Konrad didn't often feel disappointment in others. One had to give a shyke about another to be disappointed in them, after all, and emotional investment was... not something that came easily to him. But seeing Ashka power across the dirt towards him, all thrusting dagger and no guile, Konrad felt his features harden into something merciless and ill-amused.
Trying to teach you better than that, girl.
She'd been getting better, too. Konrad's mangled lips twisted into a sneer that was, in fact, one of approval when he avoided his sweep. But then she came back at him, all fury and instinct, no thought or tactics behind it. Wanting it end it with a single blow, like in the tales of bards and poets.
Konrad always hated those bloody stories. They were always too easy, and he had no patience to repeat himself. At least not with an additional lesson.
'What I say-"
He twisted to the side, hips swinging and his torso following, blade that should have speared through his breastbone instead flying into thin air-
-met by his left hand, snapping out and grabbing her forearm, stopping her from going barreling past him and instead somewhat slowing her-
"-not do same thing-"
His hips swung again, but in the opposite direction. Bringing up his knee at the same time, slamming it into Ashka's stomach, hard enough to bump her off her feet for a tick and send her down to the dust curled up and gasping.
Provided the hit landed, of course. Konrad assumed it would, but in case it didn't... the hilt of his kukri would swing around, and he'd slam the bottom of the hilt into her forehead, just above the bridge of her nose. Shower of stars, blinding pain, same result: Ashka in the dust, and hurting.
"Pain make you learn," she'd hear Konrad say as she was down, voice slow and patient and... disappointed. "More than word." He waited until she looked up, and tapped the half of his face that had been more or less taken from his skull. "See? This learn me. Now you learn."
The curved blade flipped in his grip, and vanished back into its sheathe with a brief, sharp hiss of metal on leather. He waited as she got back up, hands empty, unafraid, eyes still bitter in her failure. Once she was up again, he would speak.
"Not worth blade." He knew he was goading her, and doing so to a woman, an armed woman, an armed woman he'd just hurt, was unwise in so many ways. But it taught a lesson. "Not if you fight like child. No thinking. No tactic. Not need blade, for you."
He spread his arms under Syna, gawking pedestrians not existing to him. Just her and him and the dagger and the dirt between them. And then, his smile.
"Come. Prove wahlak wrong."
Trying to teach you better than that, girl.
She'd been getting better, too. Konrad's mangled lips twisted into a sneer that was, in fact, one of approval when he avoided his sweep. But then she came back at him, all fury and instinct, no thought or tactics behind it. Wanting it end it with a single blow, like in the tales of bards and poets.
Konrad always hated those bloody stories. They were always too easy, and he had no patience to repeat himself. At least not with an additional lesson.
'What I say-"
He twisted to the side, hips swinging and his torso following, blade that should have speared through his breastbone instead flying into thin air-
-met by his left hand, snapping out and grabbing her forearm, stopping her from going barreling past him and instead somewhat slowing her-
"-not do same thing-"
His hips swung again, but in the opposite direction. Bringing up his knee at the same time, slamming it into Ashka's stomach, hard enough to bump her off her feet for a tick and send her down to the dust curled up and gasping.
Provided the hit landed, of course. Konrad assumed it would, but in case it didn't... the hilt of his kukri would swing around, and he'd slam the bottom of the hilt into her forehead, just above the bridge of her nose. Shower of stars, blinding pain, same result: Ashka in the dust, and hurting.
"Pain make you learn," she'd hear Konrad say as she was down, voice slow and patient and... disappointed. "More than word." He waited until she looked up, and tapped the half of his face that had been more or less taken from his skull. "See? This learn me. Now you learn."
The curved blade flipped in his grip, and vanished back into its sheathe with a brief, sharp hiss of metal on leather. He waited as she got back up, hands empty, unafraid, eyes still bitter in her failure. Once she was up again, he would speak.
"Not worth blade." He knew he was goading her, and doing so to a woman, an armed woman, an armed woman he'd just hurt, was unwise in so many ways. But it taught a lesson. "Not if you fight like child. No thinking. No tactic. Not need blade, for you."
He spread his arms under Syna, gawking pedestrians not existing to him. Just her and him and the dagger and the dirt between them. And then, his smile.
"Come. Prove wahlak wrong."
