12th day of Fall, 517 AV
Alright... time to rise
Opening his eyes after a long moment of meditation, Elias found himself angrily regarding the placid training dummy staring defiantly back at him. Recent events had shown him just how unpracticed he was when it came to the martial prowess he would often laud over others, and as a man who sought conflict like a moth sought the flame, it seemed more and more imperative he find a way to fix such a troubling insufficiency. There was just no surviving in a city like Ravok -in a world like Mizahar- unless one was both willing and able to fight.
He was familiar with the basics of hand to hand combat, but he figured it was perhaps time he ventured forward in search of his own techniques. Many of his fellow soldier he’d seen fight and actively fought against in the past could have their move sets and attack patterns directly traced back to the instructors they’d learned them from right here at the Vitrax. They mimicked their masters just as they had been taught to as youths, but many had been content to simply leave it at that after their 'graduation.' Usually such a thing wouldn’t be an issue for the average stryfer, but for one like Elias whose day to day routine often involved a duel or two being demanded of him before breakfast, and often from those who fought just as he did for they had learned from the same people just as he did, then their understanding of the very foundation of his style left him exposed and vulnerable to those wise and skilled enough to pick up on it.
Predictability killed on the battlefield as much as it did in the streets.
Breathing steadily, the apprentice sought out the isle of calm that rest at the center of his being despite that thoughts that churned throughout his mind. Striking out once he’d found his peace, Elias brought his first forward to jab at one of the training dummy arms. As he did so, his other hand came out to block the oncoming strike of his inanimate enemy. The soldier struck his palm upward, pressing it into the wood and feeling the kickback of its immovability. He would be sore later, he could tell already, and his hands would likely be raw by the time he was finished with this particular training session, but he knew he would be stronger for it.
This training would be different than usual however, for the trainee was different than usual as well. Instead of ignoring or denying that simple fact, instead he intended to fully embrace it. Reaching deep inside, Elias opened himself up to the awareness that lingered on the edge of his mind. He dove into the ebb and flow of himself, taking a moment to focus the djed coursing throughout his veins solely into his arms. The magic was clumsy in his mental grasp. It felt heavy and barely compliant to his wishes, but with focus he was able to push the flow where he wanted it. Keeping hold of that power, Elias struck out again with an upward jab to the center of the training dummy.
His muscles felt heavier as a result of his exertion, even with such a simple rotation of moves. The control he maintained over the Flux was still sluggish at best, yet still he knew that the only way he was going to become more familiar with how it worked, how it flowed through his body, was by simply continuing to use it. The magic appealed to Elias not just because of the fact that it could enhance his physical strength, speed and reflexes, but its because its mastery demanded a familiar discipline. It resonated with notions of balance and familiarity with self that years in Ebonstryfe had burned into him before his exile. For years, Elias had felt a stranger in his own skin. Since returning to Ravok, it had only grown worse.
He hoped the magic -and the sweat- would somehow help.
Opening his eyes after a long moment of meditation, Elias found himself angrily regarding the placid training dummy staring defiantly back at him. Recent events had shown him just how unpracticed he was when it came to the martial prowess he would often laud over others, and as a man who sought conflict like a moth sought the flame, it seemed more and more imperative he find a way to fix such a troubling insufficiency. There was just no surviving in a city like Ravok -in a world like Mizahar- unless one was both willing and able to fight.
He was familiar with the basics of hand to hand combat, but he figured it was perhaps time he ventured forward in search of his own techniques. Many of his fellow soldier he’d seen fight and actively fought against in the past could have their move sets and attack patterns directly traced back to the instructors they’d learned them from right here at the Vitrax. They mimicked their masters just as they had been taught to as youths, but many had been content to simply leave it at that after their 'graduation.' Usually such a thing wouldn’t be an issue for the average stryfer, but for one like Elias whose day to day routine often involved a duel or two being demanded of him before breakfast, and often from those who fought just as he did for they had learned from the same people just as he did, then their understanding of the very foundation of his style left him exposed and vulnerable to those wise and skilled enough to pick up on it.
Predictability killed on the battlefield as much as it did in the streets.
Breathing steadily, the apprentice sought out the isle of calm that rest at the center of his being despite that thoughts that churned throughout his mind. Striking out once he’d found his peace, Elias brought his first forward to jab at one of the training dummy arms. As he did so, his other hand came out to block the oncoming strike of his inanimate enemy. The soldier struck his palm upward, pressing it into the wood and feeling the kickback of its immovability. He would be sore later, he could tell already, and his hands would likely be raw by the time he was finished with this particular training session, but he knew he would be stronger for it.
This training would be different than usual however, for the trainee was different than usual as well. Instead of ignoring or denying that simple fact, instead he intended to fully embrace it. Reaching deep inside, Elias opened himself up to the awareness that lingered on the edge of his mind. He dove into the ebb and flow of himself, taking a moment to focus the djed coursing throughout his veins solely into his arms. The magic was clumsy in his mental grasp. It felt heavy and barely compliant to his wishes, but with focus he was able to push the flow where he wanted it. Keeping hold of that power, Elias struck out again with an upward jab to the center of the training dummy.
His muscles felt heavier as a result of his exertion, even with such a simple rotation of moves. The control he maintained over the Flux was still sluggish at best, yet still he knew that the only way he was going to become more familiar with how it worked, how it flowed through his body, was by simply continuing to use it. The magic appealed to Elias not just because of the fact that it could enhance his physical strength, speed and reflexes, but its because its mastery demanded a familiar discipline. It resonated with notions of balance and familiarity with self that years in Ebonstryfe had burned into him before his exile. For years, Elias had felt a stranger in his own skin. Since returning to Ravok, it had only grown worse.
He hoped the magic -and the sweat- would somehow help.
