Closed [South Kabrin Road] Fearless

[Aren]

"Must have been some high stairs..." The Akalak said, smiling broadly at the clearly exaggerated bravado that Orin was trying to put on, as he returned to his previous ready stance. He had the right idea, but his lack of experience with these matters showed in his toothless barbs. They sounded mostly like the things a jilted patron at a tavern would whisper under his breath about another, and consequently felt as hollow and empty as the kinds of insults a drunk hurls at a similarly inebriated compatriot. "Didn't I tell you? Sometimes waiting is the best move one can make," Aren bared his teeth with a particularly grim nastiness, but the truth was that he was trying to offer the cook some advice. As the Res behind the Akalak's back continued to grow in mass, it gathered greater and greater potential for devastation. The longer this was allowed to continue, the more the proverbial noose tightened around Orin's neck, and the deeper the hole that he would find himself in. "Hahaha!" The sound of Aren's voice seemed to echo for miles in the darkness as his opponent's jab provoked an uproarious reaction. "I wouldn't do that, you know. Eypharian's tend to be very prideful, and an insult to someone close to them might be perceived as an insult to them," The warriors eyes gazed at the stars as the continual urge to laugh rippled through his body; he was speaking not of his experience with Sayana, but rather with his own mother. She had proved brutally intractable when the worth of friends or family had been called into question, and the woman had never been shy about repaying any perceived insult with blood. "You shouldn't take your eyes off him. I'm not certain, but I think the temperature of his hand has dropped a bit. The little rat probably has a rock in it, just waiting to throw it at your head," Seros volunteered, knowing that it wouldn't just be their skin that got bruised if Orin managed to get the better of them, even for an instant. "Good. He should definitely be trying to play dirty. At least that would tell me he understands that there are no rules in combat, and that would be one less thing I have to bother with drilling into his skull." Aren replied to his brother's worries absent much evidence that he shared them. Unlike Seros, pride was never really a core aspect of his personality, and his eyes lazily fixed on the collection of lights which dotted the night sky. "We certainly won't fight fair," The Reimancer grinned, his mind acknowledging the fact that the mass of Res that he was rapidly accumulating was starting to become truly frightening.

[Orin Fenix]

Orin’s taunts were obviously not working. And Aren hadn’t engaged. So the two of them had simply kept circling one another, trading comments. If this was what combat between two people was then it was incredibly boring. And it seemed to require a lot of useless walking. After all, Orin couldn’t really see the point of going in circles around each other. That didn’t mean Orin would let his guard down. Orin kept his grip on his blade firm and he still hand his handful of sand. At this rate, though Orin would drop dead of exhaustion before Aren ever got around to attacking him.

Seeing that Aren had switched to a one-handed while the other hand was held behind his back, Orin was puzzled. He was also tempted to try his luck when Aren held his scythe with just one hand. However, Orin was pretty certain that this was a ruse of some kind or another. It wouldn’t surprise Orin in the slightest if Aren were just as skilled with only a single hand as he was with both. So, Orin wasn’t going to bite. However, it was still odd. Orin tried to figure out what Aren could be doing.

Suddenly, Orin remembered that Aren had something beyond his scythe to work with. The man could also throw fire or lighting or whatever it was that Reimancy did. Whatever it did, it was deadly. Since Orin had been busy staying alive when Aren had used it last time, Orin actually had no idea if it worked. Maybe it required time to work up to or one hand behind the back. In fact, for all Orin knew Aren was just messing with him and was ready to fry Orin at any moment. Not knowing was terrifying, and Orin added the fear of the unknown to his already healthy fear of magic itself.

But if Aren was going to take his time, then Orin was just going to retreat. After all, if Orin was really fighting for his life, then the goal was staying alive. If the goal was staying alive, then Orin didn’t actually have to hurt Aren at all. He simply had to get away from the warrior. And that meant that retreat, while not the most honorable action was still definitely a viable one. And it would serve Aren right for prolonging this as long as he had. Orin didn’t think he could outrun or outdistance the man, who stood over a head taller than Orin. That meant Orin would have to disguise what he was doing for as long as possible. So, instead of turning and running as his instincts were telling him to do, or starting to walk backwards, Orin began shifting each of his paces a little more in the direction of the road. He was hoping that if he kept his motions subtle, Orin could reach the road and the level path it provided first. If that worked, then Orin would break into a sprint the first chance he got. Hopefully leave Aren behind for long enough to give Orin a chance to hide or get away cleanly. It wasn’t the most coherent or logical plan but it was better than nothing, and better than letting Aren bash Orin about willy-nilly. It would take a long time to come to fruition if it worked at all. Until then, Orin would keep a wary eye on Aren, and at the first sign of a sudden movement, Orin was ready to dive or jump out of the way.

[Aren]

"Don't. Take. Another. Step." Seros' harsh voice did not seem like it would brook any challenge to his demand. "You don't seem to know much about Akalaks, so let me educate you. My eyes can see you in the darkness even better than in the day. The heat of your body stands out to me like a candle in a blackened tunnel. The heat of your body... and the heat your body leaves behind." The Akalak's poignant words were framed with the specter of thinly veiled menace. Seros sounded like he was only a single irreverent comment from Orin away from removing the boy's head with a single swing of his scythe. And, out here, who was there to be held accountable to? Bringing his free hand to the fore, the Reimancer revealed what he had been doing with the time he had been "wasting". Four separate spheres of translucent Res orbited his outstretched palm like tiny moons. "Do you want to know what Reimancy is? I recall you asked us something to that effect once. Well, let me tell you," Seros' barely visible golden eyes sparkled with the reflection of the ethereal looking substance, and the barely contained rage they held within did not leave much room for equivocations, "It is the control of the elements. Earth, water, wind, fire. It is the act of bending them to the will of the Reimancer..." His voice slowly grew less and less restrained, until finally it reached a fever pitch, "So, know that when you face me, you face the wrath of nature itself! Try to run, and I will unleash its fury upon you, and you will die with a hole in your back, like a coward!" The Akalak shouted, as a strong night wind began to blow from an easterly direction. It was hard for Aren to hear his brother's words and know that they weren't necessarily meant only for Orin. Yes, Seros was venting, but the lighter Other knew that it could be said that it had been his own fear, and nothing else, that had condemned his brother to a century of confinement. Just like the cook, though, they were words he had needed to hear a long time ago. Fear is the enemy, he knew. Fear was the beast that had to be tamed, and though it could never be destroyed, you could not allow it govern your actions, lest regret be your only reward. Fear begged you to run, when you should fight. It told you to act, when you should think. It offered you life, in exchange for your conscience, but often times you could never be sure what else you'd lost until it was too late. "Is that what you want, Orin?! To spend the last few moments of your life gripped by a demon you can't control?" Aren's more sympathetic, compassionate voice struggled to make itself heard over the gale that currently seemed intent on framing the interchange between the pair like an intruding god. Infused with a deep sense of forlorn hope, the tone of the warrior's words seemed to convey the feeling that the man understood the urge, all too well, "Stand, and fight!" He screamed at the top of his lungs in order to overcome the wind, hoping he could reach the young man.

[Orin Fenix]

Orin paused in his flight. He had thought he was being so subtle about it. Apparently, stealth wasn’t a skill in Orin’s repertoire. So, Orin stood facing Aren. What he saw chilled him to the bone. That same savage personality that Aren had been channeling earlier seemed to emerge from within the mercenary again. Orin felt the blood drain out of his face and the first ribbons of terror wrap themselves around Orin.

Apparently there was quite a bit that Aren had been holding back. First of all, he apparently had some sort of weird heat vision. If he could see trails that Orin was leaving behind then it was no wonder he’d caught on to Orin’s ploy. Orin suddenly realized that every move he made was probably instantly visible to the Akalak. Aren’s voice grew more and more forceful and sent Orin deeper and deeper into a spiral of dread. And when Aren took his had out from behind his back to reveal four spheres that seemed to glow in the moonlight, Orin’s horror grew.

No wonder Aren had managed to best two yukmen so easily. He could conjure up the elements at will and force them to do his bidding. Orin’s mind pinged on one word in the other man’s explanation. Us? Has he got mad? Of course, this did nothing to help relieve Orin, quite the opposite in fact. Orin stood under Aren’s piercing yellow gaze and felt trapped against the ground. Orin was going to die out here and there was nothing he could do about it. A wind sprang up as if even nature itself was eager to see Orin’s death. Fear was choking him. He was frozen, unable to move, as it sank within Orin like a stone dropping into a pond. Only this time, the ripples stole the strength from his limbs.

Then, suddenly, from deep within the depths of Orin's body and soul, something emerged. It clawed its way out of the darkness to stand tall in him and suddenly Orin was free of the paralysis that had taken hold of him. I will not let myself be ruled by my fear came the defiant thought. It came from the same place in Orin's heart and mind that refused to let Orin stand idly by when he saw someone in need of help. This was the same inner strength that had saved him in his darkest moments. He had not bowed to fear then and he refused to start now. Not when his father had beaten him half to death and left Orin with nothing. Not when he'd been ridiculed and abused by those who should have taken care of him. And not now when he faced death in the darkness. It wasn't that he did not feel the fear. Orin could feel it coiling in the back of his mind and the pit of his stomach. But Orin wasn't covering it with anger or false bravado. He was simply acknowledging its presence and refuse to let it master him. He was mastering it. He was feeling an icy clarity and a steely resolve take a firm grip on that fear and channel it into where it would do the most good.

So what if Aren could see the heat, manipulate the elements and kill Orin with one swing of his scythe. Orin didn't want to die. More important now, though, in this battle of wits and this battle of flesh, was that Orin not prove himself a coward. He would not run. He would not hide. He would do exactly as Aren commanded: stand and fight. Orin sprang forward running low and fast towards the Akalak, with his dagger coming up to the guard position. Not a word came from his lips. The two of them were past taunts and jibes. Besides, Orin was far too focused on examining the rapidly closing distance between the two of them for any sign of Aren's attack. And although he ran to certain death, Orin ran free of the chains that fear had almost succeeded in wrapping around him.

[Aren]

Thankfully, their "persuasion" had worked. Aren could see the fear in Orin's eyes, he could see its tentacles wrapping themselves around him, he could see the man had come to the precipice that every warrior must look down. Did you allow fear to dictate your life, or did you push it aside? Were you its master, or did you serve at its pleasure? The cook's actions gave the Akalak his answer. Orin's movements bore the resolute certainty of a man who had chosen to fight, not one who fought out of desperation. It might not seem like it to a casual observer who might have been watching their exchange, but Seros' had instinctively turned his scythe to bring the killing blade to the fore. Unconsciously, he realized that Orin was no longer a petulant child who posed no threat to him, but rather a clear headed combatant who -no matter his skill level- had to be taken seriously. Noticing the change in his weapon's angling, the darker Other visibly smiled, and swiftly threw the scythe aside. At this point, he could not trust himself to use it without inadvertently delivering killing strokes, which would have defeated the whole point of everything all three of them were trying to accomplish. Instead, Seros absorbed one of the translucent spheres into his now empty weapon hand, feeling the subtle effects of some slight Overgiving, and realizing that perhaps he had been a little overzealous in his extraction of Djed. With Orin nearly upon him, the Akalak knew couldn't afford the distraction, and his right arm recoiled back as one of the remanding orbs began to swirl like a miniature vortex. Jutting his forearm forward with a single, quick motion, the object shot off at the center of his opponent's chest. Immediately afterwards, the arm came back, and a second sphere wreathed itself with flowing, chaotic spurts of wind. His second attack would to come instantly after Orin reacted to the first, leaving him no margin for error if he wanted to stay on his feet. Seros wasn't about to pull any punches now, but he sincerely hoped that even if the young man got beaten down, he'd waste no time in getting back up. Magic was just the prelude, however, the Reimancer knew. A few blasts of wind were not going to conclude their little exercise. Aren's fists would have to be the final test of whether Orin had truly overcome his fear, or not. He'd have to make sure that even with a broken body, the boy's mind still had the will to persevere, to think and act calmly and logically. Once that was done, their training could begin in earnest... after allowing some time for convalescing, of course. "You're really going to let me to do to him what your father did to you?" Seros' probed, warily, knowing that the subject of their father could be a sensitive one for his brother. "No. I'll do it myself," Aren replied with grim determination, much to his Other's surprise. "He may have sent me off to see my friends killed, but at least he did his best to make sure I wouldn't share their fate."

[Orin Fenix]

Orin saw Aren do something strange to the spheres over his hand. The warrior tossed his scythe aside for no reason that Orin could see and concentrated on the globes above his palm. One seemed to be absorbed into his body. One of the others turn into a complex swirl. It looked almost as if Aren was holding a vortex or a storm cloud in his hand. The Akalak flung it forward and it arrowed straight towards Orin. Orin unfortunately, had committed too much to his forward motion to stop now. There was no way he could dodge it completely.

Orin zeroed in on the imminent attack. While he tried to keep Aren in sight, Orin wasn't used to keeping track of movements quite like this. In cooking he often monitored multiple dishes at that same time but this was absolutely not the same. Orin had an almost instantaneous debate, although it felt lodged in his unconscious. Obviously taking the blow wouldn't be wise. Orin could either try to get under it by diving. That might fail. Even if it succeeded he'd be at Aren's feet which seemed like a bad place to be. Or Orin could take the blow partially and try to shoulder through it. In the split second before impact, Orin came to a decision.

Twisting his torso to the left, Orin felt a force hit that shoulder. It was surprisingly painful. Orin had underestimated the strength behind the winds and was spun off his feet. Orin hit the ground hip first, bruising himself again in the process. Orin felt rattled and hardly capable of coherent thought but that core in him was still forefront in his mind. It quickly took stock of Orin's physical state. His legs were still throbbing from Aren's earlier kick. His shoulder was one mass of agony from whatever Aren had thrown at Orin. His hip was protesting as well. Orin was covered in smaller bruises that he'd picked up from his time on the earth and his forearms smarted from repeatedly breaking falls. In short, Orin's body wasn't feeling too hot. But none of his injuries were life-threatening. All they might do is slow him down and since Orin was slower than Arem anyway that probably wouldn't make a difference in the outcome. And none of this was so bad that Orin couldn't push through it. And push through it he would until his body finally betrayed him.

As soon as he slid to a halt, Orin rolled towards Aren, since the Akalak would expect Orin to try and put more distance between them. It was a fifty fifty chance that Orin would avoid the next blow. Orin gathered his arms and legs under him, shunting his pain to the back of his brain. He would worry about it later. Springing forward towards Aren, Orin slashed out with his dagger at the other man's chest not really caring where he hit him. Orin just wanted some breathing space and he figured that if he drew blood Aren would have to take at least a moment to recover from his shock.

[Aren]

Orin had ameliorated the effect of the Akalak's first volley and wisely raised his pained body off the ground without procrastinating, as Seros had been zeroing on him the entire time. The young man attacked absent hesitation, which was a good sign, but unfortunately he didn't have the mind or body of a warrior... yet. Though Orin did manage to close the gap between him and his opponent with admirable alacrity, at such close distances a Reimancer's control of his own Res was nearly absolute. The Akalaks face did not display the veneer of excited madness that had apparently taken hold of him earlier, but rather an expressionless mask that seemed to reveal nothing at all. "Nice try," Were the only words that escaped this curtain of neutrality, as both of the azure mercenary's hands came up in a single, asymmetrical gesture. Seros was directing the two orbs, both of which were now swirling like the first, at Orin. Unlike the last time, however, these sphere were no longer limited by the necessity of having to set them on a trajectory before he could no longer control them. Now, they moved nearly as fast as he could think, and how they moved was limited only by the requirements of the moment. One of the vortexes curved around to Orin's side and down towards his legs at blinding speeds. The other one went straight for his head on an opposite vector, but with the same frightening velocity. The pair were actually meant to work in tandem so that the boy would not get hit on one side or the other without the upper or lower half of his body bending appropriately. The rigidity of his own frame might otherwise cause him serious damage should one section of him be forced to go one way while the other wanted to stay where it was. If all went according to plan, the chef would definitely have wished that he had been blown back by that initial spell, but there should be no permanent damage. His blade wouldn't get the satisfaction of grazing his foe's leather armor, or drawing his blood, but life was full of these little disappointments. Regardless of whatever modifications had been made for Orin's benefit, The attack was still an unfair one, as even Aren would be hard pressed to avoid such a maneuver at nearly point blank range, but battle was never about fairness. You did whatever you could, and your enemy did the same. Foolishness was never rewarded, and mercy was not something you could expect out of most people. That was the harsh reality of a warrior, of a life lived on the razor's edge of the blade. Aren was just giving the cook a taste of what he could expect out of the future he was trying to bring into focus. "Do you think..." Seros' voice rang out inside his own skull in the moment before his attack came to its result, "...he'll get back up?" Silence was his brother's only reply, however.

[Orin Fenix]

Orin's wild slice got nowhere near Aren seeing as Orin had wildly misjudged the distance between them. Not that it would’ve done much through Aren’s armor anyway. Orin needed to learn the proper way to actually keep track of your opponent and his or her attacks, Right now, Orin tended to only pay attention to the specific attack and not to the fight as a whole. As Orin continued moving forward he saw Aren make some arcane gesture with his hands. Both remaining pieces of magic shot at Orin before splitting off to either side.

Orin cursed his complete and utter lack of knowledge when it came to magic. He vowed that if he survived this night he'd seek out every tidbit he could find about it. For now, though, Orin just had to survive to get to that point. He'd calculated that Aren would be less willing to use his Reimancy the closer Orin got to him. Clearly that was not the case. Still Orin was sticking to his hypothesis that Aren needed to keep his concentration and will focused to bring his magic to bear. If Orin could suitably distract the warrior he couldn't fling about bolts of anything. Orin hoped that was the case at least.

Regardless, Orin had a more immediate problem. If he let those two balls of wind hit him he'd go pinwheeling through the air. Orin didn't want to get hit or be tossed about like a ragdoll. He couldn't twist his body again since inevitably one or the other would catch him. Especially since Aren's mastery of them seemed greater not lesser the more Orin approached the warrior. Backing up was out of the question. Even if Orin could arrest his forward momentum, which seemed unlikely, nothing was stopping Aren from beating him to the ground at a distance it seemed. So Orin kept moving forward. Just not, he hoped, in the way Aren and was expecting.

Remembering the dive to avoid the first set of winds Aren had lobbed at him, Orin executed it now. He threw himself forward in a wildly uncoordinated tackle. He was aiming for Aren but with a complete and utter lack of finesse. Orin cared more about avoiding those winds than actually hitting the Akalak. His legs bunched under him as he leapt off the ground trying to cover as much ground as he could. He also made sure his dagger's blade was pointed away from him and vaguely towards Aren. Getting a hit on the man would be good. But cutting himself open with his own knife would definitely not be.

Just as Orin's feet left the earth, the air heading for his legs clipped his foot. Agony exploded in his ankle and spread up his leg as well. At least his move had saved Orin from taking another blow to the head. Unfortunately, seeing as he was already airborne, that gust of wind caused Orin to spin slightly. Instead of his arms hitting the Akalak first Orin's body turned in midair until his hip was facing directly at Aren's body. Orin braced himself for impact. Whether Aren caught him or knocked him to the ground or Orin slammed into the man didn't matter. This was going to hurt and Orin needed to be mentally prepared for the upcoming pain.

[Aren]

"That idiot," Seros moaned, as he saw that the attack he had so carefully crafted for Orin's own safety was completely negated as the boy leaped forward like a maniac. Had he never learned that sometimes it was better to take some hits and than to only partially avoid them? He supposed not, given that the cook did not exactly show many signs of having having too much training in the ways of combat. As the young man's spinning body flew towards the Akalak, Seros entertained the notion of drop kicking him right in the chest, as an object lesson not to do such stupidly reckless things, but the added effect of his opponent's momentum might prove too dangerous on fragile sections of the body. The neck and spine would be exceptionally susceptible to trauma in such an instance, Aren thought, so that wasn't really an option. There was a chance the warrior could hug the ground and allow Orin's body to fly right by him, but the Akalak was too big and there wasn't enough time. There was only a split second to decide which course of action would ultimately be better for the both of them, which meant there was really only one viable alternative to possibly breaking his spine. Shifting his weight to his front foot, Seros places his arms parallel with his body directly in front of him, in preparation for the bulk that was about to collide with him. At the moment of impact, Orin's knife hand lashed out widely, and the blade opened up the back of the Akalak's forearm with a lucky graze. The giant groaned in consternation, but he knew perfectly well that luck was also a part of combat, and that the will to try something that might prove beneficial despite all reason was just one aspect of what could often be an incredibly chaotic battlefield. Seros immediately shot off his wounded arm to coil around the elbow of the chef's offending appendage, in order to prevent its movement and thus the usage of his dagger. His other hand shifted over and around Orin's horizontal body in an attempt to restrain the cook's other hand; the boy's legs were in such an awkward position that he felt they could safely be ignored. Maybe he could kick or knee with them from that angle, but his only real accessible target would be Aren's leather padded torso. "That was brave. Stupid, reckless, irresponsible, and downright suicidal... but it was brave!" The Akalak shouted with a grin, as his forehead propelled itself right towards Orin's face.

[Orin Fenix]

Orin smacked into Aren. The warrior had chosen to trap Orin against him rather than dodge him or hit Orin in his flight. The impact rocked through them both. Orin felt the shock of a hit travel through the blade of the dagger. Since he had only vaguely been aiming to hit the Akalak, Orin supposed that it was an accident. Or, in more positive terms he had managed to score at least one lucky hit in. Aren was holding Orin was horizontal to the ground and it took his addled wits a second to adjust to his new position. This was costly, as it allowed Aren to trap Orin's dagger hand against his body.

Before the mercenary could do the same, Orin bent his elbow trying for a jab. Unfortunately, all Orin managed to do was have his left arm trapped bent up towards Orin's head. On the bright side, Aren couldn't cast any more magic apparently. Either he needed his hands, which seemed possible since the direction of the winds seemed to have been directed by his arm gestures, he had used it up, or he couldn't use it with Orin this close. Not that it mattered. Orin was completely helpless and at Aren's mercy. Not only was Orin bruised and sore everywhere, his arms were essentially immobile. His legs were free, but not in a position to help. Orin could try to kick or knee Aren but he had no leverage and all he'd be able to hit was the padded leather of his chest armor. Short of spitting in Aren's face, which would just end up all over Orin anyway, Orin was completely out of options.

That didn't mean he was out of fight though. He strained and wiggled against Aren's muscles to no avail. He was thoroughly trapped. And it annoyed him to no end. Aren was the superior fighter but this was practically humiliating. That is, until Aren's compliment. Orin bared his teeth. It might be called a grin, in a certain light and from a certain angle. "What're you gonna do now, big boy? Think we're both trapped here, since if you release me you're dead. That wasn't very smart of you now was it?" Orin didn't mean that but he felt he needed to say something. And nothing like those silly insults Orin had been saying earlier. This came straight from a primeval part of Orin's brain one that called him to spill blood and hunt his enemies. He was shocked to find this savage side of himself, buried deep in his psyche. Until now, that is, when the thrill of battle had brought it to the surface.

Of course, a moment later, Aren proved exactly what he was going to do. His forehead started descending towards Orin at an alarming rate. Orin instinctively tucked his chin and turned away as much as his neck would allow considering he was trapped in Aren's hold. But Orin had one more trick up his sleeve as well. The handful of sand, which he'd kept a tight hold on, was still there. Some had spilled out but enough was left for Orin's purposes. As Aren's head came closer, Orin flicked his wrist and tossed the sand, throwing it, as much as he was able, into Aren's face. Orin closed his own eyes to prevent any grains from blinding him as well. He also locked his jaw, not wanting his teeth to bite through his tongue.