[Kabrin Road] Dancing with Death (TRAINING)

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Stretching northward along the coastline of the Suvan Sea, the Cobalt Mountains are the home of the Bronze Wood, numerous ruins, and creatures both strange and fantastical.

[Kabrin Road] Dancing with Death (TRAINING)

Postby Weyliss on May 23rd, 2010, 9:06 pm

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Secret :
74th of Spring 510 AV, following the events of Both Sides of the Coin. This is meant to be a Swordsmanship thread.



Weyliss found himself walking down the familiar twists and turns of the famous Kabrin road. Known primarily as a conduit from Syliras to the northern reaches, it was the main method of travel through the bronze woods. It was also the young warrior's primary mode of navigation as he tried to get back to the white city before the sun started its descent from the sky.

Looking back, the mercenary found himself eyeing his companion. The older man sat atop Weyliss' horse, and simply looked about him with an air of irritation. He was clearly unhappy about his situation, and his inability to change it. Weyliss had caught the man outside of an ancient cave. His companion had left them several hours ago, and Weyliss found himself alone on the trail, with a criminal his only company. Stretching his arms, the warrior looked about, noting the green of the trees, the blue of the sky. The sunlight struck everything in the area, a soft glow touching each leaf, outlining the contours of every branch. He could smell the morning mist, and practically taste the dew adorning the grass nearby. Morning was here, and strove to wash away the nights events. It was a peaceful time, one that was ruined by his companions exasperated sigh.

"You are taking me back to Syliras arn't you?"


The man looked over the top of a pair of worn spectacles while running a hand over his bald head. He was a thin figure with pale skin, not as much a product of age, as profession. A book keeper, he hardly seemed fit for the outdoors.

"Yes."

Weyliss curtailed his answer, instead gripping the reigns, and pulling the horse forward. He didn't have to look back to feel the man's glare at the back of his head. The two continued in a stoic silence, hardly noting beautiful scene around them. The trail suddenly opened up, and seemed to skirt around a small clearing to their left. The travelers each looked about as the sound of water found them. Clicking his tongue, the mercenary guided the horse and his captive off from the trail. Aiming for the sound, Weyliss used his arm to push through some thick brush, and then, they where in an adjacent clearing. Trees formed at the end of a small stream. The stream started uphill, and slowly cascaded down the elevation into an even smaller pond. Pausing, Weyliss turned to help his captive down.

Neither said anything as the other man motioned for the mercenary to untie his bonds. Shaking his head, Weyliss moved to the stream, and cupped some of the water in his hand. Taking a slow sip, he found the water to be quite tart. Retrieving a small metal cup from his horse, he filled the container, and offered it to the prisoner. The man twitched, but leaned down and drank from the offering.

The two stood for a long moment, simply watching the tiny waterfall.
Then Weyliss was helping the book keeper onto his horse, and they where walking out of the clearing, and back to the road.

For a time, Weyliss let himself be content in the silence. The trail seemed to drag on. An endless contradiction to the falling sun, it seemed to go on forever. With night fast approaching, the warrior clicked his tongue, and led the trio to the side of the road. A small clearing, with a circle of stones was the testament to a travelers rest. Many people traversed the Kabrin road, and as time had gone by, various little 'rest stops' had been created from people camping at choice locations. In this case, at the base of a particularly large oak just off the road.

Helping his companion down one last time, Weyliss moved to lay out the blankets, and put a bucket of feed down for the horse. Several more minutes, and the beginnings of a fire where started. Looking over, the mercenary watched his prisoner roll to his side, and wiggle with his bonds a bit before passing into sleep. For his part, the warrior removed his armor. The leather cuirass, and greaves came off first, then the pauldrons and gloves. Setting the bits of leather beside his bedroll, Weyliss then lay his shield atop the pile. Dressed in a simple white tunic, with baggy pants and some steel-toed boots, the warrior looked into the fire while resting his longsword across his legs.

He was used to this. Being alone, staying up all night on watch. With each job, he worked toward one goal. To help others. Those who needed help rarely lived within the great cities, instead being the villagers and farmers operating in the nearby wilderness. They where a small number, and quite tough in their own right. Yet, every winter, he made numerable treks across the land, hoping to help out during hard times. While the region of Syliras was hardly the region for harsh winters, they could be quite difficult for those who where not prepared. Travel no longer phased him as it once had. Yet, as of late, Weyliss had been growing tired. Not physically, but... something else. If he believed in a soul, he would point to this as the cause for his fatigue. He felt... disconnected. As if he was some foreign species looking in on the people who made their living in Syliras. He could see lovers kiss, but couldn't fathom such a thing happening to him. He could watch a mother reach down at coddle her child, but hardly found it comforting. Things he had never experienced. Things he would probably never experience.

Shaking his head, the young man dispelled such dreary thoughts. They where pointless in that they contradicted with his job. You couldn't put other peoples lives before your own, and then expect yours to be fulfilling. Selflessness had to be rewarding in its own right, for it carried no inherent rewards.

The forest was rarely quiet. The sounds of insects, and animals going about their nightly routines. Yet, something clicked deep in the back of his conscious. It caused his hand to rest on the hilt of the longsword. His senses seemed to heighten. He realized just how quiet the forest had become, as if in anticipation. Then he noticed just how dark it had become, telling of just how long he had spaced out. The fire had dwindled, and now threatened to die at the slightest gust of wind. Then he heard it again. While he couldn't pinpoint it, or even guess at its true nature something was out there.

Raising himself to a crouched position. Weyliss moved to pull the longsword from its sheath. Then he felt, rather then saw something move at his side. Startled, Weyliss threw his sheath up to his side. A loud clang was followed by a shriek has metal met metal and glanced harmlessly to the side. Weyliss was barely on his feet before the next attack came. This was intended for his abdomen, but a quick twist saved the mercenary. However, it also threw him off balance, and the young man wildly flailed as he tried to catch himself. To his surprise, a third attack never came.

Stepping back, Weyliss found his opponent to be a man. He was quite short, maybe a few inches under the warrior's own five feet. The head looked foward, but at a cocked angle. The face was hard to make out, and the darkness seemed to completely black out the eyes, not even allowing Weyliss to see the whites. He was dressed in a simple robe or cloak, his outline obscured. His weapon of choice was a katana, currently hanging to the ground in front of him. He held the weapon in a two handed stance, and one leg rested in front of the other.

With irritation, the mercenary realized his attacker was mocking him. Instead of attacking, the other man was holding back.

Cursing, Weyliss raised his own sword up into a high-ready stance. The hilt parallel with his own forehead. Gritting his teeth, Weyliss shifted his hand and prepared to bring the sword down in a powerful diagonal sweep. He just barely saw the other man's movement.

Longsword met katana in a brilliant collision of sound. Both combatants stepped back.

Weyliss panted as he heaved the sword back above his head. He wasn't sure what had just happened. He was starting to sweat.

This time he caught it. The slightest movement of his nemesis' foot gave him away. Weyliss brought the sword down quickly letting gravity do the work for him. Again, sword met sword.

Growling deep in his chest, the mercenary tried again, instead initiating the attack on his own, going down, and the moving to bring the sword up in a sweeping motion. The feint was quickly dispelled by the assassin who simply stepped back, and tapped his sword along the edge of Weyliss' own.

The young man moved in desperation now, swinging wildly at his target. The assassin didn't move. He just... he just wasn't there. Weyliss fumbled wildly barely holding onto his own sword as he spun around. Turning, he found himself face to face with his enemy. It wasn't the darkness that blacked out the eyes, they had no whites. Two buckteeth shined in a brilliant smile. Something ripped into the mercenaries' side.

Weyliss gasped as the blade was pushed deeper into the side of his abdomen. The longsword slipped from his hands, a dull thud sounded. The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt before. He was truly going to die. Tears blurred the young man's vision. Someone let out a sob, and then he was falling. A fire filled him, and he knew, rather then felt that the sword had been forcibly removed.


He was lying in the grass now. A part of him could still hear the screams filling the clearing, yet another begged to die. His whole body shook with convulsions as he felt a warm liquid cover the grass near his stomach.

A single boot touched the ground near his face, and the last thing he could see, was a pair of black eyes looking down from atop two overly large incisors.
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Weyliss
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