[Flashback] No Time for Consequences

[Rhuryc]

Sukina Geysers, Dawn
37th Day of Fall, 505 AV

Only four days had passed since his brush with death. Rhuryc, annoyed at his situation, did little but grumble as he finished his third lap. Clad in nothing but his breeches his upper torso was drenched in sweat. His hair fell about his eyes in the most aggravating of fashions and if he stubbed his tone one more time he was going to take Tristan and hurl him into the geyser. He did what he could to funnel is attention into his physicality, going over what Tristan had told him about keeping his pace. One, controlled breathing. Rhuryc took in a large draw of air from his nose, filling his lungs before he expelled the breath through his mouth. Simple. Two, pump your arms. He had no idea that was necessary, but as his hands came up from his sides the boy felt suddenly faster. Huh. Three, long strides. Rhuryc began to practically leap from one leg to the next as his mind recalled the 'rules'. He even felt less tired. With his heightened pace the two remaining laps were completed in no time and the boy came to a grateful halt, his body slouching as it desperately tried to catch up.

"I almost feel bad for you." Tristan's rasp hit the boy's ears like a painful sting. "Almost." The words were followed by one of the dull bladed iron swords, this particular one liberated from a bandit camp. Rhuryc grumbled and caught the blade, moving fast enough to latch onto the following shield. Predictable, Tristan had most likely tried to hit him with it. Putting the idea out of his mind Rhuryc lifted his torso and squared up with his uncle, immediately adapting a defensive, ready posture. No attack came. The boy watched the man with a quizzical gaze, confused at the angle. Tristan just shook his head.

"You can hold yourself in a fight." He started, turning about and setting himself in the stance he adapted before combat. One that Rhuryc had seen on several occasions. "What you need to learn is form. Technique. You swing like a wild whore." The man stepped forward. His arm raised with the motion and, in self imposed slow motion, he exaggerated the movement. The sword was brought up over his shoulder and around his head, cut down in a diagonal assault across what might have been his opponent's head. He repeated the performance, only this time he swung the blade over his opposing side, continuing the momentum from the previous strike. The man did this a few times, illustrating how the shield moved with the blow by dropping his arm just enough to keep himself protected by still make room for the attack.

Rhuryc was astounded. Actual teaching? Why had they not done this to start? A sigh escaped the boys lips as his uncle order him to mimic him and he began with the exercise, following every inch of tension. Rhuryc found his muscles to be concordant with the motions. He concentrated on meshing the movement of his feet and hands, the opposing leg of the arm in swing stepping forward whilst the blade came down over it, the rest of his torso twisting as he put his weight into the brunt of the assault. Still, he found it difficult to focus on everything at once. Often his shield would remain upright and would be caught in the path of sword. Other times his arm would extend past his step and Rhuryc found himself off balance. Things only got worse as Tristan started following him, large stick in hand, and pointed out irregularities in the technique by sharp, sudden impacts to the area in question.

The boy did this ten times. Twenty. Fifty. One hundred. His muscles wanted to explode. Already his right arm protested each swing and he found it difficult to follow-through correctly, a fact that Tristan rectified violently. An hour passed. Two. What was the point? Barely able to raise the sword, Rhuryc's became limp. He cringed at the strike he knew was coming, but the assault never came. The boy opened his eyes to find Tristan in front of him again, shield in hand.

"Now. Your shield follows the same idea." Rhuryc groaned. "Shut it. Watch and repeat."

Tristan, keeping his 'sword' arm at his side, raised his shield. With a firm stance the man brought the wooden board inward towards his chest before he extended his arm, the front of the shield remaining vertical as it was brought out and around. His body moved much like with the sword. With a twisted torso his opposing foot stepped forward and he leaned into the strike, the end of which was brought back into a firm, ready stance with the shield up and right as if it had never been different. This was all done slowly, of course.

"Now you." The demon said.

Rhuryc stared at his uncle. His eyes narrowed. mimicking the stance, the boy followed the motion, his own shield revolving in a constant pattern of set, draw in, shove out, and set. As with his right, Rhuryc felt his left arm begin to numb as the practice continued. First minutes, then hours, and while he could hold his sword again, the shield was another matter in its own. His shoulders slouched and his muscles burned just holding the item aloft. The effort became so great that his swings were no more than a painful haft, a useless shove that even a child could prevent. Eventually the only technique Rhuryc displayed was that of retarded penguin, a humorous sight, but not one that aided his education. For some reason, though, the boy kept on. His tenacity was a creature of legend, one of which even Tristan began to admire.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, Tristan called for a halt.

"What. The hell. Are you doing to me?" Rhuryc said with a calm, calculated anger.

"Making you a man." The response was curt.

[Rhuryc]

The evening run was easier. With the sun far from its zenith the chill of night settled in around the wood, the crisp, night air filling the atmosphere with all the fresh scents of autumn. The scenery itself was quite magnificent and it made the laps all the easier, giving Rhuryc something to look at while his mind wandered. His first time around the geyser the attention lay on the monstrous phenomenon itself. Alien in design, the large rock-face remained a point of interest as it spewed liquid out of its top on a regular basis. When he was close enough Rhuryc made a game out of dodging the water while leaping from one pool to the next, his balance kept vicarious on the hard edges between surfaces. By the third lap his eyes was drawn to the less spectacular fauna, the myriad of life from the bronze wood dotting the landscape in a decor that even the greatest of artists could appreciate. The fifth, and final, trek Rhuryc found himself watching the sky, his gaze flicking between the stars as they began to surface from the waning light.

At least his legs had yet to fail. From the morning's exercise, Rhuryc's arms had been useless until late into the afternoon. Still, Tristan did not seem to believe in wasted time. Or rest. Except for meals, the boy was kept busy in some fashion or another. If he was not swinging a sword, he was carrying a shield. If neither action was possible he would do footwork. Who could tell, then, what the evening held.

Once Rhuryc came to a stop Tristan made his presence known. "Your weapons are important, but being able to take a hit is more so." The boy did not like where this was going. "Conditioning. If your opponent strikes you and you are able to shrug off the pain than you already possess an advantage." That made sense. Sure. "And the only way to do that is to accustom yourself to the pain." There it was. Rhuryc winced at the words alone. Tristan smiled in response and took a few, jovial steps forward. "If you don't recoil before you are struck you can prepare for it. Now. Firm up your chest, tense your muscles before the blow falls." Tristan gave his nephew a curt nod and raised his stick into the air. Rhuryc blinked once, his mouth opening to speak. Before he could get a word out, though, the man brought his weapon down, the loud, thunderous crack echoing over the field.

"Gah!" Rhuryc called out. He stumbled and fell to a single knee, his already aching muscles not able to support his body with the impact. "Son of a bitch! Aren't you going to tell me where you're striking?" The boy lowered his head and clenched his teeth.

"No." Tristan responded with another swing. Rhuryc issued forth a second cry. "And watch your language. Stand up." The boy followed instructions, albeit wearily. He took in a singular, deep breath and stood upright, his shoulders tightening. With his eyes locked onto the stick he watched with anticipation, patient and silent. Rhuryc's chest tightened and he felt the sting in his upper arm. Wrong guess. This process was doomed to repeat itself. One strike after the next came without warning. At first the boy found that he was able to work through the pain, but before long Tristan increased his pace. Rhuryc was only just able to keep up with the weapon. The man was right, though. On that rare occasion the boy guessed correctly he found the pain to be tolerable, although he was unsure if that was an effect of the training or if that part of his body was just numb.

Tristan was merciless in his manner. He made no room for ease and ensured that every inch of his nephews body was covered in both bruises and welts. By the time the sun had finished its decent and the moon risen Rhuryc was doubled over. With his head between his legs he held himself tight, barely able to even think through the sheer amount of torture. It was enough that the wound from days previous had yet to heal, but now he was reduced to a heap of useless weight. The form of the elder man stood over Rhuryc with an expression of approval.

"If you can crawl to the camp. You don't want some animal chewing on you."

Rhuryc groaned in response as he placed his hands out and slowly pulled his body along.

[Rhuryc]

Sukina Geysers, Mid Noon
38th Day of Fall, 505 AV

Tristan let him sleep in. What an ass.

Rhuryc realized why his uncle had him run in the twilight hours. Even in the fall, when temperatures were cool, the heavy, beating sun still marred his journey with its vindictive rays of pure, utter hatred. It felt like even nature wanted him dead. The Geysers seemed somehow angry and the the trees stared at the boy with a narrowed gaze, all while the grass plotted his demise. Oh, and his limbs felt like they were going to fall off. Each leaping stride brought Rhuryc a new sensation of agony. Fortunately he had already been through a history of blisters so the callouses on his feet made the cold, welcoming ground less of a nuisance. The first lap was not a problem. The second? Not terrible. The third brought thoughts of suicide. Breathing? Check. Arms? Check. Strides? Sure. The elements were all there, his back was straight, but his muscles were involved in a constant protest designed to only worsen the day. And to think the day's activities had only just begun.

The exercise ended in the typical fashion. Tristan went right into that day's lesson, that of which began with the arming of his pupil. Today was different at least. The old soldier lead Rhuryc to a seemingly harmless tree, thinner than most, and without a word the man - bereft of a shield for once - struck the wood in various separate location. His sword came down once at each side at head level, twice again at the 'upper torso', with a single thrust sent at the neck and chest. He finished the exercise by swiping at each 'leg' respectively, leaving gashes in the bark with the blade of Naravane. With every swing he utilized the same form as the day before, his entire body flowing with the movement in a harmonious collection of deadly motions.

"These," He started, "are your main points of contact. Any hits here will end the fight. The idea," Tristan motioned with his blade at each of the gashes. "Is to always aim for one of them, but as you know, that's not always possible. You're going to hit this tree until your hand memorizes each and every single action it could use."

Rhuryc blinked. So, instead of the air, he would attack this poor, defenseless tree. Better that than go against the commands of his uncle. Assuming the same poise that Tristan himself stood with, the boy relaxed his posture and brought his sword to his side, the blade held at a downward angle towards his back while his opposing hand remained at his waist. His legs set themselves at the length of his shoulders, one foot out in front of the other. At the command to start, the boy stepped in and swung his dulled blow up and around his head, bringing the iron in a straight on collision with the first of the eight marks. Easy. He stepped back and repeated the process only the sword flew down from the other side. The clink of metal impacting bark was a strange one, but the tree seemed not to mind. With his hesitant withdrawn Rhuryc continued with the exercise, his arm involved in a perpetual motion of swing, draw back, and swing again. This, of course, did well to agitate his already sore, tired muscles.

The training made sense at least. Before there was nothing but pain and strife, and while those concepts still existed Rhuryc felt like he was learning something. With such knowledge he could force himself to go for hours on end, relying on little more than his own willpower to remain upright and ready. Pushing through the exhaustion was the point. He mused on the techniques of his uncle, each chip of the bark a steady reminder of the previous day's actions. His swing, no matter his state of physicality, would always be the same.

While the slash was a point of familiarity, Rhuryc found himself ill at ease with the thrust. Images of lifeless eyes flooded his thoughts as he acted on the motion, his entire body tensing when his arm shot forward. The impact was wrong. This blade stopped, but those nights ago he had felt his sword connect with flesh and continue, ripping through bodies as if they were no more than paper. The concept was disturbing. Soon, Rhuryc decided that he hated the tree. Whenever he reached the marks on the 'neck' and 'chest' the boy would ignore them, or lay into their position with a reckless abandon, unsure of just how to deal with the emotions when they surfaced. His mind grew weary long before his body.

Hours passed. Eventually Tristan replaced the sword in his nephew's hands with a shield. In demonstration, the man stepped in as he had before and slapped the tree with the board. That seemed easy. Only he was not done. In a variant motion, Tristan turned the shield horizontal to the ground and almost punched with it, the edge crashing against the bar with a sickening crack. Rhuryc could imagine the hell that would cause to combatant. The motion was similar to the bash, only the upper torso stayed straight, with most of the work down with just the shoulders and the shield itself.

"On the field you need only disable your opponent, not kill them. That, I guarantee you, will not only ruin your enemy's day, but take him out of the fight."

Of course, Rhuryc thought, when it came to misery Tristan was an expert. His now-useless arm hanging at his side, the boy favored his left as he began the constant, repetitive, and most boring exercise of his life. He stepped forward, brought his shield to his chest then extended his arm, the brunt impact rattling his bones to the core. He then stepped back and thrust his arm forward whilst tilting the shield, the edge dislodging enough bark to reveal the trees under layer. Half way through the exercise Rhuryc added some creativity to the mix, sometimes performing the bash and following it with a quick spin and the thrust as it was. Every time he aimed for the neck.

[Rhuryc]

With the night came rain. Lots of rain.

While refreshing, the torrential down pour made his evening 'jog' wet and miserable. The path chosen for his laps passed by the geysers, the edges of the stone pools now proving as, perhaps, his greatest challenge. He slipped with almost every-other stride, his balance not-to-sure amongst the slick, watered stone. Through half of every lap Rhuryc was like a penguin slipping on ice, flailing, flipping, and flapping in an effort to gain a hold on his own center. The effort worked half the time. Never mind the fact that he was exhausted from the days activities, but add the bone-chilling weather and the boy found himself in one of his more pathetic moments. Run, slip, fall, stand, repeat. Eventually he found that hopping lead to a more expeditious path and so he spent the majority of his time going from one leg to the next in a vicarious game of "pretend your a rabbit". He knew that Tristan was enjoying every minute of it.

Silhouetted against the dark clouds above, the two figures were like shadows in the dark. Both were drenched to the bone, harassed by the weather and left to their own devices for warmth. Tristan's solution? Hard physical activity. Tristan lead his nephew in various, brief movements involving a combination of hand movement and footwork. They danced around each other in a queer fashion. One that Rhuryc did not understand. Still, he followed suit, taking the instruction given to him by his uncle.

"You don't need fancy moves to win a brawl." The older man started, turning about to face his pupil. "A quick jab to distract." He said, his left - and forward - arm lancing out in quick, straight thrust at the boy's face. Rhuryc raised his own hand in protest but found that the assault fell short. "Following through with a real punch. A hook. Anything while they're not watching." The demonstration was simple. Tristan made three different strikes, all slow, one aimed at the temple, one to the center of the chest, the last at the kidney. "Remember, all you need to do is disable. Adversely, you need to be able to defend yourself. Put your arms up, like this." The instruction continued and Rhuryc mimicked his uncle, both of his arms raising to cover both his upper chest and face.

"Do what works. If you can bite them, bite them. Pull hair, use your nails. If you have a table leg nearby, use it. A weapon is always better than your fists. For now, defend yourself." Shit. Rhuryc never liked those words.

Much to the boy's surprise Tristan did not try to kill him. Instead he issued forth a myriad of different attacks, expecting him to block each one. When the old soldier came forward with a jab Rhuryc batted the assault away with a wrist, when he punched at his kidney, the boy would turn and drop his arm, substituting it in for the blow. The movement was all very natural. They continued their dance, shifting about each other while Rhuryc did his best to catch movements through the veil of rain. Tristan started slow, but as usual his pace was quick to increase. Soon Rhuryc found himself incapable of stopping every attack and instead took one shot after the next. Memories of the previous night stalked his mind. The boy found his muscles tensed as strikes came, one shot after the other deflected from raw tenacity. Not that he was immune. Far from it. The defensive act did help, but the contact stumbled the boy more often than not, and very quickly Rhuryc found himself desperately moving his arms, trying to intercept each and every punch as it came.

What he was not prepared for was the knee. The wind knocked out of him, Rhuryc took to one leg as he coughed, hacking up what he believed to be one of his lungs. Tristan laughed. Nothing new there. When the boy returned to his feet he found his uncle in his own defensive posture, his arms up and covering his face.

"Time for some revenge, boy. Since you can't seem to protect yourself, how about you try to hit me?" Those words were music to his ears.

With the tables turned Rhuryc mimicked what he had experienced. Quick jabs followed by forward punches. Occasionally he would toss in a hook, or assault his uncle's lower abdomen, stepping into each strike and twisting his body for the additional power. He threw his weight around with sufficient force, the previous training with the sword factoring into his over-all approach. Most of Rhuryc's strikes were deflected, parried aside with ease, but on the rare occasion one would hit the boy felt a swelling sense of pride in himself. And still they danced.

A momentary turn of events took Rhuryc off guard. Tristan, ill content with any one practice for too long, charged in when the boy made for an attack. He wrapped his arms around Rhuryc's sides and lifted him up, his own weight shifting with the attack as he left his footing, bringing Rhuryc and himself to the ground with a solid thud. A well perform tackle. The boy was unamused. He was too surprised and his body hurt far too much for humor. Straddling his ward, Tristan shoved Rhuryc's shoulders down into the muck below, utilizing his own weight to keep his target downed.

"Whatever works. If you're larger than your enemy, use that to your advantage. Go ahead. Try to move." Rhuryc complied with the words only to find Tristan's fist in his face.

The boy spat the blood out to the side, the red liquid mixing with the rain to form its own, unique puddle.

[Rhuryc]

Sukina Geysers, Dawn
39th Day of Fall, 505 AV

Rhuryc groaned. The rain was gone but it had left its mark. The boy sniffled. Forcibly roused from his slumber he felt terrible, 'under the weather' so to speak, and his chest felt like it carried an additional fifty pounds. Rhuryc rolled over on to his pack, the make-shift lean-to of his uncle's construction a welcome, if shoddy, sight. Yet there would be no mercy. Even with the protests and logic Tristan gave no ground. At all. Kill or be killed. A swift kick sent to the boy's ribs did the trick to rouse him and Rhuryc found himself up, coughing into a violent spasm.

"Alright! Alright!" The boy groaned again. "Bastard." Tristan followed the insult with a second kick.

"Watch your language."

A new experience, running with a cold made for one hell of a work out. Every ten feet Rhuryc felt winded, out of breath. On occasion he would hack up a healthy dose of flem and expel it unceremoniously toward the ground, the discolored substance illiciting a deep, sickening feeling. As if he wasn't bad enough already. The wheezing made it difficult to follow through with any amount of effort and after the first lap Rhuryc crumpled into a heap of himself. He had better moments. Tristan, ever the taskmaster, stepped up to his student and leaned over, his hands grasping the boy's tunic as he forced Rhuryc to his feet. The young man grunted, but he aided his uncle in the process, unsteadily keeping himself upright. Tristan brushed off his nephews shoulders and gave him a curt nod, his eyes offering a moment of mercy. Rhuryc knew he could stop if he wanted. Instead he started on his second lap. In through the nose.

Mixing it up, as Tristan put it, was a whole new form of torture. The man explained that while he favored his armaments in the traditional fashion - sword on the right, shield in the left - there was no reason not to learn opposing forms. So it was that Rhuryc struck his favorite tree with his sword graped with at his left. The motions were jerky, unsure, but over-all the form remained the same. He started easy, light, slow, allowing for his muscles to accustom themselves to the hilt. Strange how different the motion felt. Had he never attempted the exercise in such a manner Rhuryc believed that he would be less able in a fight, should he use his left, for he wanted to treat the weapon like his shield. He struggled for some time to reproduce the movements of the day before and the cold was no help. Every other swing the boy would turn and hack like an old woman at the air, expelling a healthy mixture of bodily fluids. A wheeze would follow and he would turn back to the tree, his left hand raising with the heave of his chest as he laid back into the targets.

The endeavor was repeated with the shield.

Rhuryc had not realized how weak his right arm was compared to its opposite. While his left was braced with callouses and hardened skin from consistent impacts, his right only possessed blisters on in his palm and fingers from the ware of a hilt. He found that the constant bash and thrust with the shield to be more difficult and his right arm could take less before it began to complain. That remained a point of interest. If Rhuryc made it his own point to assault his opponent's off hands, feasibly, he would have a greater chance of success. Each crash from the shield brought a new bruise, but the boy found himself able to ignore the new sensations for the sheer sake of satisfying his own curiosity.

After the typical hours-long haul, Tristan brought Rhuryc near the edge of the geyser. The boy sniffled as he glanced at his uncle, unsure as they why the man was also armed. He was in no condition for combat.

"The soldier does not fight alone, he fights in ranks." Tristan spoke while he stepped next to his nephew, his weapons rising with his shield out and sword low. "Shield to shield. That is why you carry it with your left hand." That made sense. Rhuryc mimicked his uncle and set his shield as close as he could to its companion, leaving only a small gap between the two. "From here you form a strong, united line. As your body moves, so does your shield. Turn!" Tristan shouted and he spun about, his shield coming up over his head and ending in front of his chest as it had been before. Rhuryc, slow to respond, did his best to follow suit. His motions were short, choppy, but the idea was imprinted firmly on his mind. This would have been handy to know for the bandits.

"Arrows, spears, swords, what have you." Tristan ducked and 'shrunk' himself to as small of a form as he could, his shield following once more in a wide, stretching arch that ended in a diagonal angle toward the sky. The boy blinked and almost fell as he reproduced the motion. "They all fall harmlessly on your shield." The speech ended as the elder of the two stood, his shadow casting over the boy from the mid-noon sun. "Your defense is what keeps you alive. Kill your opponent, but never at the sacrifice of yourself. Now. Up! We're going to do this until you dream about it."

Rhuryc coughed as he stood. Miserable, he fell in with his uncle and raised his shield again, his sword kept down at his side. What he failed to mention was that he already dreamed of the training. Much to his dismay.

[Rhuryc]

Sukina Geysers, Evening
42nd Day of Fall, 505 AV

"It's strange, uncle." Rhuryc said as he ducked a blow from Tristan. The boy shifted his weight and put his arms up in front of his chest, his face lowering to allow a moderate degree of protection. "Why would Tyveth give a mortal a sword? Why not protection or something like that?" The question ended in a grunt. Rhuryc felt his side burn from the strike, but he otherwise ignored it, readapting his poise to a more defensive posture. He juked an incoming attack and returned with one of his own, a single fist thrust forward and deflected harmlessly by an extended wrist.

"Where's the honor in that?" The response came in tandem with a knee. Rhuryc caught the attack and shoved his palm into Tristan's hip. The boy's other arm came about and he wrapped it around his opponent's side than leaned in, his legs pushing off the ground in a classic take down. The two went spiraling down and hit the dirt in a mass of wet, bruised man. "What the sword represents is more important than any one man." Tristan seemed unsurprised by the turn of events. Rhuryc followed his motion by scrambling a hold of his uncle's tunic, tightening his grasp and raising a fist into the air. A kick came up unexpectedly and the boy fell back, allowing Tristan enough time to roll away. "It is an ideal. One that the owner must achieve for himself."

"Great." Rhuryc grumbled as he lay on his back, his eyes cast up to the evening sky. Clear for once. The moon was already in full bloom and he could make out several stars as they came into view. Occasionally the geyser would spew water into the boy's sight, masking the darkness in a strange, liquid veil. One of these days he might be in better condition to appreciate the beauty of the environment. For now, though, he had to move before Tristan stepped on his head. Begrudgingly, Rhuryc hoisted himself up and squared up with his uncle again. The real fun had only just begun.

Once more with the evening run. Either the laps were shorter or Rhuryc's body was adapting to the conditions. His boots slapped against stone in an easy fashion while he circumnavigated the geysers, mimicking the rhythmic pace of his breathing. Running had its own science to it. Rhuryc found that when he breathed properly, as instructed, that his muscles felt at ease and he could continue for greater distances. The longer, drawn out strides kept him from tripping over himself and when his arms lay idle he felt his body slow, as if the wind worked against him. His muscles, while soar, strengthened with time, each lap and every stride working to heighten the boy's own physical prowess. Staying off exhaustion had become a state of being for Rhuryc and this day was no different than any other. In through the nose.

"While any smart man possesses shield," Tristan started, the midnight hour already half gone. The two stood facing one another under the pale light of the moon, swords brandished in opposition. "But a clever one will ensure his opponent does not. Take a high guard, anything less is useless." The soldier raised his blade over his head, both hands upon the hilt of Naravane. Rhuryc gave the poise a quizzical stare, unsure why he would leave the entirety of his lower body exposed. He shrugged and adopted the posture, blade held aloft and ready. "Attack from a place of power."

"Defend yourself!" Tristan swept his blade from above his head in an angled strike. Rhuryc blinked and mimed the motion with a quick hand. The blades met in the center with a resounding clang, the exchange of power shaking the hilts of both. Tristan returned to his previous posture and continued to press his advantage. Iron met iron time and time again, one blow parried by the path of another. The two engaged in a series of brief flurries, all stemming from the guard which reminded Rhuryc of a hawk. From his readied position the boy found he was able to both attack and defend himself with swift, pointed motions. The initial strikes were all predictable, accurate, but while Tristan was forced to defend Rhuryc could take his offense in any direction he pleased. In short, the boy felt powerful. A renewed vigor overtook his body and he flurried his attacks, stepping into each as Tristan backed away. Rhuryc crossed his guard and swung his weight forward, the resulting strike clashing against an opposing sword, but the second remained free. The silence was deafening.

Rhuryc stood only inches away from Tristan, the flat of his deal blade resting beneath the chin of his opponent. The boy could not believe. His lips spread into a grin that stretched from one ear to the next, caught up in the celebration that was his first victory. Tristan, surprisingly, smiled back. A heft of his own and the old solider shifted his blade up, the hilt and base of the weapon brought around and slammed into the side of the boy's head. Rhuryc recoiled and dropped his sword.

"The blade is not the only part of a sword, boy." So spoke the victor.

[Rhuryc]

Sukina Geysers, Noon
44th Day of Fall, 505 AV

Balance was essential. So said Tristan, anyway.

The climb to the top of the geysers was easy. Sort of. With his arms strengthened from the constant exercise Rhuryc was able to support his weight, but as he noticed lately the rest of his body burned in the ascent. The rocky exterior made hand holds common and from the first grip the boy felt his arms burn down to the shoulder. Despite this he pulled his body up and and his legs followed suit, the searing heat emerging once more. A grumble brought him up a single length and the boy found himself grasping for more holds. A hand shot out and latched onto an extended stone, one that cracked upon contact. Eyes widening, Rhuryc flailed with his opposing arm and grabbed onto... something... hoisting his weight up with a solid harrumph. The previous stone broke and the boy slipped. Unable to support himself Rhuryc fell and hit the ground with a suitable thud. He rolled over and laid on his side, grateful that he had not climbed higher than three feet from the grounds. Stupid geyser.

By the time Rhuryc found himself vicariously stationed on the edge of the small rock formation the boy was staring, hatefully, at his uncle. The man gave him a genial smile. Tristan had just walked up the not-so-terribly steep side. A climb, still, but one that involved less bruises. The boy could only grumble. At least he had taken to a new habit.

"Why are we standing on the top of the geyser?" Rhuryc asked, incredulous. "Are we going to fight there?" Tristan only smiled.

Rhuryc blinked. He ducked the incoming sword and threw his arms out, wobbling uncomfortably on the small ledge of the geyser. This was insane. Quickly, the boy produced his shield from his back and shoved it in between himself and his uncle. With a glance behind him Rhuryc shuffled away from his uncle. This was insane. There was no room to maneuver and if one of the geysers blew they would be caught in the super-heated steam. Another swing and Rhuryc reared back, almost losing his balance as he moved away from he sword's path. Tristan was not going to stop. The boy begrudgingly brandished his dull blade and took up an easy stance, his shield bracing against the rock face in an effort to stem his lack luster poise. A vicious clang echoed across the three geysers as iron met iron, the blades vying for supremacy as they locked against one another.

"You're insane!" The boy said as he disconnected his sword and leapt away from his uncle's reach. He grunted when he hit the side of the rightmost geyser and attempted to steady himself.

"They're's no fun," Tristan started and followed Rhuryc across. He landed beside the boy and raised his sword once more. "If they're's no danger!"

What great logic.

Tristan had the advantage. With Rhuryc to his right the man brought his sword down while his opponent parried with a shield. A few swipes were deflected in a constant pattern before Rhuryc was given room to move. Desperate, the boy climbed up the side of they geyser until he reached the top, his boots sliding onto the edge. This was a bad idea. Tristan followed, his weapons raised as he somehow managed to keep himself erect on the downward slope of which he stood. Rhuryc's blade came about in the mean time, the dull iron chipping against a wooden shield. With the board extended the boy sent out a leg and shoved his foot into the side of the shield, the impact bringing another force to knock it aside. Tristan stumbled on his perch and wobbled, leaving a direct opening to his chest. But something else caught the boy's attention.

The geyser rumbled. With wide eyes Rhuryc looked beneath him and saw water as it boiled, the heat coming up at a pace unmatched by any mundane event.

"Bail!" Rhuryc yelled as he shifted his weight and glanced down to his destination. The pools below bubbled ominously. There was no way this was going to be safe. A quick decision later the boy lowered his torso and set his legs against the surface of they geyser. Then he pushed. Rhuryc's body slid down the side of the slanted rock-hill. He tossed his shield out behind him and tilted his weight to the side, controlling - in some fashion - the speed and direction he moved. In a manner of seconds the boy found himself at the base of the geyser and he threw his feet out, his knees bending as he landed on a ledge of the nearby pool. There was a thud next to him but Rhuryc ignored it, intent to get as far away from the spewing water as he could. As with his jogs the boy started running along ledges just as a torrential outpour of steam and boiling liquid jetted from the mouth of the geyser.

Tristan unleashed a hardy laugh. The man was just behind Rhuryc, his body placed between him and the geyser, as if he were intended on shielding his nephew from the steam. "Well done, boy! Hah! I thought we were screwed. Quick thinking."

"You dumb bastard!" Rhuryc brought his shield around at Tristan's side. The old soldiers grinned and parried the blow. He followed it with a swift kick and caught Rhuryc in the chest, the wind taken right out from the boy's lungs. A stumble separated the two and Tristan watched as his nephew tried to stay on the ledge with a humorous combination of flailing and balance.

"Watch your language."

[Leviathan]

Thread Award! Rhuryc Exp +5 Running, +3 Weapon (Sword), +3 Weapon (Shield), +4 Brawling, +2 Observation, +1 Bodybuilding, +1 Unarmed Combat, +1 Falling Lore Proper Style: Sword and Shield, Ambidextrous Swordsmanship (Minor) Additional Comments Nice thread as usual. Feel free to PM me with any questions, comments, concerns, etc etc etc.