Completed [Kendoka Sasaran] The Speed of Life

In which Jorin Ertihan learns that there are two kinds of warriors: the fast and the dead.

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Built into the cliffs overlooking the Suvan Sea, Riverfall resides on the edge of grasslands of Cyphrus where the Bluevein River plunges off the plain and cascades down to the inland sea below. Home of the Akalak, Riverfall is a self-supporting city populated by devoted warriors. [Riverfall Codex]

[Kendoka Sasaran] The Speed of Life

Postby Jorin Ertihan on August 31st, 2013, 5:39 am

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Season of Summer, Day 49, 513 AV

Sixth Bell


Jorin was getting used to waking up before the dawn. It wasn't that actors were necessarily lazy. Rehearsals often took place in the mornings, just never this early in the mornings. But Jorin knew better than to be late to the Amphitheater. So he learned to get up at fifth Bell, eat a light breakfast, and head over to the Sasaran with time to spare. Inside, the clack of wood against wood could already be heard. Jorin began his daily routine by stretching.

He started the stretching routine with a simple forward leg stretch. He began by stepping his right foot forward, and lowered into a lunge. He stretched his fingertips on the floor toward his big toe, placing them on the floor. He breathed in once, a long breath through his nose, and then in a single motion he exhaled through the mouth as he straightened his right leg. He then stepped back, returning to the lunge position, and did it again.

He did the same thing ten times, before switching to his left leg. This was to loosen his leg muscles, which according to Sohryn was crucial to a limber body, and a prime factor for survival in the Sasaran, which Jorin was quickly coming to realize was a place where anything could happen. Sohryn was becoming less and less a presence in his training, preferring to supervise than to directly intervene. He only intervened the first two days because Jorin had known, literally, nothing. Now that he had practiced the moves Sohryn had showed him several thousand times, Jorin realized they were heavily ingrained into his head.

The stretches also gave Jorin time to think, as they were relaxing and required very little thought to do. He realized that was the point of making him repeat the same movements so many times. To make them habit, to train the muscles to remember the move. Sohryn had given names to the three moves: the forward thrust, the horizontal buttstroke, the center block.

As Jorin finished up his routine, he automatically strolled over to the weapon rack and picked up his practice staff. It had become second nature now, after two days of relentless practice. He hefted the staff, and began the routine. Imagining an opponent, he thrust the staff forward, the right hand guiding the staff in a slight bend so that it came at the opponent at an angle. Then he brought the butt end of the staff swinging up and in, using his elbow as a driver, sinking the butt-end of the staff into the imaginary foe's head. Then he finished by blocking a pretend overhead swing with a center block, hands far apart on the staff, letting the middle absorb the impact. Return to stance.

One down, one thousand, nine hundred, ninety nine remaining.

As Jorin continued his routine, he found himself accidentally shuffling backwards. Each time the routine ended, he somehow ended up half a step back. He realized the horizontal buttstroke was causing his left foot to constantly step back, and that was causing, over time, his entire body to step with it.

Looking to correct his routine, Jorin did not see the big Akalak until it was too late, colliding with him and earning his first combat in the Sasaran. Jorin knew the rules, and squared off against the man. Jorin had been attempting, in fact, to avoid these "battles", but it was not that he was necessarily a coward. It was just that he didn't feel that he had the skill to stand up to any sort of opponent. He still didn't, but maybe that was the point.

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Last edited by Jorin Ertihan on December 1st, 2013, 8:37 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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[Kendoka Sasaran] The Speed of Life

Postby Jorin Ertihan on December 1st, 2013, 3:58 pm

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The quarterstaff was still clumsy in Jorin's hands as he shifted back over to where he was standing before. The large Akalak followed, bulging muscles tightening around his wooden Lakan as he stepped to the side to allow for more room to maneuver in their upcoming duel. Jorin himself was not particularly happy with the end-result; he found himself nearly backed against the cold stone wall of the Sasaran with barely enough room to maneuver. His decision to do this now seemed ridiculous and foolish; and worse, liable to get him killed.

Regardless he did his best to enter the basic forward stance again, trying to control his erratic breathing and ignore his blood pounding through his ears. He had barely enough training to fend off someone, to say nothing of actually winning, so when the Akalak moved forward, stepping off to the side and snaking out his Lakan for an initial strike, Jorin instinctively lifted the end of the quarterstaff to block the strike.

The block missed, but not entirely, striking the Akalak in the shoulder rather then the wrist and causing his Lakan to graze against his temple rather than the throat-shot he was probably intending. Jorin cursed, however, when the bigger man simply took advantage of his superior size to push him back with several well aimed body shots with his huge fist, followed by a powerful kick to the solar plexus that left Jorin gasping.

As was usual at the Kendoka, the assault was relentless and the Akalak pressed his advantage. Jorin himself, sensing that he needed to counterattack or he'd be on the defensive for the rest of the fight, swung his staff to the side, attempting to catch the man in the jaw with it as he brought his hands into the center grip. This was not a grip that Jorin had actually practiced or been taught, but desperate times called for desperate measures and the traditional forward grip was too awkward in such close quarters.

Jorin's lack of practice shone through, however, as despite the fact that the center grip, with both hands firmly in the middle of the staff, did afford superior control and mobility it came at the cost of range. And the Akalak took advantage of that, reaching out to grab him by the scruff of the neck and slamming his knee into Jorin's chest. Jorin attempt to blunt the attack came too late; the clumsy strike with the butt-end of the staff whiffing entirely, hitting nothing but empty air.

For such a large fellow, the man was extremely fast. Not just on his feet in terms of movement but everything. His strikes were fast, he entered his basic Lakan stance quickly, he even retreated with surprising alacrity. That combined with his obvious strength and there was little chance that Jorin would ever catch him, and it wouldn't matter how strong Jorin was, or was not. A strike that missed by a tick might as well have missed by a bell.

And that was something Jorin was quickly learning from his fights at the Kendoka. He needed to get faster. Speed was life, as Sorhyn would say, and unless he learned to develop it soon, he was going to get eaten alive.

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[Kendoka Sasaran] The Speed of Life

Postby Jorin Ertihan on December 1st, 2013, 5:11 pm

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Thus far Jorin had barely managed to get himself into position again, checking his chest and solar plexus areas to make sure they weren't too badly injured. It was interesting; in theater one was actually more likely to injure the legs or back than the chest area, since tumbles were quite common in more physical plays (usually the comedies but not always), and when one missed such a tumble the end-result was typically a sore back, or a twisted leg.

The Akalak barely gave him enough time to catch his breath, surging forward again with practiced skill and dodging this way then that before leaping into the air to strike at him from above. This was an unexpected development and Jorin could do little besides stumble backwards, his stance now turned into an awkward shuffling and the quarterstaff no longer pointed at his opponent, now more diagonally across from him.

That was enough for the big man who struck quickly and decisively at Jorin's arm, looking to end the fight by causing a crippling injury, but Jorin's instincts screamed at him to prevent this from happening and he used one of the techniques that he'd been taught, the forward thrust, to the best extent he could. He dipped the end of the staff with his left hand as his right yanked it to the left, causing the staff to take the usual curved path toward the enemy as it sailed toward the opponent's chin from below.

The speed that he'd developed practicing this one move over and over and over and over shone when the Akalak did not even react to the counterattack until it was too late, a genuine look of shock crossing his face as wood collided with flesh and bone. Jorin was still not strong enough, apparently, to make the strike do much damage but it certainly caught the man's attention and it clearly still stung. Even though the other man refused to rub his jaw, his attack had been effectively blunted.

Jorin did not waste any time, however. It was really the only combo he knew, and if the Akalak knew this combo as well he'd probably be able to put an end to it, but Jorin tried anyway. Just as the staff connected with the Akalak's jaw he stepped into the blow and then swung his left arm up, elbow rising as he jerked the staff down with his right hand and his left elbow swung around to try to embed the butt end of the staff in a buttstroke that would catch the bigger man in the chest or solar plexus. It wasn't quite a horizontal buttstroke, being that it was coming at the wrong angle, but it was good enough to surprise the man and perhaps even push him back.

But the Akalak was prepared for the follow-up to a forward thrust and he quickly used his Lakan to block the end of the staff, effortlessly turning Jorin's attack while simultaneously he took advantage of their relative proximity to strike at Jorin's exposed head, grabbing him by the throat and ramming him against the wall. Jorin's head swam and his vision went white for a moment as he realized the man was slamming his head against the wall repeatedly, over and over and the pain surged through him like lightning bolts.

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[Kendoka Sasaran] The Speed of Life

Postby Jorin Ertihan on December 1st, 2013, 5:26 pm

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Jorin wasn't even thinking at this point. The Akalak's hand was over his face as he rammed the back of Jorin's head into the wall and everything seemed to slow to a crawl. He was operating entirely on instinct now, that base animal impulse to survive that overrode any other thinking process when under extreme duress. And Jorin was definitely under extreme duress. Perhaps some portion of his brain knew that Sohryn wouldn't let the man kill him.

Maybe. Possibly. He hoped. The truth was Sohryn wasn't here and that meant that he might be a bit too late to prevent it. Or perhaps he was deliberately allowing it to continue, wanting to see just how Jorin responds to the problem. Or doesn't respond to the problem. Regardless, he couldn't rely on the instructor to break up the fight this time.

Jorin's instincts drove him to bring his quarterstaff up, bracing both hands about a third of the way down on either side and using it like a ram to push the Akalak away from him. The wood pressed into the flesh of his opponent but he was much stronger than Jorin and resisted the motion easily. The pain at the back of his head became greater and he seriously wondered if the man was trying to split his skull open like a watermelon with what he was doing. What little thought processes he had left that was.

Instinctively, Jorin braced his body against the wall, one leg pushed against it and then pushed, using the force of not just his arms but his legs and diaphragm and really his entire body against just the strength of the Akalak's legs. This worked and the Akalak stumbled backwards slightly, but recovered quickly and returned with a powerful strike with his wooden Lakan right at Jorin's throat. This strike was deftly caught by a large blue hand, which Jorin recognized to be Sorhyn's.

"That's enough," he announced, and Jorin couldn't tell from the dizziness whether his instructor was angry or concerned about how badly he'd lost. The other Akalak growled something in Tukant that Jorin could not understand, and Sorhyn just shrugged and replied in equally incomprehensible babble. His broken vocabulary in the language, combined with the ringing in his head, meant even if he had recognized a choice word here or there they wouldn't have registered past the fog of the pain.

"Quit your whining and shake it off," Sohryn admonished Jorin, cuffing him about the ears to wake him up. The action certainly cleared his thoughts slightly, and he gingerly tapped the back of his head and drew away his hand. The sticky, warm red that covered his fingers told him what he already knew. He was bleeding back there.

"Yes you're bleeding," Sorhyn announced harshly. "No it isn't serious. You'll be fine, unless you're not man enough to withstand a little pain. Get back to practice."

It was, perhaps, expected of him. After all, Sorhyn had been one of the most harsh and unforgiving instructors that Jorin had ever experienced. Still the man was always careful to ensure that he did not truly overexert himself. Sorhyn had told Jorin numerous times that he was a trainer of warriors. And a dead warrior could not defend Riverfall. If the man said the injury was not severe, Jorin would believe him.

Shaking his head to clear it a little more, Jorin tried to ignore the stinging pain at the back of his skull. He didn't know how bad the injury back there was but he'd received several good blows to the head that day and was probably lucky he could still remember his name. Lesson learned: don't leave your head exposed next time.

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[Kendoka Sasaran] The Speed of Life

Postby Jorin Ertihan on December 1st, 2013, 8:01 pm

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Jorin's head injury, however, had an immediate and deleterious effect on his combat speed. Everything seemed sluggish and slow, and despite his best efforts he just couldn't get his muscles to move at their usual speed. It was like he was fighting through molasses, and Jorin even found it difficult to breathe. His lungs filled with air but it just didn't seem to allow him to catch his breath and he found himself gasping for air every few ticks, until his routine was thoroughly disrupted and he had to stop.

"Why have you stopped?" Sorhyn's voice boomed from above him. Jorin winced at the volume, it seemed overly loud for some reason.

"I can't... everything's just..." Jorin was finding it hard to concentrate or find the words he was trying to say, but this just seemed to annoy the big Akalak who immediately got in his face.

"Really? You can't?! Oh I'm sorry, Jorin! I didn't realize we were a knitting class. Would you perhaps like a doily? Maybe a nice cup of tea?!" The Akalak's words got angrier and angrier as his dark eyes bored into Jorin's, who looked away after a few ticks which only seemed to anger the man more.

"Don't you look away from me when I'm speaking to you!" he snarled, seizing Jorin's head and swinging it back. "I think you have critically misjudged reality if you think that an enemy is going to take pity on you just because you're a little hurt. So what's the matter? Head ringing? Things going a little slow? Well boo hoo. Suck it up!"

Jorin's head was ringing too much, both from the impact against the wall and from Sorhyn's yelling, to absorb much of what the large man said. When Sorhyn saw no comprehension in Jorin's eyes he snarled and smacked him, hard, across the face, the impact ringing across the Kendoka and a brief lull ensued as the students there looked over curiously to see what was going on before returning to their own combat when Sorhyn glared at them.

"You know, the moment you stepped into this place I knew what you were, human. You were weak. And I tolerated you because I thought I could make you strong. But I can see I was wrong. We don't need weaklings here." The Akalak's voice dripped with disdain. "Get your stuff. You're done."

Despite the fog his head had gone into, Sorhyn's voice cut through it like a knife. He was done? Was the man kicking him out... for getting beat up? That wasn't fair! Every time two people collided there was a fight, and there was always a winner and a loser. That didn't mean that every time someone lost they got kicked out; the Kendoka wouldn't have very many students in that case! Jorin voiced that frustration, having finally found his voice.

"That isn't fair!" he shouted back, not caring that he was sounding a bit whiny. "You can't just kick me out for that, it doesn't even make any sense! What the petch... I came here for three days and just because I haven't been able to win...?!"

Sorhyn barked an amused laugh as he roughly yanked Jorin to his feet, he having slumped down a bit to put his hands on his head, the better to try to get it to stop hurting so much. Jorin's muscles protested the action but he nonetheless stood, wobbly legs barely sustaining his weight.

"Not fair?!" Sorhyn shouted. "You seriously think your enemy is going to be fair to you?! I'm sorry, Jorin, but out there in the real world no one will be fighting 'fair'. So no, my training techniques won't be fair. You will always be matched up against people better than you. Sometimes significantly better than you. And you're just going to have to learn to man up and deal with it. But it looks like you failed that little test. So why don't you go on home, little man. Go cower behind your Amphitheater and your pretty little pansy men and let the real warriors train."

Jorin gritted his teeth. He just wanted to hit the man for his arrogant and elitist attitude. He'd been here all of three days and he was expected to beat opponents several Seasons more experienced then him? Maybe even several years? How was he supposed to do that?! Without thinking, he yelled out a warcry and charged Sorhyn, not even caring that it was his instructor and he probably didn't stand a chance.

The pumping adrenaline in his veins burned away the molasses from before, making his mind clear once more. Things snapped into focus and he just wanted to hit the man, repeatedly, and he didn't even care anymore that it would probably get him in trouble to injure his own mentor at the Kendoka. But Sorhyn didn't look upset. He didn't even look surprised. He looked... he looked relieved.

"About time," he growled as he deftly sidestepped Jorin's wild swing. "But next time, try to remember the lessons I taught you."

As he said it, Jorin for the first time noticed that Sorhyn had at some point taken his own wooden hunting knife from his belt and had swung it, hard, at his head. In his adrenaline-fueled state he found he actually saw the attack this time and brought his hands wide apart on the staff, employing his practiced center block and pushed against Sorhyn's forearm with the middle of the staff, before swinging his right arm down the shaft of the weapon and sweeping the end of the staff toward Sorhyn's right cheek.

The buttstroke missed, the instructor smoothly stepping into the attack and then employing a forearm block to Jorin's own wrist before twisting around and stepping forward one more time, his left hand coming up to grip Jorin's right forearm to control the movement of his staff while Sorhyn's right, still holding the wooden knife, brought the training weapon down on Jorin's shoulder.

Pain blossomed from the impact area, and Jorin nearly dropped his weapon, his fingers spasming and tingling from the shudder that ran all the way down his arm. He gasped and disengaged, wanting desperately to rub the area but knowing better than to do that. Beyond the fact that would be displaying weakness to an enemy, it also meant that he'd have to release his quarterstaff, and that would mean swift death at the hands of the enemy.

At least, he was absolutely sure that was what Sorhyn would say, and at this moment he could not be certain the man might not try to impress the statement on Jorin by carrying it out. At the very least, Jorin did not wish to take the chance.

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Jorin Ertihan
Art is the purest form of expression.
 
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[Kendoka Sasaran] The Speed of Life

Postby Jorin Ertihan on December 1st, 2013, 8:32 pm

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"What's the matter, Jorin?! Be faster!" Sorhyn shouted, and Jorin gave his head a hard shake. Even though the ringing was mostly gone, the pain in the back of his head had gone from a dull ache to an acute, sharp, stabbing thing.

It felt like someone had jammed a Lakan back there and it was making it difficult for him to concentrate. He desperately hoped he didn't have any sort of concussion or a serious brain injury, but he was quite sure if he did then Sorhyn would have said so. Then again, knowing the man, maybe he wouldn't have said so.

"Quit wincing like a woman! It's not that bad!" Sorhyn admonished, charging forward again. Jorin tried to bring his quarterstaff up to meet the attack but was repulsed rather quickly when Sohryn simply replied with a hard shove to the chest, sending him tumbling backwards and he had to take his eyes off his opponent briefly, looking down to make sure that he did not trip and land on his buttocks.

The lack of attention, even for a split tick, was enough, and Jorin paid heavily for it. Sorhyn was on top of him in a moment, his wooden knife slamming into Jorin's chest and he could feel the breath just whoosh out of his lungs, the pain tentacling outward and his mind was a white hot mess of it. The assault didn't end there as Sorhyn brought his leg forward to stomp at Jorin's who instinctively stepped back to avoid the attack despite his eyes tearing up and having released his weapon at least with his left hand to clutch at his chest.

Relentless assault. That was what was taught at the Kendoka. You did not stop until your opponent was dead; or in this case until it was clear that if Sorhyn or the grandmaster had not stepped in you would be dead. And Sorhyn definitely lived up to that promise. With no sympathy to Jorin's obvious pain the man surged forward again, the knife now headed straight for his head.

Jorin gasped with pain as he did the only thing he could. He rolled out of the way, tumbling painfully onto the mat and away from the weapon that was about to kill him and from his position on the ground all he could really do was kick. So he did, aiming the heel of his foot at Sorhyn's ankle but the man was much too quick and easily shifted out the way and he ended up kicking air, looking very much like an overgrown baby lying on the ground kicking about.

Getting back up, Jorin ran a quick sleeve over his eyes to get the grunge out but even that tiny movement was taken advantage of as Sorhyn didn't even give him the chance to reestablish his stance. He wasn't kidding about this being like a real battle. Like a real opponent looking to kill him Sorhyn had been trying to strike at him the entire time he tried to rise; the only reason he hadn't succeeded was that the range of his weapon was not as long as Jorin's own.

The quarterstaff tried to rise to meet the assault but was blunted when Sorhyn grasped the end of it and yanked it hard, sending Jorin tumbling forward and nearly off his feet. He could feel the blows of his own wooden knife against the flat of his back and he knew he had lost that day. A swift knee to his solar plexus finished him off, and with a pained groan he rolled off to the side, gasping for breath.

"That was utterly pathetic," Sorhyn commented, replacing the wooden training knife back on the racks with the rest of the weapons there. "Still, you remembered a few of my lessons at least. Tomorrow we will train in blocks. You obviously need to work on your defense. And your speed. We will have to drill you on speed. Remember this, Jorin. Speed is life. On the battlefield, there are two kinds of warriors: the fast and the dead."

Jorin had no question which one he was right now. The man loomed over him, and Jorin knew he was waiting for him to get up. Every bone and muscle in his body creaked with protest, but eventually he was able to rise to his feet. If he thought he was shaky before, he was practically a dry leaf now. Easily toppled by the lightest wind.

"Oh, and, don't ever complain about a minor injury again," Sorhyn snapped. "A little dizziness is to be expected from a head injury. There's no need to whine or cry about it. If you start seeing double, or you can't remember your name, or you lose consciousness, then we'll talk. Now where's my thousand?"

Thousand? Was the man really saying...? Jorin's mouth opened as wide as his eyes and he was about to complain when he stopped himself. He knew what the words he wanted to say would trigger. That's not fair. It never was, with Sorhyn. And he'd just say that if Jorin couldn't take it, he could always leave. And that was true. He could always leave. But that didn't change the fact that Jorin had chosen to do this. It was his choice to come here, and by Wysar he'd see it through, or die trying.

Jorin quietly picked up his quarterstaff as Sorhyn wandered off, the lesson apparently over for the day. Speed. The issue was speed. Jorin swung the quarterstaff faster. Or at least tried to; but the muscles just wouldn't obey, wouldn't go any faster. How did one train strike speed? Possibly just by practice.

He noted, for example, that earlier his forward thrust was significantly faster than any of his other strikes, probably because he'd been practicing it so intently it had become almost second nature. So maybe that was it. Just practice. Jorin sighed. Thrust, strike, block, return. It had become habit, but he needed to actually put that in use.

It was just too easy to thwart that simplistic combo; perhaps he needed to mix things up a bit, try to keep things fresh. Tomorrow, apparently, he'd learn blocks. Jorin desperately hoped the addition of that training would mean fewer beatings like today. Because it was easy to say 'or die trying' but if this kept up, that might be exactly what would happen.

~Fin~

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Jorin Ertihan
Art is the purest form of expression.
 
Posts: 593
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[Kendoka Sasaran] The Speed of Life

Postby Translucent on December 6th, 2013, 6:03 pm

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Congratulations On Your Hard Work!


Jorin Ertihan:
XP:+5 weapon: Quarterstaff, +3 unarmed combat, +1 observation,
Lores: Training: Always watch where you’re going. The need to gain more speed. Sorhyn: Don’t complain about small injuries to him.

Notes:Don’t forget to edit your grade request

As always PM me if you have issues.


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