5th of Winter, 507 AV
"Again boy! You'll never prove yourself a man to the others, not if you can't even take one punch from little ole' Zo'os," the blue armed swordsman spat as he rolled his shoulders, bastard sword held leisurely in his bristling stone hand.
Raien gritted his teeth in response, as he hauled himself off the ground, hefting the massive blade Zo'os had loaned him, up with both hands as he straightened his legs. Staggering as he willed all three to form a somewhat shoddy stance.
It wasn't that he thought his mentor was torturing him on purpose. The Vizerian had always been a hardass when it came to training, and even while the generally sudden switch from father-figure to strict master was always a little unnerving, for Raien the effect had greatly diminished these last few seasons.
No, it was the fact that the man held nothing back, ever. Zo'os fought him like he was any other Isur, trained or otherwise. Though while this was related to the cause of his irritation, it wasn't in of itself the source.
Rather, it was the fact that he wasn't any other Isur that irked him to his core. It was the fact that every single blow Zo'os dealt out, not only hit, but left overwhelmingly large bruises, that caused him no small amount of mental anguish. He was being recognized as an Isur, treated like one. It was everything he'd ever wanted, strived for.... and he couldn't keep up, he, his body, his bones, they just couldn't take it.
"But I have to," Raien thought as Zo'os approached. The burly man closing the gap as if he were a famished apex predator, graceful, confident, knowing, and ready to spring upon his target at a moments notice. "My master, Zo'os, he believes in me. I have to!"
Raien charged, and while it wasn't nearly as graceful as Zo'os's own approach, it was fast, and it was most certainly aggressive. Aggressive enough it seemed, to unnerve his teacher, who quickly repositioned his massive legs into a defensive stance. Barely moving in time to catch a downswing of his student's blade with his own steel.
"He hadn't expected such aggression from me," Raien realized with a self-satisfied smirk. He hadn't hit, but he'd gotten closer this time, closer than he'd ever gotten before. Still.... Zo'os was smiling as well. Raien noted. Before his teacher startled him further, by beginning to laugh a throaty crescendo, as he started to speak.
"With a temper like that," the older man began, removing his right hand from his blocking blade in a flash. "We might make a man out of you yet," as the words tumbled from his teacher's mouth, Raien barely caught the movement in time. Willing his own right arm away from his blade's hilt, in a frantic rush to intercept his mentor's fist, trying desperately to protect his otherwise unguarded ribs.
Forearm and fist assaulted each other, flesh collided violently with flesh, and dense bone cracked against it's comparatively flimsy counterpart. Raien let out a startled gasp as he absorbed the brunt of the attack, and as he saw what he saw.
He'd managed to block the fist, but he'd done exactly what Zo'os had wanted as well, he realized, his crystalline eyes growing wide as the other man's blue arm, and sword began to move in tandem almost immediately after Raien blocked the punch. Pushing down,and finding little resistance with only one mortal arm supporting it, Zo'os easily knocked his pupil's sword aside with his own. Sending Raien's left arm and blade flying behind him, upsetting his stance, and leaving him entirely open to retaliation once more.
And yet, his opponent was not done. Apparently determined to take advantage of the openings it had helped create, Raien found that the very same hand he had just deflected, came flying up in an uppercut, connecting with a staggering force with his chin. Tipping his head back, and sending pain through and without the base of his skull. Right before he felt another, even harder hit slam into his helplessly defenseless chest.
And there it was, a single combo was all it took. The young-half Isur was sent spiraling into the cold stone beneath him. Bastard sword flying far out of reach, as his head cracked against the hard floor.
"Again boy! You'll never prove yourself a man to the others, not if you can't even take one punch from little ole' Zo'os," the blue armed swordsman spat as he rolled his shoulders, bastard sword held leisurely in his bristling stone hand.
Raien gritted his teeth in response, as he hauled himself off the ground, hefting the massive blade Zo'os had loaned him, up with both hands as he straightened his legs. Staggering as he willed all three to form a somewhat shoddy stance.
It wasn't that he thought his mentor was torturing him on purpose. The Vizerian had always been a hardass when it came to training, and even while the generally sudden switch from father-figure to strict master was always a little unnerving, for Raien the effect had greatly diminished these last few seasons.
No, it was the fact that the man held nothing back, ever. Zo'os fought him like he was any other Isur, trained or otherwise. Though while this was related to the cause of his irritation, it wasn't in of itself the source.
Rather, it was the fact that he wasn't any other Isur that irked him to his core. It was the fact that every single blow Zo'os dealt out, not only hit, but left overwhelmingly large bruises, that caused him no small amount of mental anguish. He was being recognized as an Isur, treated like one. It was everything he'd ever wanted, strived for.... and he couldn't keep up, he, his body, his bones, they just couldn't take it.
"But I have to," Raien thought as Zo'os approached. The burly man closing the gap as if he were a famished apex predator, graceful, confident, knowing, and ready to spring upon his target at a moments notice. "My master, Zo'os, he believes in me. I have to!"
Raien charged, and while it wasn't nearly as graceful as Zo'os's own approach, it was fast, and it was most certainly aggressive. Aggressive enough it seemed, to unnerve his teacher, who quickly repositioned his massive legs into a defensive stance. Barely moving in time to catch a downswing of his student's blade with his own steel.
"He hadn't expected such aggression from me," Raien realized with a self-satisfied smirk. He hadn't hit, but he'd gotten closer this time, closer than he'd ever gotten before. Still.... Zo'os was smiling as well. Raien noted. Before his teacher startled him further, by beginning to laugh a throaty crescendo, as he started to speak.
"With a temper like that," the older man began, removing his right hand from his blocking blade in a flash. "We might make a man out of you yet," as the words tumbled from his teacher's mouth, Raien barely caught the movement in time. Willing his own right arm away from his blade's hilt, in a frantic rush to intercept his mentor's fist, trying desperately to protect his otherwise unguarded ribs.
Forearm and fist assaulted each other, flesh collided violently with flesh, and dense bone cracked against it's comparatively flimsy counterpart. Raien let out a startled gasp as he absorbed the brunt of the attack, and as he saw what he saw.
He'd managed to block the fist, but he'd done exactly what Zo'os had wanted as well, he realized, his crystalline eyes growing wide as the other man's blue arm, and sword began to move in tandem almost immediately after Raien blocked the punch. Pushing down,and finding little resistance with only one mortal arm supporting it, Zo'os easily knocked his pupil's sword aside with his own. Sending Raien's left arm and blade flying behind him, upsetting his stance, and leaving him entirely open to retaliation once more.
And yet, his opponent was not done. Apparently determined to take advantage of the openings it had helped create, Raien found that the very same hand he had just deflected, came flying up in an uppercut, connecting with a staggering force with his chin. Tipping his head back, and sending pain through and without the base of his skull. Right before he felt another, even harder hit slam into his helplessly defenseless chest.
And there it was, a single combo was all it took. The young-half Isur was sent spiraling into the cold stone beneath him. Bastard sword flying far out of reach, as his head cracked against the hard floor.
