Timestamp: Spring 10, 513AV |
The sky was bright and the winds cool against the warmth of the sun, holding the telltale signs of the last fingers of winter fading into the full blossom of Spring. Sitting on the edge of a riverbed, a young hermit rested with a body heavy from a day’s labor. His mind was still active, and when the body could do no more it was left free to wander. This day held a familiarity about it; the breeze held the same feel it had long ago in a spot not far down this river. It had been the first time he believed he was ready to move to the next level of the Natural Fist, the first time he had bent his own rules. That had been years ago now, and even then it had been a lesson.
Lifting a hand to feel a slight ridge upon the left side of his crown under locks of hair, he remembered how much blood there had been from a simple knock to the head. He had felt so bold, in the season prior, the Winter of 509AV, he had slain his first beast with his bare hands. The snap of fangs and adrenaline had ingrained that victory well at the time.
It was a young Balicani, a creature as beautiful as it was dangerous. It was only five foot or so in size, but for Quinn it was more than a challenge. It was at night, the beast could fly, and Quinn had no weapon more than a hunting knife which had been left at camp, which never rested near the river where animals came to drink. He had only been there for that same purpose himself when he interrupted this creature mid-kill. In the dark it had not looked so big, but big enough for a meal. Quinn remembered the rather insane idea which had popped into his head at that point. “Catch it before it flies and it will be defenseless.” It had seemed full proof enough to charge headlong into battle and leap upon the creature’s back with a grip onto the wings. All it had to do was shake Quinn off to flap its powerful wings to take flight.
It was too dark to see very far, but the wing beats and hissing sounds were always there. It took less than a chime till the beat hastened and the creature moves in. Panic had set in, but running would do no good. When he believed the vile Balicani to be close he dived to the side, before rolling to his feet and backing away. His mind had begun formulating strategies rapidly, but the new situation made that difficult. When he felt a tree pressing against his back he stopped. Listening again past the rapid beat of his heart, he waited. The flap of wings was still there, growing closer on the return from the miss. Then they began to speed up… Surely it would stop…
Quinn remembered how the panic had become so great then, a monster backing him into a corner. The obvious seemed almost oblivious… The man smiled as he looks down into the river.
Thud! The young Quinn had kicked his legs out and dropped down to sit on the ground. The creature’s head rammed into the tree, spearing horns into the thick wood and bark while its wings flapped and claws flailed for its release. It was a stroke of sheer luck that he managed to scramble out from under the beast before its claws could sink deep into his flesh. With panic turning to pride at the situation, Quinn had climbed onto the creature again and took hold of its wings. With all the strength he could muster, he rips the appendages from the creature’s scaly back and toppled with his bounty to the ground below. Wails had filled the forest and the beast thrashed more violently till its horns came free.
A wingless Balicani was still a dangerous Balicani, and still it was fast and the darkness of night was on the beast’s side. Back to listening to the sounds of shuffling feet and hisses, he found himself on still uneven grounds with a beast far angrier than he would like. This time Quinn made the first move, running towards the creature who hissed and dashes forward in retaliation. While Quinn attempted to tackle the creature, it returned with open maw and venom, which Quinn avoided by throwing himself sideways onto the ground with a twist to kick the beast’s lower jaw upwards.
With a chuckle, Quinn rose from his memories and turned his gaze to the rising sun. The first monster the Natural Fist was used on turned out to be a winged serpent beast. He remembered after the beast had recoiled from the kick he had focused several blows to the lower jaw, snapping it shut, or to the top of the head. Thirty chimes to a full bell later the beast was wobbling, a bloody mess from ripped wings and disorientated from the blows to the head. Physical exhaustion had already come and gone, Adrenaline reduced to fumes, all Quinn could do was find a large rock to finish the job, bashing the monster’s skull in till its horns nearly touched.
It was a victory he would savor for quite some time, and even though he never tasted the meat of the beast, he kept the bountiful flavor of victory in unfavorable odds to this day. Who could say they fought a monster in the dark of night and won? At the age of Fifteen no less…
He had come out of that fight with a few scratches and bruises and strained muscle in his calve… Still, as Quinn again felt the scar under the mass of wild brown hair he felt annoyed. That same week he had determined he was ready for the next level of his training, training with a weapon. His choice; an adult sized used quarterstaff, a balanced weapon for offense and defense he could have easily worked into his combat art… And like a child with a new toy he did not understand, a lesson was learned. Skill is not the only factor in progressing, but age as well. The over sized weapon took only one spin from a boy who thought they could wield it to bash him atop the head for a small gash. He soon after sold the quarterstaff for the same price he had bought it for to someone more size appropriate.
Oh how easy it is to spoil the sweetness of victory with the bitterness of defeat. As Quinn turns away from the river and walks back into the forest he sighed silently. A fight in the dark with monsters, and yet he makes a childish mistake like that. Wysar would be ashamed he had tried to skip ahead so early, that thought had been the first thing to enter the bloody skull of Quinn when the world stopped spinning. To this day Quinn wandered how long he had spent dedicated to his physical training to make right that hasty act. As he climbs his tree of choice for the night and places the hacked branches over himself on a makeshift bed, Quinn found humor in his own thoughts. Maybe he was still making up for that mistake. He was sleeping in a tree after all. |
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by Emblem on May 31st, 2013, 5:38 am 