Flashback Falling leaves

A Young Vervain crosses blades with his Father.

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Falling leaves

Postby Azrayel Kolasi on September 28th, 2013, 9:07 pm

3rd of Fall, 504 AV
The Syliran Wilderness


The forest was calm, the sun just barely beginning to illuminate the dark azure of the early morning sky. Small tendrils of light, yellows pinks and blues, began to pierce the top of the nearby treeline, and in the distance the flickering lights of the trade caravan's dwindling fires illuminated the twilight hours of the morning. An uneasy calm cast itself upon Vervain, like cold iron pressed tightly against his young chest on all sides. His hand sat deftly on the hilt of his cutlass, his fingertips numbed by the frigid curves of the iron. Across the clearing, his father stood, slowly drawing his own weapon - an older but pristine iteration of the weapon Vervain grasped. Jacynth tended to the blade with dedication and love, so much so that the caravenners often referred to it as Vervain's little brother.

"Draw your weapon, my child." Jacynth's voice was deceptively even and flat, and to the uninitiated onlooker it might appear as if this were a sparring session like any other. Vervain knew better. There was a tightness in Jacynth's jaw, a firmness in the grasp he held on his blade, and a telling shadow that moved across his eyes of his father.

There was nothing about this situation which should have been new or surprising to Vervain. Sword practice was part of the many drills that Vervain was subjected to daily, but this was the first time it had been framed by indignant rage on his fathers part. Regardless of how guarded father was with his emotions, Vervain could hear it in the subtle quiver in the depth of his voice - see it in the keen, predatorial focus in his eyes. Oh aye, though his father was smiling, the heat of Jacynth's rage was palatable, and it was all directed straight at him. It was if he had spit in the face of Ivak himself.

Yet, his bravado had gotten him this far, and the boy was loathe to abandon it so easily in the face of his fathers intimidation tactics.

"Well then? I'm waiting, old man." The words were his, but they felt practiced and fake. He drew his cutlass, as father requested. It felt heavier than usual.

Father nodded curtly, raising his blade up in front of him in a formal dueling stance. Vervain would awkwardly imitate the motion, lacking the practiced grace of his fathers hand. Then, with no warning at all, Jacynth was in motion, an arrow poised to pierce his sons very heart.

The sudden burst of movement took Vervain a little bit off guard, and before his mind could fully comprehend what was happening father was almost upon him. Many years of constant sword practice with Jacynth had taught him a few things, in particular that father favored ending a battle with the first blow whenever possible. Vervain's body moved on its own, a testament to the discipline Jacynth had been instilling in him all these years, lunging back out of the striking range of the iron cobra as it striked at his face. A flash of light reflected off the sheen surface of his fathers cutlass temporarily blocked all other sights from reaching his left eye. The world danced and trees sashayed in green streaks all around him, but as he hit the ground his training kicked back in and he threw his weight forward into a roll, emerging in a kneeling posture with his blade lifted up to defend his core.

He felt himself begin to smirk involuntarily, a well of pride rushing up deep within him. Father underestimated him if he thought he could end their little match so easily. Surely this was his just due after the rigors of his training, that now combined with the strength of his youthful body that he should triumph over his father. As exciting a prospect as this was, however, Vervain felt something else - a voice in the back of his mind, a muffled scream that howled of danger. His eyes caught the gleam of thin red line running Jacynth's blade as he flicked it back into his starting stance. Suddenly Vervain became aware of a strange tickle over and under his eye, as a crimson irritation began to cloud his vision. He reached up reflexively to rub the haze from his sight.

His palm sat just in front of his face, his pupils beginning to slowly dilate. Small red droplets coated his palm, and although common sense would dictate that the sanguine carried by his veins would be warm, all he could feel was cold. Thousands of frozen, tiny hands gripped at his body. They pushed on his arms, making his hands tremble with the weight of his cutlass. They pushed on his chest, making each breath more and more a strain to take. They fought against his neck as he slowly lifted his chin to make eye contact with his father, blood trickling down his cheek and jawline. He had felt the blade make contact, but in the heat of the moment hadn't realized just how close he had been to being decapitated.

"If I had moved a half second later than I did..." The realization was like ice poured straight into his chest cavity.

Father didn't merely wish to teach him a lesson. He wanted him dead.
Last edited by Azrayel Kolasi on July 2nd, 2014, 1:52 am, edited 14 times in total.
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Falling Leaves

Postby Azrayel Kolasi on January 23rd, 2014, 11:36 pm

3rd of Fall, 504 AV
The Sylrian Wilderness


The Sylrian wilderness spun, until it was naught but a formless blur of greens and browns around him. His father wasted precious little time, the practiced grace of his movements belying their murderous intent as the point of his blade was twisted and pointed forward, his legs bending at the knee as he poised himself. The iron sat in his palm like a fang anchored to a jaw, his lips curling back against his teeth. Vervain was an injured fawn, sitting in frozen horror as a tiger stalked him with cool nonchalance.

However,the shock that held Vervain melted quickly, and the world came back into focus. Survival instincts kicked in, and broke into a run, trying to blink away the blood as it flowed from his cut into his eye. He could hear Jacynth behind him - and although Vervain's youth afforded him a heightened amount of stamina over that of his father, Jacynth was far from being a geriatric, and he could hear Jacynth's footfalls gaining on him as they snapped twigs and crushed the fallen leaves underfoot.

"Stand your ground, you miserable little coward!" His fathers voice raced between tree trunks and foliage, burrowing firmly into Vervain's heart. No matter the fire in his legs, no speed Vervain could muster could outrun them. They flew after him like a bird of prey and clung to his very skin like an illness. "Worthless! How can you be so incompetent?!"

Jacynth was right behind him now, bringing his cutlass around in a upward spiral, his wrist moving with practiced control as he brought the edge toward Vervain's heels. Just as he was about to find his mark, Vervain slashed upwards, and cut cleanly through several low hanging tree branches, the iron biting through the wood with the added momentum of his forward flight.

Jacynth ducked just in time to prevent the swarm of wood and leaves from slamming into his face, stumbling just slightly to avoid careening mid-run into a tree. "Hmph. " His eyes quickly snapped back into on Vervain's back as it grew rapidly smaller and obscured by the forest. "Pitiful."
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Falling Leaves

Postby Azrayel Kolasi on June 26th, 2014, 8:18 pm

3rd of Fall, 504 AV
The Sylrian Wilderness


Faster, faster, faster..


The wilderness seemed defiantly tranquil. Distantly, and growing ever more faint, Vervain could pick the up the mocking chatter of songbirds, rapidly vanishing behind the dull pounding in his chest. With each step his legs teetered on collapse, his footfalls becoming staggered and uneven with the strain. Yet he could feel the murderous intent creeping up his spine, a vague and odious tingling on his back urging him forward like a fire at his heels. Jacynth flew with speed that defied the creases and lines around his eyes, a whirlwind of oranges and reds flowing around him like colored pencil shavings as his flight swept them up to the ground to fall one final time.

Then it happened; his leg buckled mid-stride as his father threw a kick at full sprint at the back of his knee. The ground came rushing to meet his face - red and yellow lightning ripping through his skull as his nose exploded in runny crimson and his cutlass slid from his grasp. Mouthful of dirt and leaves, he rolled over hesitantly to face Jacynth, as if father were a territorial animal; Surely he would only strike if he felt threatened.

The face of his father, standing over him with the point of his cutlass dangerously close to the sweat beaded flesh of his throat, seemed to stare not at, but through Vervain - hard and unflinching, as if he were carved of marble. The eyes that met his were not those of his father, however - or at least, not the only eyes his father had. For Jacynth was a complex man, well beyond Vervain's adolescent levels of comprehension. All he knew was that in Jacynth there was both the wise and empathetic mentor, capable of disseminating wisdom and kindness, and the predator - a living embodiment of a twisted soul, dark and threatening. The eyes that now sized him up did so with disgust and contempt, wild and dangerous.

"You should not have a ran. If your'e going to start a fight, you can at least have the courage to finish it. " The words dripped with his disdain, and he brought a boot backwards and upwards as he spoke, and the world shuttered and exploded red hues as a sharp pain erupted from Vervain's ribs. His hoarse howl broke the tranquil orchestra of the forest and it's denizens as he rolled onto his side, clutching his ribs like an injured fawn. His eyes never left his fathers however, and despite the blade hovering less than an inch from bringing his existence to a pre-mature end, there was no fear he could feel. He was too tired for that. He simply stared, a prisoner patiently laying before the headsmen.
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Falling Leaves

Postby Azrayel Kolasi on July 9th, 2014, 3:41 pm

3rd of Fall, 504 AV
The Sylian Wilderness

A small flame flickered into existence, hovering just over Jacynth's free hand. It had always occurred to Vervain in some small fashion that Jacynth's talent for Reimancy was a strange one - especially considering his insistence that his magic was little more than slight of hand and parlor tricks. The flame in his hand burned even, and it burned true, the Res igniting in controlled bursts, layer by layer. Vervain's eyes crept from the point of the blade to it like moths drawn in by the light. Though it should not have mattered in what capacity he met his end, somehow the thought of being turned into his own funeral pyre was far more terrifying then simply being impaled.

"With the ministrations of a competent healer," Jacynth began, pulling the tip of his sword from his sons throat to run the flame in his hand along the surface of the iron. "That cut over your eye would fade, barely leaving a noticeable mark. " The blade began to turn orange, and than slowly blue, as he ran it up and down across the flame. Vervain watched with captivation, keenly aware of the multiple beads of sweat which ran across his skin like a tiny hoard of insects.

Content with his work, he let the flame in his hand die. Lifting his leg, he gently set his boot down on Vervain's chest, applying subtle pressure. "Remain still child. If not, you're liable to lose your eye." Vervain stared up at Jacynth in these final moments, brows furrowed in confusion, more pronounced than his fear.

Then it was upon him. In memory, there was no space between these events - there was simply a flame, and then the blue iron pressed against his skin. Jacynth held fast to the blade as it pressed against the cut, the distinct sizzling of flesh drowning in the sounds of Vervain's screams. "Hold still, child!" Jacynth pressed the heel of his boot firmer against Vervain's chest as he began to squirm involuntarily.

"M-Mercy! Please, Father!" Vervain's hands gripped tightly at the boot planed on his ribcage, pushing and clawing with animal-like fervor.

"I'm not doing this to punish you!" Jacynth turned the blade, holding it now against the portion of the cut beneath Vervain's eye instead of over it. "When you thought I was going to kill you, you ran. If I were anyone else, I could have simply stabbed you in the back."

"O-Okay! I get it! Please, I-"

Jacynth lifted his boot, and slammed it into his sons chest. Vervain sputtered and coughed, writhing silently now, his screams reduced to airy gasps.

"No. You can't accomplish anything if you're afraid of dying. Know your fate. Do not fear it." Vervain continued to squirm, his trembling hands still loosely clinging to the leather of his fathers boot. "Your problem is that you think you know too much. That's why you started mouthing off to me in the first place. You need to forget about what you know and what you think you know." Jacynth's wrist twisted the sword to press the other side down against the cut, eliciting a cry from his son.

"Without pain, we would accomplish nothing. Each excruciating step human civilization has taken has been over and through rivers of blood." Vervain slowly let go of fathers boot, his arms going limp on the ground next to him. Jacynth held the heated metal in place a second or two longer, observing his son, focusing on his shallow, strained breathing, before pulling the sword away, eliciting a gasp of relief.

Vervain rolled over, cupping his hands over his face. "Congratulations." Jacynth would examine the iron of his blade, it's blue surface cooled to orange. "That's a mark that will never leave you." Vervain opened his free eye to gaze up at his father, who was already walking away.

"I suggest you follow me quickly, back to the caravan. The wilderness can be a frightful place, even this close to..."He smirked to himself. "Civilization."
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Falling leaves

Postby Aoren on July 26th, 2014, 12:41 am

Vervain

Experience
Skill XP Earned
Observation + 3 EXP
Intimidation + 1 EXP
Acrobatics + 2 EXP
Running +2 EXP
Cutlass +1 EXP
Tactics +1 EXP



Lores
Lore Earned
Jacynth: Father, Teacher, Mentor
Observational Insight: Signs Of Tension In The Face
Cutlass: Basic Dueling Stance
Acrobatics: Tuck and Roll
Tactics: Using The Environment To One’s Advantage
Hard Lessons: Know Your Fate. Do Not Fear It.


Notes :
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