Completed To Seek And To Strive (Kisetukai, Ethen)

[Ethen Calden]

Ethen was chestfalled by the bluntness of the temporary hero. Ethen then remembered that he hadn't check his backpack for a awhile. The Backpack was put over his greatsword. Ethen with nothing to lose open his pack and search it through until he found enough money to pay for the lesson. Ethen then reposed his position and watched the fight to end. With the conclusion of the fight, Kise got a winding body blows. Ethen could see that Kise would be out for a while.

"Ethen... It's your turn to fight that bastard... Razkar I'm taking a quick break!" Kise said and followed by "Ethen... "Get him good Ethen... I'll be ready to go in a bit." "Wow he must hate the Razkar person a lot or he might want me to make Razkar become tired" thought Ethen. "Want to train?" Razkar said blunt tone while weighting his axe and followed with "He pay twenty mizas. You? I take ten. But we not do shit until I see gold?" "Well that good I guess. I was willing to pay the full price but this is much better" thought Ethen.

The Myrian suddenly crossed his arms and something made him look up to someone in the stands. "The woman was must been coldness I felt, but how that possible? She was in the other side of the stands" Thought Ethen. Which was more surpising was the following soft tone that Razkar said "Come, pick up sword. You pay, I teach..." Which Ethen did just that. Ethen pick up the wooden broadsword and offered the ten mizas to Razkar. Which after Ethen moved back unbuckle his weapon harness and the contents and move it over to a safe place. Ethen then started stretching and weight the sword. "A little light but still it has the same length as his greatsword" Ethen thought. Getting into a stance. Ethen said I'm ready when you are, swordmaster!"

[Isolde Seibold]

The teacher exploded, and all eyes, all eyes, fell on him.

Every person in the Pit stilled to watch his wild, glowing, volcanic outburst. Men stopped dead in their training to turn and behold the glory of such a powerful rage. Their expressions were hidden; they looked out of wary, bored eyes. The teacher --but Isolde was suddenly having a very hard time reconciling that man with the title-- paced and swore in some throaty, harsh language that fell roughly through the air in the sudden quiet of the Pit. His next words, shouted out in butchered Common, still came through clear as a bell as the others watched, "You not get gold back! You pay, I teach! You not stay for teach, not my petching problem!"

The was a rustle, as if of the leaves on a tree. For a tick longer, no one did anything. The teacher cast a murderous glower at the blonde-haired boy, and for one moment Isolde was afraid that he was going to attack, a rabid dog, and tear the boy to shreds. And then the moment passed. The temporary spell had been broken. The others all went back to what they had been doing. The noise in the Fighter's Pit quickly regained its usual volume and tenor. In a mere couple of ticks, the teacher's temper seemed to have been forgotten. It was almost as if his eruption had never happened.

Isolde remained bewitched. Her eyes fell on the pair below. Dread made it so that she could not breathe. That was okay. Breathing meant moving, and she could not do that either. She could only watch. If she had thought the gods would listen --though why would they start now?-- she might implore them to let the boy go before he, too, was hurt. Because this was not teacher and student. No, from the look the man was giving the boy, this was teacher and newest victim.

Newest paying victim.

The Nuit was completely bewildered. Even after all that, the boy was rummaging in his backpack, handing a fistful of gold --innocent and sparkling in the bright light-- to the teacher, and waiting as the teacher prepared the next lesson. The big man hauled himself into the stands --a motion that made Isolde's entire body swivel to follow his progress, as if she had become hopelessly tethered to his every movement-- and retrieved... weapons. Wooden training weapons. The Nuit would have gone pale if she had had the ability. That boy... he was paying, and paying pretty good money it looked like, to be beaten by a stick. Or, it seemed, two sticks. Some sort of sword and ax. The Nuit doubted that the boy's own wooden sword --a great behemoth of a weapon, but still-- could stand up against the teacher, and especially not when the man was looking so cruel and dangerous. There was something like despair in the set of Isolde's mouth. Her chin set to quivering along with her hands. No, she couldn't watch this. She couldn't. She needed to leave.

And then the teacher looked up at her, only a glance, and that was it. She had done something to attract his attention again, to offend him, and now he was going to--
The Nuit's brow knit. She frowned. Wait, what--?
The teacher had already looked away, but-- but wait just a tick.
He had not looked angry. It had been his eyes. A-- a softening, which looked so out of place, sitting there on his features surrounded by piercings and scars and tattoos. She had almost not recognized what it was. But yes, it had been there, hadn't it? And she hadn't even felt... well, threatened by the look.

Confused, the Nuit stared down as the two got into their fighting positions, testing their new weapons, taking a couple practice swings. All the while she was telling herself to get up and leave --having caught not only the teacher's glance up at her, but both of the others' as well. She was thinking that that was too much attention for one Nuit to handle, and especially in a place such as this. It was time to go, before she had to witness someone really getting hurt. But she was locked in place. Her eyes were worriedly watching the blonde-haired boy, and she was hoping, hoping that she had read the teacher's expression correctly, and that he was feeling a little less bloodthirsty and a little more merciful.

[Razkar]

There was that derisive snort again, but Ethen was sure that was a smile twisting on the Myrian's lips.

"'Swordmaster'." He muttered back to him. "I like that. Ready?"

Whether or not he was, Razkar moved anyway. Not as fast as he had with Kisetukai, partly out of defference to the boy's age, and partly because hw wanted to feel him out. He hacked to boy's left with his wooden ax-

-and the boy jerked the broadsword sideways to block it-

-Razkar sliding to Ethen's right before the weapons had even fully connected with each other, snapping his ax back to him and slashing it upwards, straight in front of him, aiming for Ethen's chest-

-but while the boy was far from polished, his reflexes were good, and the broadsword swept down in a half-circle to knock his ax away-

-but the Myrian left him no time for retaliation, sidestepping away and out of range, circling... thinking...

"Good weapon," he said judiciously, all trace of his former anger and frustration replaced by neutral appraisal. He was, after all, working; ten fresh mizas in his pocket and a new student to teach. "Good reach. Weight give power..."

Then he cocked his head to one side, noting again how over-sized the weapon seemed compared to the boy. How unwieldy it could be.

"But need to be smoother-"

He came on fast, feet sliding over the sand first to Ethen's left, then his right, ax hammering diagonally down. He knew the boy would react fast, wooden broadsword held in two hands to-

Two hands. Mistake.

-as their two weapons slammed together, Razkar kept coming and jabbed his left fist into the boy's side. Ethen yelped and swung for the Myrian-

-only for Razkar to duck under the horizontal left-to-right blow, left hand straightened and snapping out to chop the broadsword away from him-

-as his ax hammered into the side of Ethen's kneecap. Not hard, but hard enough to send him staggering back, swinging one last time.

But the Myrian had danced back again, out of range, face grim...

"Need more speed. Must use two hand with weapon so big, that mean cannot hit or block with other hand-" he held up his own left fist "-like I can. Sword that big? Not meant for defense. Not really. Meant for chop and slash and hammering. So... not get caught on defense. In battle, would have taken petching leg off..."

Razkar took a breath and flexed his toes in the now-familiar sand. He cracked his neck side to side and bought up his ax and free hand, nodding curtly.

"So... attack."

OOCEthen, some constructive criticism, if I may? First of all, you might want to consider diferentiating between thoughts and spoken words. Right now you do both with quotation marks, and it gets confusing. Perhaps making your thoughts Italics, like I do? Or a different color? Also, you sometimes miss the beginning quotation marks and punctuation of your sentences, like your last one. In fact, a lot of your sentence structure could use some work, it's a little hard to follow sometimes.

Hope you take this well, and can't wait for your reply!

[Ethen Calden]

Ethen was staggering after the bout but the pain told him that he was learning. Ethen drank in the words of the weather beaten warrior as if he was an thirsty man in a desert.

"Need more speed. Must use two hand with weapon so big, that mean cannot hit or block with other hand-" as Razkar held up his own left fist "-like I can. Sword that big? Not meant for defense. Not really. Meant for chop and slash and hammering. So... not get caught on defense. In battle, would have taken petching leg off..."
"So... attack."

Ethen did what he was told and start swinging his sword into a figure eight by passing his sword from the top right and swing to his bottom left followed with a swing with point going behind end up on the top left then swinging downwards to the Ethen's bottom right followed again by a swing upwards to his top right. Ethen soon gained momentum, speed and soon walk towards Razkar. If Ethen was stopped, he move up to Razkar and would drive his sword's pommel into the point where Razkar's neck and head meets. Followed by tight vertical swings at Razkar's chest.

"I have a lot of tricks up my sleeve Razkar. I'm not even near to finish" thought Ethen with a smile.

[Razkar]

The boy came on hard, and Razkar cocked his head to one side when he saw the sweeping, wide-set movements of his sword. With a short blade it looked somewhat silly, but with a five-foot blade... it was impressive, hard to track-

-and getting just the deadly momentum he had advised.

Then the Myrian saw the smile that pulled up one side of the boy's face, confidence flaring in his eyes. The Myrian smiled back.

Good. No fun if the student's a total moron.

Razkar soon got the pattern of the figure-eight movement, waiting until it was up and to Ethen's left before jerking his hand ax upwards, blocking it high and stopping it from coming down, ready to hammer his boot into-

-but the boy didn't freeze, or panic, and neither did his weapon-

-squire using the place where their wooden weapons smashed together as a pivot, jerking the long, thick pommel of the greatsword towards Razkar's neck-

-the Myrian ducking out of instinct, realizing the secret behind that smile-

-too slow.

Razkar growled as the pommel thunked against the side of his head, just above his temple. Hardly a damaging him, but certainly embarrassing. Baring his teeth in anger, his head snapped to the side, right foot already swinging out more out of instinct that training-

-taking Ethen in the middle of the leg, at the side of his kneecap, hammering it in a direction it was not meant to go.

The spots and black stars faded quickly from Razkar's vision, and he saw the squire yelp in pain and stagger for a moment, bruised knee buying the savage just enough time-

-to lunge forwards, hand ax swinging vertically down-

-only for Ethen to jerk upwards, horizontal, stopping the ax before it could smack into his shoulder-

-Razkar's foot lashing out again, this time aiming for between the boy's legs-

-but the boy was fast, and quick, reflexes of youth shaming the Myrian as he sidestepped away to his right, away from that foot-

-but not expecting it when Razkar used the hook of his hand ax to pull his broadsword down at to the side, to his right, opening up his chest, bringing his arm in front of Ethen-

-bursting forward a step and bending his arm with a snap of movement-

-slamming the elbow into the boy's jaw.

Now it was Ethen's turn to go back with stars in his eyes, but Razkar didn't press onward. Not for now. He shook his head and snarled again, softly, venomously, skull already throbbing.

"Not bad," Razkar said judiciously, nodding in an approval that the human was not expecting. But the Myrian had no problem giving credit where it was due... even if it was to a barbarian. "Move quick and use whole weapon, not just blade. Very good. Remembered to move feet too-" he said with a quick smirk "-get out way of foot. But remember that this-" he tapped the curved blade of the ax in his hand "-can be used to pull, if get behind blade."

He used the ax to point at Ethen's legs, specifically at his knees, then at his elbows... behind his neck and his ankles.

"Could pull on your body, too. Pull off balance. Cut line of muscle behind legs at feet. Elbow. Pull hard enough..." The Myrian dropped low and demonstrated, thrusting his ax straight forwards at knee height with the blade horizontal-

-then twisting it vertical and snapping the weapon back towards him, severing or impaling the kneecap of some poor enemy. "... and could take their leg."

Razkar took a calm, patient breath. He was finding a beat now. Working, training with his bare hands was one thing; an essential thing, in fact, as he could not always depend on his blades. But having his hands filled with an ax or gladius, even practice ones, to use them to face an opponent, pit skill against skill...

All that was missing was the promise of blood. His on his enemy's... it hardly mattered. That was the great, secret victory of Myri, he had learned long ago.

She was the Goddess of War. Even those that fought against her gave her strength, and even the blood of her children sustained her...

"Come." He said finally, thoughts bleeding through into his words, imbuing them with a chilling, impatient purpose. "Attack!"

He felt the beat, and it was not his heart. It was the pulse, the rhythm that changed from chime to chime and spoke of battles won and lost but always and forever, fought.

Come forth and let us worship...

[Ethen Calden]

Ethen felt the sharp pain on many places on his body that he received from Razkar's attacks but he used a sudden bout of laughter to drown out the pain. Ethen quickly regain into a attack position and with a quick step forward. Ethen swung his sword downwards aiming to Razkar's temple. Ethen then stepped right holding his sword at a guard position. Followed left step with a forward stab from Ethen's sword aiming at Razkar's sternum. In case Ethen failed. Ethen step forwards once more quickly and kicked hard upwards aiming at Razkar's groin.

OOC :

Sorry once again for the long wait

[Razkar]

The Myrian grinned at the bark of laughter from the human as Ethen swept forwards, sword already swinging for hi is head. Razkar sidestepped away from the falling blade, blow to his temple missing him and he knocked the blade further away with his ax-

-but the boy was still before him, his own sidestep avoiding Razkar parry and thrusting the long blade towards his chest-

-making the Myrian grunt with exertion, twisting his body to the right, knocking the blade away as his body twisted around-

-and a well-muscled leg jerked out towards his groin.

"Better!"

Only for Razkar's left hand to shoot out and clamp like a vice around his ankle, suddenly leaving Ethen balanced on one foot. The boy looked up and saw the Myrian grin, swung out at him out of instinct-

-only for Razkar to bat the sword away-

-and bringing the wooden ax chopping down twice, hard, first on his shin, then his thigh, before letting him tumble back.

"Good idea." Razkar said, encouraging words a jarring mi with his brutal strikes, the squire writhing on his rear in front of him, right leg on fire from toes to pelvis. "Good kick like that, in brawl? Put a man down hard. Confuse him. Put of balance. Make chance to kill, end fight. Good..."

Ethen saw the shadow and the shape... heard the words and the crunch of sandals on sand... felt the vibrations on the ground from careful, confident steps... and then he heard the Myrian chuckle.

"Ah, senses better in pain, no? Hear more. See more. Feel more. So lose to Dira, body... make world clear. Give you edge, see world so clear-"

Then, in a blur of movement and an almost-feral snarl, Ethen practiced what Razkar had been preaching and lashed out at Razkar's leg. The Myrian saw the leg rear back but backed away just too slow, shin tingling then screaming as the human's sandal slammed into it, staggering him-

-just as the sword came around.

Now Razkar narrowed his eyes, and stabbed downwards with his ax, Ethene's swinging horizontal blade smacking into his shorter one, blow stopped dead as the Myrian buried it in the ground-

-then stamped hard on the huge training sword, pinning it down-

-and hammering a short, nasty left jab straight into Ethen's dismayed face.

"Good idea, too." He spoke again, still with that unerring, unshakeable calm, but even the human could sense some steel under his voice now, the merest hint of a warning. "When on ground, can be best time to attack. But if cannot kill, best to use hit to roll away, get back on feet, not keep fighting. You tried keep fight going; not good, when enemy is so close..."

Razkar swished his ax idly through the air, waiting for the squire to get to his feet. Blood was oozing between the fingers pressed to his face, and Razkar felt that delicious patter of his pulse quicken at the sight of it. Quite unconsciously, you may rest assured, the Myrian's tongue darted out and licked suddenly dry lips.

"When you ready." He said eventually, cracking his neck muscles and assuming his defensive posture, waiting for Ethen to find his feet and blink the stars from his eyes. "Attack. But remember: keep make distance with big sword. Not get too close..."

[Isolde Seibold]

The boy was visibly improving, gaining in confidence and style, and the Nuit had to admit that whatever he was, the teacher seemed to be well worth the price of his... lessons. The Nuit had to give him that, despite his anger, despite the bitter fear flavoring her mouth; even as an untrained observer, the Nuit could see the boy molding his style, shifting it, altering it subtly, and it had to be due to the teacher's influence, his constant flow of pointers. But there was one lesson offered by the teacher already today that the boy had not followed. Namely, not to provoke the man's rage. The boy needed to learn not to press his luck.

When the boy hit the dirt the Nuit watched very carefully, trying not to seem too concerned, gnawing on her lower lip. Her muscles were all tensing up, despite that strange look the teacher had thrown her way... because this was sort of what had happened last time, directly before the man had gone incandescent. He had grabbed his other student's leg, pummeled him --this time it was two sharp, quick slashes from the wooden ax, thunk thunk!-- and then dropped him in the dirt. And then, when the first student had been trying to get back up... that was when the teacher had really frightened her, with his kicks to send the younger man back to the ground, to subdue him. The Nuit couldn't help but see the same thing here. Sure, the teacher did not look angry, not anymore. But here was his student on the ground in his shadow, and Isolde was just waiting for the first strike to come, her nerves jangling and jittering upon the man's every movement. She found herself leaning forward, settling her chin and hands upon the railing once more, trying to extend her hearing to catch the words that the teacher was offering out, waiting for the tone to turn sour, waiting for the man's mood to shift. But all seemed well.

Until the boy tried his little sneak attack, kicking out a leg, catching the teacher in the shin, bringing round his long sword. But even the Nuit --who was almost getting used to the flow of the melee-- could see that it was coming in a little too late, and sure enough... The teacher's ax swung down, shattering the boy's momentum, casting the tip of the monstrous wooden sword into the dirt, stamping on the flat of the blade to keep it down. And then--

The blow that the teacher delivered to the boy's face was answered with blood. The Nuit gripped at the dagger more tightly, waiting, waiting for more punishment, for the beating to begin. But the teacher backed off, swinging his wooden training ax through the air much as the Nuit had earlier with her little dagger, and she breathed out a short hiss of relief from between her teeth. The teacher really did have it under control this time, it seemed. And though it felt harsh, the Nuit found herself... approving of his actions? She suddenly found herself wondering what the boy had really expected for his stunt. He should have learned from the other student's mistake-- you don't make such a move lightly, expecting no retaliation. She turned her eyes to the blond-haired boy, with one of his hands clutched to his face, the blood bright against his skin. And then for a moment, for just a tick or two but altogether too long, the Nuit looked at the boy and saw a girl a whole lot younger, sitting with the same posture, her clothes covered in dirt, her knees torn. Her wooden play sword lay broken behind her, snapped maliciously in two, and she clutched at her bleeding face as the tears rolled out. She wouldn't say what had happened but Isolde had just known from the anguished look, from the deep purple betrayal brimming in the girl's Vantha eyes. Those petching boys--

And then the moment passed, and Isolde turned her face abruptly down, letting out a low, distressed noise, pressing a hand to her mouth, unable to get the picture of Wynry from her mind, completely shocked. Why had that happened? That boy... it wasn't like he looked anything like Wynry, he wasn't the right age, he wasn't even the right gender. So why? Why? The image frightened the Nuit, she hadn't just imagined it, she had actually seen Wynry out there, in the dirt with her bleeding face and broken sword. But that is not this, she told herself, and the thought was berating and sharp. Her hand was still pressed to her mouth, and there was a sick feeling deep in her gut and a haunted feeling, too. That is not this. That was a long, long time ago. It doesn't belong here. So don't let yourself do that. Not again. She wanted to scream at the memory, to scream at herself for letting that happen again, but all she did was keep that hand pressed very hard to her face, head bowed, eyes tightly closed. Doesn't belong here, that is not this, keep it away. Running the words through her mind until the memory faded back into its proper place, folded neatly and harmlessly. Then she had to contend with the other memory which was rearing itself angrily within her, and that was worse still: the girl she had found, so small and alone and trusting, and the Nuit could still remember her eyes, and the sweet little dimple in her cheek when she had smiled. But no, now was not the time for that. There was never an appropriate time. That was better left untouched, forever, and the Nuit didn't want to ever, ever go near it again. Wynry was one thing. That other girl --Isolde couldn't even remember her name, had it been Margo, or Marnie?-- she was something completely else.

With a huge effort of will, exhausting, the Nuit forced the memory away, gone. With another effort, she looked slowly back up, dreading what she would see, would it be Wynry there, no, no, no-- And her eyes fell on the blonde-haired boy, he had wiped the blood from his face and was standing again, and his sword was too big to be the other and it was not broken, and the Nuit simply stared at him with a hard expression. Making sure she knew what was real, that boy was real, and that Wynry was long buried, her Wynry was gone.

Painfully, the Nuit tried to focus her mind once more to the teacher and student.

[Ethen Calden]

Ethen bleeding with a small stream of blood running from a wound on Ethen's forehead and was the size of finger nail mark as the blood trickle down to the side of Ethen left eye. Ethen reached with his tongue to the lingering blood and tasting the iron like feel. Ethen then put his tounge back in his mouth. Ethen look around to inpatient kise to the mystery of the woman in the stands looking pale, nauseous and nervous. With a lingering look at the unknown stranger. "the lump in the woman's dressings must be a small knife or dagger that she holding, but why would woman need a weapon here? Anyway best that focus on the fight, Razkar will see the wound as a weakness. But as he says keep make distance with big sword. So I have a new trick up my sleeve" Ethen thought as he got up from the ground still with his guard up.

"I always wanted to try this but never had the chance and well it my lucky day" Ethen said with a ruby bloodily red lips. Ethen turn over his sword with the pommel pointing to Razkar and hold the blade of the sword in Ethen's gloved hands. Without moment's chance Ethen move two times faster and aim the pommel on the bridge of Razkar's nose and followed by a lower strike to Razkar's sternum then Ethen lowered the pommel once again and slam the pommel downwards onto Razkar's right foot. Then Ethen move the the guard of the sword back of Razkar's feet and hooked around them pull the sword backwards against Razkar's ankles, hoping to trip Razkar over. When Ethen finished. Ethen turned the sword backwards and hold the handle into the guard position.

[Razkar]

Razkar's lips twisted in grudging respect as the youth seemed to ignore the pain, the red line oozing from his forehead down his face, getting back to his feet despite the wound.

"Good." He said lowly, nodding his head once. "Push pain away. Push it back toward enemy..."

There, however, his respect ended, for the boy tossed the massive weapon up and caught it on the blade. Razkar frowned, genuinely confused. Such a mistake, as far as he could see. The weight of the greatsword was all wrong for using it like that, and what damage could hitting him with the-

But by then Ethen was already moving, and Razkar had to save his thoughts for after.

Ethen thrust twice, fast, for the Myrian's face and chest. Both times Razkar batted the blows away. The greatsword simply wasn't designed for this kind of use, weight of the blade taking away all force behind the blows, and the glancing blow against Razkar's foot was surprising... but he shrugged it off.

The Myrian hissed, mostly in irritation, and his anger blinded him-

-when the handle of the sword hooked behind his right ankle and jerked him forward, just as he'd demonstrated with his hand ax-

Oh, no, you don't!

But rather than let it throw him off balance, Razkar went with the pull, letting it pull his leg up-

-transforming it into a kick aimed at Ethen's jaw.

The blow sent the boy staggering back, but it wasn't enough to break or even greatly bruise. Razkar nodded again, but only because Ethen had apparently abandoned his previous form and was now holding the greatsword by the handle, as the gods intended.

"That was stupid." His voice was blunt and merciless, which came as no great surprise to anyone listening. "Sword meant for holding by handle, not blade. Only time you hold by blade is when you lose sword and must grab by whatever hand can reach. Not because you choose!"

He pointed to the massive weapon with his hand ax, then swung out towards the boy from the right. As expected, Ethen jerked the greatsword upwards to block the strike-

-but Razkar's left hand darted out, wrapped around Ethen's sword hand and holding it there. Black eyes bored into blue ones and held his soul kin their stare.

"Feel that? Balance of sword is there. Weight of sword is there. Try do way you just did? No power in blow. No force in strike. This how you hold sword."

He backed away quickly and swung down at Ethen's chest, greatsword barely managing to block it-

-but not the kick that Razkar slammed into the youth's crotch before the vibrations of the wooden weapons had finished rattling both men's arms.

"That sword is wood," Razkar said calmly as he walked around Ethen, on his knees and choking down breath, "And weigh much less than you really sword. Metal sword. Iron. Steel. You barely big enough to swing big iron sword." He paused, cocking his head to one side and taking in the muscled but still juvenile limbs of his student. "May want to make muscle bigger first. Build body, yes? Easier to swing big blade Until then, though..."

The Myrian stepped back into his fighting stance, shifting his hand ax to his left hand to make it a little more interesting. He waited. Patient as always, he didn't press the boy or throw insults on his head as he finally reared back up, face red and ruddy and contents of his breeches bruised.

"One more time, human." He said, undertone of warning in his voice. "Remember lessons. Keep distance. Not stop moving. Make blow into blow... and attack!"