Completed [Tall Johnny's] The Answer is.... Bodybuilding

[Kreig Messer]

518 AV, 46th of Summer, 6th Bell, 10th chime.

It was a brand new day in Sunny Sunberth, for most it was but another day in a city that they must live in whilst barely scraping by. Whither it be beggar asking for kindness of but a few scraps from a fellow man with the likelihood of finding none, a laborer toiling long hours in a day to earn said scraps, or the man who oppresses others so that he may receive such scraps for himself. Such was the way of a city that held no law, no order, and rife with those who would make use of it for selfish gains rather than the city’s betterment.


For Kreig, it was a day where he would improve himself, making use of the early hours of the day to occupy the pit along with his various weights, armor pieces, and training blades littering the field. There was many reasons one would spend the morning to train, intending to vigorously train his body. For Kreig, the reasons were many.

The simplest was that he was bored.

“One… two…three….for…five…six…seven….eight…nine…ten” So he counted as his toes dug into the ground by the tips, his body moving up and down as his hands pushed against the ground, his elbows acting as levers to raise his weight and lowering it accordingly. It put a strain upon his arms and chests, but it was a needed strain that told his body he was putting in the effort.

“Come on Kreig, if yer gonna go down on the ground like that do it like yer petchin’ a whore right as ya got back from a year’s voyage” And of course there was Olav, spotting for him as he sat there, his voice dull and unenthusiastic as he watched the brawler attempting physical fitness.

Kreig had many reasons to ask Olav, a former champion of Sunberth, to ask him to spot for Kreig. One thing being that Olav was ripped and Kreig wasn’t ashamed to admit that despite his own muscles he didn’t even have a tenth of the of the experiance the tall man held. But the more important reason was that Olav was familiar with tending to the minor wounds and exhaustion of idiots and was perhaps the best to tell Kreig when to stop.

Of course, it seemed Olav wasn’g going to tell him anytime soon and Kreig wished he did. Exhaustion in a fight was something Kreig was quite used to, repetettive physical motions that weren’t swinging a wooden sword in place for a while were also something he found strangely comforting, but actual physical excercize? He seemed to abhor it like a plague.

But being awake this early meant he had quite little to do BUT train, even if he were to say visit Kelski or others. Oh they’d tolerate him for a bit, but with their own tasks for the day Kreig would be a hindrance and Kreig didn’t want to be that.

He liked to think he was at least a good friend after all.

Word Count: 504 words

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[Kreig Messer]

“Alright Kreig, stop there. Time for some sit ups” Olav Said, moving from his spot as the tip of his boot pushed Kreig over, interrupting the mans 5th set of pushups. Kreig let out a little yelp as he sat up and glared at Olave.

“petch, couldn’t ya do that without kickin’ me over ya rotten sod?” Kreig asked, despite this he brought his hands behind his head as Olav approached Kreigs feet and held them in place. In obedience Kreig lied back, his legs bent unlike the straightness he had with his pushups. Gathering his breath, he exhaled as he pulled himself up into a sitting postion before lying back down, gathering his breath again to repeat the motion.

“One….two…”

“I coulda” Olav began as he looked at Kreig “But I reckon a lazy arse shyke like ye wouldn’t quick enough. So I helped things along ‘s all” He replied simply, earning a grunt of annoyance of Kreig who was on his sixth count. In truth Kreig appreciated the man’s help even if he did so in his own rude and gruff way. Especially at so early an hour where most would try and spend it sleeping or in Olav’s case do his own training.

His body made its own annoyance known to Kreig with the strain in his joints and muscles, while the brawler didn’t lack in stamina that didn’t mean his body appreciated the effort he was putting it through. But Kreig ignore it, he had to because it was equal to someone complaining about slightly cold water.

This lead him to his other reason as to why he was putting his body through such effort. He had intentions to do right by Sunberth, and while he was confident of his fists to do a good job he wasn’t sure he had to strength to match it. If he couldn’t knock out an opponent swiftly with one punch, then he couldn’t focus on the next. And if he could barely lift one boulder, he wasn’t sure he’d have the energy to lift the next one.

He needed both the strength and energy to bare what troubles the path he followed would throw at him, and with the quality of his opponents in the fighter’s pit serving as a test for his progress he hoped to strive far.

As his body lifted itself up, he looked at Olav who looked back at him with an intense but bored look. Despite that visage there was a conviction to do his job right, and so Kreig would match it by taking his path and exercise seriously. Inhaling his stomach flattened as he lowered himself back down, exhaling again as he pulled himself up to meet Olav’s gaze again and letting out a count of fifteen.

He would bear the tediousness and the complaints of his body if it meant it was all worth it in the end. For he was a son of Sunberth and by god he’d do right by his self-imposed title even if it would kill him.

Word count: 510
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[Kreig Messer]

After a while, Olav had decided that it was enough pushups once Kreig hit his fifth set once more. This time he suggested that Kreig grab a couple of his weights, a pair of five kilogram dumbelss. Kreig acquiesced to this, though he grunted in further annoyance when Olav insinuated that bed-ridden grandmother could move faster than his arse in fetching said weights.

Standing with his back straight, Kreig had his palms facing outward as he gripped the dumbells by the metal rods that served as their grips. Through the motion of his elbow, Kreig lifted the right weight to chest height before lowering to alternate to the left. Keeping his focus to not accidentally move his shoulders while he inhaled his breath as he raised each weight, putting straing on the muscles of his biceps.

“One…two…three..” And of course, keeping count along with it.

It brought memories of Syliras when he did this, of the interior training rooms where people like Ser Titus would carve their bodies into the musculator weapons that they were. It brought a smile to him as he recalled the giant human of a knight with his Warhammer. He’d lost to many of the Order’ s knights in his spars, which included his former Patron, Natasha Druva. It panged his heart to recall them however, its been years since he saw them last.

“Don’t slow down Kreig, yer on a rhythm even if it is that of a drunken’ sailor” Kreig had no retort for that… yet. But he took the chastisement for what it was and kept going with lifting the due of weights in both hands. His arms felt lightly burning now, but he had ignored that too like the light pain he felt earlier. Again he felt that he was in no danger, and if he was overly straining then he trusted Olav to keep Kreig from doing so.

His thoughts wandered back to Syliras however, and he recalled the good memories he had of it. Yes, despite the strictness of the order and the stiffness that came with it, it was a lifetime’s better place to live in compared to Sunberth. And Kreig felt envy at that, for Sunberth was one of the places on this world that Kreig considered the worse and this was a home he loved greatly! And at least here Kreig felt he could breath, for Syliras was stiff after all and at least here he could stretch his legs without having to worry about acting proper for his Sera and the rest of the order.

After reaching his fifth set again, Olav’s voice rang in his ears.

“Alright Kreig, ya stop right there, Now hold yer arms to yer side an’ left with the back facing outwards, an’ keep yer arms straight while yer doin’ it. Raise ‘em till shoulder height an’ repeat”

“Alright, I know how this one goes, Olav”

Olav snorted as he crossed his arms and watched “Well excuse me for tryin’ ta teach ya somethin’, no go on then. The quicker we’re done with this then I can start my own”

“Yeah yeah, hang on to yer trousers ya old bastard”

Word Count: 529

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[Kreig Messer]

As Kreig brought his legs tightly together, he rested his weights against his thighs with the back of his hands facing outwards. Kreig’s body breathing in as he raised one arm, keeping it straight as he raised it to shoulder level before exhaling it and lowering it out. He then inhaled again as he raised the other before exhaling to lower that too.

And so it began that the alternated back and forth between left and right, looking straight as the end of one part of the pit. His thoughts now focused on Olav, the old ex-champion. Part of him wondered how the former champion rose and fall from his perch. One guess it was a younger fighter who kicked the man from his seat, as that was how plenty of warriors fell in the end. Through a younger and stronger body the fresh-faced fighter overcame the aging champion, to take his place as the new one.

But that was ultimately an assumption. Kreig’s mind wandered to another theory that perhaps Olav simply grew too confident, affecting his training and his manner fighting till he was felled by a fighter he could have defeated had he not been so conceited. But again that was only theory, an assumption.

After having alternating his arms a number of times, Kreig had gone to raise both at the same time, his mind still in thought as he trained his arms, the soreness and the sweat covering him being the only indicators of the discomfort he felt while training.

‘ It could have been both’ Kreig thought, and true it was quite possible. Haven’t their been a number of aging warriors who’d allowed their delusion that old age had not slowed them down and affected their skills to get in the way of their own experience? Ultimately to fall from their high perches to a rotten end that could have been avoided.

Kreig couldn’t imagine that, and instead he felt himself settling on a theory he much preferred; That Olav simply lost to a better fighter, nothing more, nothing less. It was the kind of defeat Kreig had endured a number of times prior to fighting for Tall Johnny, here in Sunberth and outside it. Of course any who knew of these defeats were likely quite few.

Kreig could imagine that when he left Sunberth the first time the residents of the city thought him dead and promptly forgot about him. Part of him hated to think that his death would be of obscurity, like most he somewhat hoped there would be those who would remember him after death even if he would be happy to be guided by Dhira to the thereafter.

Oh ultimately he believe that if death were to come he should accept it. Death was the ultimate equalizer after all for all things living. Like a stone that would wither away from the winds constant barrages so too would the living one day find their light snuffed out and rare was the one who would know when and how.

That was just the way life worked after all.

Word count: 518

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[Kreig Messer]

“Alright Kreig, that’s enough for weights” Kreig’s slumped at that, not letting go of the weights as he let out a tired breath of acknowledge, this time he wasn’t quite sure how long he was it. But he was quite that he was at it for a while at least before Olav stopped him. His breath was suitably heavy, the soreness of his arms along with the soreness of his legs sighing in pained relief.

Olave patted him on the shoulder as he walked past “Well, I reckon its time for me to take up training myself. While yer takin’ yer break, how ‘bout ye spot me eh? A rotten extra set of eyes is better than only the one I suppose”

“My eyes see quite well ya old fart” Kreig retorted “Ya should be the rotten set with yer old age, eh?” Kreig let loose, getting back at the man’s earlier remarks as he moved to set away his weights next to the pile. But he didn’t refuse the request and as the older man began to stretch his body, Kreig sat and watched.

He was impressed that he could keep it up really as he sat there for a while and watched the man do his push ups, sit ups, and whatever exercise with a verb in it. He also appreciated the chance to breath, oh realized his training wasn’t over, he still had his swords to swing while also wearing his armor.

That was going to tire his muscles even further.

Time seemed to pass quickly however, and it wasn’t long before Olav took to lifting a barbell a number of times. Far fewer than Kreig did him dumbbells but the weight was more than the 5 Kgs he lifted so it was still impressive nonetheless.

Kreig was envious of that, he’d wondered how strong Olav was in his prime. Was it doubtle the strength he had then? Could his hands tear a foe limb from limb with little effort. Would Kreig gain such a strength if he were so dedicated?


“Alright Olav, that there’s enough I’m reckonin’ “Kreig let out, and with a drop of the weight Olav breathed his own sight of relief and straightened his back.

“Gods an’ tits.. .” He let out as he stook astep back, his eyes turning to Kreig “Right, that’s me done then, which leads me to a second request then, you alright for that Kreigy?”

Kreig shuddered at the affectation to his name “depends on what it is?”

“A spar, not now, but in three bells. I reckon ye’ll be spendin’ a bell on swinging those twigs of yours”

Kreig nodded, it was more or less the time he’d spend on doing just that before resting again “Yeah, yeah alright then. I could use a good spar” And really, he didn’t want to deny a chance to kick the former champions arse.

Kreig was simply opportunistic like that, out of the kindess of his heart of course.


Words: 499

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[Kreig Messer]

With Olav’s temporary departure, Kreig approached his armor pieces which consisted mainly of his gauntlets, vambaraces, greives and breastplate. One by one he wore each piece of armor, tightening the straps of every peace while his breastplate instead let out a click as the clasps secured themselves to the groves on the opposite piece.

It wasn’t a quick process, and not entirely painless as his sore muscles ached from the added weight. It wasn’t entirely necessarily to wear every piece Kreig knew, especially as he was to swing his iron core training blades which were fairly weighty themselves.

He lifted one of them, gripping the handle with both hands and wandered to the center of the of the pit. Spreading his legs apart he held the blade before him, with a step back he breathed and raised the blade before stepping foerward and giving a downward swing with all his might.


He repeated it ten times, each motion sending a strain of effort through his arms and his body due to all the armor he wore. He then added to his downward swings with a forward thrust, taking another forward before resetting only repeat the motion.

Like practicing his punches, practicing his swords refined his swings. It made them clearner, quicker, and added a familiarity so that his body could quickly reset his form once he had it down pat. It always felt too long since he practiced his sword swings, not matter how actual the time was between each session. Whereas practicing with his fists was like training with a lifelong companion and his muscles a longtime foe, his sword skills always felt like a distant face he’d not seen in decades. Even if he got used to it for a time, it always took long to familiarize himself with it.


He added another step now, following the thrust came a quick diagonal cut upwards. Causing him to take another step and forcing his body to endure and get used to the weight of his armor before he again reset and repeated the motions. Swing, thrust, cut so the motion went and it seemed with each addition he doubled the number of times performed for each set.


ten for the downward swing because it was just that damn familiar, twenty for adding the thrust, 40 for adding the upward cut and now to be 60 as he addedanother downwards swing.

By the end of it all Kreig dropped to his rear as he breathed heavily, sweat premating every corner of his body. With a bit of effort he pushed himself back up to his legs as despite his want, he still needed to practice with his blade some more. If he wanted to actually count on something other than his fists, then he needed to keep at it with no fuss. His body wasn’t screaming too loudly yet, and so he would push himself till ultimately that after his spar he’d be tired enough to sleep the day away.


Word count: 500

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[Kreig Messer]

This time he recalled his fight with that swordswoman from the start of the season, who while not rendering his body a mess did almost skewered him more than once. She reminded him of Sera Natasha and the relentless bouts he had with her with the blade… she always outmatched him, but Kreig reckoned he’ll surpass her soon enough.

Holding the blade over his head, he attempted to mimic the high-stance she used, blade held over his head ready to bring the blade down in a swing. He did sow, his arms swinging bringing the blade in an arc switching quickly to a low stance. He replayed her movements in his head, his stance now switching to a low one and immediately he gave s short thrust forward before pulling deeply back with the pommel over his head and the blade pointing forward in a stance Kreig knew to be similar to an ox.


With a much deeper thrust forward, the entirety of his body moved and it ached just to let him know of the strain it put. Kreig acknowledged as he pulled the pommel close to his side for the basic stance.


He hoped to master theses stance, because he was no seeing how effective they’d be if here to master them. He was no where near to the flawlessness his opponent had swhoed, how swift her motions were and how seamless each stance transition was.

He thrusted forward quickly and as he pulled back he raised the blade back to the high stance and swung down and quickly shifted to the low stance.

He paused to grasp for breath however, and realized not a flaw…but a requirement if he wished to match her movements. Quite simply it was stamina extensive, to do so swiftly required a well spring of stamina to keep doing so without quickly tiring. Were he at full energy and not burdened by armor he might have had less difficult with it, but he imagined it would remained true regardless.


With his breath gathered he performed an upward slash to return to the high stance before angling himself to resume an ox stance and then moving to bring his blade down in a diagonal swing. However he lost his footing and quickly found himself tumbling forward and landing on his back.

“Owww….” He breathed, chest rising beneath his breastplate as he breathed heavily. Indeed, if he wanted to reach her level with a blade he would need to practice heavily. For now he was tempted to stay in position for quite a while and then find a keg of water and drink its entirety before he had to go spart with Olav.

Speaking of that spar he probably needed all the rest he could get before he could face that man down. Spar or not, he doubted the man would go too easy and probably expected the same of Kreig. No injury for the other but most definitely more bruises to add to their exhaustion.


Word length: 501

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[Kreig Messer]

True to his word, Kreig spend the remainder of the time resting and drinking plenty of fluids. The soreness of his body becoming much more apparent after the rest as each movement seemed to ache. He had returned all his items back to his room save for one of blades and his guantlets. Knowing that Olav had a mace Kreig neglected to ask just what type of spar the former champion was angling for.


He got his answer when the Olave soon appeared shirtless and nary a weapon in sight. Kreig, having taken to sitting against one of the walls of the ‘Cage’ had left his gauntlets and practice blade there a slowly and achingly got up.


“Yahal dear father this body of mine aches” Kreig mumbled as he approached the center and grinned at Olav “So ya old bastard, ready for me to tan yer hide?” Kreig began with the trash talk. Olav snorted with bemusement as he eyed Kreig over.

“Gotta lot of nerve callin’ me old when ya look like ya could keel over in any moment. Ya over do it I’m guessing?”


Kreig didn’t bother answering that “ Nuff’ talk, whats the rules of this ‘ere spar?” Kreig asked instead, raising his fists in a boxing stance.

Olave stared again, the bemusement more announced “Fine, no injury includin’ bitin’ off flesh an’ breakin’ limbs. We go for the length of ten chimes, anyone who calls for uncle ‘right before the time is the loser. Deal?”


“Deal….. er, who’s gonna be keepin’ the time if we’re both doin’ the fightin’?” Kreig asked, his brows furrowing. The answer came as Olav stepped aside and Kreig saw one of the gambling hall’s employee’s giving a wave. Kreig let out a little ‘oh’ and gave a small wave in return.

No reason not to be polite after all.


Then without warning Olav’s fist connected with Kreig cheek in a quick jab. Kreig stumbled as he was caught off guard and lost his balance before regaining his footing and narrowly shifting back as Olav dashed forward and attempted a hook punch to Kreig’s body, the knuckles of his fist barely grazing Kreig’s side.


“Petch you ya bastad, no one said start!”


“Yeah, will start then ya shyke son!” Olav let out, throwing his fist in a straight punch. Kreig’s left arm raised his arm quickly to intercept, redirecting the blow away from his head. Kreig stepped in, bringing his foot down in a stomp upon Olav’s foot, holding him in place as he moved closer to bring his right fist against the older man’s abdomen.

His fist buried itself against Olave’s flesh, the older man not entirely losing wind howeveras he caught Kreig in a hug and lifted him.

Keeping him in place Olav brought his head into a headbut against Kreig, holding back his strength the former champion gave him what was comparable to a painful tap on the nose that stung quit greatly.


“Tit for tat brat” Olave said, and with Kreig still in his grasp Kreig was sure he was about to get more.


Perhaps this is why he should have respected his elders.

Word count: 526

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[Kreig Messer]

Kreig struggled against Olav’s tight grip, the large man not letting go and Kreig unable to break free with his own strength, he wasn’t sure he had the energy of it from the previous exhaustion. So instead Kreig pulled back his head and swung it forward to return the favor of Olav’s headbutt, his forehead striking the bridge of his nose and eliciting grunt of pain from Olav.

That wasn’t enough however, Olav’s grip still held strong and soon Kreig felt Olav’s bearhug tighten. Kreig sword as he felt the pressure and it wasn’t doing his tired body good. Then it only grew tighter and tighter and soon he felt the air leaving his body.

‘Petchity shykity petch, this ain’t good’ The brawler thought, Kreig pushed against the large man, trying to break away and he was somewhat successful as he gained a semblance of air. He worked to slide his arm of the man’s embrace, and once he did as attempted a punch only for Olav to break away with a raised guard.

“Goddamn old man, ya almost choked me to death” Kreig complained, glaring at the old man with a grin on his face. Olav for his part let out a single laugh as he stepped forward with another jab which Kreig deftly blocked with the back of his arm.

“Yeah? Well I oughta put a bastard like you out if I’m so old. This ol’ heart of mine needs its rest an’ ain’t got the time to entertain a spoiled bitch like yeserlf” He emphasized that last part with a knee strike. Kreig stepped back to avoid it, only to step forward to throw a straight punch in retaliation.


But much like Kreig blocked the Jab, Olav blocked the straight punch and stepped in close to throw an uppercut towards Kreig’s chin, but like the series of punches so far it hadn’t really struck true as Kreig took a step back.


It was then Kreig raised his leg and bent it only to swing to forward, his foot meeting Olav’s thigh and eliciting a grunt of pain from the former champion who decided to retaliate by grabbing onto Kreig’s foot and pulling him forward to give the younger fighter a knee strike in his stomach, then grabbing him by the face and shoving him to then drop onto Kreig’s chest with that same knee.


Kreig rolled to the side as the knee almost met his chest, placing his hand on his stomach as he breathed heavily. Kreig was pretty sure the old man wasn’t holding back so much and it was perhaps only exhaustion from training that affected both fighters that affected their current ability.

Still Kreig could quite clearly see that Olav had deserved his former title.


As Kreig rose he stepped back to build distance, giving him but a moment to think. The old man wasn’t going to let up just one bit and so Kreig had to go another direction. If the straightforward method didn’t work… trick into your own pace.

Kreig liked to think he was good at at

Word count: 516

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[Kreig Messer]

Kreig then stepped closer then, eyes watching Olav’s form as he approached, pulling back his own right fist Krreig looked as if he were ready to throw a straight punch and Olav reacted accordingly as he ducked and closed in, only to stumble back as Kreig’s left fist flew forward clearly in a jab, striking his forehead and causing a pause in his movements.

Kreig stepped foreward again, bending his left arm so that his elbow jutted out and ready to strike Olav’s face. Olave moved to the side accordingly and so Kreig leaned his foot forward to trip the man, causing him to stumble onto the ground. Kreig dropped to his knee in attempt to bring his fist down but this time it was his turn to pause.

His fist narrowly missing Olav’s head, it was Olav’s fist striking the center of Kreig’s chest that took the Brawler’s breath away. Another punch to his stomach took it away further and as Olav got to his feet he grabbed Kreig by the head and struck his knee against his temple, knocking the brawler into a daze and onto his back.


Kreig reeled as his vision was hazy, defeat nearly upon him and he could barely see what looked like the blurred, shaking, outline of Olav climbing onto Kreig. On instinct Kreig raised his arms in a block just as Olav brough down his fists in a rain of punches, each bruising his already tired arms further.

‘Shyke’ Kreig thought, unable to see a way out, if he tried to reach for dirt to toss up he’d just leave an opening, if he tried to spit he’d just be spitting on his own arm. One last thought struck however, and he so thought ‘why not?’. Withstanding the next couple of punches, he caught the next with his left. Olav glared at the brawler and so attempted to to throw another punch, only for that to be caught as well.

“So that’s yer game eh, brat?” Olav replied as he felt Kreig pushing back against his fists, opening his palms Olave caught onto Kreig’s hands and tried to overpower him, trying to cross his arms together and press them against Kreig’s chest. Kreig, however, attempted to push him away or aside, only seeking the opportunity to slip away.

At this point it was a contest of wills, Olav was stronger even with age but Kreig was determined like a cornered rat. It was only the degree of exhaustion between them that could break this contest, and Kreig’s younger body seemed to fare better than Olav’s as Kreig began to overpower him. Kreig pushed the man far enough that with a grunt of effort he threw him aside and slipped from under to stand on his knees before pushing himself back up.


Olav wasted no time in doing the same. At this point both fighters looked to be exhausted, their bodies aching yet the desire to conquer the other blazed like a fire.


It seemed to be that the meaning of the word ‘spar’ was thrown out the window and neither cared one bit.

Word Count: 521

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