Night 7, Summer of 502 A.V.
Davros, 11 years of age, lay asleep on his straw mat within his private room of his father's safe house. Tonight's rest was like any night's rest in his home, well needed. Earlier that day the cane of his father, fell upon his small nimble body over and over leaving whelp after whelp as his father whipped him into higher learning. Red marks lined his arms and back, but for the moment he didn't care. Davros could rid himself of the pain in his slumber, so for that he was thankful.
However in his sleep, he felt...uneasy. There were movements on his bedsheets that he couldn't quite decipher without looking at it, so he opened his eyes and looked atop his covers to see a large white viper coiling itself on Davros' legs. He froze, unaware of how it got in or why it was there. He dared not to take his eyes off of the creature, but found himself in a position that promoted submission. If he moved, the snake would be angered but if he didn't he'd never go back to sleep. Then, seemingly without warning, the snake stopped coiling, looked at Davros and lunged.
Without a weapon to protect himself or even a strap of leather to deflect it, Davros involuntarily threw his arms up and jerked his body back attempting to get away from the sting of the snake's venom but instead his head banged against the hard cold wall behind him. Now stunned he could barely see the snake coming and just as it was about to finish its attack and sink it's teeth into Davros' neck a set of fingers swooped down, grabbed the snake at the back of the head and lifted it from the bed. He looked up and saw his father, Markus, with a blank expression fixed upon his face as he sat the snake into a jar and fixed a lid on top with holes punched into it. After securing it, he lifted it for Davros to see then said-
"Do you know what this is, son?"
Davros took a few moments to catch his breath and brush off the dizziness of his headache before answering.
"Its a white viper."
"No, its punishment, should you fail to kill my enemies."
The resounding correction rang in his ears as he slowly stood from his bed. If there was nothing Davros hated more than anything, it was snakes. He began to imagine the venom of the snake coursing through his veins, frying his arteries and doing irreversible damage to his brain.
"Get dressed, you are to continue your training."
Davros failed to argue with Markus. That'd only earn him a beating. He pulled his white-blond hair from his face and dressed himself in black clothing as he grabbed his wazikashi propped next to his desk.
In the back of their safehouse was a large training room. In the training room was an six foot post, tall and painted red at its top, blue in the middle, and green at the base. There was another adjacent to the post he stood by, 30 feet across the room which was painted white at the top, red in the middle, and yellow at the bottom. Davros had never used the posts before but he figured his father would tell him what to do, which at the moment he began to speak.
"You will strike the post in front of you with your blade. You will only switch hands when I tell you, and not a moment sooner. You will match your swing to the color I call out. Should I tell you to Switch and fire, you will purse your melee weapon and use your bow to attack the other post. If I so choose, I will once again tell you to switch, which means you will purse your bow and reveal your sword once more. Understood?"
Davros nodded in confirmation and reached behind his back to grab his blade. He held it in his hands standing ready.
"Green! Red! Green! Blue! Red! Red! Red!"
Davros' arms began to ache after the first few minutes be he kept swinging the sword at the wooden post as hard as he could.
"Blue! Green! Blue! Red! Green!"
Davros' grip slipped on his blade, and tumbled momentarily before regaining control of it. He knew his father saw it but the punishment was unknown. Canings were for drops and misdirections, he got his answer soon afterwards however. Markus' cane swiped through the air, whipping into Davros' forehead leaving it bloody.
Choking back tears, Davros straightened up and prepared for the next set of commands.
"Green! Red! Green! Blue! Red! Red! Red!"
Davros found that the blow would jar his arm unless he angled the slash of his sword at the last minute, letting the blade slide across the post rather than actually cut into it. This saved him the trouble of having to yank it out after ever swing. Markus came to stand behind Davros, making his back itch with expectation of the cane. But Markus watched for a moment, and made an impressed sound before standing back raising his cane and saying-
"Green! Blue! Stop! Leave your weapons in your hand." He said, cane still raised. "If you are too slow, you will be whipped! If you are too slow, you will be whipped! Switch! White!"
Davros calmly slid his sword its sheath, drew the bow from his back then afterwards an arrow and fired the weapon at the topmost portion of the post sinking the wooden arrow into the post. Expecting a congratulations, Davros' eyes lit up and looked to his father, whom only said-
"Red! White! White! Red! Yellow! White! Yellow! Red!..."'
Davros' arrows managed to never missed their mark, the fear of his father's cane keeping his aim true. When he ran out of arrows, Markus commanded Davros to switch and slid more arrows into Davros' quiver as he attacked the post. He felt the extra weight added to his back and began to cry, but his aim failed to miss the posts for the remainder of the session.
Markus kept him at it for hours, switching hands upon command, his cane a sharp counterpoint to Davros' slashes from his sword and thunks of his arrows hitting the posts. After one more interminable hour, Davros was told to stop. He pursed his daggers, and examined his hands. The fingers and fingertips of his right hand were bruised and bloody from using his bow with his naked hand for hours on end and his palms had bruises and sores as a product from handling his sword and bow all night. He silently sobbed before being held up at the chin by his father's cane.
"You are emotionally frail, son." Markus had plans to change that, however. "Like your mother. No matter the situation, you must keep a clear head during battle, for a distracted mind can become a decapitated head."
