Closed [Fighters Pit] Quite A Pair (Isolde, Ethen, Kisetukai)

[Razkar]

"N-Nuit. N-Now pl-please. L-Let me leave."

Razkar's blood froze. His eyes widened with horror mingled with outrage, that one of the Dead Walkers had dared to come to him, a Child of Myri, for instruction. Long had he been warned of these demons that had in centuries past shed their own flesh and now wandered the world, cursed and unable to rest, able only to steal the bodies of others.

The Nuit, as the barbarian races called them, were despised almost as much as the Dhani in Taloba. Any that were discovered within the city walls were slaughtered, dismembered and burned.

But we are not in Talba.

The thought was clear as light in darkness through his mind... and it stayed his hand as his kukri was leveled at her. Shaking, trembling, arms crossed and trying so hard not to fall apart. Razkar snorted at the chance she might, since their corrupted souls decayed their bodies unto ruin...

But Razkar did not strike. He did not slash or stab at her, even as his eyes flickered up and down and picked out a half-dozen places to plunge his blade and begin the messy process of sawing her head off.

You have been in the presence of evil. Of sadism. Of cruelty. It has left its mark on your flesh, and once seen, it is never forgotten... nor easily hidden. Is that what you believe this girl to be?

A long chime passed, broken only by Razkar's slow, steady breathing and the shallow panting of Isolde. Ethen and Kisetukai exchanged glances and shifted, as if ready to move... but stayed back. The Myrian had become like an animal, ready to strike at a prey or enemy and at that point, he did not care where those things were.

But slowly... the fire died... the rage dimmed... and that still small voice was left, despite his growling uncertainty.

"... no." Isolde frowned, unsure what the Myrian was referring to, or whom... but she did see him lower his kukri. "You not leave. Not go. You pay for lesson; you are student. I teach."

Razkar whirled away from her with such finality the words stilled in Isolde's throat, but he knew they would not be stopped entirely. Too many questions, too much strangeness, anger and violence replaced in a blink by reason and the banal simplicity of teacher-student. But then he turned, kukri up again, grinding his neck back and forth.

"Talk later. For now, learn lesson. Attack again."

[Isolde Seibold]

Isolde was petrified.

It was his eyes. Gone flat. Black. Murderous. His presence altered, any form of civility vanishing as if it had never existed. The kukri came up, and Isolde felt herself tense, hands around her dagger, still sheathed, useless... she had seen him fight much quicker and deadlier than she could hope to match, she wouldn't have a chance... but she would have to do something. His eyes were darting all over her small frame, and her fear grew to the point that it staggered her breath. One second she was panting, and then the next she found she couldn't even draw breath. She had to remind herself that she didn't need to. What she needed was to get out, now. Because he-- he was--

And then something happened to change him, some uncertainty. Isolde didn't know if she had ever met anyone so fickle, so volatile, so unstable. It was disconcerting, and terrifying because she didn't know what he was going to do. She was so tense her muscles screamed. Just. Get. Out.

"... no. You not leave. Not go. You pay for lesson; you are student. I teach." The kukri dropped down into a more relaxed position, the man whirling suddenly, making her flinch. Isolde didn't think any of his motions meant anything. There was nothing she could trust about him, and he could not shackle her with gold Mizas. She no longer cared about them at all. He could have her money. All of it. As long as he left her paints, her life. But if he thought that she would try and-- and fight him, now that he had forced her to give up her race and immediately judged her for it, now that she knew that she could not trust him, not one bit, now that she had seen that hatred in his black eyes... No. The instant she got close again he would run her through, and ichor would spill.

Some sharp, threatening memory burst to life and phantom pain screamed suddenly at the side of her stomach. Isolde finally gasped in a breath, absolutely shocked by the unexpected sensation, feeling ill. And then as quick as it had come the memory flashed away; the shock took longer to fade from her face. When it had gone all that was left was a bone-weariness that Razkar had not yet seen. Perhaps it might have looked like acceptance. The only thing that she should have accepted --and accepted long ago-- was that the gods truly did hate her. The Nuit coiled her left hand into a fist, unconsciously clutching the dagger tighter, bringing it close to her side, and probably the man before her would take it as acquiescence to his order. But no. She would not. This lesson was over. Her dagger hand was shaking visibly, the tip of the blade bobbing up and down. Did he really think she could fight him now? She had barely been able to master herself before, even after he had stood up for her, smiled at her. She couldn't just turn off her fear as he turned off his hatred. Gods, why did he even want to teach her still? If he despised her so much, he should want to have nothing to do with her. What was wrong with him?

Isolde just shook her head, gritting her teeth. Bracing herself, eyes hollow. He was unpredictable. What would he do? Certainly pain would be involved when she refused him, or terror. But she could not stand to get any closer to him than she already was. That, in itself, would be torture. "N-No. I-- I w-won't."

[Razkar]

"N-No. I-- I w-won't."

Razkar's eyes flashed at her stammering denial, but it was not the denial itself that angered him. He drove forwards faster than before, relying on her very survival instinct to kick in-

-and it did, Isolde scrambling away and to the side, knife stabbing desperately towards him, keeping him back. But he wasn't done.

"You won't?!" He snarled, jabbing out with his left fist and forcing her back before the blow landed. "You won't?! Think enemy will let you won't?! Think Dira care if you not want to?!"

The kukri turned in his hand and reversed into a stabbing grip, Myrian swinging it sideways at her side only for her to sidestep quickly again, fear coating her face still augmented by some primal need to escape.

"This is lesson! Not matter who or or what or when or why! You are in fight? Then fight or flee! And if cannot flee?"

Razkar stabbed forwards again and this time the Nuit reacted better, yelping slightly as her forearm arced down, knocking his blade away-

-dagger stabbing fast at his midsection-

-only for his own left arm to jerk down and knock the dagger away, to her side-

-left leg kicking up lightly to plant his toes hard in her stomach.

Gasping, doubled over, but still clutching her weapon for dear life, the Nuit staggered back. Razkar loomed over her, face hard as the walls of Taloba, merciless but still... restrained. All thoughts and memories of his race's hate for hers seemed distant to him now. He'd never met a Nuit; never killed one, and realized in some distracted way that he had nothing against them because of that.

But now his student was defying him. And that, he would not tolerate...

[Isolde Seibold]

The Nuit choked, dagger in hand, staggering, arm clutching her stomach, fear swimming and curling through her. She almost went down to one knee, but managed to stumble up from it, swaying towards the Myrian to keep her balance, and the fear flashing in her eyes was a wild thing, a pressure behind her forehead. Something like insanity --or something very much like it, an intense flash of heat or hatred-- rushed through her, propelling her to take another step, and then suddenly she was launching herself at him, going on the offense, slashing wildly, arm swinging in to hack at his shoulder--

but no, he blocked that easily, knocking her dagger away, and gods that frustrated her to tears--

she dashed aside his own attack, fumbling with the block again, coming a little late, catching her forearm on the hilt of his blade, knowing her arm would be bruised but she didn't care--

that left him open, she swung sideways, her arm coming down diagonally at his chest, breath panting out--

and he was always there blocking her, driving her crazy--

she launched out a leg, hoping to hit him in the balls, but gods damn him he knocked her leg away with enough force to spin her around, and she struggled to move fast enough to face him again before he could get in another hit--

but, no, gasping, she was off-balance--

and so instead she stepped away from him as she sluggishly turned, left hand reaching into her pocket, trying to get some space between them, hoping that would be enough to distance any attack he might throw--

finally turning enough to see him coming and she slashed her dagger out in a block, knowing he was already too close, and screamed out, "Gods, stop it already!" Punching at his face with her left hand--

but no, her hand opened, flinging a fistful of flour at his face, at his eyes, not waiting to see if it blinded him, turning again and dashing away--

racing towards her knapsack, she would snatch it up and run from this place as fast as she could--

OOCI'm really sorry if I put in too much or took too many liberties, and also for borrowing your fighting-writing style! ^^'

Also for the flour.

[Razkar]

Laws of unintended consequences...

Razkar was still a novice with the kukri; like the dagger and lakan sheathed on his harness, it was a trophy taken from a bested enemy, but so intense had his training gladius and hand ax been that he'd neglected the other three weapons he carried.

Well, getting my training today.

Fortunately for him, the kukri and the style he was teaching were as much about the body as the weapon. His fists and forearms were used as much as his blade, if not more... and no he was glad for his reflexes.

He blocked and parried and weaved and when her leg quested abruptly for his loins, he twisted away from it and barked with harsh laughter.

"Good!" He snarled, smile flitting across his face even as he thrust for her and she blocked him. "Never fight fair! Good to to loAAARGH!"

He swayed away from a punch and his world turned white. A cloud of what looked like snow but tasted like powder suddenly coated his face, his nostrils, his mouth as he breathed in reflexively. With an outraged, stunned yelp he staggered away from her, one hand clawing at his own face, the other sweeping his kukri in front of him.

"F... Flour...?!"

Razkar looked down at the white marring his tanned skin, knowing his face and shoulders were covered in it too, feeling the film of sweat-soaked powder on his face. She... She'd cheated! She'd pulled such a dirty trick!

"... good girl!" He was grinning, smiling so proudly. "Something I will steal from you, I th-"

Then his smile fell as he saw the slight, running figure snatch up her knapsack and launch herself at the side of the Pit. Knife tucked into her belt she was already scaling it fast, and Razkar frowned, more out of irritation that anger, lunging towards her-

-too slow. She had quite a headstart and by the time his hand snatched out, trailing a little cloud of flour as he did, she was already above him.

Chase her down! Drag her back here and-

No... Wait... A different tack.

"You learn no lesson out there!" He roared up at the figure vanishing over the railing, trying to stall her with words if he could not with his hands. "Run? Flee? Fine! But lesson will wait for you! You want to learn! You not tell what you were! You step in Pit with savage, and now you run?!"

Razkar stepped back and crossed his arms, trying to look imposing and failing wonderfully with his face whitened like some bard playing a role.

"So run, but you will come back! Because you know must learn... and I teach! Or will you always be coward?!"

[Isolde Seibold]

She had her knapsack, shifting it over her shoulder while she ran, the pottery jars clunking together... but wait, the only way out was up, so quick as she could the Nuit jammed her dagger into her belt and jumped for a handhold, miraculously catching the railing, heaving herself up as she panted, and she thought she heard the Myrian crashing after her-- and then she was up and over, home free, and the sense of rising elation was choking her, she had gotten away, yes--

And then the Myrian had to go and ruin the moment, shouting after her, and that stupid, insane little voice in her head grabbed hold of the control of her feet and she slammed to a stop so suddenly she had to reach out a hand to steady herself. She turned abruptly to face Razkar, crossing her arms, and her expression was not fearful, but irritated. Here she had just thrown the flour into his face so she could get away, that was the point, and now he was trying to stop her?

"You learn no lesson out there! Run? Flee? Fine! But lesson will wait for you! You want to learn! You not tell what you were! You step in Pit with savage, and now you run?! So run, but you will come back! Because you know must learn... and I teach! Or will you always be coward?!"

Isolde's mouth gaped open, what the petch was he talking about? Despite her better instincts telling her to turn her back and get out before he found the motivation to follow her, the Nuit felt herself take one stomping step towards the Myrian, entirely aggravated. She jerked a thumb back at herself, eyebrows raised, voice high and incredulous, not even realizing that the stutter was gone, "Me? Are you serious? Sure, I wanted to learn. I'll give you that much." Here she reversed her hand, and jabbed a finger at him with every accusing statement that she uttered, scowling. "But you were the one who forced the issue. I didn't ask for a lesson! You were the one who asked me. I didn't tell you what I am because I don't tell anyone. You were the one that made me tell! And I only stepped into the Pit with the 'savage' because I felt like I didn't have any other options! So don't go thinking this was all because of me. It was because of you. And you look utterly ridiculous, so don't act tough!"

Fuming, chest heaving, the Nuit realized that at some point in time she had replaced her jabbing finger with her jabbing dagger : without thinking, she had ripped it back away from her belt and was gesturing with it at Razkar to prove her point. Also without thinking, she had continued stomping forward, dropping her knapsack into a seat in the stands, her stomach pressed to the railing as she leaned over it, the better for him to see how annoyed she was.

Some nagging voice told her that it was dangerous to be this close to him, but certainly he couldn't reach her right here, and if she thought he was going to try she would just jump back, out of range. Simple. She was fine. She was going to stay long enough to hear what he had to say, and then she was gone.

[Razkar]

Well... that went better than expected. But we're not quite all the way there...

The Myrian's challenging expression softened moment by moment as the Nuit's tirade was let loose, torrent of angry words thrown at him like barbs. The terrified, fleeing girl vanished, replaced slowly by an infuriated and indignant female who showed little fear of him. Her dagger was thrust out accusingly at him, but he moved not an inch... and slowly smiled.

"Good words." He said judiciously, then gave an insouciant shrug. "But you still run. Make excuses, but still all you choose." The smile gleamed darkly, but only for a moment. "Think I want to kill you? Think I could not have before? I teach. You learn. And now, you learn not to fear, and because I speak, not because I attack with kukri?"

His laugh was a barking explosion that dripped with scorn.

"More brave than you think, hmm? But enemy will try to use words. Make you angry. And when you angry in fight, too angry, you not think, body not think, and make mistakes."

The Myrian took a calculated risk and turned his back on her, actually sheathing his kukri.

"Taught you one more lesson, I think. Come back, little girl-" ah, he'd not yet met the female who didn't rise to that "-when you ready for rest of lesson..."

[Isolde Seibold]

The Nuit ground her teeth, staying where she was for a long moment, leaning against the railing. Still her legs trembled to flee... because that was what she was supposed to do, she wasn't supposed to let the Myrian goad her, this Razkar of the Shorn Skulls with his scars and tattoos and floured face. She found a bit of petty consolation in the fact that he would probably have a fun time later cleaning all that flour out from around his piercings. Gods, he had actually been happy when she'd thrown it in his face, hadn't he? Yes, he had. She wished she could've seen the look on his face when he sucked in a mouthful of flour. Perhaps he was right, and she shouldn't have run; she would've liked to commit that image to memory. Because his back was turned, the Nuit allowed herself a small smile. And then she sighed, shaking her head because she was an idiot --she was so stupid and he was so dangerous, and she hadn't forgotten that hatred that had roared forth from his black eyes-- and then she began to climb back into the Pit.

Thud. Her feet hit the ground, and since she was moving a little faster this time she stumbled forward a step to correct, before shuffling her way over to her teacher, scowling at him though he couldn't see, dagger in hand.

"Looks like you're the one not ready for the rest of the lesson," she muttered, low enough that he would hear, and then noisily dashed forward with the dagger slashing at his exposed back, knowing that he would certainly be expecting her to attack--

so before she actually got to him she skidded to a halt, ducking to the side and back to get out of his reach, though she had some trouble with the flats of her shoes on the loose dirt, slipping--

having to swing her arms forward to keep her balance, trying to windmill the action into a natural slash or block, whichever was applicable--

before lunging forward and low with her dagger, thinking she wouldn't be able to duck past his next blow from his left hand --or perhaps a leg-- and bracing herself for impact, wincing already because she was going to be bruised--

all the while wildly swinging down with her left forearm to deflect any attack by his kukri --which had already reappeared-- and this time her little, pale hand curled into a fist, the flat side of it bashing against his knuckles, trying to knock the knife from his grip--

OOCHah, it's weird. This is the closest I've been to writing Isolde like she was back when she was alive, and not all Nuit-y scared.

[Razkar]

He heard the scrambling over wood as she returned, the impact of feet on sand. Then running feet, slightly elevated breathing, a muttered sentence that smacked more of a challenge than fear...

The Myrian smiled with his back to her.

Atta' girl.

Then whirled, kukri unsheathed in one smooth motion and swinging around along with his free hand-

-but she was already sliding to his side and Razkar's eyes widened in surprise, realizing she'd actually pulled a feint on him-

"Good!" He boomed joyously, growing ever-prouder of his student even as he had to twist to keep her in sight. "Use sound, make enemy think you are somewhere else-"

He swayed back to avoid the wild sideways swipe from her dagger as she regained her balance, arm jerking back then thrusting out towards him, low and deadly-

Now the Myrian moved to his full potential. Keen, black eyes studied her in that frozen instinct, one arm thrusting, the other wildly swinging for his kukri, and his body moved fast and accurate.

Left hand snapping down when the kukri was halfway to him, hand snapping around her wrist and arm muscles going rigid, stopping her blade dead-

-as his left knee came up and hammered into the bottom of her hand, knocking the dagger from it-

-right hand dropping the kukri in it, to her slight surprise. But in this brawl, it would do more harm than teach-

-and his right forearm hammered against hers, knocking it out-

-then wrapped his right hand around her forearm and twisted it back, now holding her by both arms, one twisted painfully-

-bursting forward a couple of steps so he was forcing her backwards, his grip the only thing keeping her up-

-and then he stopped. The two of them, one tanned and scarred and dominant, the other small and pale and still burning with outrage-

-lashing out with a foot at his crotch-

-only for his knee to jerk out in front of it and knock it away.

"Enough!"

His bark was harsh and wild, calculated to be just that to her ears. Finally she stilled, and Razkar nodded his head slowly, smile spreading over his lips... and reaching his dark but thawing eyes.

"Good. Making progress, I think is term. Learn to make feint... learn to fight dirty... heh, I approve... learn much... and came back to fight."

He stood up straight and took her with him, finally letting go and stepping back... to bow respectfully to the female, as a Myrian male was always raised to.

"Lesson good for today, I think." He said lightly, letting her swallow her amazement that, yes, most of his anger had apparently been an act. He stooped to reclaim his kukri, wiped it of loose sand and sheathed it. "But I have other student. Come back other time, Isolde Seibold... Demon Walker..."

And was that a trace of respect in his voice? Just maybe...

One student done for the day, the Myrian turned to Kisetukai and Ethen, watching all from the side of the Pit, and his face took on that fierce, stern mask of his instructors from long ago and far away.

"Next!"

OOCEthen, Kise, whichever of you wants to fight fight, come on down! Isolde... good work, girl. I look forward to your next lesson.

[Isolde Seibold]

It was over in a whirl.

One second she was fighting, and he was fighting back, and it was hard but it wasn't impossible--

--and then something shifted, and it struck her almost as obviously as a bright light flashing her eyes. He changed, got faster, probably not stronger but now he was manhandling her, showing her who was boss, who was big and experienced and who was small and weak, and it burned her up. Grabbing her arms, twisting one, plowing her backwards, off balance and she lashed out with her foot because what did she have left, but he knocked her kick aside and she prepared for what?

Not for a smile. And not for him to suddenly stop, easing her forward and back onto her feet, letting go of her-- bowing? What the--

"Good. Making progress, I think is term. Learn to make feint... learn to fight dirty... heh, I approve... learn much... and came back to fight.

Lesson good for today, I think. But I have other student. Come back other time, Isolde Seibold... Demon Walker..."

Demon Walker? Was that a good thing? The Nuit simply shook her head, though she couldn't help the smile that twitched at the corners of her mouth. "Thank you-- for the lesson," she said as she picked up her own dagger, and what had been that stunt he had pulled, disarming her twice? Gods. What a show-off...

And the smile widened.
She turned and leapt back up to the stands, catching hold of the railing in pale hands, lumbering over, dagger already tied to her waist, where it would stay from now on, easily accessible-- even if she was still a novice. She settled down in the seats next to her knapsack, and if it wasn't for her demeanor --and a couple new, small bruises beneath her clothing, mostly on her arms-- one might have never thought that she had ever left her place. For now, she settled in to watch the other two learn their own lessons, perhaps hoping to pick up more on form or footing... She knew that tonight, when she was reviewing the day's activities, she would probably be horrified at the anger she had felt, at her scrapping around with the Myrian, at her stupidity, at the Mizas she had used to pay for the lesson. But for now, she was as content as she could remember being, and she wanted to learn more.

OOCLast post for the thread, thanks again Razkar, for the lesson... and good luck Ethen and Kise!