Solo [Anthonius Fighters' Pits] Getting Really Serious. II

[Medhozic]

Time Stamp: 14th of Winter, 513AV. The past days had been rough. But he knew that it would not get any worse than this - returning to the Fighting Pits, for another attempt at self-training with the blunt daggers assorted in the wheeling cabinets. There wasn't a doubt in his mind, that he looked like a petching idiot when he did his training. However, there also wasn't a doubt that if he had been faced with a real enemy, then he wouldn't have survived long enough to see this day. Which was why he did this in the first place - to, at the very least, practice enough to survive. And if he couldn't do that much, then he deserved do die. As soon as he walked into the courtyard, he spotted the same squire from the last few days - longsword in both hands, swinging it about confidently, repeatedly striking the wooden dummy on the shoulders and around the neck. Every strike fluidly followed into the next, and the one afterwards.. just like yesterday. It was what he wanted to achieve. A constant, fluid motion in his blade, but the attacks always felt wooden and stiff.. and apparently, they looked that way too. Attacks were hard, but not very fluid at all.. he might not have been as suited to a dagger as he once thought, but he certainly wouldn't wish to use anything else.. heavy objects would only slow him down, and he wanted to be agile. If he was too slow to even lift up his weapon before the opponent hit him, then there really wasn't any point to it. He watched the squire, though, as he walked through the courtyard and passed by several other commoners engaged in small sparring sessions, occasionally tripping each-other or slamming blades into plated armour. As usual, he had nothing but the soft shirt over his back and the horns on his head, but he would make do. Once he picked out one of the dulled daggers from the wooden shelves, he moved straight to a free space. Not a dummy this time - all of them were taken anyway, by commoners in training and travelers looking to steady themselves, or simply see the sights that Syliras had to offer. So, he made do, and set both feet into the same position that he remembered from last time - both feet shoulder-width apart, the right in front of the left and both toes forwards. Left arm pulled close to the chest, and the right holding the blade. And then, he began his swinging motions. Like the other times before, he was working blindly. He needed to find what was most comfortable, and act on that. So, he imagined a person in front of him, and began to make imaginary slashing motions. Horizontal and diagonal, mostly, although the first few swings felt too long as his arm was left all the way out, like his elbow was the weapon, rather than the blade. He tucked it in closer, but it lost range on the weapon. It's all about balance.. I guess it'll never be the same with any one opponent. He'd always be working against them in a different way, compensating for one with another. So he kept trying to imagine different attacks - stepping towards the opponent, and then away, keeping his pivot around the right foot. He thrust up for an imaginary stomach, pulled back quickly, and then came forwards again. Sweeps came around for the left and the right of the ribcage, and he kept the swings running as quickly as possible. At least, until one of the commoners that had been working on the nearest dummy moved away. Which meant it was his turn to test the swings out.

[Medhozic]

His endurance was being tested to the limit, yet again. Exertion in his calves made his attempts at fast movement sting lightly with a creaking of a rusted hinge, and he could feel the vibrations running straight up his spine from his kneecaps. He wouldn't stop, though. He stabbed, and he swung the blade in short arcs to slam into the wooden chest and neck of the dummy - narrowing his eyes and focusing all of his attention each time into the strikes, to put as much force into them as he could. Although it did little good. The blade, he noticed, had little momentum because of its lacking weight, which meant that everything that he'd been doing all of yesterday, and for almost a full bell earlier today, had all been useless. It was a creeping realization when he snuck glances at the others and noticed the deep gashes being created by the exact same swings that he was making - he was copying their moves, but they had different, heavier weapons that would bring more force into the attacks. However, his weapon only held as much force as the arm that held it. And he needed to learn to use that to his advantage.. not just copy from a man using a mace, because the two styles would be completely different. So, he began again, tearing down everything he knew in a few frustrated slams of the dagger into the middle of the wooden skull before he began again. This entire 'self training' was really testing his patience, working blindly on these things. His attacks became lighter; less vibrations traveled through the blade and his arm, and he tried valiantly to stop the blade from jarring his actions. Instead, he knew that he needed to become light on his feet and agile in his actions, even though it would cost him the same damage output that others could deal. It would be worth it in the end, though. He would beat the shyke out of them all with a diminutive dagger and laugh in their faces all the while - or, at least, he would stare at them as they slowly bled. He'd never be one to laugh, even if it was at someone else's misfortune. It just wasn't his way. He passed casual glances over to the others, every now and then - focusing on the same squire from yesterday, watching him. Little work went into his footwork, all of it was in the swings. Just like his, there wasn't power behind them, only the fluid motion because the momentum would be more than enough. It made sense.. the others around him were putting so much force, but he was nearly graceful in the sweeping of the blade, barely moving his arm, but rather using his wrist to time the swings, occasionally adding more force from the rest of his arm when needed. He could only admire it.. and frame himself in the squires place, one day, with real opponents standing in awe as strike after strike lands against their bodies. But for now.. he took a step forwards with his left foot, and moved his right foot to the left immediately afterwards so that he could circle the dummy as he'd tried to do with the squire earlier on, and slam into its ribcage. And with the dummy between them, h could see perfectly clearly how the boy from yesterday had manage to catch him completely unaware, and nearly walked straight into the same place he'd been only moments ago. "Hey there."

[Medhozic]

"Look, I'm sorry about yesterday, I just wanted to say that you're actually-" "If you want to make it up to me, you can show me how you did that stuff with your longsword." He cut the squire off with slightly-narrowed eyes, but a hint of curiosity in his tone.. which the human apparently failed to notice completely. "And you can tell me why you're here at all." "Sorry, I'm not good at teaching." It was a stupid answer, but then again, he couldn't expect anything from the boy. He knew absolutely nothing about him, he could be the biggest idiot in the entire region but have a reasonably good arm. "Besides - it's not like I'm actually going to fight anyone here, that'd be unfair." "Then spar with me." He was persistent in his light verbal over the man, but he kept a wary eye on some of the assorted ranks that hung just at the edge of the pit, most of them in simple clothes that was blatantly roaring their status as common who used old swords and most of which had probably never seen anything more than the Syliran walls; or the occasional squire most likely here to sneak in some extra work, or simply took advantage of the place to sneak in a few extra bells of training while their patrons weren't around.. and none of them would take too well if this conversation went sour and he'd be forced to use violence on one of their squire-buddies. They weren't even supposed to be here anyway, but they hadn't been kicked out.. yet. Even with such a large amount of use in his longsword, he was pretty sure that the squire wouldn't anticipate a sudden punch to the gut, or some quick attacks with his dagger. It was one of the few things that even the strongest knights hadn't noticed; that there was always an element of surprise, an ability held by a subjective few - one of which he was not - who could turn the entire tide of combat with a few well-placed attacks with weapons that they had little, or no knowledge of. It was something he wanted, something that he needed to survive.. and something that he could start practicing right now. As long as nobody else was around that would want to stop him. "Alright then." And that was that. The squire drew his longsword, dulled and blunt from its hold and left it to hang with both hands gripping the handle, as if waiting for him to make the first move. So, Medhozic drew the significantly smaller dagger and tried for a quick stab into the side of the ribcage. He did everything that he'd been practicing with - a small step to the right, since the attack was coming for the left, and keeping it close to the midsection. It still missed, since the squire had taken a short step backwards and then swung the sword down for his shoulder, hitting with significant force and forcing his shoulders to bend with the blunt force. That'd leave a mark. "Ow." They went back into the same positions as before, and this time, Med narrowed his eyes to try and focus more on being.. well, agile. Being fast, being smooth.. and they went again, this time with the squire swinging first in the same move as before.. at least this time he was able to step to the left, and make a quick strike for the left side of the ribcage.. which the squire had stepped around, and this time brought the blade up to try and slam into his stomach, which could again be evaded with a little step to the left. That was when the squire realized his error, though, and the next attack was horizontal and came at the same time as he attempted a stab straight for the centre of the chest.. which obviously failed, as he hadn't even managed to take a step forwards before the blade slammed into his side, just above the hip, and the squire stepped away. He sighed softly to himself. "How are you able to process this so quickly." "Uhm.. practice?

[Medhozic]

He didn't stop, or even tell the squire that they were beginning again. He just went straight into the attack, the slender blade caught by the larger longsword and pushed aside before a counter-attack came and.. for the first time, he actually managed to see it. Not just see the blade coming for his face, but see and push it aside with his own. It turned the entire match around, that moment when he noticed that he might actually be able to beat the squire, the moment he realized that he could deflect it. It was an epiphany. Another strike came, and he lost that sense all over again. He tried to lift the dagger to deflect it again, but he was far too late and it struck him along his bicep and nearly threw the dagger out of his hand. Confidence evaporated into smoke, and he stared coldly at the man for a few more seconds.. before they reluctantly began again. Another swing, another brief clash that often ended in a longsword striking flesh. Occasionally it would spread a little longer, but he could tell that even though the squire had some minor falls, he understood his blade much more than the Ethaefal knew his, so it was little surprise that he didn't last very long in his attacks, and even less when it came to actually trying to land a hit on the other. Time passed, the day lengthened as their shadows did beneath them, and arms grew weary from the strain, so they broke after something close to half a bell. The squire was panting heavily as he looked up to the Ethaefal, the longsword pointing down towards the soil. He obviously had little strength left to spare. "I think that's enough for now..." Panting, the squire turned and heaved the heavy sword back towards his post before a wooden dummy to throw some rather crude practice swings, mostly just to make it look like he was at least doing something. Medhozic on the other hand, wasn't as tired. His dagger was significantly lighter and took less effort for each thrust and swing, although the rquired agility and the force he should have been put into every swing should have compensated for it. Of course it didn't - he had absolutely no knowledge of how to do it, or at least in the way that he guessed that he was supposed to. Instead, his practice had mainly consisted of trying to understand those swings of the longsword.. and how on earth he was supposed to actually stop them from hitting him. If he had a larger, sturdier weapon, it would have been little problem - throw the thing in front of himself like a giant shield and he would be fine. But with such a small blade, he needed to be much faster, much more agile. He needed to move his body around the blade, rather than stand there and wait for it to hit. But he had absolutely nothing in terms of acrobatic talent, or speed. Long-range, he could hold up a bow and fling a few arrows in the general direction of a deer but that wasn't what he was doing here, he was flinging a dagger at someones head while it was still attached. It required precision - which he didn't have as well - and it required some competence in understanding how to stop a blade before it cuts your head off. The time spent debilitating over all of his shortcomings was cut short by the recognition that he was daydreaming, stood in the middle of a fighting pit without actually doing anything. Reluctantly, and after a few more chimes thinking over how he was going to survive when he couldn't throw a piece of sharp metal around, he returned to his own dummy to begin practicing again, throwing sharp attacks and stabbing repeatedly into the dummy's chest and around its arms, throwing mixtures of attacks that he'd seen the boy-squire perform as well as others working in the pit - uppercuts, sharp stabs, long swings that rounded in a wide arc to build up momentum. He performed all of them, even though none would be useful for him in a field of battle, he tried them anyway; over and over again in different ways, to find which ones felt best. Short stabs from the hips, straight for the dummy between the stomach and the chest, felt the fastest and most natural.. and packed quite a punch. He'd try it.. though not with as much force. Who knew, maybe he'd get lucky. Or maybe the squire would simply get unlucky. It didn't matter - a victory would be a victory. He hadn't managed any of them yet.

[Medhozic]

Their blades met in a flurry, for the second time that day, after countless attempts and losses to at least one of them. The longsword came around in a wide arc from the left to the right, but he managed to stop it with the edge of the dagger with both hands gripping it. The strain on the metal must have been intense.. it wasn't supposed to take such a strain, with such a small weapon it was only a miracle that it hadn't been thrown from his hands. It certainly made them numb enough that the next strike swinging down from above and from the right down towards his left shoulder, but he took a step back to make sure that it only slammed into the dirt, before he could jump back in with a quick stab straight for the midsection. Obviously it missed - it always missed, the squire was too fast to let such a small thing get the better of him, but this time, he was waiting. Finally, he had a plan. It had taken countless trial-and-error obviously, in a snap-decision he would have never been able to produce such a move as this. It all had to be perfect, and it was. The step left a diagonal, which was soon taken advantage of for another diagonal attack, which would always take him by complete surprise since it was still astonishingly fast. He stepped aside for it to fall away again, barely managing through the strain, and sent the dagger under the ribs of the squire on the opposite side of the strike, where he would be an open target. And he was - the Benshira was pulling back and lifting one hand from the handle of his longsword to cradle the spot that the dulled dagger had struck, with significantly more force than anticipated. Still, it didn't break the skin, thankfully.. though it would most likely leave a nice bruise in place, a badge of his defeat. "Ow.. good move." Usually he wasn't one for compliments. Today he felt a little better - the one success in a day of failure had boosted his spirits to a new high that he had never felt before. It was one of those days when, after weeks of shooting rabbits and only getting it in the side, never penetrating any organs or areas of weakness, one arrow strikes it straight through the neck and instantly kills it. "Thank you. Perhaps you will find a way around it, in the coming days." He nodded briefly to the squire, before he glanced over his shoulder and found a wide spectrum of light cresting the tops of the small buildings sprawled around the walls of the city, illuminating his face for an instant in a halo of orange light.. He didn't like it, the way that the boy - for a moment anyway - almost seemed to resemble an Ethaefal himself, if not for the lack of horns or the way his pale skin did not reflect the rays like many of the true Children of Syna.. rather, it seemed to absorb it and radiate the warmth as if he was not the child of a God, and not even a human, but rather something else entirely.. at least, something that Medhozic had never heard of. It unnerved him, not that he would ever admit it.. many of these humans frightened him. He had been one before, every night he became one again, but the ways in which they had changed over all the time that he'd spent away made them seem alien in contrast.. they always watched him whenever he went out at night, and they seemed to know something was wrong about him. "Perhaps." Those were the last words of farewell before the boy-squire turned and fled for the exit to the courtyard, shaking him from his reverie. He found tears had dribbled down the sides of his nose, and the back of his hand quickly removed them before anyone would notice what was happening - if they asked, he could just say that dust had gotten in his eyes. Much of the dust from the courtyard had escaped into the sky, giving the Benshira an eerie glow thanks to the reflected light of his metal armour as he walked, making it seem - even more so - as if he were the celestials themselves that Medhozic had once joined and met. He shook the mental image from his mind and spat onto the floor of the pits while the old man at the corner was looking elsewhere, replacing the dulled and dented dagger back into its rightful place at the nearest shelf before turning and fleeing himself.. back to the small corner in the far edges of the Stormhold Castle. Back to contemplate what he had learned today. And do all he could to bury those mental images that the boy had given him today, of the heavenly bodies that he had once known.. and been himself.

[Khida]

Thread Award

Medhozic

Skill	Points
Acrobatics	+2
Observation	+2
Weapon: Dagger	+5

• Dagger: little weight, little force
• Dagger: effectiveness depends on agility

Notes

A solid training thread. Keep it up! I do have one note regarding your ledger: It would help a lot if you could put a starting and ending balance for each season, otherwise no one knows if it's accurate without tallying every transaction across all time.

Please let me know if you have any questions regarding your grade. Also, please edit your request to show that this thread has been graded.