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Taloba, home to the Myrians, is the thriving core of Falyndar. Inhabited by a fierce and savage tribe where blood sacrifices are normal and a way of life, they are untamed and proud of it. Warlike, and with their numbers growing, the Myrians are set on reclaiming what is rightfully theirs. [Lore]
Over the course of her time at the Den of Exiles, Oryani had made friends with one particularly enthusiastic Myrian. Her reasons for being there, rather than with her own clan were unknown, and she always got a dark, brooding expression when someone asked about her past. To push that further, unlike other Myrians, she didn’t give any kind of a last name, like ‘Of the Creeping Shadows’ or something like that. Which was strange. It would be like Oryani not adding the ‘Darkeye’ to the end of her name officially… even though she rarely used it in the first place. The word was in Pavi after all, and none of the Myrians would understand it… and she found no reason to tell it. They didn’t ask, and there was no need for her to distinguish herself from the rest of the dark-skinned crowd, or bring up her family. Her family was too far away, both physically and mentally.
This Myrian, by the name of Poma, had decided to take Oryani under her wing. The woman had taken a liking to the ‘barbarian’, so new to the city and the language. Though her Common was as rough as Oryani’s, they managed to get along, though verbal lessons were a tiny bit harder. New things and foods were named, the hierarchy and social structure of Taloba explained. The Drykas gained a small Myrian vocabulary, of things she had no other word for in Pavi or Common. Things like Mango or Monkey, Bikka or Maize. Things special to Taloba and Taloba alone. The goddess Myri was something new to the archer, and that whole religion ended up being explained as well… and it turned out the goddess herself resided in the city.
Poma had decided that, after both of them came back from work, a training session would need to be in order. Training what, the Chatakwe was clueless. She’s only learnt the basics so far, things that helped her get around and avoid getting on too many Myrian’s nerves. Luckily, she was of the dominant gender, which helped in things. From the back she also looked like a young and not-quite fully grown Myrian woman, until you noticed her eyes and the more reddish tone to her skin. She was wiry rather than bulky, which made her not quite a match for any Myrian in a full or fair fight. They’d simply squish her like a bug. All of their amazing muscle tone seemed to be a combination of natural genetics and constant training… and they were always training, fighting in one way or another.
When the two met outside the Den, Poma dragged Oryani to an area clear of grass or ground cover, with only a large tree at the edge. Her view of ‘large tree’ had changed dramatically since she’d first arrived, from anything fully grown in the Sea of Grass to something truly gigantic. In all honesty, this one was positively small compared to some of the other’s she’d seen… though she’d probably be unable to stretch her arms around it.
When the two were standing in the circular space, one grinning excitedly the other rather confused, Poma pulled something from her belt and lightly tossed it to Oryani before pulling out another. Surprised by the sudden action the Drykas instinctively caught the item, and was suddenly glad of where she’d caught it. She’d grabbed a wooden stem, a handle really, weighted at the top with an axe blade. It was maybe a foot and a half long, with a blade that stuck only a few inches off of the top of the weapon. It looked sharp, durable, painful… and heavy. Glancing up, she saw that Poma was holding an identical version of the weapon in one hand. Her grip was close to the base, and she swung it lightly at her side, almost naturally. Right. All Myrians knew one weapon or another.
“You teach this?” she asked jaggedly, frowning at the woman. She had no idea why she needed to learn this, something that sat a little strangely in her hand. It was completely different from the scimitar she’d used for two seasons, shorter and smaller. She knew how to use a bow, and doubted anything close range would help her take down something like a Myrian or a Dhani… especially a Dhani as a snake, the utter fear of Taloba. Poma nodded in reply, before answering the unspoken question. “Tomahawk. Hit, hard, nothing stand. Maybe Tskanna, tiger, snake. Human fall.” She abruptly swung, twisting in place to slam the axe into the tree which she was standing next to. It hit with an obvious ‘thunk’. It was even a little frightening. With effort she wrenched it out and grinned. “You do!”
She then proceeded to show Oryani how to mimic her grip on the weapon, holding tightly and low down, but ready to move up for better control. From lower down one had better reach and could swing it harder, though… so it was best to stay there. The first ‘move’ she learned was a kind of hacking attack, hitting the target lightly but quickly and repetitively. It seemed to different compared to the huge swinging motion Poma had displayed at first. “You hit angle, flat, up… neck good. Hit, go in bitty bit. Bring out, quick. Pull. Do again.” The woman demonstrated, taking a quick chopping motion at the tree and leaving a small dent in its bark. “You,” she insisted, taking a step back to allow Oryani to try her hand at the attack.
She held the weapon tightly in her left hand, not wanting it to slip out. Hit… pull out. She could do that. She remembered the position Poma had shown, exactly like the one she used for fighting with a scimitar and a bow. One foot back, the other forward. Trying to be as quick as possible she launched the weapon forward, swinging in a more natural way at the trunk. The hit went successfully, the pull less so. When she tried to drag it back after the swing it got stuck in the bark, delaying her motions and making it harder to recover. Poma quickly intercepted, frowning.
“Hit light. Only arm. No hip, shoulder. That for big hit.” Once again, she gave room for the Chatakwe to try again.
Oryani tried again, trying to remind herself not to put too much weight into it. She was so used to it, from drawing back arrows to her slight investigations into the scimitar. Still, this should be easier than that, not harder… it certainly seemed to require less effort, in everything but speed. She held the tomahawk back, shifting the weight around in her hand until it was comfortable again. She slammed it at the tree, pulling it back as soon as she felt resistance. It came out rather easily, with only a small jerking. “Again!” Poma called, and she repeated the action in rapid succession. It wasn’t too hard, and she could probably get used to this.
“Now two ten and five,” the Myrian instructed, waving at the tree… it would probably get quite a few scars from their exploits, but that was life. It could always heal, and she wasn’t sure she’d like hitting Poma… the woman was just a little too fierce and would probably hit back. That would be an exploit for another time… when she was more adept with the weapon and more agile. And skill would come with practice, which was exactly what Poma was prescribing for her. Two ten and five was twenty five… twenty five strikes. She hoped it wouldn’t be too tiring.
As the Drykas began the smacks, her instructor called out another message. “Toes! Toes!” Oryani glanced over to see exactly what the Myrian meant exactly by that, and found the woman standing lightly on her toes, bouncing a little. The archer shrugged, hoping this would be explained later, and mimicked the motion before continuing her practice. Swing, using the strength of only her elbow, then drag out. The dragging was just as much effort as actually hitting the target. Sometimes she was a little late or too early in the change, which upset her rhythm. Otherwise, it went rather smoothly, and the twenty five strikes ended in no time.
“Too slow,” Poma grumbled, tapping a toe. She was back on her full feet now, though Oryani was still on the balls of her feet… they’d started hurting a little, and she was tempted to sink down to a comfortable position. She even tried that, but the Myrian growled, so she moved back up. Fear was an amazing teacher… she felt like a little child under the watch of an important and stern teacher. “Fast, five fast,” was the next order, the woman waving at the tree energetically.
Her arm was aching from the weight of the weapon, but Oryani kept pushing, reminding herself that this was less effort than drawing a bow, really. It just used slightly different muscles, in a different direction. Forward rather than backwards. She had to go fast… fast. Remember to pull back, and move rapid. It actually felt a little intimidating. What if she was too slow? Still, she took a deep breath and whipped the tomahawk forward, just touching the wood before pulling back. She was rushing too much. She had already moved in for the next one, not bothering to pause between strikes. Switching directions so much took a remarkable amount of muscle strength. She smacked and drew back again, this time nearly getting the blade stuck in wood. She had to find the perfect spot… hence all this practice, apparently. The fifth one turned out rather well, but all of the other ones had problems in her mind.
Poma grunted and shrugged. “You get faster. Time. Now. Punch!” She grinned at this, shifting her weight back into her own stance. Making sure Oryani had a good view, she shot her arm forward almost in a punching fashion, though with an axe in hand. At the end she straightened her elbow completely, slapping the blade down onto an imaginary target. “No hit tree. Air. Try! Ten. Not too many, hurt elbow.” She rubbed her own in a miming way, though it didn’t really seem to hurt too. Oryani could see how the slamming could not be very nice for the joint.
She hopped a few steps back from the tree to give herself space, still on her toes. She felt quite nice on her toes, bouncing around like this. Almost like she was actually sparring with someone. She could do a basic punch… who couldn’t? She kept her left hand forward in the basic stance, then, without moving the rest of her body, punched forward and half flicking her wrist at the end to slam into a straight arm. Ouch… It did hurt a bit. “No wrist!” Poma called, shaking her head. “Elbow.”
The Drykas tried again, pushing her arm forward rapidly and coming down quickly. “Good! Again, again. Nine.” Did the first not account? Apparently the bad ones didn’t. Oryani shrugged her shoulders a bit, shifting her body until she felt comfortable. The action was strange. With something in her hand it didn’t quite feel like a punch, but it could certainly be related to one. The top of your fist didn’t face the sky with this, though… it faced sideways, as the tomahawk was the one that faced up. She finally found a position that was comfortable, however, and felt like it had power to it. Now she had two things she could do with this… hack and punch. There was probably a lot you could do with this, though. That heavy swing from earlier, probably some blocking… the handle felt like heavy enough wood to resist a good blow, though she doubted the blade could do much.
“So,” Poma began, holding her hands behind her back and bouncing on her toes. “Toes when talk. Practice.” Oryani frowned but followed the order, wincing slightly at the pain that filled them from the constant extra weight. They were used to some weight… but not this much. “No pain!” the Myrian snapped, startling her. She stared up in surprise, to see a grim and scary face. Now she really felt like a child. Silently she nodded, mentally reminding herself not to show pain in front of Poma again… no matter how much her toes hurt.
“Hack quick, easy to take back. Use many, biggest number you can. Careful, not too big number. One hit not too much pain, many strikes many pain.” She grinned at the thought, as if pain was enjoyable. It was a little disturbing. “Punch… also quick. No sign. Person not see coming. Can get forehead, much pain. Blood in eyes, hard to see. Maybe turn little to get side, or ear.” Instantly her hand snapped forward, following the punch but following almost a curve pattern. Oryani jumped back in surprise to get away from the nasty looking blade. Suddenly she was glad she was on her toes, it made it faster and easier for her to dodge around than on normal feet.
Poma grinned at the reaction, before continuing with her little speech. “Toes! Toes good. You see, can jump can turn, hop, dodge. ‘Stay on toes’, be ready. More practice, less pain. Always on toes in fight. Fast. Some Myrians slow, Dhani slow. You small, you fast. Use fast. Stay on toes.” She ended her speech abruptly, bringing her weapon up in a prepared, other hand drawn back in a fist. She began hopping forward, and intent look in her eyes. “Dodge” she ordered, so intense that it scared Oryani.
The Chatakwe stumbled back a few steps before remembering the earlier speech, returning to her toes and hopping. She continuously backed away from the dark eyed warrior until the woman growled. “Turn, turn! I make you hit tree!” In surprise Oryani swiveled her head around, but found no nearby trees. She turned back, and found an axe barely an inch from her eyes. She gasped and stumbled more. That had been close.
“Eyes me! Turn! Turn! Hands up!” The Myrian advanced further and the archer decided to take her advice. She began hopping to the side, bringing her hands up with the tomahawk in front. She wasn’t going to attack, but… this was petching scary. She’d never faced a teacher like this. Were all Myrians like this? Was that how they became so… intense? Surely they were, living with a goddess of petching war. She shook her head and clenched her teeth, reminding herself to focus. Focus, focus, focus. Hop to the side to avoid the occasional swing, but mostly to stay away from Poma. She was sure the Myrian would have already hit her if that was the intent, though.
Almost as soon as she’d started the attack, Poma stopped. She stood on the flats of her feet, grinning. “Good! Very good. Fast, hop. Not fast enough, but. We repeat, you faster. Learn block, learn hit. Be good! Fight.” Oryani flinched as the Myrian clapped her on the shoulder with the unarmed hand, half expecting another attack. The woman simply laughed and hopped a few steps back, already on her toes. The Drykas had forgotten her own after the surprise, but now she was down… the ache was obvious. She hoped she didn’t have to spend too much time on her toes after this.
“Now… throw tomahawk. When throw, not too far. Two arms, biggest. Short. Practice means good, means further. Start short. When throw in fight… careful. Have other weapon. Knife, two tomahawk. Throw away weapon only when need. Still, practice good.” In another demonstration, she flicked her tomahawk forward, this time with her arm in the back, almost in a punching motion… except she let go, and it smacked straight into the trunk. She moved forward and wrenched it out, before proceeding to hack out a square of bark around the tree about one and a half axe-blades tall. Though it took some time, Oryani was glad for the rest for her toes.
“Hit square. Stand here.” Poma drew a line in the dirt with her toe, etching it deep so it wouldn’t be erased too quickly. “Do punch from back, let go near end. Axe fly. Practice many times. Practice until square easy hit. I come back.” That said, the Myrian strode off, without looking back at her student. Oryani stared, not wanting to do this without corrections, but she wasn’t stupid enough to call the woman back. She didn’t want to face that fury. Instead she turned to the tree, setting herself up at the line. From her spot… the square looked frighteningly small. This would be… painful. Only Caiyha (or maybe Myri) knew how many times she’d actually have to throw the petching thing.
Still, she didn’t want to face Poma’s wrath for not following the orders. She felt like the Myrian would know. Maybe they could smell it on you. So slacking off was not an option, despite the fact that her arm was aching from the strange exercise. She might as well start now though… get it over with.
She brought the weapon back, switching from having her left leg forward to her right leg, so she could have the hand wielding the tomahawk (her left) back. To the punch thing, then… let go. It sounded simple enough. For some reason she bounced on her toes, realizing that Poma’s lesson had already sunk in. She relaxed, drew her arm back… and punched.
She ended up letting go too late, and the thing hit the trunk with the top of the handle and bouncing off. Quickly Oryani picked it up, not wanting to dirty the woman’s weapon. She tried again, this time letting go in the middle. The weapon flew remarkably straight for a while, before smacking into the trunk a good foot below the square. She could tell this would take a while. Great.
Rubbing her forehead, the Chatakwe resigned herself to her fate, reminding herself that practice was good, as much effort as it took. She’d learn things, right? She shook her arm and lifted it from the first position a little, trying to hit higher than before. The process repeated like that, her practically going in circles around the target and rarely hitting it, never quite figuring out the right position to throw it from. Wasn’t she supposed to be an archer? Wasn’t she supposed to be good at this aiming thing? But it felt so different from shooting something. For one, the tomahawk was so tall, she couldn’t predict how it would turn or shift or go up or down. Prediction came from practice which meant… more throwing. Throw after throw after throw. She wasn’t even bothering with strength. Just… accuracy. Power didn’t matter much if you couldn’t hit anything.
Oryani spent quite some time during each throw trying to figure out how the blade would fly, and where to throw it from. It was better than rushing, where it was mostly luck and she barely remembered how she got it right. She knew that the axe head would drop slightly after the throw, tilting at more of an angle, rather than sitting straight up. She’d also discovered that throwing too light made it drop, or sometimes do nothing at all… so her arm was getting tired after throwing it at full force constantly. Where she let go during the throw also changed the direction… to soon and it went high, too late and it went low. That was probably the hardest part, figuring out the timing for each throw where it would be at the right height. Luckily, left and right weren’t actually that much of a challenge, and really depended on where she was standing.
She couldn’t have said how long she’d been practicing. The poor tree was covered in dents and scratches, marks of where the tomahawk had hit solidly. Annoyingly, it felt like the weapon hit everywhere but the square, and there was even a slash mark at the bottom of the trunk after on particularly unenthusiastic throw. After all of this… her arm hurt. The blows were steadily dropping down the trunk, and as much as she tried, her arm felt like lead and didn’t want to do anything anymore. Every time she dropped it, the limb felt like bliss… every time she lifted it, it felt like pain. Just plain old pain.
Oryani decided to take a moment’s rest, setting the tomahawk gently down on the ground and standing there, rubbing her arm in an attempt to relieve the irritation. Her shoulder was mostly fine, it was really just the wrist and elbow that had been used the most, holding up the heavy weapon constantly. She tried to imagine herself bouncing around with the weapon up and ready like she had before, but couldn’t. Her toes hurt too, the strain finally coming back and ending with a cramp that made it physically hard to just move them. She was sure her arm would do the same too.
Despite this, there was also Poma’s expression when she was growling stuck in the Chatakwe’s mind. She did not want to face that gain. The Myrian had told her to wait, so heading back to the Den of Exiles early would probably result in some more scariness. She generally considered herself brave, but with this? She felt like a coward, a child. It also felt like Poma was treating her like a child… like a Myrian child. It was nice to have some support in her own strength though, as most Myrians viewed ‘barbarians’ like herself as weak and useless. Sometimes she felt like that… she was sure she could beat any of the warrior race on horseback, but… never on tiger back. Those fighters had been intimidating, ,sitting on petching cats and prowling around. And the cats were huge. The Myrians were very good at being scary… and with good reason.
During her rest and drifting thoughts, Poma had crept up behind without notice. When Oryani was least expecting it, something hard came out of nowhere and clipped her on the back of the head. She yelped, grabbing the injury and turning around to face the scowling Myrian. Petch. She was in trouble now. The Drykas wanted to cower in a corner, or run away and hide from the fearsome face. “Why stop?” the woman growled, still gripping the tomahawk. The but of that was probably what had hit so hard… one could do some damage with this weapon, from all directions.
Oryani had yet to formulate an excuse for her lack of work (other than her arm hurt, which was completely out of the question), so she stood still and awkward, not saying anything. Poma’s face grew darker at the silence, and she snapped at the Chatakwe. “Answer! Why stop?!”It felt like someone was accusing her of murder, or some other heinous crime. She opened her mouth, closed it, and came up with some gibberish on the spot. Her skull was still hurting.
“Um. I. Um. No say in Common,” that was a lie, but it gave her a reason to say something in Pavi, which she was certain the woman wouldn’t understand. “I am a snake cat with a tomahawk running with trees.” It was a combination of the first words that came into her head, including the name of the weapon which was probably needed, so Poma would get the ‘context’. Like there was any context. After saying this, she remembered vaguely that when lying you needed to be confident, so she stared Poma in the eyes, despite wanting to look away.
The Myrian paused for a few moments, frowning, then snorted. “Hmph. Yes. No stop, other time. Come, dinner.” The woman grabbed Oryani by the collar of her shirt and pushed her forward, heading off into the Den where a meal was apparently waiting.
Staying on Your Toes: Promoting Good Reaction Time
Tomahawk Basics: Punching, Hacking and Throwing
Loot
N/A
Notes :
I don't know specifically but I truly enjoyed reading this. I gave you an extra point for the weapon: tomahawk because you explained her practicing so well. You also described both the throwing and the stabbing in the same thread and I couldn't pass up on an extra gold star. Oryani is learning to fight and I'm excited to see where that will take her in the future! Keep up the tremendous work my dear!
If you have any issues with your grade, please don't hesitate to send me a private message!
