Flashback Dynamics (Kaliope)

[Tarukko]

8th Day of Spring, 513AV
The House Of Blades
Mid-Morning

He felt a tooth chip when he slammed into the stones. It wasn't as painful as he was expecting, though: the agony from his battered kidneys more than drowned that tedious toothache.

"Goddess give me strength, do you petching males never learn?"

The whirlwind of noise around the hall barely even slowed as Johko spat her opinion of the Dangling Gender in general. Her two underlings (and exes) spared her a glance, taking in the sight of the tall, relaxed female standing over the swaying male, then turned back to their own lessons. Two dozen Myrians and a handful of curious, wincing barbarians were busy hammering and smacking at each other with wooden weapons, and they had their own hides to worry about.

This was the House Of Blades. If you weren't expecting blood and bruises on the way to knowledge, you shouldn't have climbed the steps.

"Are you deliberately ignoring me? Hmm?" Tarukko heard the words drizzle into his ears as he managed to get upright again, tightening his grip on the strange weapon grasped in his right hand. "Trying to get up Old Johko's snout, yes? Maybe get her to let her guard down? Or do you just enjoy kissing the sodding stones, boy?"

The male's stare hardened but he crushed it with his grinding teeth, letting it drop to the hard white floor, now spattered and blotched with his own blood. It had been a long while since he'd allowed anyone to call him "boy"... but that had been a male, not a female. Not to mention one with barely half of the lethality that Johko could muster on a slow day.

The woman in question snorted, as if reading the male's mind, and sauntered over to the bench where he weapons were displayed. The wooden gladius was replaced with a shortspear topped with a dull wooden head. It danced and twirled easily in her hands, so adept the intricate patterns looked as natural to her as her steps back to their sparring circle.

Then the dance stopped. Her whole body tightened, stiffened, spear leveled at him with both hands... then relaxed again. Loose. Ready to move, lunge, parry, thrust, dodge, anything she could think of.

And, more worryingly, anything Tarukko could think of.

"That's the problem with you Claws," she said in a growl, showing her teeth as Tarukko's eyes widened in outrage, "You think to much like yer critters. Think yer all tigers and wolves and jaguars and whatever. Well, fine and petching good when yer shifting, isn't it? But you still need to learn the steel, boy. Now try it again..."

Tarukko breathed in... then out... then held it. She wouldn't allow him anymore than that. He'd come to the House because he had no other choice; too long had he neglected his training with his grandfather's strange, claw-like weapon. Much as he hated Johko at that moment, she was right. He had forgotten the balance that Benro had taught him when he first got that precious, alien, unique gift, and now he was paying for it.

"If this was a real fight," he said slowly, spitting to the side without taking his eyes off his teacher. Something tinkled softly as the bloody gob touched down. "I wouldn't just be relying on this."

Johko chuckled as the male raised the weapon. She had to admit, it was a beauty. Probably passed down from an elder, who had it passed down, who had, ad infinitum. You didn't get weapons like that around much nowadays; they were from the Old Days, back when the barbarian races still sortied and warred against the Children of Myri, tried to usurp or reclaim (ha, and wasn't that laughable?) their realm.

No-one bothered anymore. Falyndar had gone from a prize to be won to a cautionary tale told by grizzled sellswords and mothers to disobedient children. It swallowed armies and shit adventurers. It's people were monsters, beasts, unkillable and invincible, but only within the boundaries of their hungry, teeming jungle.

Johko had seen enough of war to know that was a little much, but she appreciated a good story as much as anyone else.

"Then come at me with both, boy," she couldn't resist adding that flourish, pushing him just a little more. Such a strange paradox: that despite centuries of subservience to females, the pride of Myrian males was still so easily rattled, "If I have to put you down again to teach you properly, so be it."

The male weighed his options. The female was not to be taken lightly, and even as a jaguar, he probably couldn't take her. But he had come here for a lesson, and all he had gained so far was bruises, a face purpled and dented and the certainty that he'd piss blood for the next few days. So, he needed to change tack, and relying on his grandfather's Claw just wasn't going to cut it.

Use what you're good with. Don't rely on it, but use it to bolster what you lack. You're going to get the shyke kicked out of you, anyway. Might as well try and learn something.

He breathed again, but this was slower... deeper... and not just in its tone. As the air flooded into him, he remembered the teachings of his Elders as a boy. Imagined the air prickling and charging the djed he knew coursed under and within his muscles. Felt that ethereal lightning charge and blossom under his skin.

He had been but a child when he first felt that rush, and had almost shuddered with fear, that such power and wyrd lay sleeping with him. Now, after three decades? He welcomed it, and channeled it, feeling the djed drip into his left arm, downward...

Johko did naught but cock an eyebrow as she saw the male's hand molded by will and shift like clay before her. Weathered skin and the paler flesh of his palms gave way to short, scratchy fur, the fingers shortening, but the nails... they lengthened, then thickened, then curved...

Suddenly, the male had a second weapon. Four long claws of bone, very much like those he bore when in the form of his favored animal, only these were a touch longer than normal. Considering whom he was fighting, though, Johko took that as a compliment.

"How long can you maintain that, boy?"

"Long enough, I think."

Johko grinned, and Tarruko blinked, confidence coughing politely rather than outright shaking. Jaguar? Predator? Even with three foot-long blades in his right hand and a jaguar's enlarged claw in - no, as - his left, the male felt more like prey than ever.

She loves confidence. Probably because it's more satisfying to crush it.

"Onward, boy. Mark your lesson-"

Tarruko charged the tick the last word hit the breeze, lunging across the stone floor at Johko's left, her open side. He backhanded with his Morphed claw at her, aiming low to take her leg from under her, following it up with a backhand from his metal claw.

It didn't quite go that way, but it was a good idea...

[Kaliope]

"Hey! Just remember that is not practiced here, female." A tall, broad man by the door informed a group of three woman well after they had entered The House of Blades.

Kali nodded without turning to acknowledge the male, flicking her braids off of her back and over her shoulder, almost defiantly. Proudly displayed, now, was the cycle of the moon that danced from one shoulder to another. It was one thing she did not understand about many of her kin, their distaste for practitioners of Reimancy and other Djed arts. How will they ever learn to defend against magic if they continued to refuse to practice with her? Of course, there were those who saw it as a tool, as she did, and would help her to hone her skills. But, sadly, the vast majority seemed to view her as a weakling who could not wield steel (partially true though that was) or as one who was not to be trusted.

When she stopped to look around, quietly taking in her surroundings, the two clanswomen who had joined her thus far broke off to socialize, by way of combat, with other patrons of the establishment. Days gone by flashed through the young woman's mind and she sighed once before mentally shrugging it off. It did not do to dwell in the past when there was still the future to worry about.

All around, people whirled and fought with one another, smiling and laughing and beating the ever-loving tar out of one another. Sparring partners were fluid as were enemies. Two would face one and then turn on one another. Skills were tested and bruises happily accepted.

Obviously, this was not a place for thoughtfulness.

This was proven when some shyke lost his balance and came tumbling into her, elbow slamming into her thigh and making the muscle falter and sending her to the ground on her rump. A wordless exclamation of her annoyance burst from her snarling lips as she kicked upwards, smashing the fools jaw with the side of her foot.

Despite the rough start, Kali quickly found herself wonderfully immersed in the flow of fighting. While most were encumbered by wooden training weapons, she had both hands blissfully free, leaving her to grab hold of wrists and still have a hand free to be slammed into someone's kidneys.

As she turned to hook her foot behind another fighter's she suddenly felt a sharp pain in the back of her head and was yanked backwards. Crying out, she suddenly found herself stumbling and off balance before being yanked by her braids again. They were twisted until she felt the hand at the back of her head and was turned about. Now face to face with her aggressor, Kaliope lashed out instinctually with her right arm, only for it to be rapped sharply with a long training dagger, sending a shock through her arm.

The woman before her had intense and intricate scarifications covering her face, even down to her eyelids and grinning lips. Instead of gloating, the woman reared back with her free hand and struck at Kali's face with her fist. The young woman tried to block it but ended up only getting hit in the face with the back of her own hand.

"Do not block, stupid girl, deflect." Her hair was released and the woman's smile took on a different air as she stepped back, spreading her arms.

Kali cocked her head to the side. Was this woman trying to teach her? Grinning, Kali took a stance and lashed out at the woman, eyes narrowing in order to keep a keener eye upon what it was that he woman did, what she meant.

As Kaliope struck out with her fist, the other woman leaned back slightly and then, as frighteningly quickly, slapped the side of Kali's cinnamon arm so that her momentum was deflected and she was thrown off balance. It was brilliant in its simplicity and astonishing in its affectiveness. The younger Myrian had simply learned to roll with the punches dealt but this, this was stunning!

"And now you!" In only a second, Kali had to go on the defensive this time. The other woman moved more slowly than she had before, giving her pupil the time she needed to react. Attempting to mimic the older woman's actions, Kali swept outwards her left arm but overestimated her own speed compared to the other woman's and ended up slamming her own forearm into the other woman's. The sensation caused was painful but she was able to deflect the other woman's blow.

"There... Much better. It's no fun fighting someone who doesn't make it hard for you to hit them!"

Before Kali could respond, the tide of fighting had washed the two women apart and brought them to new opponents.

[Tarukko]

Fast. She was so impossibly fast.

Tarukko's backhand was swatting down and away from Johko's thigh before it ever even got there, head of the spear moving like a striking serpent to hammer the top of his Morphed hand. He barked out in pain and the skin undulated, nerve endings going haywire and warring with his djed. He blocked it out, sticking to the plan even on one knee, lashing upward with his Claw-

-only for Johko to lean and twirl to her side, his three-pronged weapon whistling through empty air, spear going with her-

-and smacking into the middle of his upraised arm as it returned, drawing another yelp-

-cut off abruptly by a sharp, vicious kick to his already-bruised kidneys that sent him toppling again-

-blinking stars and black blotched from his eyes... and seeing her grinning face beyond the spearpoint hovering an inch before his eyes.

"Fluidity, boy. Adaptability. You're still thinking too much."

"You're... fast."

"Yes, I am. And I didn't get to be this old and petching ugly by being hidebound, either." There was no attempt to help him up. You stood on your own two in the House Of Blades. There was no guarantee you'd have help in battle, so why give it there? "Stow your steel and fight barehanded for now."

Then she was off, not even deigning to nod a farewell or impart further lessons. That was Johko's way, though. So many pupils and visitors, so little time. The only way to give them all a taste of her bloody wisdom was to keep them moving, changing partners like some martial dance. Before he'd even got upright she was engaging a couple of youths still without Army brands on their arms, shortspear hammering and parrying between the two as if she were fighting children.

Look to your own hide, male.

Tarukko spat to the side again and let go his grandfather's weapon, sliding it over to the corner with the others. He turned back to the throng-

-and found a fist careening clean at his head-

-ducked out of instinct rather than training, the blow just brushing his topknot but leaving him unscathed, and face to face with-

-his legs exploded forward, arms wrapped around a brawny waist, tackling his enemy to the ground, the two of them rolling, elbows and knees flying, thudding into each other like juvies-

-until Tarukko stuck out a knee and stopped their impromptu brawl, straddling the male, hands braced behind his head, taking but a broken tick to see the snarling face with burned ink around his eyes, teeth sharpened to fangs-

-before slamming his head down as fast as gravity and his neck could allow, forehead first-

-feeling something snap under the impact that would give him a headache for a few days-

-but not stopping the male from lashing out with a blind elbow that knocked him clean off, rolling away from his squat, tattooed partner. More stars. Blotches that now wiggled and warred for his attention. The dance continued, though, and the House was no place to be disoriented. He came up in a low crouch-

Another figure entered his vision. Hands up and tensed for combat, but currently spared from it. Well, that wouldn't do: one of Johko's rules was that if you found yourself without a fight in her House, you started one, or expected to be blindsided.

White eyes made stark in a face like carved ebony found him a tick later, framed with flowing hair locked in braids, and Tarukko didn't hesitate. For Myrians, fighting females wasn't a taboo; it was a daily necessity. She looked barely older than his second-youngest sister, but he knew that wasn't a guarantee of inexperience, or weakness, either. Younger than her had come back from the jungle with Dhani trophies in bloody hands.

He put up his hands and flexed his shoulders, closing the gap between them, one hand reaching back-

-and instead launching a low kick at her left knee from the side, seeking to hobble her before he could put a jab or two into her face.

[Kaliope]

A new adversary stepped into Kali's vision and, instead of immediately launching an attack, she took a half step back to collect herself.

A battle is nothing but instants. Make sure you reserve at least one to size up your opponent. Learn as much as you can about them before you begin to attack. A single instant can change the length of a lifetime.

Hands up. Shoulders back. Flex. Eyes narrow; no whites. Focus. Pull Back.

A punch. Tiny tidbits of information flashed though the woman's eyes more quickly than she could currently sort out. Each observation was logged and saved for later so that she could review them and look to better herself. As his arm moved back, she smirked slightly, sure that a punch would be coming, now.

When his leg collided with her knee, she was caught completely off guard and felt her balance wobble. Instinct seized her and shifted her weight to the unaffected leg. Snarling, she whipped up one hand to block his first jab and felt a shiver go up her arm into her shoulder. Deflect! Not block.

The next blow to come would be swatted aside and then pushed, hoping that his momentum would make it easier for her to push him off balance. If this occurred, she would aim a single sharp fist just below his ribs. He was stronger than she, but a well placed blow could bring down even the mightiest Tskanna.

The young Myrian jumped backwards and then to the side, doing her best to stay out of his way while her leg readjusted. Once the tingling had faded, she prepared to strike out, but stopped and retracted her fist, thoughts whirling. He had struck her. He had tricked her and managed to strike her. It was not in Kali's nature to trick her opponent; more often than not, she would bull straight into things and face them head on.

As her mind continued to work, the ring faded around her and she focused on her opponent, trying to make sense of this new dynamic. Tricking an opponent was underhanded and... wrong... in a way. But, if they were you opponent, your enemy, were they really worthy of an honorable fight? A Dhani or an outsider... no... I can trick them. But my kin? Maybe only the males...

Before she could do anything with this new decision, Kali was struck from behind by a stumbling Myrian. Having always been taught to use her environment to her advantage, Kali pivoted about her hips, caught hold of the slender man's shirt, and shoved him at her new adversary, grinning as the inferior male tripped again and looked to be stumbling headfirst into her opponent.

[Tarukko]

Never assume success. To do so is to invite defeat.

The half-remembered lesson of Instructor Herliz rattled around Tarukko's head along with the shards of pain from that swift punch to his ribs, further ruining his balance as he tottered past the quicksilver female. Too bad they came a few ticks late to be helpful.

Whose fault is that?

The older male grunted and absorbed the pain, reacting as he did, swinging out and to the side with an backhanded elbow, hoping for a connect but satisfied with-

-nothing, as it turned out. She was already sliding away from him, limping slightly but ready now, his moment of advantage lost. The two of them locked eyes for a moment, simmering like smoke off ice, two predators of Falyndar taking measure of each other.

She recovers fast. Her block... no, parry. She doesn't waste energy when she can waste yours. Have to put this one down hard and close.

Tarukko was about to launch into another feint - no, two: she will anticipate it now - when the female exploded into action... with some unexpected help. Within two blinks there was another "combatant", a male yanked from behind her and thrown towards Tarukko like some unwilling, sentient projectile.

The Blackened Claw felt a brief glimmer of respect. Such underhandedness... but such audacity, also.

Then he quashed it and reacted as best he could, getting a brief flash of the male's confused, sweating face as he stumbled towards him-

-stepping to his side, both hands clasped together-

-hammering sideways, all his weight behind the double-handed blow, knocking the bewildered male out of his way and back into the whirling scrum that was unfolding mere feet beyond their invisible arena. The tick that he had a clear look at her-

-Tarukko would bend his knees and launch himself straight at her torso, arms outstretched in an almost-airborne tackle. She was younger, faster, and had a ruthlessness to match her skill... but she was still smaller, and two hundred pounds of Myrian slamming into you would bring down most beings.

Then it would get vicious, if he managed to get her down. A familiar, bloody scrum where you felt your enemy's breath spat across your face and ripped at him with your teeth, gouged and battered and bludgeoned without a hint of finesse.

So be it.

The Blackened Claws had learned more from their animal charges that just hunting and tracking and stealth. They had seen generations of tigers, wolves, Akilas, jaguars, great apes and rutting deer and enraged reptiles war with each other. Always there had been the same lesson.

There are no rules in Falyndar. There are the living, and the dead, and the only thing separating them is the will and the skill to ensure you are not the latter.

Tarukko had learned that lesson far better than the first.

[Kaliope]

In her short time learning to fight, Kaliope had never been faced with an attack such as the one now being launched in her direction. Almond shaped eyes widened with surprise as her mind fumbled for a suitable reaction. By the time she had found one, it was already too late and the world was being turned on its ear.

She fell on her back and felt her head thud violently against the earthen floor. A world turned now danced with sharp black spots as she gasped for air, only to recognize a great weight on her torso. Breath left her once more as she was punched sharply in the side. Gasping, her body began to act of its own accord, thrashing and twisting in a pell-mell effort to free herself.

Breathe! Think! Another blow, another loss of breath. Something primal stirred in the young Myrian like the tongues of a new born flame, warming her chest and her cheeks. Fury took hold and, wrenching her arm out from under the male's, she gripped him hard by the topknot and yanked to the side. Wherever the head goes, the body will follow.

If he twisted even slightly to follow his hair as it was pulled, she would be able to have her other arm free and, with it, be able to lay a series of blows at his exposed ribcage. Her goal would be to be able to bring up her knee and press it against his hip, giving her enough leverage to push him further to the side and, hopefully, reverse their positions.

If, somehow, she managed to get on top, his actions would dictate her continued course. If possibly, she would hope to get in at least one blow to his jaw before rising to her feet. Thick, powerful thighs would help her upright but the earlier head blow would leave her feeling woozy and weak, forcing her to stagger briefly.

Seeing this weakness, another female would turn and launch herself at the younger woman, firing two rapid shots at Kaliope's already heaving stomach and forcing the girl back onto her rump, again. Coming here was a mistake, she would think, regretting having let her comrades brow-beat her into coming in the first place.

The taller female would be towering over Kali, then, planning her next move. In an act of sheer desperation, the Changing Moon's eyes would seek out the male with whom she had previously been tousling, hoping that an enemy would become an ally. Hope turned to fear in an instant as she realized that, just as easily, she could now end up double teamed. If that happened, she would leave this place in shambles...

Never give up. Never surrender.

[Tarukko]

All men felt that thrill of savage, intoxicating power when they found themselves atop a defeated enemy. Myrian males moreso, incredulous and contradictory as it sounds. Their whole lives they were the weaker sex, a topsy-turvy state of affairs compared to all other nations... and yet one not without base. Their women were larger, stronger, faster, crafted it seems to be weapons by Blessed Myri, with Taru's gender relegated to the role of domestic support and suppliers of seed.

All of them, from boy to man, relished the chance to upend the status quo, if only in the heat of training and sparring. Myri was their Light and their Mother... but if they could get in some small measure of revenge...?

Taru's right fist cocked back and delivered a short, vicious blow into the female's ribs, feeling knuckles crack into bone under taut, supple flesh. He drew back again, lips curled back in a rictus of vicious joy-

-only to find the ground under him writhing and uncertain, stealing a precious tick of advantage from his frozen fist-

-repaying his blow with a heave at his hair that saw her face swirl and vanish from sight, replaced by the ceiling-

-then by blinding pain to his ribs, over and over, debt repaid and then some, until his legs were quaking from the spreading impact-

-and the world whirled again, body crashed to the side, rolling and shuddering until he was the one under her power.

Don't let her dictate the fight! Move! React!

Easy to think; easy to have shouted at you. But with an enraged and fiery Myrian female straddling you... it was much harder to bring to bear. Taru threw up his arms out of instinct, covering his face and neck just in time for a stinging blow to crash against them that would have left him insensible. Buy time, let her tire herself out-

-and then, she was gone.

He peered from between his forearms and found her rising, a vision of Myrian determination. Bloodied on knuckles and dribbling from lips, bruised... but her eyes shone with purpose hard as Kalea-crafted steel. Taru's hands snapped to his sides, ready to backpedal frantically across the floor-

-until a screeching female thundered into view, arms moving in a blur, blows sounding like hammers on steak knocking Kali back down, snarling in joy at an opponent toppled.

Tanroa's glass cracked for a tick in the tornado of furious movement that was the House of Blades. Taru saw nothing but them: not the tangle of limbs of weapons, not the alternately victorious or enraged faces above them. He heard nothing but the rasp of his own breath... and theirs...

Her eyes flashed. They threw out a tether across the blood-colored sand, stained so by years of constant use. For an instant Taru met it with only anger, indignation hiding the forever shame that he had, yet again, been bested by a female, knocked back into his proper place.

Then darker, stronger purpose took it.

"MINE!"

The word blasted clear of his mouth and the towering female who'd knocked Kali back down, snapped her eyes to him-

-just in time to see his prone form lash out with a kick at the middle of her leg-

-sending her crashing down to one knee, cry of shocked pain ripped from her mouth.

Taru heaved. He would not get a better chance. Desperate, bruised, he roared anew and twisted his hips until their crackled under his skin, other leg lashing up and around-

-smacking across the female's chest like a tree limb and knocking her clear onto her back. Moments. Ticks. All battles, aside from map and strategy and tactics, were just a series of those. Any one could kill you. You needed only to be faster, stronger... and impossible thing, for a Myrian male.

But we try. For we are alive... and only thus, do we gain victory.

Fresh from clobbering another female who'd yet to match speed with precision, Johko's eyes snapped up to the unfolding scene. Ah. Male-on-female. Those were always... somewhat enlightening.

She saw the male throw himself like an animal at the female he'd just knocked down, grabbing a handful of hair, jerking her head up and hammering it down hard against the earth, enough for her brains to rattle. His victim's eyes glazed for a tick-

-long enough for a punch to snap her head to the side, and her hands became limp...

But then he was done with her. His eyes drew back to the girl Kali, every fibre of him now heaving with deep, shattered breaths, air coming out like knives against his throat.

Johko smirked. What was lust for revenge here translated to a warrior's bond in battle. That desire to have only your hands crush an enemy? That same selfish urge could be molded into saving a comrade's life. The mistress of the House turned from the sight and parried a spear thrust with contemptuous ease-

Thus she did not see Taru lunge anew at his target, arms outstretched to knock her back down if she was already up from her back. If he could, he'd attempt the same trick she had pulled: a handful of hair anchoring her, his other hand drawing back for a sharp blow to the jaw.

If he managed it. Already the exertion was blurring his vision, making his arms tremble slightly. Growing older... such a curse.

But battle would not care for weakness, Dira not for age, and Blessed Myri would accept nothing but victory.c