Flashback [Solo] Kindled Dreams

[Ashar]

Ashar 57th of Winter, 493 AV The Cora Apartments "Let's leave mother to rest," Jenar said to his son, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder and steering him away from the bedroom. He shut the door just to be sure his wife wouldn't be disturbed, then crossed over to his desk by the hearth. As he spoke, he couldn't help twitching his finger against the wooden surface. "She needs her sleep, and perhaps something from the herbalist could help as well. I might go ask about that..." The young Ashar was still looking at the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face. "When will mother be better?" he asked blandly, turning to his father. Jenar's head rose and turned to his son. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, then opened it again when he found his words. "Sometime soon, Ashar. I'll get her something from the herbalist, and maybe take her to a doctor if she doesn't get better." Then he smiled in an attempt to be reassuring, but the lines on his face were obvious. "Don't worry, she's going to be fine. She'll be better before you know it. Why don't you play outside?" And with that, his head turned back down to his desk, gazing at a stack of haphazardly piled papers. His eyes wandered across the words, some finished and some not, with an unusually focused stare. Silent, Ashar stood still for a bit longer, facing the closed door with the same unreadable expression he'd had since he first entered the room. Then he turned and walked toward the entrance to their apartment, not bothering to ask his father or even notify him. Though there didn't seem to be a need, for when Ashar opened the front door and took a step outside, Jenar didn't even look up from the desk. The Akalak writer seemed glued in place, a statue of concentration. So Ashar left the room and closed the door behind him, entering into one of the halls of the Cora complex. Playing outside did not seem an appealing option, for doing so meant putting up with the seasonal weather, either by bundling up in the unwieldy winter gear he had or enduring the frosty cold. Other members of the Rhiad family lived also in the Cora Apartments, but he did not remember well where they lived inside the building. For now, he stood there, just outside his apartment door, wondering what he should do. Fortunately, an answer came swiftly to him. Solid steps came pounding down the hallway to Ashar’s… right, left? Left. He looked in that direction and saw his uncle, being the large Akalak he was, boldly stomping down the corridor toward him. “There you are, Ashar!” Jedion called out, completely disregarding any neighbors that might have enjoyed the previous silence. “I was just about to come ask your father if I could borrow you a bit. How’re you doing, lad?” The little Akalak looked up at his uncle. “Mother is unwell again, but I’m fine. Father said he’ll go get something from the herbalist for her later. Until then, I should leave her alone.” There was a little pause, in which Jedion’s face became a momentary picture of uncertainty, but it was quickly over when Jedion knelt down and clapped one of his large fists on his nephew’s shoulder, knocking the boy a bit. “She’ll be fine, a little quiet is all she needs. So why don't you come over to my place for a bit? I've got some things I want to show you." "Sure," Ashar said, his response lacking in energy. He had nothing better to do anyway. Even if he went outside, where would he go? With a broad grin on his face, the large Akalak fighter clapped the young boy's shoulder again and gave him a (not really) gentle push before leading him deeper into the Cora Apartments. "You and your parents really need to get out of there more," he said as he led Ashar around a corner. "We hardly see you around anymore, half of us think your dead!" Chortling in laughter, Jedion's bold strides carried him swiftly through the corridors, forcing Ashar to nearly jog to keep up. Though Jedion continued to banter loudly, Ashar did not respond. He listened though, to every joke Jedion made about his family's tendency to stay at home and every piece of gossip about the rest of the family and outside. It was tedious, somewhat. That wasn't his uncle's fault though, it was simply that whatever happened among his family or even in Riverfall could never hold a candle to the excitement happening in his books back at their apartment. Reading about powerful knights in shining armor cleave through Ziths effortlessly easily beat learning who now had a son or found a wife or taken on a Nakivak. Ashar sighed quietly, careful not to let his uncle hear. Reality could never live up to fantasy. "And we're here," announced Jedion suddenly as he stopped in front of his own door, still just as loud as he had been. He let them inside, and Ashar wandered into the apartment a bit. Between Ashar's father and uncle, Jedion was the far more physically-oriented of the two. When Ashar looked around he saw a small variety of training dummies and other materials for practice. A well-worn punching bag caught his eye, and he looked at it curiously. It didn't hold his interest for long, though, and he soon moved over to the other equipment. More than targets were present - metal knuckles and other fist-weapons sat on the table, strewn haphazardly across the surface as if a tornado swept through. With how loud Jedion's steps were, Ashar was surprised that he was surprised when his uncle spoke from just behind him. "These are too big for you," he said matter-of-factly, brushing the array of weapons to the back of the table. Ashar turned, expecting some questions about his mother's welfare or his father's work, or else another suggestion that they should all visit the docks for some good sea air and the view of the waterfall. Instead, he got a much different request. "Punch me," said Jedion.

[Ashar]

Ashar For a moment, Ashar wasn't sure what to do. His uncle, big and purple, stood there standing before him looking no different than he usually did, no more or less tense than as if he were lounging in the park on a summer day. It completely didn't fit with what the young Ashar had just heard. He brought his hands together, wrapping one around the other again and again, a sign of his nervousness. "Um, what?" he asked his uncle tentatively. This time, his uncle rested his hands on his hips in a jocular but still chastising manner, puffing his chest out slightly perhaps unconsciously. "Now now, your brain might not work right but your ears work just fine. You heard me very well, but I'll say it again for you. Punch me." Ashar still wasn't sure what to do. He'd done mild training before now, but never against a target and much less another person. On top of that, this was his uncle. Jedion's admonishing look and steadfast demeanor couldn't be ignored, however, and so Ashar threw a weak punch in his uncle's general direction. His arm was grabbed and yanked, he was tripped, and in less than a second he was face-flat on the floor with his arm twisted behind him. "Rnnngh, uncle!" the boy cried, wincing from the discomfort. Fortunately, his uncle held him in that position for less time than it took for him to be subdued. Ashar moved to get up, and he was offered a hand by his uncle, which he took and soon found himself standing on his feet again, none the worse for wear. "Sorry, lad," Jedion apologized, sounding sincere. "I thought a demonstration like that would be best for you." Ashar asked in response, "Uncle, what in Mizahar are you talking about?" Instead of answering his nephew's question, Jedion walked over to the punching bag and beckoned. Clearly meant to follow, Ashar did so, walking right up to the punching bag alongside his uncle. Once he reached uncle's side, he watched as Jedion patted the punching bag a couple times, sending it gently swinging back and forth. "This'll do to start," he said. "All the technique in the world won't help if you're not strong enough to carry it out." Ashar looked between the bag and his uncle, confused. "What do you mean, uncle?" he asked, still fidgeting with his hands. "What are you trying to do?" "Void, boy, you're not daft!" Jedion's proclamation was loud and sudden enough to cause Ashar to jump. Jedion patted the punching bag again, shaking his head. "I'm trying to train you, more than those short timid classes you get every afternoon. Quite frankly your training so far has been pathetic, so I intend to correct that." For a moment, Ashar was unsure of what to say. "But I train daily like all the other Akalaks." Snorting, Jedion delivered a short jab to the punching bag, sending it swinging quite violently back and forth and causing Ashar to take a step back. "You're training far too little to be ready in time for your Rite. It's not just a wrestling match with some fowl, a glassbeak is a dangerous monster that can take apart even a well-trained Akalak. You can't just show up to your lessons and expect to be fine." Of course, Ashar knew that, but he just didn't want to. It was something he'd get into later, some more serious training he would start when he was nine or ten, maybe. As the young boy gazed uncertainly at the punching bag, Jedion sighed heavily and crossed his arms. "I've seen those books you read. Quite interesting stuff, if rather fanciful as well." That caught Ashar's attention, the boy's gaze lifting from the punching bag to his uncle. Jedion continued, "I believe Jenar said that your favorite was one of your mother's. Hm, what was it now?" He clucked his tongue. "I can't remember off the top of my head, but you've kept saying that you always wanted to be like one of those knights in your book. Well, you're not going to become one by sitting around reading about them."