Fear That Sunny Smile (Open)

[Darian]

90th of Winter, 511 AV

With a lone candle painting the small room, Darian meticulously placed the materials he'd be working with on the rickety table. First of course was his carving tools, the bloody bag put on the far right of the well worn wood fixture, and then came the two wolf femurs, with the two treated wooden sticks following quickly behind. It wasn't often he got a chance to spare long stretches of time to his craft so naturally he seized upon the opportunity when the chance presented itself. Standing up from the wooden chair, he reached into the bloodied bag and pulled from it a primitive looking drill, but the right one for the sort of work he was planning. With his other hand he picked up one of the femurs and set it up on it's end before sprinkling sand at it's top, and placing the drill on top of it, letting go of the bone only when he was sure he was pressing down hard enough to keep the femur upright. The angle was awkward making his hold tenuous and taking a step up, he climbed on top of the chair to put him a higher than the bone and drill making it easier for him to move the bow back and forth.

Cranking it up and down he sent the middle piece spinning, grinding the sand compacted against the bone and slowly but surely breaking up small bits of the center to tunnel slowly the length of the bone. Holding the tool in such a way strained his hands and forearms, drawing tense ligaments taut and after a bell or so of moving the bow back and forth had his hand smarting a dull ache. Gritting his teeth he managed the pain as well as he could continuing to work the tool back and forth, the drill having made a hole a few inches deep so far, and gradually continuing it's progress. It was a tedious bit of work but one that was necessary and required when working with bone, but he wished there was a simpler way to go about it that didn't keep his hands so rigged. He could carve all day but drilling was another matter entirely and far more taxing on his hands.

Setting the drill aside after three more bells of work, he examined the femur, satisfied that he'd at least dug half way through the bone's length, though the other side was still waiting to be carved and on top of that he had another bone to repeat the process with. Exhaling a long slow breath, he stepped down from the chair and stretched out his limbs to their length, splaying his fingers in such a way to loosen up the tense knots he felt there. He could feel the relief wash over him at the freedom of his hands, the rigid nature that had possessed them now softening up to not ache so much. With a flourish he drew his longsword, bringing it to bear in front of him, and swiped it through a few passes before slowly closing his eyes. In his mind he envisioned the blade, the image slowly twisting about as he examined every angle of it, marking the nicks in the appropriate places and the worn leather bound handle. Now days it was how he relaxed best, especially when he was working on a project. It helped him think clearer and better find his balance, maximizing his potential, or so he liked to think. He could imagine now an new notch added to his blade, added by an overeager lunge that caused him to misstep and bounce of the edge of his nonexistent opponents' shield in a way that bounced his sword wide and left him vulnerable. Darian growled away the imagery, replacing it with the brutal scene of the defenders throat torn open by a backhand swipe of his wicked hilted dagger.

The scenario brought a small smile to his lips, but it was one that quickly vanished as soon as he opened his eyes. Taking a step forward, he slashed viciously from side to side, balking his unseen opponent with the wide overbearing swipe. Twisting with the swipe, he turned swiftly with the momentum and brought the sword slicing down low picking off a jab from his assailant, and throwing the imaginary man's arm out wide to the left. Through the breach he charged forward, his shoulder slamming into the wooden paneling as he met nothing but air, still accounting it as a victory as his invisible sparring partner found itself pinned against the wall, and unable to bring it's blade to bear in any manner that could harm Darian. Gritting his teeth and smiling all the while, Darian darted the tip of his longsword down to impale the man's toe to the rough hewn wooden floor beneath and letting go of the hilt of the sword and twisting his wrist as he did so, he broke the shadow opponents grip in one movement and punched out with his fist balled up, landing a heavy blow that knocked the man senseless and caused him to drop his sword.

Darian cackled in satisfaction at that, his hand already grasping the hilt of his hidden dagger, and pulling it free he jabbed forward at the solider, but found his impromptu thrust halted by the man's fierce grip, and suddenly he was toppling over backwards when the man brought a knee up to sink into his midsection. Nearly out of breath, Darian stumbled backwards down to one knee, and brought his dagger up just in time to block a overhand strike from the man, the blade of the sword crashing noisily against the wide blade of his dagger, and sliding off as it struck. Taking a few steps to the side in the wake of the strike, he stumbled to his knees and immediately punched out when he got the footing, the wide blade slicing across the top of the man's exposed forearm, opening it up wide and causing him to drop the sword. On instinct Darian flung himself at the man, bringing the man to the ground under his body weight. Thick fingers scrabbled at his own, trying to claw away the dagger from his own tight grip, but by sheer will power he managed to keep a hold on the weapon, bringing it closer to him as he straddled the man with his legs.

The man tossed to either side, trying to stop the progress of that cruel weapon, but bloodlust fueled him then, and Darian was not to be stopped by this man's hardy efforts. Bringing it slowly down, he gradually overpowered the man, until at last he was close enough that the tip of the blade was touching the man's tunic, and with a final surge of strength he bore the blade down, breaking the man's grip on his hands as he plunged it deep through the man's heart and out his back to sink half way into the wooden floor boards. The image disappeared with that final movement and once more Darian was alone, covered in a thin sheet of sweat and left staring at his dagger buried in the wood. A victory as bitter and hollow as the rest of them had been.

[Darian]

With practiced ease he was at work on the second bone, the first now having a hole drilled clean through its length, and resting where he set it down to in turn give his attention to the other. Moving the bow up and down seemed slightly easier at this point, the repetitive motion coming quicker and easier to his hands that it had before, though it still ached his fingers all the same. Grinding through the bone was terribly slow process, especially since he didn't want it to splinter into fragments, the first one taking practically half of the day to complete without his little break included. By now he was sure the sun had dipped well below the horizon and the moon was well into its zenith. To think this backbreaking work was just prep might have dissuaded a younger Darian, but over the years he had developed a sort of discipline and he was not so easily swayed by time, or effort anymore. No,he knew there could very well be rewards to seize, and he very much so intended to see this to its completion regardless of what might be a product from his diligent work.

Sighting down the length of the drill he noticed he had drilled half way deep into the length of the bone, and with a hand holding the femur upright, he slowly removed the drill from within it sighing with relief when he extricated it and set both implements down. Both hands now cringed with every slight movement but he stretched through the pain, cracking his knuckles and loosening the bundled tendons as he pulled at each finger and bent them against the table. Such work was hard on ones hands but no less rewarding but he was careful always to stretch them out in their proper turn lest he risk them locking up on him and echoing searing pains. In a flash of steel, he drew his dagger and held it in front of him, looking at his slight reflection in the cool steel of the blade. To keep himself limber, and ever increasingly deadly he sparred, and did it often as he could for it was also somewhat relaxing and kept his body in fine shape.

Extricating himself from the wooden chair, he stepped into the middle of his small room and sent his dagger through a few passes, darting it from side to side and in for the occasional thrust. His blade work with the smaller weapon was gradually improving but still was less than satisfactory and rendered him barely useful in combat compared to when he had a longsword in his hands. He sought to change all that though of late he hadn't gotten as much time to devote to it as he would have liked, but now he had a filling he'd have plenty of time in the coming days with Callik giving him leave for now, leaving words of him needing to prepare himself for when the Night eyes come a calling. Darian took the words to heart, and would have even without the warning but something about the impending sense of being rendered helpless again struck a fire within him that made his training all the more intense. Yes, when they arrived to collect him again he would be prepared and maybe he'd be allowed skirt being manhandled again.

Brashly he lunged forward, taking the dagger in his offhand and bringing it down hard as if it was the fang of some monstrosity. Punching out with his empty hand he twisted around and back hand slashed with his dagger, the razor edge of the blade slapping against the wood of the side wall as it gouged across it's length and left the solid surface once more to glide freely through the air. He spun for a few more moments then, slicing up and high, alternating between the simple strikes before he finally reversed his grip on the blade and thrust forward, a maneuver he was not unfamiliar with when he used his longsword. To the floor the dagger clattered, his sweat slick hand losing their grip at last, and breathing heavily Darian leaned against the wall for a moment while puzzling what to do next.

[Darian]

The bone's rested side by side now, filled snugly now with the two treated sticks, though the surface of them remained pristine. Yellow gleamed off the pale items, the candle's wax nearly all melted away after the hours had taken their dues, and left it a pitiful thing. It entranced Darian's eyes only briefly, drawing a smile that he didn't feel, and picked up the first femur, he set it firmly in front of him before placing his chisel gently on it's length. Using only his hand, he applied pressure to the back of the tool slowly until it's edge was grating on the surface of the bone, shaving out a line on it's once pristine surface. He twisted his wrist and brought the edge spiraling around slowly tracing the outline of the image in his head. Darian had decided to try out some new designs and manners of performing malediction in hope him might expand his skills to apply to some of the things his master was quite skilled at, human bones in particular.

The image of a zith wing slowly revealed itself and soon the rest of it followed the image scarcely doing the fierce beings justice, but recognizable all the same. To the side of the otherworldly creature he drew a wolf jaws lunging in for the kill, it's teeth too close for the monstrosity to possibly dodge, and once he was finished with that he circled the figure with a fine line. On the other femur he repeated the same process, only this time he carved the creatures in such a way that it was clear that they were blind, and after circling that one, he neatly sliced open the tips of his index fingers and pressing on both of the circles simultaneously. For the briefest of moments, he thought he could actually feel the power his blood was feeding into the malediction circles and could somehow manipulate it as he gave his blood, but that he knew to be utter ridiculousness.

The room remained quiet, seemingly unaware of what had transpired, and as if in response to his closing ceremony, the candle light beside him winked out of existence as at last the flame had run to the end of it's wick.