he Alexander's patron?

There was the calm again. She took a deep breath, forcing away how unsettling it was. How did he manage such a state? It would be something she would need to learn later on. He was standing now, shield raised, and sword along its edge.

No move to attack, instead, he watched her. Imellion frowned beneath her helmet. Was he waiting? It seemed likely, and she wasn't entirely sure what to do with that. Take the offense, of course. But how? She needed to out-think him somehow, catch him off guard and still try to match his strength. Or at least muster enough of her own to put up a challenge for him.

She took her first stance, shoulders perpendicular to him, shield raised to cover her body. Then she slipped her sword-arm back to bring the blade up, hiding it behind the shield. It was uncomfortable, and stretched her shoulder to the point of hurting, but hopefully it would hide her movements enough to get an advantage.

She moved forward, lumbering forward despite her diminutive size, trying to think of something on the fly. As she approached, Imellion angled the top of her shield towards herself and thrust with all her strength down towards his legs again. She had tried to get around that shield before, which had not turned out to be productive, so maybe this would help.

Then she darted back again, regardless of the outcome of the strike, lifting the shield to be ready for his return blows.

Textbox by Aydel

[Alexander Faircroft]

Description "Alex Common" Alex thoughts "Myrian" "Fratava" "Others"

Alex watched her, and the more he watched the more things began to click. She was intentionally holding back. Did she know he was hurt? Was it that obvious? Even with the smile and the calm exterior he showed, even with the look of tempered anger and the fact he was still holding his blades she was going to hold back. He spoke again trying to rile her up, he needed to know just how much spirit and strength she had.
“I thought you were going to be a knight. I’m still holding my blade and shield. Until I drop them, you haven’t proved a thing.” He spoke with that calm, that strange calm. Even with that though the edge of pain echoed through the rim of his voice. Finally something. A provocation, but still lacking. She swung, and as much as he was hurt he still had enough technique to carry him. He stepped into her retreating side. Her blade scraped off the plate on his shin, but now Alex was in prime position to begin an attack.

He possibly relied too heavily on the armour in this instance, but it had worked for him. And unless she had a magic backing her up he had a prime position to land a strike. He shot out his blade across her shield hoping to distract her form his real target. The moment he felt his blade connect with her shield that was his opening. His defensive arm became and attacking one. He shot out his shield using the point over his hand as the attacking edge. He aimed the arm and the shield to hit her sword arm at the fore arm.

He was hoping to knock her sword from her hands. However this was not to be the case. As much as he hoped to strike he missed completely. His momentum carried him forwards and the pain in his stomach faired up. As much as he wanted too he was out of steam. The collective pain and injuries were taking their toll and he didn’t have the strength to stand any more. Not with the weight he carried. Before he fell he felt an arm scoop under his chest and hold him aloft.

“Sorry about that. He’s not in the best condition to be training right now. I told the idiot to stay in his bunk for two days to let things heal.” Greyheart gave Imellion a warm and welcoming smile before turning to face his squire. “The next time you want to train after taking a flux empowered knee to the gut, you talk to me first you idiot.” Something less of a squire knight relation more of a brotherly relation yet not a drop of blood between them was the same.

“I can still…” As Alex began to speak he caught a sharp glare from his Patron.
“Not a chance. You sit and recover and if I catch you here in the next three days I’m having your ass on a silver platter, you understand me?” Alex nodded slowly and winced just about standing under his own steam. He sheathed his sword and collapsed against a bench. As he did Greyheart turned to Sera Lynia, the crossed swords on his collar fully visible. But if any kind of formal action was taken he would wave it off. “I apologize for my squire. He’s always striving to improve himself, at a quite frankly, self-detrimental pace. I apologize for any inconvenience he may have afforded you and your squire Sera.” With a short smile he turned and stormed off. Not annoyed just concerned for his squire, it wasn’t like he could condemn the poor lad for working himself to the extreme.

[Imellion]

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“I thought you were going to be a knight. I’m still holding my blade and shield. Until I drop them, you haven’t proved a thing," Alexander spoke again, weapons up, still calm. But she could hear it. That knife wound in the voice, gaping open behind the stillness. Her blade scraped across his shin and then he was moving back, moving into her defense, blade lashing out at her shield. She raised it, hearing it connect, and then his shield was moving forward.

Imellion kept back-pedaling, trying to keep from making too strong of a contact. This was not a fight to the death. It was a training spar! It was not something that needed to be pushed this far. As an after thought, she supposed she probably should have responded to words. They were a taunt, after all, but she couldn't bring herself to care about them. Not words, not anymore. She used to, long ago, when words scarred her deeper than any blade. But those wounds were all scars now, impenetrable and indifferent.

The he staggered forward and she dropped her sword, barely hearing it clatter against the stone and moved to help hold him up. It wasn't even a conscious decision. She just moved. But somebody was there before her, that new knight who had just recently arrived. He grabbed the younger man about the middle, holding him. Then berating him, which was something Sera Lynia had never done. Imellion watched them, as Alexander sank down to sit, and then he was off again.

It was odd, how that berating progressed. There was nothing cruel or harsh about it. Surely perhaps, it would sting, but there was warmth to it. Imellion looked over to her patron, who stood there watching, as Ser Greyheart moved off. Sera Lynia shook her head and gestured for Imellion to take a seat, before moving off on her own, cane clicking along the ground.

Imellion sat on a different bench and removed her helm, pushing back the sweat-sodden hair that draped down over her eyes, pushing it back behind her ears. A hint of a scar traces itself up around her neck, faint and silvery, like the ones Lynia said wound through her mind, making things difficult at times. But this was something new from Lynia. Some new lesson to be learned. Some new chance for growth. It was odd, sitting there, but she remembered something to discuss.

"You wear the sigil of Priskil, I saw," Imellion said finally after a few long moments. "But why did you not how deeply you were injured?"

Textbox by Aydel

[Alexander Faircroft]

Description "Alex Common" Alex thoughts "Myrian" "Fratava" "Others"

Alex rested against the stone wall of the training grounds, his back pressed against it as he slipped his chest plate off letting the air get to it. Taking an impact like that wasn’t going to fade any time soon. Still though as he sat there he watched Imellion sit next to him. He groaned feeling the pain flaring up again. She was the sigil of priskil he had? It wasn’t like he tried to hide it. And how deeply was he injured? That was a question indeed.
“Nothing too harsh. I got kneed in the stomach by a magic user. It dented the plate which thankfully absorbed most of the blow. If I hadn’t shifted my footing, the blow would have been further down.” He gave a soft chuckle passing it off as if nothing happened before coughing and straightening up again. “Alongside that my left arm got dislocated at the elbow and my right shoulder took another magic enhanced strike which again the armour absorbed.”

He sighed lightly now free of the excess weight and letting his body recuperate. “As for the sigil, it’s not the only one I have.” As he spoke he lifted up his arm to pull the loop of sigils he wore off of his head and dangle them in front of her. “Each one is a different god, personally of them I follow priskil, Yahal, and Sylir first and foremost.” If she wanted to take the loop from his hands she was more than welcome too as he’d let her take hold of it.

“And I’m sorry about that. I push myself that far because, I have too. People have died because I didn’t push myself far enough and now…I’m trying to make up for that.” As he finished speaking he’d glance towards the ground looking back on all the people he’d lost or failed to save because he hadn’t been proactive or disciplined enough or strong enough.

[Imellion]

Imellion removed her helm and set it down beside her, grimacing at the feel of her sweat-soaked hair as clung to her scalp and the cold hair along her exposed neck. That sent a chill twisting through her stomach and she reached up, undoing her hair so that it fell down her neck to her back, cloaking those scars as surely as her face cloaked the scars in her spirit, and with that guard now in place, she felt more secure. She frowned as he spoke though, trying to picture all the injuries he referred to.

There were many of them. One that even dented plate. She tried to picture that, but couldn't. How could one dent solid plate? Magic was terrifying the more she learned about it. Or perhaps she should learn some of it herself to defend herself with. There had to be some defensive magic, didn't there?

"With that many injuries, why did you not speak up?" She asked, slipping her arm out from the shield and propping it up against her leg, shaking it to breathe some life back into it. She stepped closer as Sera Lynia moved about, speaking quietly to some of the other knights nearby. Hesitatingly, Imellion took the sigil, examining it and pulling out her own necklace, worn and weathered down to barely indistinguishable, but still roughly in the shape of an eagle.

Then Imellion studied the other sigils, frowning at them. She had heard those names but knew very little about them. Wasn't Sylir dead though? Hadn't she heard something about that while she was here? How did someone worship a dead god? Some still worshipped and prayed to Aquiras, but he wasn't exactly dead. Just mostly dead. And who was Yahal? Imellion had not really ever heard of him before.

"I am afraid I know only of Priskil," Imellion said after a long moment, "In any meaningful way, at least. The order is named after Sylir, but is he not dead? How can one worship him?"

She bit her tongue, suddenly ashamed of her questions. "I apologize. You are injured and need rest, not my questions."

His final words were chilling to her, however. They felt dark and dangerous, almost wild, like the men who had raised her. This was different though. The slavers had always had that dark edge for their own interests. This was the opposite of that. It was self-destructive for others. But it sounded terrible. Not like something most knights would approve of.

"And I apologize again for pressuring you, but I do not see how pushing yourself so hard will make up for those who died in the past." She shrugged. "It will never bring them back. The dead stay dead."

Especially if you knew they were dead. Her family, however, might still be alive somewhere in Taldera. Once she was a knight, perhaps she could go on a quest to try and find them to move them here. Would they live in the city though? Or perhaps in the Mithryn outpost? She had heard that was nice. She could even go visit them when duty allowed. Talk with her mother again, assuming she ever had, and have family meals. The thought sent a warm glow in her chest and she smiled faintly at the thought, before returning to the present and this Alexander.

[Alexander Faircroft]

She only knew of Priskil. To be expected many people only knew of the one or maybe two gods fully. Alex exhaled slowly feeling the pain in his stomach shift. As much as he wanted to speak of a way to worship a dead god he couldn’t give a viable reason that was the way, so instead he chose another route to speak from.
“I’m not as much a worshiper of the god themselves as I am the ideal they believe in or represent. Priskil. Hope, light, and vigilance. Yahal. Purity and faith. Sylir. Peace and civilization. Peace, hope, faith. Three pillars of what people should hope for. Don’t you think?” Alex shifted where he sat a little more leaning further back into the grain.

Then came the apologies of her pressuring him and then wondered how he could push so hard. It wouldn’t bring them back and he knew that. Alex exhaled slowly rolling his shoulder lightly to force the pain out.
“It’s not really about pushing hard to bring them back. But about atoning for the mistakes that I’d made. Then things I’d done or failed to do in order to save them. I don’t see how being lazy and taking things at a leisurely pace honours their memory. Do you?” His words less a criticism and more an insight into his frame of mind. The first he’d given out so freely and so easily. As much as he hurt he couldn’t hold back. “As for pressuring me don’t worry about it. If I cannot fight whilst injured what hope do I have if someone decided to attack me whilst I’m not at peak condition? Best to learn how to handle yourself at any state.” Again words not of aggression nor imposed meaning just an honest truth.

Alex’s eyes looked towards Imellions own. Green eyes of resolution met hers, and he wondered what he’d see in return, willingness to shrink back and slide away, or the want to stand up and fight for what was right? “What do you fight for Imellion? Why did you join the order? Because I doubt your answer will be the same as my own.” He gave a much softer smile, lighter like he was almost inviting her to speak. To say what the genuinely thought and wanted to action upon. He wouldn’t judge her words or at least he’d try not to.

Slipping the loop back over his head he shifted his back again trying to stand. A short sharp jolt forwards and he was up standing on his own two feet again. He didn’t care if he was slowly destroying himself. It was the only way to make the darkness, the guilt and the pain stop.

[Imellion]

Imellion tilted her head in confusion. Not the gods themselves, but the ideals they represented What was the purpose of that? The gods walked around, interacted with people, and played a role in life. Why would anyone not worship them? Her mouth scrunched up for a bit as she tried to puzzle that through. What would be the point of an ideal if there was nobody to embody it? That's just something to work towards without ever knowing it was achievable. Imellion was unsure about the other two, but she knew who Priskil was. Priskil waited and cared for her lover through centuries without ever giving up hope that he would recover. That was a person, an individual who actually lived the ideal. That was something that could be accomplished then, rather than some abstract idea that did not exist.

"I don't quite understand what you mean by the ideal," She said after several long moments, twisting a strand of hair around her finger, tugging at it. "The gods are people. Very powerful, but people." She bit her lip to think a little deeper. "And Priskil lives what she stands for. Why would I worship this-" Her words failed there and she twirled a hand in a circle, trying to call forth a word, "Idea that may be impossible when Priskil actually does it?"

She stood there again, trying to slow down her breathing that still seemed filled with ragged cloth to her ears and the mad drumming of her pulse, working through his other words. Atoning? What was the point? It had already happened and if people had died, they were already gone. Nothing would make up for that. Surely, they could be prevented from repeating, but that was not atoning. Nor did his argument about why he pushed himself so hard feel right to her. But what did she think about it? She bit her lip again and tried to put words together again. Why were feelings so difficult to talk about? Couldn't they be easily labeled and easily accessed?

"I think..." She started, "That destroying yourself is a poor way to honor a memory." She made a rather wry face, wrestling with a feeling she couldn't place or describe. It was bitter and painful like a scrape along her knees, but there was a wholeness to it like a full night sleep. She could see vague faces and nameless forms, but they felt like home. Her family, wherever they were. Was she honoring their memory? She had no idea what they were like and had no memory to truly honor. She had a hunch though that they wouldn't want to her to push herself into hurting herself.

She met his eyes. They were green, resolute, like a forest's canopy at the height of its summer power. Strong and immovable. She frowned slightly as she continued to meet his eyes with her own brown ones. If his was the resolute power of a forest, hers were the craggy, weathered, cracked bark of a tree. Older than they should be and tired, but guileless and honest. She shrugged at the last question.

"I joined because I had nowhere else to go. My family was from somewhere far to the north but I was raised in a slaver's caravan. They were found by Syliran knights and executed." Her voice was flat, deliberately so, suppressing the emotions that were bound to the core of her bones in those words and the scars they called forth again. "All things were finished and I was freed to decide where to go." Her voice changed again, growing with pride and excitement, taking on a warmer glow, like a winter's fire. "So I can help others and bring hope to those who suffer so they might also find new lives."

Then she stopped as the images flashed back. White snow, white moon, black blood spilled. Cracking leather and the burning cold of iron manacles. She took a deep breath and set her chin upwards. That was over now and she was someone else. Metal was not a cage. It was armor, and it protected her, made her strong. She was strong and had nothing to fear.

Textbox by Aydel