Aoren learns of himself through the eyes of another...
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This shining population center is considered the jewel of The Sylira Region. Home of the vast majority of Mizahar's population, Syliras is nestled in a quiet, sprawling valley on the shores of the Suvan Sea. [Lore]
To say that he was frustrated wan an understatement.
Aoren blew a heavy sigh falling to the dirt. His chest heaved. His forehead felt like it was being pounded on by the boots of a hundred marching knights. His whole body ached as if he had received the most thorough beating in his entire life. Well…technically speaking he had been getting the most thorough beating of his life. All morning in fact.
“You’re getting soft.” Aoren looked up. The glare of the sunlight blotted out the face of the individual staring down at him. That person was none other than his surrogate sister and long-time companion Ileera Crenshaw. Aoren propped himself up on his elbow squinting so that the sunlight didn’t blind him so completely. When that didn’t work he brought up a hand to shade his eyes. There she stood with her hands on her hips. Her freckled face was framed by locks of fiery red hair nearly as bright as the sun itself. Her bright blue eyes were directed at Aoren and there was obvious disappointment in them. Ileera was chewing on her bottom lip, a sour expression on her face.
“Your reaction time is slipping. Your maneuvers are predictable and the strength behind your hits isn’t as prominent since our last session. What’s going on, Aoren?” She huffed a breath blowing a stray strand of red hair out of her face. Aoren narrowed his eyes glaring at his sister.
“Well it’s not my fault my sparring partner is off slaying field mice and patrolling the roads hunting rabid deer.” Ileera blinked at him. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open slightly before she shook her head smirking at him.
“Rabid deer huh? Is that so? Well this mouse slayer just knock you on your arse. How’s that for rabid deer hunting?” Ileera walked over to him and extended a hand to help Aoren to his feet. With a grunt he pushed himself up off the ground with Ileera’s assistance using her hand as leverage to stand himself up onto his feet. Aoren looked around the Fighter’s Pit. It was a hot summer day much like any summer day. There were men and women of all sorts utilizing the space provided by Gerard Anthonious for the general populace interested in increasing their combat skills. He noted that several men were pointing in his direction laughing or otherwise making fun of the fact that Aoren had been knocked onto his ass by a woman.
He certainly wasn’t ashamed of that fact. Any one of them would most likely meet the same fate going up against his sister. She was perhaps one of the finest warriors that Aoren knew. He dwarfed her in size. She stood only at five feet and eight inches in height compared to Aoren’s six feet and three inches. He was considerably athletic given how much he strived to keep up with her. Make no mistake though, Ileera was a warrior through and through. He was fairly confident that she could knock just about anyone onto their ass if she set her mind to it. As he dusted himself off she pat him on the shoulder before he stood up straight.
Last edited by Aoren on November 10th, 2013, 10:11 pm, edited 1 time in total.
“We need to work on your form. It’s sloppy. I can tell what you’re about to do before you even do it.” Aoren arched an eyebrow. He hadn’t thought that he was that utterly predictable.
“Oh come on, I’m not that awful.” Ileera fixed him with a stare. He brought up his hands in a placating gesture.
“Okay, okay. Maybe I am. So what are we going to do about it?” Ileera took to tightening the braid she’d placed her red-orange hair in before tossing it over her shoulder. She brushed her bangs out of her face.
“We’re going to do exactly what I said we’re going to do. Work. On. Your. Form. By sparring until you can't even stand.” Aoren sighed.
“Can’t we stretch instead?” She laughed shaking her head.
“Oh no. We’re far from done, horse boy. Take up your stance.”
Aoren’s head ached. His muscles were sore and he was absolutely certain that he had bruises forming on his lower legs and forearms. All of that aside his chest hurt from getting pummeled with punches and it hurt to breathe too deeply. He was sorely tempted to whine. He really was. Ileera must have seen the distress in Aoren’s face because her own softened and she spoke in her sister-mother tone she often used when she needed to truly motivate Aoren into doing something he really didn’t want to do.
“I know it hurts, buddy. Trust me. I know how much it hurts all too well. You need to work beyond the pain though. If your falter when faced with a real enemy simply because what they did or what they are doing hurts that shows weakness.” She took up her stance sliding one leg behind her angling herself so that she wasn’t a full-on target. Ileera brought up her arms one extended just above her head while the other was at chest level. Her hands were closed in tight fists.
“In battle if you show weakness, you die. It’s that simple.”
Her words resonated with Aoren on a deeper level that he didn’t quite understand. They filled him with a sense of dread. He wasn’t the kind of person to seek out trouble but trouble somehow inevitably found him. There was however a cruel bitterness to Ileera’s words that gave him pause.
“Not all the world is so filled with darkness, Ileera.” The red haired woman dropped her arms studying her surrogate brother carefully. Reaching over she took Aoren’s right hand in her own rough calloused ones bringing the back of his hands to her lips. She kissed it gently rubbing at the most defining feature on Aoren’s entire body: his gnosis mark.
“You, of all people Aoren, should know just how dark the trials of a man’s past can truly be.” She released his hand. Aoren let it drop slowly back to his side. She spoke the truth. Aoren stared at the back of his right hand. His face was an assortment of emotions. Her view on the world was perhaps slightly harsh but the world they lived in afforded mercy only so often. He knew that all too well. The both of them had only just recently experienced precisely how merciless the world truly could be. He gave her a sordid smile.
“Maybe so but where there is darkness there is always a light to shine through.” Ileera gave him a soft smile shaking her head fondly.
“Oh my naïve little brother. How I wish I could see the world as you do.” She gave him a nod. “Take up your stance.”
Aoren did as he was bidden. He faced her with his hips rotated slightly to the left. He planted his dominant foot forward then balanced his weight between his forward and rear leg adjusting himself until he felt comfortable with his footing. Aoren brought up his arms tucking them into his sides tightly with a sharp intake of breath before thrusting them forward rapidly. He wove them in the air dropping his hips so that he was slightly crouched then place one arm above his head bent at the elbow. The other was at chest level so that it appeared as if he were staring at Ileera through a window.
“Shall we get started then?” Ileera gave Aoren a smirk. She dropped into her stance as easy as if she were about to set out for a jog or go for a run.
“Let’s.” Without preamble she darted forward bringing her right fist forward in a straight jab aimed for Aoren’s sternum. Aoren brought up his left forearm connecting with Ileera’s arm at the wrist knocking it aside with a grunt. He countered by jabbing outward at her collar bone with his right fist in a straightforward strike directed at the center of the bone. Ileera, however, would not be struck so easily. Sliding away from Aoren’s body narrowly dodging his strike she dropped low and kicked her leg out swiping at the young man’s ankles. Aoren was swept off of his feet.
Literally.
Jutting his arms out behind him, Aoren caught himself by planting his hands firmly on the ground. He rotated his hips swinging his legs to his immediate right kicking outward toward Ileera. The agile redhead jumped away. Aoren hopped to his feet by pushing upward with his hands using as much of his upper body strength to propel himself forward. He arced through the air just a little before landing firmly on his feet. He wasted no time in pursuing her. Aoren ran crouching low to the ground bringing a fist upward from his right side intent on landing a blow to her mid-section. Rather than side-stepping him, Ileera ran forward dropping her shoulder and grabbing a hold of his wrist. Before he truly realized what was happening Ileera was using his own forward momentum against him. With a grunt Ileera vaulted the young man over her head. Aoren suddenly found his world turned upside down.
The shock of this maneuver was purely evident on Aoren’s face. The complexity of such a technique worked in his favor however. As he passed over Ileera’s head he grabbed onto her wrist at the last moment. Tumbling forward Aoren grunted pulling her with him. He could see her surprise at his last ditch effort to turn the attack in his favor clearly on her face. Aoren landed on his back with a grunt. It felt as if all the air in his lungs had been whooshed out of him. His vision blurred slightly and he saw spots as his head smacked against the dirt. He didn’t let that stop him however. Tucking his knees into his chest he dragged Ileera down toward him then braced his feet against her chest and kicked outward as hard as he could releasing his hold on her wrist.
Her yelp of surprise made him wince inwardly but he would have never heard the end of it if he’d held back. She would have been furious with him if she suspected for even a second that he was withholding any measure of his strength for her benefit. Yes, it made their sparring matches a little more dangerous. Aoren had received more than just bruises from their matches in the days past. He’d broken a bone or two, sprained a wrist, or an ankle but it only made both of them stronger.
Ileera was flung backwards away from Aoren. He scrambled to his feet and watched as she sailed through the air. Wasting a little time as possible he knew that he needed to capitalize on this moment of vulnerability. Aoren sprinted toward her, the effort made all the more difficult due to the fact that he was winded. Ileera landed on her feet skidding backwards through the dirt but still upright.
Now was his chance.
Grunting with effort he lunged forward planting his right foot rotating his hips and swinging his opposite leg in a wide arc intent on slamming into her right shoulder. Ileera was ready for him though. She flung her arm up making contact with Aoren’s shin. She tucked her forearm up close pivoting slightly so that her hips could absorb the shock of the impact allowing it to dissipate through her legs. The impact jarred Aoren’s leg. He knew there would be bruising for both of them.
Aoren’s eyes locked on Ileera’s. The two fighters stood deadlocked. He knew the only reason he had the upper hand at the moment was through sheer dumb luck. She was far more skilled. She had a firmer grasp on disciplined fighting. It has been a miracle that he’d managed to pull off all that he’d done so far.
And then his luck ran out.
Ileera shifted her weight, pushed his leg away with brute force using the palms of her hands. Aoren was thrown off balance. He was neither experienced nor coordinated enough to compensate for the change in footing. He stumbled backwards while Ileera rushed forward punching Aoren square in the stomach. The young man was thoroughly winded. He doubled over in pain falling to the ground. He narrowly dodged a kick to the side of his face by rolling away from Ileera’s foot. He wasn’t done though.
“Dirt tastes awful.” He groaned. When his head finally stopped spinning he coughed. He didn’t want to move.
“Move I must, though.” Struggling not to throw up from vertigo he managed to throw his arms up in defense tucking them both in at his sides just as Ileera’s leg was about to connect with his side. Both of them were breathing heavily. They’d been sparring repeatedly all morning. Aoren refused to give up though. It wasn’t arrogant pride. It was a fierce determination to get better. To prove to Ileera that he was not wasting her time. With a grunt he decided to give what she had done to him a try. Moving as swiftly as he was able he knocked her leg aside and darted forward.
She was ready for him. Hardly surprised at his attempt to repeat her maneuver she brought the arm that was closest to her torso up to her face to chest to guard against an attack on her midsection. With the other arm she jabbed outward barely put off balance by Aoren’s attempt. The young man, instead of knocking her arm aside decided to take a more brazen approach to the matter. He side-stepped the jab planting his feet leaning away from the punch watching as her jab sailed past his face just barely missing his jaw. Aoren reached up grabbing her arm pulling her toward him then jutting an arm forward connecting with her chest. She gasped her stance faltering slightly. That was all the opening Aoren needed.
He gripped her upper arm swinging a leg behind the one that she had planted firmly on the ground then kicked backward. The result was Ileera being dropped to the dirt lick a sack of potatoes. She yelped slightly which tugged at Aoren’s heartstrings but he pressed onward. Planting his left leg he rotated his hip swinging his right leg upward before bringing the heel of his foot down aiming for Ileera’s chest. She managed to recover and roll away from his kick in the nick of time springing to her feet and stumbling backwards.
The heel of Aoren’s boot dug a small rut into the dirt. His ankle protested against the jarring impact vehemently. It made him wince. He grit his teeth. It would be days before he recovered from this sparring match but he was happy for it. He’d needed this. There were days when he’d been itching to stress his muscles. Ileera always pushed him to his limits. He was beginning to reach them for the day. The soreness from all of his bruises, the constant impact of bone hitting bone was catching up with him. He had maybe a few more moves left in him before he was finished.
Sprinting forward he jumped into the air swinging one leg in a wide arc performing a round-house kick. The kick fell short however and was easily dodged by his fierce opponent. Aoren wasn’t able to recover from the maneuver in time before Ileera had darted forward. She grabbed the back of Aoren’s neck just as he landed and with all of her strength brought his face toward her elbow. He managed to throw his arms up just before it would connect with his nose. The impact hurt. It hurt really, really bad. Thrusting his arms upward he threw Ileera off of him jumping back away from her.
He dropped into a defensive stance. His breathing was elevated. His chest was heaving. He did his best to appear staunch and steadfast in his demeanor but the truth was that he was exhausted. Aoren managed to maintain his stance for a few more seconds before his legs gave out and he tumbled forward catching himself by bracing his palms on the dirt.
“Shyke!” The bout was over. He’d exposed himself in a way that was hard to recover from. The evidence of his defeat became apparent when he received a tap on the shoulder. Aoren looked up. Sweat was rolling down the side of his face. His bare torso was covered in sweat, bruises, and dirt. Ileera was staring down at him. There was a slight smile on her face. She placed her hand on his head running her fingers through his hair.
“You’re getting better.” Aoren picked himself up off the ground. He stumbled but Ileera caught him helping to steady him with a strong arm. She draped one of his arms over his shoulder. He gave her a wanton smile.
“Is that so? Then why do I always end up in the dirt with you smiling smugly down at me? Hmm?” Aoren gave her a sad smirk. He was beginning to grow disheartened. Ileera had been teaching him the finer points of disciplined fighting for some time. He didn’t feel as if he were getting better. She sighed and shook her head drawing his attention.
“You’re not a warrior, Aoren.” Aoren blinked at her. His head jerking back slightly in shock at her blunt answer. He opened his mouth to protest but she gave him a look that silenced him. He clenched his teeth looking away from her. The muscles in his jaw flexed a note of shame entering his visage. She reached up and gently grasped his chin forcing him to look her in the eyes.
“You don’t enjoy causing pain, Aoren. A warrior. A fighter. No matter how honorable their intentions gets some level of thrill, pleasure or enjoyment out of the simple act of partaking in the excitement of battle.” She helped him sit down against one of the crumbling walls surrounding the Fighter’s Pit. She then promptly went to go fetch some water for the both of them. As she did Aoren was left to his own thoughts.
She wasn’t wrong.
When Ileera returned he accepted the outstretched waterskin gratefully.
“What do you mean?” She sighed joining him on the ground propping herself up against the wall. After drinking heavily from her own waterskin she eyed him carefully.
“You are a minimalist.” When he gave her a curious tilt of his head she held up a hand postponing his questions. She drank from her waterskin again then continued to explain. “It means, dunderhead, that you avoid doing significant damage if at all possible.”
“I do not.” She scoffed.
“You do too. I’ve known you almost all your life, Aoren. There is no fire in your eyes when you fight. There is no passion in your strikes. There is only a deep, resonating sadness that sometimes makes it difficult to stare you down. The way you fight it’s almost as if the whole of your soul is reflected in your eyes, Aoren. Your inner goodness shines out and it weeps for the conflict that lies ahead. It is a constant diligence that makes every move you make no matter your intentions less fierce than someone who takes pleasure in fighting.” Aoren frowned. True, he took no pleasure in causing pain but the way she described it made him sound as if he were a weak man. Ileera chuckled and nudged his side drawing him from his thoughts.
“I can see the wheels turning in your head, brother. You’re not weak. That’s not what I meant. You know I’m terrible with words. I’m far from the poet that you are.” The deepening of Aoren’s frown only made her laugh even more.
“Then why do I feel like you’re making fun of me?” She shook her head drinking from her waterskin again.
“You can fight, Aoren. Your heart just isn’t in it. It never will be. That’s what makes you more dangerous than I ever will be.” That took Aoren by surprise.
“Dangerous? Not moments ago I thought I was just a hopeless dunderhead poet. Now you’re saying that I’m some lethally dangerous fighter who will one day surpass you in skill? You realize you're making absolutely no sense, right?” She glared at him but Aoren just smiled. Her own grin soon followed before she looked upward into the clear summer sky.
“It’s both your greatest weakness and your greatest strength, brother. When I fight, I get consumed with a need to win. I want to beat my opponent into submission. I want to defeat them. I revel in the adrenaline rush. I live to feel my blood pumping. So I have to be careful not to lose myself to blind bloodlust like a lot of warriors. I have to discipline my mind not to give in to my overwhelming need to be the victor.” She reached out and nudged his chin with one of her knuckles.
“You are burdened with no such problems.” Aoren quirked his head to the side.
“I hadn’t thought of it that way.” She took another drink from her waterskin. Aoren did the same. He drank heavily enjoying the feeling of the cool water down his throat. It was more than refreshing. It was exactly what he needed right then.
“One day your merciful nature very well may be the death of you. But, because you’ll never be consumed by a warrior’s burning passion you won’t be blinded by it.” She punched him softly in the shoulder. Aoren smiled at her.
“I’ll still be able to kick the shyke out of you though.” He laughed. It was one of the rare, full fit of rolling laughter that so seldom graced Aoren’s features. He face lit up. His eyes glowed with the genuine mirth and joy he felt in that single moment. It was not often that he shared a true bout of laughter with anyone. Ileera was one of the few people who could evoke it out of him. She knew him through and through down to the very depths of his soul. He couldn’t see a world in which he was not by her side or she by his. Devastating would be the day that that ever happened so he prayed that it never came. When he managed to recover from his bout of laughter he found that Ileera was studying him intently.
“What?” She pursed her lips.
“You have so much potential, Aoren. I see in you a man who can conquer anything and everything he sets his mind to. When the day comes that you master the Art of War…” She shuddered slightly rubbing her bare shoulders.
“I pity any fool who would dare earn your ire because your wrath will be swift and it will be terrible.”
Aoren wasn’t entirely certain how he should take such a comment. He didn’t see himself becoming a fearsome warlord that perpetuated an aura of fear and terror wherever he went but he felt it best not to dwell on such things. Ileera took a final swig from her waterskin before pushing herself up from off of the wall.
“Come on, time to stretch.” Aoren groaned through a drink of water before rising to his feet wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He sighed heavily following Ileera to the spot they had left their gear. He dropped his waterskin onto his pack then accompanied her to the area where they had sparred.
“As long as we don’t do that blasted jumping-push-up-jump stretch thing I will be completely happy with today’s results.” Ileera fixed him with a smug smirk before dropping down onto the ground in a push-up position.
“You really love to torture me, don’t you?” Aoren followed suit dropping down into the push-up position directly across from her.
“Maybe just a little bit. Begin.”
Aoren was going to sleep very heavily tonight. Of that he was absolutely certain.
Unarmed Combat: Predictable moves makes for a lousy fighter.
Unarmed Combat: Do not let blind need to win blind you.
Unarmed Combat: Aerial Attacks
Philosophy: Pacifist Makes Poor Warriors
Comments :
I cracked a smile when you descriped Leera as being dwarfed by Aoren. She is 5’8” and Aoren is 6’3. I only laughted because I am 4’11” and my husband is 6’2” That is dwarfed . Feel free to PM me if you have any concerns, and don’t forget to edit/delete your grade request. .
TAYLANI
Last edited by Radiant on May 24th, 2014, 5:06 am, edited 3 times in total. Reason:Grade edited.
. Feel free to PM me if you have any concerns, and don’t forget to edit/delete your grade request. .
