PM to join Encore (Buras)

[Razkar]

"Well, I was thinking that you would teach me how to fight. After all, we-"

"Wrong!"

Razkar barked out the word, brutally cutting off the human-

"Shyke!"

-and making Naric flinch into the bargain, which wasn't fun when he had the needle in the Myrian's wound. The Scalper grunted and screwed his eyes shut for a moment.

Don't take it out on the barbarian. He's nervous enough and you bawled in his ear. Handle it, correct Buras.

"You... are here," he continued once his breath was restored, "So you may learn to kill, to win. Fighting is the means; the end is what matters, and the end is your enemy dead or dying at your feet. This is not a city where you need learn to simply "defend yourself". Everyone with a blade or something heavy to swing can do that. You need something to set you apart. The mind and the will to do terrible, mortal things within the space of a thought."

Some talk of bandages came from the barbarian's mouth and the second they made an appearance, Razkar snatched them away too, smoothly passing them to the focused Naric.

"For when you're done."

"Aye..."

The Myrian turned his attention back to Buras, lips curling a little as his supercilious, uncaring tone. But he supposed it was a good facade in this town: one would never suspect a man with such carefree words would be so liberal with his fists, either.

"Call me Razkar." The Myrian said bluntly, then took another swig of liquid you could pickle shrimps in. "You fought well last night, but... it was too organized. Too predictable. You want to learn to fight like that? Join a boxing gym. Deception, pragmatism and utter avoidance of any so-called "code of honor". This things ensure a man's survival in a brawl."

The needle slowed in his skin and Razkar glanced down, seeing an intent look on Naric's face that had more to do with listening than working. He gave a brief growl that got the boy back to work.

"He's paying me, boy. Unless you're going to, keep yer ears closed and get the hole closed, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

Razkar did pause long enough to see the ugly, singed wound was half-way closed, however. Not that just sewing it shut would end the problem, of course. Nothing other than blood was oozing out, so he didn't have a pierced kidney or guts... but bandaging it, cleaning it daily, keeping pressure off the stitches, waiting for him to heal properly...

All time-consuming. Won't be back here for a few days.

"Theoretical, human," the Myrian barked abruptly, posh word coming from a low mouth and wry smirk seemingly away of the contradiction, "Two men accost you in the alley. They have knives in their hand and robbery on their lips. What do you do? What do you use? How do you win?"

[Buras]

"Rationally, I would run." Buras says, "But if this is theoretical, I would try to get the knives out of their hands. If they are still wanting to rob me, I would break a bone or two. And if all else fails, break every bone in their body so they can't fight anymore." Buras felt confident with his answer. He would do many things. But killing, he would try to stay away from. "Or, when I get a knife off one, I could use that. But if I hit, me killing his buddy should be enough to scare the other off. If I can't disarm them, I would get a weapon of my own. A big stick, a rock, some trash even. They would have to get close to use their knives, so I would try my best to keep them off." Other ways of winning floated through his head, and other situations. But one situation he could not figure out. "Now, I have a question for you. What if you were in the same situation, only one, or both, could use magic. What then?"

[Razkar]

"Rationally, I would run."

Razkar grunted and though Buras may have been surprised, he gave a short nod of acceptance at the answer.

"Correct. If you don't know for a fact you can defeat them, run. If you can't run, give them what they want. If they have that and still want more, paid in life's blood or life itself? Then you think about fighting."

"But if this is theoretical, I would try to get the knives out of their hands. If they are still wanting to rob me, I would break a bone or two. And if all else fails, break every bone in their body so they can't fight anymore."

Then the Myrian face twisted into a brief grimace of disgust, not pain, and he waved a hand dismissively.

"Every bone in their... boy, do not concern yourself with such flourishes. You only need to break one to put a man down; two or three, and he'll be dead. You just need to know which, how and when. But your first statement was correct. Keep your eyes on their blades, but before they start to use them, their eyes on-"

He meant for it to be a quick, lithe gesture but the angle and his fatigue meant Buras was treated to the sight of Razkar awkwardly shuffling around until he could grab his little coin purse... and Naric's eyes caught it right away.

"-what they want," he said, tossing the bag from hand to hand, chink-chink-chink, "Because the more they look at that-"

Naric blinked, eyes still focused on his reward, and when his lids snapped back up he heard a rustle and scrape on skin of stone-

"-the bigger chance you have to strike at their ignorance."

-and saw the Myrian's knuckles stopping an inch before his throat. The two froze there for a moment before Razkar chuckled darkly and patted him on the shoulder, nodding to his wound.

"Just a demonstration, lad. Finish up."

"Or, when I get a knife off one, I could use that. But if I hit, me killing his buddy should be enough to scare the other off. If I can't disarm them, I would get a weapon of my own. A big stick, a rock, some trash even. They would have to get close to use their knives, so I would try my best to keep them off."

Razkar rolled his eyes and pointed at the man's belt, the knife resting there.

"You have a weapon, boy! Don't try and get theirs; make sure they can't use it. Though using your environment... yes, very true... but do not be limited by things you can hold. Anything can be used to batter, or distract, or buy you time." His callused knuckled rapped the wall and he winked. "Grab a man by the head and slam it into this, believe me, he won't be getting up again soon."

He tried to lean forward, a technique he knew always aided in impressing importance when an instructor wanted a lesson learned... but no, not tonight. Naric wouldn't be able to get to the wound and he was nearly finished. So he settled for ballooning the buzz in his head from that booze by one more slug from the bottle and let his head roll back.

"Make it hidden, too," he said suddenly, looking at the ceiling, "That knife? Everyone can see it. How they treat you, talk to you, act to and around you, depends on how that man carries himself, and what he carries. A sword? Fair enough, if you are a warrior. But a knife? That's the weapon of a civilian, a tradesman, someone that a pair of thugs might think is an easy mark."

The Myrian's scarred and tattooed head rolled forward slowly, sweat-soaked black hair plastered across his face.

"So get another one, and keep it hidden. Your sleeve, your collar, your pocket, back of your belt... anywhere you can get to it quickly. Then let them come close, act subservient, cowardly..."

With some effort the Myrian's voice slipped into a wide-eyed tone, face trembling, hands up.

"Wh-Whatever you s-say, sir, b-but please, don't..."

Then he froze. The expression froze... and slid back to that same calm, cold mask of control Razkar usual wore.

"... and when they think you are but a sheep to be slaughtered, you show them what butchery really is. But be prepared to kill with your blows, Buras, all of them. Life is not cheap in this town: it is worthless. No-one will weep over a thug or two who couldn't even pull off a simple robbery..."

"Now, I have a question for you. What if you were in the same situation, only one, or both, could use magic. What then?"

A new question followed a few ticks later, on this time it was directed at Razkar. The Myrian breathed shallowly to stop his torso moving as much as he could, listening to Buras' query and thinking silently on it for most of a chime... and then shrugging.

"It depends on the wyrd-" he said, using his clan's ancient phrase for djed "-and how close you are. Mages are dangerous creatures, but most are dangerous over a distance. They have fire in their hands, or storms... can control your mind or throw you around like a doll with it... even make shields to stop arrows and suck your own djed from your soul, I hear..."

He grinned. It wasn't pleasant, and spoke of all the contempt Razkar had in him for the preening, swaggering masters of magic that were still, despite their protestations, as mortal as the lowliest lamb.

"But few are warriors or fit with steel, Buras. Keep up your charade, and once you are within arms reach, strike true, strike first, and strike to kill." He spat to one side and looked down, nodding his approval to Naric. "Not bad, boy. Clean it up and bandage me, and you'll get the rest."

Razkar stoop up to let the boy do this, unashamedly pulling his loincloth loose to keep it out the slave's way. He spread his arms at his shoulders for the same reason, uncaring if Buras was shocked or unnerved by a naked, blood-soaked Myrian a few feet away.

"Most djed I have seen takes time, too, Buras," he continued, wincing as the alcohol splashed him again but satisfied it was lesser than before. "Not very long, though. A few ticks... maybe less. But I guarantee you this: only masters of the wyrd can move their djed as fast as steel can swing through the air. In that respect, they are weak... and once you are close, you will have the advantage."

The Myrian chuckled as Naric finished his bandage, a thick length of white cloth wrapped around his stomach, tight enough to keep it in place. Razkar checked the edges of it and tipped twenty more gold coins from his own purse into the one he'd snatched from Buras, then tossed it to the slave.

"Make sure your hide that, lad. My thanks."

Naric scurried off spitting thanks like he only had a few ticks to speak a novel, soon leaving the two alone. Razkar continued talking as he began the laborious, annoying process of putting on clothes and his weapons harness.

"Mages of true power don't bother with mugging people in alleys, Buras. They've got better things to do. Put your faith in speed and ruthlessness; they'll take you far..."

Receipt-40gm (twenty from Buras, twenty from Razkar)

[Buras]

As Razkar talked, Buras stood there, listening. Not caring when Razkar dropped his loincloth, Buras didn't understand why some people where uncomfortable about that kind of thing. When Razkar acted scared, he doubted anyone would believe it, he knew he wasn't going to get hurt and felt uncomfortable around him. Buras stored the information about mages taking a while to cast spells away for later, information is always useful. "Thank you for telling me all this. But, can I ask you another favor. I would like to know how to fight with more than just my hands, feet, and knife. Something I could carry around with me easily. Like a quarter staff. Ya, I could use it like a walking stick, and use it like a quarter staff when I need it." The idea took hold in his head. He had to learn to wield a quarter staff now. Looking around, he spots a good sized, relatively straight piece of wood, about a foot taller than he was. Quickly walking over to it, he picks it up and tests to see if was rotten or not. Surprisingly, it held up to all his trials, which was mainly hitting it really hard against the wall or floor. Walking back to Razkar, he hefts the make shift quarter staff. "Could you teach my how to use this as a weapon?" Let's hope he doesn't think the lessons are over yet.

[Razkar]

Razkar hated feeling so gods-damned weak, but he soothed his snarling ego by reminding himself that even the gods had limits. Even Blessed Myri had been brought low by Ruros, and had She not triumphed in the end?

Your injuries will heal in days. What is that compared to winning your life and a victory that none will every dispute?

His weapons harness was not so hard to restore: looping it over his head, tying the straps at his waist and chest... they were fairly easy. But bending down to reclaim his loincloth and breeches, crushing his bandages and his freshly-cloed wound...

"Fuck, where is that fucking bottle-"

Then Buras was speaking again and Razkar realized he was still on the clock. Much as he wanted to tell the barbarian to fuck off and practice already, he had a reputation to maintain... tenuous as it was nowadays. But even without that, he'd taken the man's coin, so now a lesson was owed.

Then he frowned, tying his breeches and blinking in confusion at the dented, twisted length of wood in the man's hand.

"Could you teach my how to use this as a weapon?"

Razkar pondered such a "weapon" carefully for a moment. It wasn't really that, was it? It was a stick, after all, just a length of wood... but it was solid, heavy, good for parrying, blocking, striking. The Myrian had heard of clans that trained with such weapons, and proved as deadly as those who wielded swords, axes and daggers.

But you were not one of them.

"No." He said after a while, injured pride pricking at the tightening of his cheeks for a moment. "I have never used it, Buras. Gladius, ax, kukri, dagger... the rough and rude implements I can grab in the madness of a brawl, I can teach these things to you, but that?"

He gestured to the staff and shook his head, feeling defeated all over again despite his victory in the Pit. So strange and odd, that sting to his ego. Was he so clueless that a length of wood was so enigmatic to him? No, that couldn't be the case, and before Buras could deflate or curse his ignorance-

"But I will help you use it." He faced the man straight on, Cloak flourishing as he fastened it around his neck, mosaic of scalps covering him from neck to knees and even as a hood that nearly hid his eyes. "Look for me in ten days time at Sunset Quarters. We will train more, when I am healed and I can match steel and wood with you."

Razkar began to limp around him, walking gingerly on his right side for fear of more spasms of pain juddering through his side. But he paused before he got there, patting the stick on the side and feeling even in that gesture the gnarled nature of it.

"A final bit of advice for tonight, though?" He said, downing the rest of the bottle and tossing it behind his shoulder without a care, waiting for the echo of smashing glass to quieten before continuing. "This is fine pole, but first chance you get? Six feet of solid oak, boy. Strongest wood they have around here. I'm not sure where you'd get one, but... it would do the trick..."

Goddess, he was tired. Spent. Bloodied and bloodless, in certain limbs, he was sure of it. Exhaustion was weighing on his eyelids and aeady he couldn't go a few ticks without a jaw-shattering yawn.

He longed for his room. His bed. Sleep. Obivion. Booze. Her. Her. Always her and never there and that was why he came to this underground pit where men died to and for cheers.

Not tonight. Maybe some other time...

"Go carefully and go with what I taught you, Buras," Razkar said as he gripped the man's shoulder briefly, careful to use his real name, as he would expect the human to do, "We will meet again."

The gladiator-cum-trainer had nothing more to teach nor stay for; his wounded had wearied him and rest was all he had left to accomplish. Buras could turn and see the shuffling figure made large and looming by his grisly cloak, limping past the torchlight like a clanking beggar, before disappearing around a corner, heading up to the light, and finding only the night.

[Buras]

Buras watched Razkar leave. Six feet of oak eh? Well, I should start looking. With that Buras leaves as well. As he exits the pits, Buras turns and heads straight for Cutters and Carvers. If they didn't have what he was looking for, he doubted anyone did. Arriving at his destination, Buras gets straight to business. "I need a straight piece of oak, about six feet long. You think you got something like that?" "Of course we got oak." said one of the Carvers, "And it's easy enough to make it six feet. But price is always a problem. I say about 5 silver should do it." Grudgingly handing over the money, Buras waits patiently for his order. Satisfied that he got a rather fair deal, Buras leaves the shop, Nothing else to do, but practice a little. OOC-5 silver. Feel free to adjust the price if you think I didn't get it right. Exit Buras

[Zandelia]

Buras :

Skills
Unarmed – 1
Observation – 3
Gambling – 1
Negotiation – 2
Socialization - 3

Lores
Unarmed: Theoretical Response To Threats
Mages: Dangerous From Distance, Vulnerable When Close
Quarterstaff: Six Foot Of Oak
Djed Takes Time

[b]Other[b]
- 10 gold miza, 5 silver miza (totalled) – please link the thread into ledger listing of your CS

Notes :

Nice little thread. Wish I could give more but you need to actively use skills to get real points, not just talk about them. Maybe you’ll get your chance for Quarterstaff, eh?