Solo A Lesson Learned

[Keene Ward]

The forty-third day of fall, 513 AV.

"Ready?"

The words seemed to leave Mella's lips half a tick before she launched the hunk of earth at him. As the clod of dirt zoomed towards him, Keene turned, his arm extended and a film of res over his palm. Focusing his thoughts, Keene pulled his arm in, bending at the elbow and twisting his palm upwards in a coiled preparation. He was too slow, however, as the clod of dirt him his squarely in the chest, knocking him off of his feet. The res remained clutched in his fist as he made a slow, sweeping arc through the air to come crashing down onto the unforgiving forest floor, rife with with the slough of the deciduous denizens of the area. Upon contact, the wad of earth had exploded into a spray of muddy mess that had found its way into his mouth and eyes. Sputtering on the ground, Keene wiped what dirt he could with the back part of his thenar muscle. What was left had quickly become a gritty, albeit not so foul tasting poultice that found itself being spat upon the ground, forming a small, sepia mix of saliva and dirt.

"Gods, you petcher. I even asked if you were petching ready." Mella rolled her eyes, her mass of curls bouncing in the least jovial manner possible as she rested a hand on her hip. "If you're not gonna block the shyke, get out of the petching way." She rarely had any sort of pity to offer him, which meant he rarely expected it. Had she run over to him, coddled him, gently wiped the soil from his face and lovingly kissed his brow two things would have stood true: it wouldn't have been Mella, and Keene would have been extremely uncomfortable. Mella, the woman who had birthed him but was not - by any means - his mother, was a rough and occasionally cruel individual. She was, however, the only form of discipline and mentorship Keene had ever received in his life, making her actions that may have seemed cold or far too demanding simply typical day to day antics. He wasn't so uneducated that he did not understand the proper manners of the average individual. There were books for that.

"Get up." He obliged, rising to his feet, wiping his shirt, though the damage had already been done to the fabric that only a good wash could remove. Steadying himself on his feet once more, he nodded at Mella. "Plant you feet, and for the gods' sake use of faster petching gestures." She waved her arms in a wild fashion, her eyes flashing with a contemptuous frown. "Petching ridiculous." Smashing her foot into the ground, res released from her foot, pouring into the ground and pulling a chunk of earth up into the air where it hovered, awaiting command. "I'm not going as ask again." This time the dirt was flung, Keene was ready. Instead of extending his hand, Keene had it already crossed over his chest, his res coating his palm in a thin film. Straightening his arm in a thrust, he launched his res forward in a gust of transmuted aiming for an area slightly larger that clod. The air connected with the mass, knocking it off trajectory. Unfortunately for the young reimancer, it wasn't enough. He had aimed for the center, extending the width of blast to compensate for poor aim; however slamming the gust into the middle of the dirt with the paltry amount of res he'd used didn't affect the ball of earth enough for it to miss. Instead of his chest, it ricocheted off his shoulder spinning off into the underbrush. Mella let out a frustrated string of curses.

Rubbing the sore spot on his shoulder where the projectile had made its impact, Keene braced himself for oncoming storm. "What the petch are you thinking just throwing about your res like some petching little shyke?" Her face nearly the red of her hair. His voice had risen to a wild roar, sending small trails of spittle into the air with her forceful vehemence. "When I tell you to petching deflect something, petching deflect it!" It was common for get to get so worked up after several failures on Keene's part. Such was the cycle: Mella would name a new tactic, technique, or goal for their training; Keene would proceed to fulfill the requirements with zero given parameters; Mella would grow first angry then furious; Keene would eventually stumble upon the correct procedure; and the process would begin anew. They were currently at Mella's "angry" stage, though an objective observer may have thought it was much closer to the greater "fury". She had a way to go before she reached the true peak of her wrath. '

Once more, Mella drew dirt from the growing hole before her, hurling it at Keene with absolutely no warning. Prepared for display of rage, Keene readied himself the moment he saw the earth before her shift. Once more, he coated his hand with res, though this time he used more than a thin layer. As he swept his arm in a horizonal swipe through the air, his res extended like a whip widening quickly as it moved towards the projectile. With an explosive burst of air, Keene was finally able to blast aside the earth, sending it hurtling at an angle that cleared his person with a narrow berth. Mella blinked for a moment, surprised. Keene did the same. The two gazed at the location where the hunk of dirt had smashed into the ground. Neither of them said anything. After awhile, Mella half heartedly tossed a wad of dirt that landed squarely in the middle of the back of Keene's head. Reeling slightly from the impact, Keene turned to stare at Mella.

She snorted, a devious grin on her lips. "Lucky shot."

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[Keene Ward]

After their small breath of respite, Keene rubbed some of the dirt out of his hair where Mella had landed her last shot. He returned his focus to the task at hand, though now he had a much better idea what was required to block the hunks of loamy soils from smashing into his person. The ideal was to from a gust of force from the perpendicular to effectively send the projectile off course, however it required speed and precision that was out of his realm of current ability (though it was certainly something to aspire towards). His second best option was to launch his res in a cone, the tip facing just shy of the center of whatever was hurtling towards him and towards his position; transmuting the res into a gust of air that expanded out from the cone in all directions to compensate for not aiming as precisely or making sure timing was the be all end all. The second option, however, required a fair amount of res. His third, and most practical option, was to expel a cloud of res that would transmute into a heavy force in whichever direction he wanted the object to go.

Taking in a deep breath, his kept his eyes focused on Mella, how had pulled another ball of slowly rotating earth from the divot in front of her. Launching the ball at a faster speed than those previous, Keene let res run from his mouth and nose, the slight blue gas snaking out into a mist in front of him. As the dirt passed into his area of influence, Keene jerked his head to the right, a blast of air transmuting from the sharply influenced res. The dirt was thrown off course, skimming his cheek and slamming into a tree behind him with a strangely solid crack. He didn't have time to check to see what the source of the sound was, however, as Mella proceeded to fire off two more clods of dirt in his direction, one after the other. Though he would much rather preferred to have avoided it, Keene moved on to his second option. Quickly extending both arms forward, res gushed out of his skin like rapidly evaporating sweat, swirling into a cone in front of him. Having only a tick to aim, Keene moved his arms in a violent breaststroke, air exploding outwards and slamming into the two balls of earth, sending one into the ground so distance to his left, and the other's path was adjusted enough that it skimmed his shoulder.

A think trickling of sweat had started at his temple and slowly crept down the side of his face, pooling where a trail of dirt from an earlier collision still remained. Mella nodded at him, slapping her hands together with the most amount of content she ever showed him during any of their sessions. "You need to work on speed." She signaled a short break by pulling her water flask from her hip and taking a long swig. Unstrapping his own from his belt, Keene placidly drank from the leather pouch. Slowly turning to investigate the tree behind him, he was surprised to see a rock sticking out of the trunk like a dagger that had been jabbed into its heart. Choking on the water, Keene turned wide eyes to Mella who stood smirking back at him. "Incentive for not petching around." Keene found he wasn't a fan of having sharp rocks zooming towards his face, but he had to agree that he wasn't going to let himself slip up any more. It wasn't as if he hand't been trying before hand, but there was something a bit numbing about knowing one's life wasn't truly in any danger. The rocks wouldn't kill him, but they would certainly hurt (and he was full aware Mella wouldn't let the exercise end until she was ready for it to be over, which made little room for excuses like "I'm bleeding out of my skull").

Drawing another mouthful of water, Keene swished it around his mouth, the little particles of dirt that still remained tucked away in his teeth and lower lip coming loose and flowing down his throat with the rest of the liquid as he swallowed. He had used a substantial portion of his res, but there was plenty of Djed that remained to both keep him safe and continue training. He was beginning to feel the effects of the exercise however, and he wiped away the sweat that had begun to blossom on his forehead, pulling his arm across to deal with the trickles on the sides of his face as well. The liquid partially transferred to the skin on his arm, a muddy smear from the dirt that he had collected over the course of the practice session. Mella let loose a sharp whistle, signalling Keene to re-strap his supply of water and ready his res. This time, however, Mella had gathered a pile of stones from only the gods knew where and was gently tossing a particularly wicked looking bit of rock up and down with a malicious grin on her face. "You're now allowed to move."

.

[Keene Ward]

Within the first few chimes of the augmented exercise, Keene made two very important discoveries: Mella had impeccable aim, and he was incredibly terrible at dodging. Aside from those things, he was also quickly reminded how much it hurt to be hit with rocks. They flew from her hand to land upon his body in such quick succession, Keene had difficulties focusing long enough to produce res, let alone transmute it into anything useful. While he did try to avoid the rather painful impacts of the stones hurtling relentlessly at him, Keene found it was much easier in theory to avoid the fixed trajectory of a travelling object than actually doing so with physical movement. In his mind's eye, he could see the rocks and make a rough estimation of where they would be. His body, however, was slow, unresponsive, and gangly resulting in his movements rewarding him with more bruises than if he had just stood still. The torrential attack of stones stopped, leaving Keene huddled on the ground, hands over head, peaking through a gap in his arms at the Mella's raised brow and mirth filled sneer. "Just because you can petching move now doesn't mean you should, you little shyke."

She lobbed another rock at him, giving it an arch that made it relatively easy to determine where he would land. From his crouched position, Keene couldn't get out of the way in time. Instead, he pooled a small fistful of liquid res, tossing it just shy of the rock's path in a sprinkling mist of off-blue res, transmuting it with a wave of his hand in the direction he desired it to go. The wind knocked the rock of course enough that it skimmed past his head, just barely grazing his ear. He'd put as much force into the blast as he had before, but he supposed it wasn't surprising that the denser material of the rock was less affected. It was heavier and slimmer than the dirt clods he had been deflecting previously. "Get the petch up!" Rising quickly, Keene readied himself for another attack, having a bit of a better idea of what she was looking for. His legs were battered and bleeding from the sharp edges of the rocks, but for the most part he wasn't too injured. Scrapes and cuts littered the majority of his exposed skin, and he could feel a relatively large bruise forming off center of his forehead. Preferring not to be hit with anything else, he brace himself as Mella began to chuck rocks once more. He was grateful that the rate at which one rock followed another seemed to have decreased slightly, giving him a better chance to analyze, adjust, and attack the multiple problems flying at his person.

While more successful, Keene still found that some of the rocks simply couldn't be avoided. After using a burst of wind to keep his head from being struck with a particularly wicked shard of what he thought might be a spear head, a second stone flew directly into his chest, bouncing off with a painful concussion. Not wasting time, Keene stepped out of the way of several more, finding that the small movements he made, the better chance he had of actually making them in time. They rocketed past, spinning neatly by without doing much harm, though a third landed squarely on his upper thigh. The sudden blow surprised him, breaking his concentration which rewarded him with several more strikes at various points on his arms and chest. Once lost, focus was difficult to regain. He continued to refine his movements, dodge closer and close to when the rocks were nearly upon his person. The more amount of time he took before he moved, the more time he had to think rather than merely react. While it was rare for a rock to make no contact with his body, Keene found cutting skims to be more common than straight out clashes.

As the stony deluge continued, Keene decided upon a different tactic than merely tossing out his res in the hope that it would knock the rocks off course. As he moved, grimacing as stone scraped against already bare skin, Keene let his res emanate from his body, coating his entire surface in a thin layer of res. As he did so, he drew his arms up into a guarded position: elbow tucked next to his ribs, left hand in front of the other forming a loose acute angle. As the rocks came close, Keene attempted to move out of the way completely, compensating for his inability to dodge by using a hand to push towards the rock, focusing and transmuting a second of his res "armor" into a blast of air that was much more effecting at keeping the stones away from him than anything else he'd tried before. Of course, it wasn't perfect, and there were a few instances in which he acted both too late and too early, the latter resulting in embarrassed full-contact strikes of his own making.

As suddenly as it had started, Mella let her arms fall loosely to her sides, an appraising scowl set firmly on her fiery features. "Better." He had thought she might find his current method crude, but was relieved when she seemed almost impressed. Almost. Retracting what res had not been used during the onslaught or lost to decay, Keene stared down at his battered and bruised body. His arms were a mess of scrapes and cuts, the majority of the injuries focused on his biceps and the exposed sides of his triceps. Pulling at the collar of his shirt, he peered down at his pale chest, the majority of the skin flared back an irritated red. He didn't have to look at his shins to know that he'd be feeling the aftermath of the day's training several weeks from then. Running a finger over his swelling lower lip where he'd managed to hit himself with a poorly deflected rock, Keene turned his attention towards Mella who stood with hands on hips and the same, contemplative scowl. He considered questioning her about what was next, but he'd bit his tongue at some point, and it was already painful enough just sitting loose in his mouth without having to form the proper constructs for coherent speech.

"You're petching sloppy as shyke, you don't think quick on your feet, and you take hits like a petching baby." She let out a huff of indignation, muttering under her breath. Not unaccustomed to Mella's form of critique, Keene nodded, wincing at the realization that he the majority of his head was bruised. "And quit makings those gods be damned faces! You look like a petching animal." Immediately, Keene pressed his lips together to force a neutral expression. The swelling and cuts retaliated, sending a sharp burn across the middle of his face, eliciting a bit of water from the corner of his eyes. Seeing as Mella found his expressions bad enough, Keene furtively rubbed the corners of his eyes, making the action seem as though he was wiping away some of the dirt that still remained. "And if you're going to make a petching suit of res? Don't." She shook her head, eyes fierce. "It's a petching waste of your shyke. If you're going to try some shyke like that, do it case by case. Don't petching stand there like petching idiot with your cock out."

It had been a bit of an effort to continually shift the rest about, while still keeping enough for contingency. Though she'd never say it, Mella had been close to satisfied with his performance that day. He had a long way to go, but he was improving, thinking more like a reimancer. His res wasn't responsive enough, nor did he have quite the control over it to do as she was suggesting, but he was on the proper path. Cautiously nodding once more, so as not to aggravate the growing headache that had begun to grow across his face from his temples, Keene indicated he understood. Mella, seemingly finished with her rant, turned to start to leave. With a quick duck and turn, she grabbed one of the remaining stones, hurling it towards Keene's weary head. The throw was so unexpected, Keene let out a short shout, res leaking from his mouth as it was the only way he could get it out fast enough. Unable to think of a proper gesture, Keene shouted out, "Dalat!" The resulting spell was an explosion of air that knocked both him and the rock backwards, the latter clattering to the ground in a harmless rattle, the prior landing with a heavy thud and moan upon the mossy ground.

Mella let out a snort of laughter before her voice rang out sharp against the daze Keene found himself in. "Get up, we're going home."

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[Keene Ward]

As Keene hobbled behind the confident stride of Mella, she quizzed him on his Nader-Canoch. If he got a question wrong, he was rewarded with a clod of dirt flying at his face. It was much slower than the rocks however, for which Keene was glad. "Be still." Mella's question rang out, hovering in the air for a moment as Keene thought.

"Chat?" Dirt flew back from Mella's nonchalant toss of an arm. Keene focused his res, exhaling a thin vapor the knocked the dirt aside with a pass of his hand. He felt a bit confused, as he was almost certain he'd given the correct answer.

"I will destroy you."

Keene frowned. The past and future tenses tended to get mixed up in his head. "Djas... rozatl? ...as?" Once more, a clod of earth was hurled at him, this time, however, Keene shifted his head out of the way. He agreed he deserved that one. The quick movement of his head reminded him that, while it was typically best to avoid using res when he could just get out of the way, the bruises and headache were going to end up being a bigger problem than using a little bit more of his nearly depleted store of Djed.

"We are the same."

Keene had no idea what the word was for "same" or "similar". Already prepping his res in a small, translucent cloud around his face, he ventured a, "Nader gligatl?" More dirt. It was a rain of dust and rock that Keene wasn't able to fully block due to his use of a short burst of air, rather than the prolonged gust he would have needed to avoid the shower of earth. Sputtering as the substance found its way into his mouth, Keene gingerly swiped at the residue that had planted itself in his hair and on his face.

"I'm a stupid petching fool."

Sober eyes regarded the back of Mella's head. Keene found her little jest lacking humor of any sort. "I don't know. Djas radjud?" This time it was a rock, one which Keene barely had time to duck for. It whistled over his head, narrowly skimming his knuckle as it did so.

"Don't get petching cute with me, you little shyke." She stopped, whirling around on him with red face and raging eyes. "If you're not going to take this shyke seriously, you can petching drown in dirt." Her nostrils flared. "You want that?!" Keene blinked, eyes wide and mouth turned in his slight frown. A piece of dirt managed to tumble from his eyebrow into his eye, resulting in a fit of blinking at the worst possible moment. "Petcher." Mella unleased several more clods of earth at him, and in his blindness, he was unable to both block and dodge. They slammed into him, knocking the wind from him and sending him to his knees. "If you want to petching play around, get lost. You want to learn? Take things petching seriously." Sputtering out a wordless groan in confirmation, Keene pressed his hands against the forest floor in front of him, waiting to regain his breath before pushing himself back into his unsteady stance. "Now. 'I cleanse this land'."

"Djas furugu dalat-adra."

"Dalat-abase." The correction was followed with another ball of dirt, though it moved in a large arc. Keene simply continued walking forward, avoiding it due its sheer lack of direction. The discussion continued until they came to the end of the forest, a boarder that separated the point at which magic could be used until they were within the safety of their home. The rest of the way home was spent in silence: Keene struggling to keep up with his battered body and Mella fuming at a steady pace.

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[Perplexity]

You have played well, but the game is at an end.

You have been bested. Beaten. Checkmate!

However, here is a consolation prize: a wealth of Experience and Lores! If you have any questions or concerns regarding this grade, please do not hesitate to send me a PM. I'll be more than happy to assist you!

 

Keene

XP

• Endurance | +4 EXP
  Reimancy | +4 EXP
  Tactics | +3 EXP
  Planning | +1 EXP
  Logic | +1 EXP
  Acrobatics | +1 EXP

LORES

• Reimancy: Controlling Res Trajectory
  Reimancy: Air Projectiles
  Acrobatics: Tumble
  Acrobatics: Tuck and…Huddle
  Nader-Canoch: Past and Future Tense

Until Our Next Match,
-Perplexity, DS of Zeltiva
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