Flashback First, learn to throw a punch(Daniel Connor)

[Irowyn]

Fall 4th, 498 AV

The days were growing colder and Irowyn was ill-prepared by his wardrobe. He welcomed the warmth on his skin upon opening the door to The Rearing Stallion. It seemed a dark place but it was quiet, too. More quiet than Irowyn would have expected from the types who were hanging around. Irowyn didn't mind the relative darkness, though. This is exactly what he wanted. He didn't want a cheery bar full of flowing meed and joyous songs. He wanted a dark hole, in which to wallow in the depths of his angst.

A full season had nearly passed and he was no closer to figuring out just what had happened in Sunberth. He visualized, over and over again, the events of that day on Summer 5th. He wondered if there was anything that he could have done differently. Was there another roof that he could have jumped onto? Was there a way to save Rolf and Esli from those priests? Was their a better way to have handled Vrlock? Or...the most dangerous question of all...should the three of them had simply stayed out of the entire situation? All of these caused Irowyn to ponder. They caused him to hate himself. And certainly, they caused him to drink tonight.

He sat down at the bar and put his head down. The two mizas that he had placed upon the bartop conveyed what he desired: a mug of beer. Other than this, he acknowledged no other person in the bar. He simply sat there and silently drank his beer down.

[Daniel Connor]

Daniel was on his third mug of beer, the taste of the ale dancing in his mouth. He looked in his coin purse, and grimaced at how little he had left. He stared into the fire, lost in his troubles, mercenaries are not as in demand as they used to be. Shaking off his thoughts, he quickly drained his mug. The door opened with a thump. He always sat in the corner, so he could see when people came in, and people who would wish harm to him would have to approach him head on. He glanced up at the newcomer and the first thing he noticed was the tattoos on his face, decorating his jaw and forehead. The man was underdressed for this time of year, but the warm hearth would soon fix that. The man was muscular, but lopsided. He was probably a swordsman. He had fought swordsman before. The man wore a frown on his face as he slapped 2 mizas on to the bartop, his head down. The bartender took it as a sign, and quickly snatched up the coins and quickly filled a mug full of Syliras Bitter, a house favorite. The bartender set it down next to him, ale sloshing over the sides of the mug. The man gripped it and brought it to his mouth. The beer was gone within seconds. Daniel smiled, we have all had those days. Now to cheer the man up. He walked over to the man and gestured to the barkeep, who slapped down to more mugs of ale. The man looked up and grinned in thanks. Before he could grab his beer, Daniel picked up both mugs and chugged them, throwing 4 silver at the barkeep, who smiled, shaking his head. He set both glasses down on the bar. He pulled up his sleeves, readying himself. He brought back his fist, and punched the man square in the jaw, lighter than normal, he didn’t want to break anything. Yet. But the punch would have been painful, like hot iron striking flesh. Ah, his job was fun, unemployment that is. He got to meet nice people, and have the time to connect with them. Or beat them senseless. The man was dazed for a moment, not expecting the punch, and was looking up at him. He seemed to realize that Daniel was a thread of sorts. Daniel wondered with glee what the man’s response would be.

th.

[Irowyn]

Irowyn was more shocked than anything else but he also realized, immediately, that this guy knew how to throw a punch. Due to his various travels, he was no stranger to pain. Irowyn could certainly prioritize his pain to the back of his mind as to not disrupt his functioning. His big weakness was that he had no idea how to dole out any pain. He resisted the urge to rub his jaw and to provide any kind of distraction from the pain. Whatever this man wanted, there was no wisdom in showing any real reaction to the pain.

When the man hit him, he stood up and looked over. "Is this some kind of joke or are you trying to bait me into anger? Are you just drunk out of your senses or do you have some seedier plot in mind?" Irowyn asked, as gruffly as he could.

"I don't care if you're looking for a buddy with whom to trade a few good blows or if you're looking for a serious scrap, but either way I'm not entertaining strangers tonight."

With that, Irowyn put more money up on the bar and turned his back to the man. He took his seat and turned his attention back to his approaching beer. "Tonight, I drink alone."

Despite the strong sense of pain, he was actually somewhat grateful for the punch. He was grateful for the sensation, any sensation. The sudden activity was a distraction from his racing thoughts. Left to the silence, Irowyn was stuck in the cycle of contemplating his actions. Even with the alcohol, his mind could do nothing but return to the streets of Sunberth.

Irowyn had had over 90 days to continuously torture himself over the decisions that he had made. Tonight, here at the tavern, things were beginning to shape up differently. Part of Irowyn was relieved by the presence of this seemingly violent stranger.

[Daniel Connor]

The man was strong, strong enough to be able to handle the pain of a shot to the jaw. The man gave no reaction save a slight wince, not as satisfying as other encounters, to be sure. The man got up and looked over Daniel, as if he was sizing him up. A swordsman without a sword is like a wolf without teeth, he would be causing no trouble for him. If blows did come his way he could easily deal with them. If somehow he got overwhelmed, Flux magic could take care of that. The problem with Flux is it can put strain on muscles that can damage or tear them, so it had to be used in only times of need. But the man did nothing to retaliate, only saying in a gruff voice, “Is this some kind of joke, or are you trying to bait me into anger? Are you just drunk out of your senses or do you have some seedier plot in mind? I don't care if you're looking for a buddy with whom to trade a few good blows or if you're looking for a serious scrap, but either way I'm not entertaining strangers tonight." With that note, the man turned back to the bar, taking more coins out of his purse, setting them on the bar top. He sat back down and returned his focus to his beer. “Tonight, I drink alone.” Daniel respected the man. Not stupid, or mad, he had handled the situation perfectly. Not in the manner he was used to, but it was a good way to do things. He knew his cheering up was working, the pain a distraction from the pain of his thoughts. This man was deep in despair, wallowing in the past. He was just like him, except this man didn’t look like he knew how to handle himself in a brawl, or any hand to hand fight. This was something he would change, he would turn this man into a force to be reckoned with. “You should not wallow in your past for too long, done is done, you can’t change anything, though you may wish to. Come, I will teach you the art of fist-fighting, a skill I think to be well above any other form of combat.” He said to the man with vibrato, voice thundering. “I too have a bad pass, I daresay even worse than yours, I was tormented until the point of breaking, and break I did. I was reformed in fire made from hate and pain, I was forced to be like this, because otherwise, I would not have survived. I wish to make sure that doesn’t happen to you. I will give you the tools now, rather than you getting them to late. Let me teach you. And yes, I may be a bit drunk.” He waited for the man to turn around, hoping that he did because it would mean the man’s life would change for the better, he hoped.

[Irowyn]

All that he had wanted was to sit here at this bar and drown away his regrets. It had been so long since he had enjoyed the sweet taste of alcohol. Here was his chance to sit, in silence and paralyze his mind. But that chance was being ruined by a hard headed stranger. He immediately understood what was going on. This man was bored and it was becoming Irowyn's problem. He didn't want a fight, he wanted a pet and Irowyn was nearby.

Part of Irowyn yearned for this man to win this battle of wills. It was a strange sentiment that Irowyn was experiencing. He felt a confusing mixture of anger, because he wanted to carry out his depressing plans, sadness, because he recognized his pathetic situation and envied the man's light-heartedness and regret, that he was being such a petcher to this stranger who was trying to lend a helping hand. He secretly, unknown even to himself, hoped that this man didn't give up on Irowyn's stubbornness. In a complex, unknowable, emotional kind of way, Irowyn would have been more content with rage and violence than with this man simply leaving him to waste himself at the bar.

But, in this moment, Irowyn's subtle, wiser, deeper thoughts lost out to the superficial, short sighted misery in his heart. His actions didn't reflect his true, philosophical turmoil. They reflected his false, foolish desire to wallow. He dismissively shook his head in a disrespectful nod.

"I said, I drink alone, stranger."

[Daniel Connor]

”I said, I drink alone, stranger.” That was it, the last straw. The stranger wasn’t taking his offer, an offence that would be paid, one way or another. He tossed a fleck of ice into the man’s drink. The drink froze solid, shattering the glass. He made a sign with his left hand, and channeled energy through Flux into his upper body. He picked the man up from behind, and threw him onto a table a ways away. As his hit, the table broke, sending splinters everywhere and glasses falling where they cracked on the floor. A bit of Daniel wanted to break things in the man, a lot. But he didn’t have much of a quarrel with this gentleman, though he was being a big pain to be around, with his depression and his non instigation. The man reacted as if he had not heard him, and that was annoying. And thus, the bar would be buying another table soon. It was as if this man was trying to give him nothing to work with. Daniel watched as the man groaned and tried to get up.

OOCGive me something to work with!

[Irowyn]

Irowyn had never come across such force before. That toss wasn't natural. He couldn't figure it out but a man at that size shouldn't have been able to hurl him, so spectacularly, through the air. It didn't matter, though. This was Irowyn's poorly conceived, silly little plan.

His head was absolutely swimming in the pain and he had a dirty scrape across his right palm. "Good." He grimly thought to himself. "A cut for Rolf. Now I just need one for Esli." In his unclear, hazy mind he felt that he had deserved the pain, that he deserved all the pain he could come across. Blinding as the pain from his headache, and his backache and his bleeding hand was, he took grim satisfaction in the concept that he was being punished.

And that was all that was left. Punishment. Punishment and anger. Daniel had completely distracted him from the soul-crushing depression of being alone in Mizahar. He knew that it was slightly pathetic that it took this much effort. Pathetic that he couldn't simply act like a human being to this person who was trying to help him. But that was a different problem, for a different day. There were too many things in the queue of things he didn't like about himself.

The decisions that he had made earlier tonight didn't matter. This is where he was now. Soaked in ale, between a broken table and lying in excruciating pain. He grimaced in pain and attempted to stand. His first attempt was met with failure as the backache came on, in a standing position, far more than he had expected. It was enough to bring him down in a silly stumble which had elicited a few gruff chuckles from around the bar.

He struggled but got back to his feet with the help of the bartender, Kevith. Actually, it was less with his "help" and more as if he had been hurled into the air and forced to land on his feet or collapse onto his knees again. Irowyn wasn't bleeding to death. He wasn't collapsed or in any grave danger. He was just another drunkard finding himself in a brawl that he couldn't handle. Kevith recognized that Irowyn's only real threat would be the pounding in his face (and probably his jaw) tomorrow.

"Hey," Kevith warned. "I got paying customers who don't care about you're little squabble, ya hear? Break it up or take it somewhere else." After the brief warning, Kevith returned to his post behind the bar.

The pain would have been just too much to actually allow a smile on his face. Still, there wasn't a great deal of malice in the poorly constructed punch with which Irowyn came at Daniel. It was more of a really painful athletic event to him. Again, Irowyn harbored no real anger toward Daniel. He wondered, if he had burned this bridge and whether or not Daniel would be able to see this fight in the same, non-adversarial light. But either way, Irowyn didn't really wish Daniel any harm. He was just looking for a good ass kicking...for Esli, apparently...

[Daniel Connor]

Daniel watched the man’s eyes roll as he tried to get up. His clothes were soaked in beer. His hand was dripping blood, a wound due to the shards of glass now littering the floor, casting reflections around the room. He thought that he saw a slight smile on the man’s face. But that was impossible, no one could take joy in this much pain. He shook his head, clearing his mind, and walked towards the man, careful not to get any glass or beer on his boots. Daniel’s eyes turned orange, angry at the man’s lack of a response to his beating. Or maybe in the man’s mind it wasn’t considered a beating yet. The man attempted to stand, grimacing in pain as he did so. He clutched his back and fell back to the floor next to the broken table. He was nearing the man now, only a few feet away. The man managed to stumble to his feet, giving the various members of the bar some entertainment, chuckles emanated from around the room. When the man finally regained stable footing, he through a punch at Daniel. The punch was terrible. The man’s stace was wrong, his fist was not in the right position, his elbow was cocked in a weird way, and there seemed to be not that much force behind the blow. He caught the fist easily and twisted the man’s arm, forcing him to the ground. He bent the man’s arm behind his back and gave him a good punch in the gut, most likely knocking the wind out of him. The man gasped as Daniel’s fist sunk into his gut, winding him. Then he realised. The man just wanted to get beat up, welcoming his fists. Probably trying to get over his past, maybe trying to make amends for his life whereas others got only death. Well, he could work with that. He cocked his fist and slammed it into the man’s kidney, a move that would cause a lot of pain, for a short time, but no lasting effects. It was a move for stunning an opponent in pain. For good measure, he picked up a bottle and shattered it against the man’s chest, just hard enough to bruise his rib cage. He hoped this was what the man wanted. Then the downsides of Flux kicked in. His right hand became sore as if it had been used for days, his upper body aching all over. Daniel cracked his knuckles and back. He looked down at the man and said, “That was a pitiful punch, my teacher would roll in his grave. I would offer you training, but you might not be able to respond now. Give it a minute, and let’s have your answer.” He looked at the bartender sheepishly and tossed him a gold miza, payment for the table. Always the gentleman. The bar tender growled and forced them out onto the street. The walked. He waited for the man to respond.

[Irowyn]

Upon being kicked out, Irowyn stumbled, more than exited the Stallion. He coughed painfully and his breath came only with great, painful effort. The cold air of Syliras in the fall didn't help his difficult breathing. After losing his footing, he struggled to rise even to a kneeling position. With all of this difficulty, he had no time to fret about the past. There was only pain. Frankly, Irowyn was questioning how he was still conscious.

For all that he had seen, across Mizahar, he had never come across Flux magic. He didn't understand how it worked and he certainly hadn't realized how much it could hurt. It took a good long time. It was about six minutes before Irowyn was ready to stand, before he was really ready to stand and bear his weight, anyway.

"I accept your offer," he finally spurted through pained breaths. "And I realize your charity in teaching me about fighting. Thank you for showing me what a real punch from a brawler feels like. Again, Irowyn was pretty much incapable of smiling but the sharp comment was meant as a friendlier quip to move on from the blows.


"I'm Irowyn Jaines." He fought against his aches and wounds, trying to stand tall and introduce himself. "I was an explorer, once. Now? I suppose I'm a bit of a vagabond, now."

Irowyn was in better spirits now. He wasn't loud and jovial but he felt like there a weight had been lifted from his back. Finally, there was something else to think about. More than anything, he was a bit embarrassed and apologetic. He wasn't embarrassed that he had gotten beaten up. No he wasn't any good at brawling, there was no shame in that. He hadn't failed at one of his skills. No, he was embarrassed that he forced a stranger to raise his hand in anger. A beer, Irowyn surmised, was the least he could do for the guy who was nice enough to come in here and kick his arse while Irowyn just pretended that he only wanted to be left alone.

"It would appear that I owe you a beer sometime, then, eh?"

[Daniel Connor]

The man coughed painfully, his breath coming out in wheezing gasps. He rose shakily to a kneeling position. He looked to be in a fair bit of pain. The man just stayed there for a few minutes. Talking slowly resumed in the pub, the usual chatter going back to full, bar maids continued to serve drinks. Around 5 minutes later, the man stood, breathing ragged. He finally had the strength to say a few words. “I accept your offer,” he said with pained breathing, “And I realize you charity in teaching me about fighting. Thank you for showing me what a real punch feels like.” The man seemed past blows now, and wanted the night to turn into a more friendly occasion. The man introduced himself as Irowyn Jaines, fighting his wounds as he did so, trying to stand tall, “I was an explore, once. Now? I suppose I’m a bit of a vagabond, now.” He offered his hand for Daniel to take, and they shook hands. The man took 4 silver mizas out of his coin purse and gestured to the bartender. He set the drinks down next to the two men, wondering why he always got the shifts where there was a fight. The man looked to be in better shape now, happier for certain. Maybe having something else on his mind was helping. Irowyn looked to be a bit embarrassed, the usually symptom of getting beaten. The beer definitely helped their relationship, Daniel loved beer. Every time he went back to his small house, drunk, he would long for the taste of beer until the following night. It was his reward for making it through the day. "A beer for my welcome company and, shyke, for the love of Nikali someone run and grab me a beer too!” Irowyn said with vigor.” Ah, southern people and their strange gods. Morwen was the only god Daniel believed in. “Your beer is very welcome!” Daniel said, laughing heartily, “Back to business. I can train you to handle yourself in a fight, when swords aren't available of course. Your punch was pitiful at best. Have you ever been in a real fist fight?” He asked, wondering how much experience the man had. If he had been in a fight to the death, and won, then they might have somewhere to start, If not, then the basics it was.