To Train Amongst Tents...(Mok, Antar)

[Zandelia]

Fall 18, AV 511 As Zandelia padded her way softly back to the tent town that made up much of the poorer population of Sunberth, her Shadowsilk Robes swishing in the wind, rippling wind whipping around her like moving shadows, she was tired – tired and bruised. Her body had taken a beating over the last few days and was only just beginning to fully heal and would take probably another few days to get back to its prime condition too. Still, she had finished her jobs for the day – even Tua running out of clients and coins to pay for her to stay around longer than her standard work hours. No, she had had enough of jumping over crates, dodging down alleyways and battling with brutes for one evening, and evening it was now – the cool fall breezes blowing across town as the sky began to slightly darken. I need something to do, something that isn’t just working and sitting in my bloody tent. Preferably something worthwhile for once she told herself as she crossed the boundaries of the outer tents and began to let her feet take her back home from memory, letting her mind turn loose to the predicament at hand. She was flowing by another series of tents when something familiar flickered into her hazed vision and brought her back from the brink of thoughtful reverie and hurtling back into the present time. At first she could not put her finger in the sensation, a sense that she had seen or done something before, the conclusion eluding her as it teased and taunted at her memories. She let her striding slow to a gradual stop, her head twisting from side to side in order to take in all of her surroundings. She waited, motionless for a minute or two before shrugging and beginning to move once more – but then she realised what had initially attracted her attention. There, sat outside a ten of his own, was a man she had met briefly some time ago now. It’s that barbarian. The one from The Pig’s Foot, from that fight. I didn’t know he was around these parts. He did tell me something about finding him one day, but I didn’t actually think it would happen she thought to herself, speculating upon what she should do. After all, he might note even remember her, disfigured though she was. “Ho Mok!” she called out to him after she decided to at least mildly investigate any possibilities and started to walk towards him through the dust. As she grew closer she could see he was peering intently at a set of armour, looking it over for imperfections or to see if it were in need of being mended perhaps – she knew not. She put on a slight smile for the man, letting her walk become a little bit more casual and at the same time a little more of a front of power interlaced within the movements. He was a strong man and she knew to fight strength with strength when it came to meeting someone. She came within a few feet of him and stopped, looking down at him with her single, emerald green eye. “Haven’t seen you since that night eh? You did say I’d find you one day. Didn’t bloody believe it though! What are you doing around these parts? Would’ve thought a mercenary type such as you would have better lodgings” she informed him, indicating the surrounding tents with a sweep of her arm. “Anyway, what are you up to this evening? Not getting me into another fight I hope!” she quipped at him, a little cockier than usual perhaps but she could not help but feel she had earned it somewhat.

[Mok]

The powerful drums of his homeland echoed through his mind. Closing his eyes, Mok envisioned dozens of myrians beating large drums in harmonic unison. The clanking of higher pitched drums entered softly then began to pick up volume and speed. The beating of sticks and other percussion instruments now began to enter his mind. A shiver ran down Mok’s spine as the wonderful memory took over his whole soul. He was having an almost out of body experience. The singing and music could be heard in his mind as if it was real.

A grin appeared on the myrian’s face. This was a good experience and he did not want it to stop. But all good things had to come to an end. The trance suddenly vanished. Blinking open his eyes, Mok sat in disbelief of what just occurred. Mok now had a longing in his heart to hear the myrian war drums once again. He could sing the tunes himself, but there was nothing like hearing it for real. Shaking his head violently, Mok brought himself back to reality.

The sun was just beginning to climb and the myrian was thirsty. Drinking long and hard, Mok decided that he was adequately hydrated than moved on to the next piece of business. Looking around the Crimson Edge camp, he noticed that everyone had gone out already except Antar. His tent flap was still closed. ‘Hm. Well that is strange. My rogue friend is always out and about? I’ve never seen a day when that son of a pig farmer wasn’t busy,’ Mok thought to himself as he inspected his friends tent. Shrugging, Mok decided not to investigate further. Grabbing his equipment Mok sat cross legged in front of his own tent.

As usual to his new daily ritual, Mok began to clean and inspect his armor for any defects or problems. He would not let some random flaw in his armor be his demise in battle. As he was nearing completion, a familiar face approached him. It was Zandelia; the woman from the other night at the tavern. Mok raised an eyebrow and smiled as she walked over. ‘Ah so she heeded my words after all. Good. I wonder what she will say to me. Ah she has even remembered my name!’

“I see that you haven’t forgotten my name, Zandelia,” Mok called out back to her. As she neared in, Mok took a few moments to scan her body. She looked exactly how he remembered her; her tough, athletic looks and facial scar were beautiful in the myrian’s eyes. To Mok, she seemed as a flower blooming in a desolate wasteland.

Mok answered the woman looking her straight in the eye. He made no attempt to look away at her gruesome scar, “Zandelia. I am no mercenary, but a soldier. I do not do the dirty work of others. I fight to the death for my friends and family. That is my true profession. Thus, this is my home. As for this evening, I have no plans to fight. But. If someone disrespects, they need to be taught a lesson. This is Sunberth, nothing else will penetrate their thick skulls. They can voice their complaints to Lhex, not me,” after taking a moment to listen to her response, Mok continued, “Indeed… I told you before I would help you fight better. I was just about to get started. You can join me if you want. Do you accept?”

Standing up, Mok took off his cotton tunic to reveal his thick athletic frame. Mok grinned towards Zandelia, then walked over to Antar’s tent and kicked it, “Get up Antar, I need help putting on my chainmail! We got work to do!”

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

[Antar]

Quiet. Relaxation. A chance to think, meditate, practice, and unwind. These were the reasons Noth was in his tent. Alone for the most part, save the cage on the far wall, his chest of goods, holding the extra collar and mask, and his armor. As well as the weapons rack. He'd opened it now, and Ellise in her falcon form had strutted out to sit nearby on one of the extra bedrolls. The collar was enough to keep her from flying off , it's weight unbalancing the animal as the small links of chains secured it to the cage. Antar kept her cage clean, applying his fastiduous attention to it and it seemed over the last month the kelvic had begun to understand two things with Noth feeding it by hand each morning and night.

One, that so long as it obeyed, it would not be harmed, and two: he had no interest in it as a play toy. Very soon, perhaps in another month or so he'd take the risk to determine whether or not she had begun to want to stay in her secure life. At least with him she would be fed daily. But for now the falcon was nesting in the other bedrolls, as happily as a newborn chicklet as she chirped at the luxury of feeling a cushion underneath her, and being let to roam about the tent as Noth began to meditate and practice. He kept all his weapons sheathed when she was out, not wanting to have Ellise injured in her explorations by sharp edges.

But his sheathed dagger was upon his lap for the exercise he was about to do. A Shielding exercise to be exact, one he had been successful wrapping about his gauntlet, but he had not yet succesffuly completed the exercise on an object not close to his skin or in direct contact. That was what today was for. That was what his peace and quiet was for.

He started his meditationg by practicing his breathing, in and out. Keeping a steady cadence to his rhythm to the rise and fall of his chest as he began to focus on a mental image he had always admired. He thought back to his past, to the frozen falls of avanthal, the glacial ice ensconcing the waters of the stream. Freezing the torrent of water at a chill temperature; stopping it flow with the cold harsh beauty of winter. In some ways he viewed the river as a symbol for distractions, and emotions. A means of symbolizing that which would interfere with his abilities to get the tasking done.

Slowly, ever so slowly , he summoned the djed. The feeling of liquid ice creeping from his belly to his arms. It was strange that way- in reimancy marshalling his djed felt like fire in his veins, but shielding was like bathing in the coldest waters of the northern seas. Soon, gossamer strands of bluish light began to reach from his palms, weaving themselves slowly together as they stretched towards the kukri. "Latching" down upon in like the ephemural strands of a spiders web as the shield began to form. Small crisscrossing lines of radiant blue could be seen as the first layer began to form. He had learned at his level his restrictions. He could only create one layered shields, but hopefully soon he would improve enough to create two or three layered ones. But that required work, work and practice.

For now he contented himself to bending his will towards the shield he was making today, here and now as it took shape, coating his kukri in a patchy framework as he readied himself for the 'tasking.' He willed the shield to block the light, and he did this by forming a small piece of his djed 'flavored' with his will before he cast it down like a waterdroplet to merge with the shield as the tasking began to take form in response to this new piece of information he had given it. The shield began to assimilate this task into its very nature and soon a staggering wave washed over the shields surface, changing its color to a dark faceless grey as the exercise was completed.

His entire being was concentrating enough that he didn't hear Mok's yell for him to get out of his tent. Nor would he really have cared, but his perceptions were caught by the interest of another creature, the one he shared the tent with. Ellise was swiveling her head, in the manner that only birds can do, but instead of screeching it seemed she had another idea.

Opening her craw, Antar could almost feel the smallest gathering of the falcon's djed as a wash of cool air, as if someone was blowing on his skin with pierced lips came to play about his cheeks at a further rate then could be explained by the breath of one falcon's lungs alone. The falcon chortled in his direction, and was rewarded for her efforts with a slight scratching of her plumage as the rogue smiled. Antar had just realized his little minx of a bird had reimancy. Not much of it, save a gust of wind. But enough for him to be intrigued to ponder his uses.

At this point the tent shook again with another kick and a loud protest of Mok. 'How wearisome.' Noth thought to himself as his practice was disturbed. 'He'd have to deal with this matter eventually.' Keeping his dagger to himself Noth rose and pondered if this was the right time to let Ellise out into the camp.

With a leather glove held out to Ellise, the collared kelvic squeaked as he placed the falcon's hood upon her face and took the jesses in a tight grip. After that he onerously guided one leg and then the other for her to step up onto his arm as he made his way out of the tent. Falcon in hand, he stood up to spot what the troublesome intrusion was.

There he spotted the woman, who Mok had flirted with in the bar standing nearby with her hands on her hips. Worse, the myrian was looking at him as he tried to gather up his chainmail and armor. Sighing loudly he looked at the pair and spoke for the first time, "How many times have I told you not to kick the tent, Mok? I'm all well inclined to help each other train together, but I will not have my property damaged."

Ellise let out a slight keening shreek before he scratched the falcon's breast feathers in reassurance. Taking a glance in Zandelia's direction; he nodded politely before turning his gaze back towards Mok. Waiting for a reply.

[Zandelia]

Zandelia could not help but feel a frisson of small admiration at the large man’s physique as he pulled his shirt over his head and threw it to the side. Mok was certainly built for being a warrior, that much she could tell from his athletic frame – slightly stockier and well-built than the average man found within Sunberth. At a cursory glance she could understand how some might go weak at the knees for such as he, but this was Sunberth after all and the women here had learnt long ago to avoid such notions, especially if they wished to stay alive and unspoiled. No, he was attractive, but to Zandelia it was in a way that suggested he would make a good wall to hide behind rather than any sexual attraction. After all, she hardly knew the man and there was more to life than one’s muscles – which Mok proved to her by subsequently kicking a nearby tent and yelling, grinning all the way. Charming. Still, direct as always. Hope he doesn’t get me into another fight – not today. My body probably couldn’t take much more battering than some training she thought to herself as she watched the rippling of canvas from Mok’s foot and noted that he had quite a number of scars about his torso. Life in this town had indeed been hard for him, it seemed. Quick and silent as a ghost, Antar came pacing out of his tent as Mok’s behest. He was a smaller man, smaller than she remembered – though that might have had something to do with the fact she had had her head all but caved in by knuckles. Still, he was as graceful of movement as she could recall, from what few fragments remained. He gave her a polite nod, which she returned in a cursory manner. She did not care that he had given her no words, not listening to the exchange between the two men as her single green eye came to rest upon the creature sitting on Antar’s arm. “A falcon,” she murmured to herself, noting its plumage and general bodily structure. She was not an expert on birds, far from it in fact, but once you had seen such a beautiful creature you could not help but remember it’s form. It stirred something in the back of her memory for a few seconds – an uncomfortable sense – before it settled down once more and all that was left was a sense of admiration as she gazed upon the creature. How did he get a hold of that? He doesn’t look the sort to bloody well keep one, that’s for sure she told herself, but then made a reminder mentally that she didn’t really know the two of them at all, in point of fact. The last time they had met – and the first – it had been in a bar room brawl after all. She reasoned that she would have to learn more of them as she went along. “Why…is the falcon chained Antar? Isn’t that unnecessary?” she spoke up, without thinking, as soon as she noted the small mask and finely crafted chains attached to it. She couldn’t understand why he would choose to inhibit such a magnificent animal. Once she had realised that she had said it out loud, all but over-riding their own conversation she felt a slight discomfort as their eyes, all four of them, came to rest squarely upon her face. She tried to hide it, but it was a subconscious activity, one she had garnered over years of gawping at her scarred face. Still, she hoped that they would merely put it down to not knowing them enough to be settled around them. As they watched, and she waited for an answer, she could see that Mok had all but been kitted out with his ensemble of metal artefacts and looked just about ready to begin.

[Mok]

“Apologies Antar. We’re going to train today. Will you join us?” Mok asked his friend as he slipped on his chainmail, “Fasten the straps here on my brigandine? Thanks. You can even take your uh…pet with you.” Grunting, Mok threw aside his cloak and began to fasten his sword belt. Glancing over his shoulder, the warrior noticed that his two partners where exchanging words.

The myrian then stuck his head in the bucket of water and drank as much as he possibly could. Feeling water slosh around in his stomach, Mok turned to his partners and began, “Alright, listen up. We are going to train our stamina first. We used to do this as children in the Faylndar.” Picking up a rock, Mok held it over his head with both hands. The rock weighed about 20 pounds. “We are not allowed to drop this rock. If you drop this rock you start from the beginning again. This rock symbolizes your wounded comrade. Forsaking this rock symbolizes leaving your friend behind to die. ‘We’ don’t do that. Now we run!”

Holding the stone over his head, Mok motioned for both to do the same. A few seconds later, both his partners had their stones. The myrian started to jog down the walkway of the tents. Minute by minute, Mok increased his pace. This was the first time that he had done any running training with heavy armor on. The group ran through the tent city, zig-zagging through the unorganized lanes and walkways. Slowly the pace and weight he was carrying started to catch up with him.

At first, the myrian just began to breathe heavier. No big deal right? Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. Control the flow of air. The solution seemed perfect for Mok, but that joy was short lived. The first pains came to Mok’s shoulders. The weight of all his armor and the rock overhead was bearing down on him. He knew that it would only be a matter of time before he was completely over came with pain and suffering. Even though they hadn’t even run a mile, he was ready to get into the zone.

Taking a single moment to glance behind him, Mok sparred a few breaths to encourage himself, “Keep going! Don’t slow down whatever you do. I promise! Keep going and don’t drop the rock! Here we go! Here we go! Here we go…”

Steadily his mind went blank. All that he focused on now was to continue moving forward and not stopping. They had ran just over two and a half miles, but Mok was reaching his breaking point. The warriors’ arms were arching terribly. Every few seconds, the warrior would switch the rock from shoulder to shoulder. He was unable to carry it above his head anymore. The myrian’s legs and back were hurting as well. The weight of the armor was starting to become unbearable. The chainmail seemed to be pushing down upon Mok’s chest, making it hard to breath. Sheets of sweat covered Mok’s body. He had never sweated this much. Never ever.

Mok had no choice but to continue onward, slowing his pace down a little. ‘One, two, three, four, one two, three, four…’ the myrian repeated in his mind over and over. He needed to keep pushing himself more and more. He could not divulge any energy towards thinking, or any other actions. From the corner of his eye, the myrian noticed someone pass him up. It was probably Antar, but Mok never looked up.

Three miles. Mok was beginning to feel dizzy and faint. Running in full armor was not the same. No. Mok had underestimated the task and was paying for it. The rock he was holding was catching up with him as well. All Mok wanted to do was stop, but he knew he couldn’t. If he stopped he would show weakness to both his training partners. No. He needed to continue. Only a few more minutes and they would be done.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Mok finally arrived at the camp. Throwing the rock down, the warrior fell on the floor in exhaustion. He did not look around to see if the others were there yet. His whole body was numb in pain. Reaching over to the water bucket, Mok poured the water over his chest. The armor sizzled and smoked slightly as the cool water touched it. The relief was amazing. Next, Mok poured the water into his mouth. For a good amount of time he did not move.

“Alright. You all ready for whats next?” Mok said still lying on the floor.

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

[Antar]

At Zandelia's words, Antar merely arched an eyebrow and stared at her, musing aloud as if to himself, "Would you forget that as a predator and that she is liable to peck one's eyes out if there are no precautions?" That such a thing would be foolhardy with a bird of prey was left unsaid; Zandelia would have to figure such things out on her own.

At Mok's words about training, Antar thought it best to perchance take a moment to put Ellise back in her cage and lock it tight and he simply let Mok shrug on his armor himself as he set about the task. The four and a half pound bird wasn't that heavy upon his arm, but the constant weight and pressure was never a good thing on his glove. He didn't know how the falcon would take running with him. He'd test out such a theory later.

For now the falcon let out a low keen as it sensed it moving back towards the tent and its wings spread a little to buffet the air but another quick scratch and a few crooned words calmed it down enough that it lay still. At least still enough for him to get the cage shut and remove the hood to let her see. The kelvic looked at him and cocked its head to the side as he reached for the cloak he used to cover the cage. Checking to see if the wooden bowl he'd carved for her held water, he filled it back up and spoke. "Perhaps I might get you some rabbit later today, dependant on if there's time to hunt. Wouldn't that be nice?"

The kelvic pumped its head in agreement and did a little birdie roll in the hay on the floor of its cage. Noth was fastiduous about cleanliness, and the muck was cleaned daily; dumped out in the wilds and then relayered with cut thrushes. It was just another of his daily chores before work. "Very well, perhaps I shall get something then for the pot. But for now, I have to go train with Mok and his new found gal pal."

A dismal croon echoed in the tent as Noth placed the blanket over the bird's cage and set the lock before going about the task of pulling on his own armor. First the padded armor, then the scale mail, and then the back and breast over it. It wasn't as heavy as Mok's choice of armor, nor was it as strong individualy, but in combination it worked suitably well. Next was his helmet and gauntlets. Last but not least over all of it, his shadowsilk robes were whipped about his shoulders as he settled his arms into the sleeves.

Cinching on his weapon harness, the rogue settled out his full kit. Longbow, kukri and gladius before grabbing his backpack with his night leather armor within it, and his water flask, before exiting the tent. Making his way towards Mok, he snapped the buckles of Mok's brigandine in place with a cautioned word, "My friend, eventually you will have to do this yourself. Lest you find yourself hard pressed to find someone else within a dire situation."

He picked up one of the rocks mok and brought and looked at it with a bit of amusement. It was alot less heavy then the logs he had to bear at the Woodyard. Still, in armor wearing him down, it was an adequate size to make a marked improvement for a run. He'd been upon a daily regiment of training ever since he and Cade had started the season before, and a short run was not a daunting prospect to him. Even if it was on top of what he'd done this morning: his usual five mile jog to the slag heap and back, though he stayed away from the smoke and the burning refuge now: giving it a wide berth.

Lifting the stone he looked to Zandelia and shrugged before setting lightly off after Mok. He knew that even for all his training, he had much to go to condition his running abilities. Even what practice he had would not give much time for him to adapt to the strenuos nature of the task. For that he would have to train more; much more. For the first mile he took it easy, holding the rock above his head, and shifting it from side to side, bringing it down to rest beside his shoulder before pushing it back up and over past his forehead at full reach to bring it back down to rest beside the other shoulder.

All the while he concentrated on his air flow, letting the air in through his nose and out through his mouth at a steady cadence of breaths. A bare reflection of his feet pounding at the earth. His ability to run was hampered a little by the armor, but by the third mile he was glad he wasn't as hindered as Mok was. Sure he had about the same weight with the extra kit and the backpack made it uncomfortably bulky to continue, but at least not all of it was clinging to his arms and legs.

By this point his mouth felt drier then the deserts of Eyktol and he hitched the stone under one arm. With the other he unhitched his flask took a single small sip of water to ward off the sensation. He breathed through his nostrils as he swished the water about his mouth and returned the flask to his shoulder as the run began to mend back towards the camp.

At the fourth mile he pushed himself onwards a little further, lengthening his stride and settling into a smooth even gait as he began to catch up to the myrian and eventually eclipse him on the last mile. He came into camp slightly ahead and stopped nearby the fire pit, to throw the rock down beside it. The heavy item usually being used in the stone ring which protected the camp from errant sparks.

Straightening up, he didn't say anything as he unshucked the backpack and placed it back inside his tent flap. Then he merely stood with his hands on his head, taking the time to breathe as he walked around Mok and Zandelia as he let his muscles cool down. Eventually he came to stand over the myrian, and in response to his words he stretched a single hand downwards to help the man up.

"Well, I think at least we got a good start at moving in blasted armor at least. Perhaps you should take a slight rest and drink some water my friend?"

[Zandelia]

As Mok set off at a trot, his rock above his head at first, and Antar shrugged at her an set off with his own stony burden Zandelia could not quite believe what it was she had signed herself up for – though she thought that if it began with running and a large rock it strongly resembled masochistic self-torture. Still, she had decided to take Mok up upon his offer of training, and whilst she was wishing she had picked a better day – preferably one when she was well rested and un-bruised – she could not back out now without giving offence. They were both quite a way ahead of her by the time she shook her head, grunted to herself and picked up her stony load, setting off at a light jog in order to give her body chance to warm up to its new pace. She knew that she was perhaps slightly better off then the other two, her armour not as cumbersome and her body still loose and limber from her day’s running for Tua – though that did mean they were far more worn and filled with the waste of the day’s exertions. Bloody barbarian and his insane training methods she snarled to herself as she concentrated upon her breathing and her pace, counting her footfalls in her mind to keep her focus upon the task at hand rather than its difficulties. The monumental weight of the task that she was undertaking caught up with her fairly quickly, quicker than she had imagined in point of fact. She had not had much trouble catching up with the two of them, her long legs eating up the ground between them and closing the gap until after almost a mile she was all but upon their backs. She noted how they were both struggling, their armours weighing them down and putting extra pressure upon their bodies, though she assumed they were used to that. However, as soon as her mind came un-focused, her thought processes no longer upon breathing and footfalls; it began to assault her also. She became acutely aware of the fact that, whilst she was merely wearing cotton clothing, with studded leather armour and Shadowsilk Robes on top, it was still constricting and possessed its own weight. “Petching…three layers….clothing” she breathed to herself, feeling the sweat that was pouring across her skin sticking the layers to her body, restricting her movements and making it more difficult to weave through the tents as easily as she had begun with. After a mile and a half the weight of the stone was becoming all but unbearable for her, her muscles not used to such weight, her arms not adapted to carrying the load. She was agile by nature, not stocky, and whilst her physique was roughly athletic it was more of a runner’s body than a fighter’s. She was not like the men that were now pulling away from her, who she was sure could wield heavy swords as if they were sticks off the ground. No, when she fought it was with her intelligence, and that was useless here, with the stone now getting ever lower, her arms folding up and unable to lift it anymore. Feels like a damned mountain! Come on! Don’t let them see you as weak! Come ON! she tried to urge herself forwards, but still losing ground. She was still going though, and she counted that as a win. Over the next mile the pains became excruciating, her arms now unable to shift the rock other than to switch shoulders, and even that was becoming difficult now – as she found out when she all but shouted out her frustration, pushing the rock upwards and lowering it solidly – from her right to her left shoulder. It felt like she was carrying Mok, and her back muscles were becoming strained, screaming their agonies to her, adding their complaints to the quickly numbing muscles in her arms. Her legs were tiring too, the lactic acid building up and threatening to cramp up one her as she propelled herself onwards – ever onwards. Her world became her agonies, her breathing becoming rather more ragged than usual upon a run at The Establishment. Still, she kept up her intake of oxygen through her nose, heaving it out through her mouth, trying vainly to maintain the slow accumulation of oxygen debt her muscles were building up – knowing that letting it get out of control would be fatal. The last half mile became a series of shuffling meanders, her body trying to force her to drop its load, to stop pushing it further than it had already gone, but she ignored it. She knew that the only way to improve was to force her body to do so. She knew the two men would know more about how to do that than she did, and so she trusted their judgement. Still, her robes were now beginning to entangle in her legs and the rock was compressing her right shoulder, her arms unable to shift it now. She tried for one last burst and was rewarded with a short-term second wind that allowed her to pass back into the camp. She immediately fell to her knees, heaving the rock to the side with one final grunt of effort, and hit the ground chest-first. “Bloody barbarian, making me carry that thing. If you ever ask me to carry you, you can petching forget it” she wheezed at Mok as she shakily crawled her way to their water barrel and dunked her head in, drinking deeply until her thirst was slaked and more. She pulled her head out and sat down with her back leaning against the barrel. She breathed heavily, seeking to recuperate as fast as possible, taking the opportunity to rub and stretch her arms and shoulders. “What are we doing next? Beating each other with iron bars?” she asked him, her semi-sarcastic words not really having her heart behind them as her tired tone would suggest.

[Mok]

Taking his bud’s hand, Mok pulled himself to his feet. The myrian’s muscles were definitely warmed up by now. His chest, shoulders, and legs were aching slightly from the run, but it was nothing that he couldn’t handle.

Antar looked the best out of the three of them, looking almost as if he had not ran the miles. The rogue was lean and strong, the myrian wasn’t surprised that Noth was a better runner than him. His long legs would carry him on full stride further and faster than the myrian could manage. Mok figured that this was a good thing in the end. The half-blood was a front line fighter. He did not need to run away from enemies. At the most, he needed to chase them down. Antar on the other hand used many ranged techniques. The ability to increase the distance between the hunter and the prey was essential for Noth. However, no matter what angle Mok spinned it, the hunter was better.

Zandelia on the other hand looked the most tired. Mok knew that she was liable to be the first one to quit. He would never say this out loud though. The myrian was ready to encourage her at any moment. Zandelia was going need the two boy’s encouragement to continue. The myrian answered his friend’s questions by giving them wisdom he learned as a kid in the Faylndar.

“We continue. Remember this though: there is no quick fix or easy way to achieve our goals. In order to get better at this, we need to push ourselves. If we want real results from this training we need to push ourselves. We need to push ourselves. I cannot say it enough. Hard work and sweat will be the cost. Our bodies are tough and resilient. By Myri’s hand, our body thrives in this constant environment of overload. Remember, you need mental toughness now. Mental toughness. I hope this all makes sense.”

The myrian paused for a moment and took a swig of water.

“Now, here is what we are doing next. First, you will stand here,” Mok said while making a line on the floor with his gladius “When we start, you will sprint from this line all the way to that tree at the edge of the lane. Run as fast as you possibly can. Mark that tree with a blade then jog back to this line. We will keep track of how many times we ran the distance by the marks on the tree. The only rule is that your only allowed to stop if you need to vomit.” Mok pointed at a tree that was about a furlong away, roughly two hundred meters. By Mok’s calculations, it would take an average of a minute for one to sprint down and jog back.

“Second, you will come here,” the myrian grunted and drew a large square on the floor and placed a large rock at each corner. The square was thirty meters in length, “Here… You will start at a corner… then you will sprint to each other corner, however you must keep your shoulder square. Keep facing forward. So it will look like this. Sprint…shuffle…back pedal… shuffle … sprint… See how this works. Now I don’t care what order you do it in, as long as you hit each corner every rep and keep your shoulders straight. This will teach you how to change directions as quickly as possible.”

“Next!” Mok yelped and ran to the other side of the camp and drew 5 lines that where each fifty feet apart. “This one is simple. Start here, sprint to the first line, touch it, then sprint back. Next sprint to the second line, then sprint back. Then the third and fourth. Pretty simple yes?”

The myrian loosened his gauntlets and wiped his face one last time, “Any questions. Antar will start on the tree sprint, I will begin on the square, Zandelia you get the line touch. While the tree runner is sprinting, the two who stay behind will try to get as many reps as possible. Once the tree runner returns, then we will rotate. After we each run to the tree, we will have a few seconds to rest, which I will call out. Remember to keep going hard at all times. Never stop, never quit.”

The myrian took his position at the square and nodded to this team mates, “Alright, I hope you’re ready for some old fashioned training.”

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

[Antar]

For a moment Noth smiled and put his pack and his rucksack with their weight back in his tent before looking at the far off tree. He'd have some fun with this to be sure, even if sprinting long distances in armor was probably the hardest thing to do, he thought he might have a bit of fun with making a cut on the tree. After all, he was carrying his weapons for a reason.

Returning towards the starting line as the others made ready he slowed his breathing a little, concentrating on drawing deep breaths at a time filling his lungs with as much oxygen as possible to enrich his blood for the task ahead. Doing this too much wasn't advised, as it could make one dizzy, but for the short term it would enhance one's ability to move quickly.

When the other's were at the ready for their own task, Noth took a starting position at the drawn line, bending at the waist and angling his knees slight as he prepared for the push off to get a good start. His hands were placed just before the line with his thumbs and index finger as horizontal as possible to the starting mark. Cupping his hands he pushed himself up and raised his back to bring one leg about half a pace forward then the other.

The distance to the marked tree was a two hundred meter dash, not completely undoable as a four hundred meter was a quarter of a mile, so a two hundred meter dash was half that for an eighth of a mile. But in armor, this was going to petching hurt! When in position and ready, the rogue gave the others a last nod , tensing his leg muscles as he pushed himself up to begin.

The first hundred meters he ran with all his heart, taking roughly fifteen seconds to cross before tiring slightly. A good time with extra weight as a normal average man with slight training might have ten seconds to their time, but it was the second hundred meters that was where the dragging factor occurred and muscle fatigue kicked in causing a burning in his calves and thighs. But he still pushed on: All the while he concentrated short quick breaths through his nose, and out his mouth through pursed lips as he concentrated on keeping his gait as wide as he could to create as much of a ground devouring stride as possible.

When he reached the tree, he didn't stop but slowed slightly as his right hand drew his gladius from his shoulder sheathe, the blade drawing across the trunk in slash going upwards from left to right. Turning his body, his momentum began to become arrested by a skidding stop as his left gauntlet came down to make contact with ground, the cold iron plates absorbing the sudden shock as his legs twisted behind him. His form came almost to a mirror of his starting stance, just with his gladius held parrallel to the side to keep the weapons edge as far away from himself as possible.

Forcing himself up to his feet again, using only one hand to push himself up, the rogue envisioned the tree trunk as a training post and twisted his wrist to reverse the blade's direction as he made another strike over his last mark, this one going upwards from right to left to create an "X" as his mark on the side of the tree as he drew the blade through. The momentum from the blow forced him to spin a little, and reset his bearing to move his legs back towards the starting line at a jog as he held the sword in hand. As he ran, he reversed his grip to an ice pick grip on the hilt of the sword and then choked up on the hilt to take a firm grip over where the crossguard of the gladius would be to ensure that if he fell, the flat of the blade would enter smack against the ground, leaving the cutting edge away from anywhere his body or head might touch or crash into..

It was a similar thing to do as if Noth were practicing hatchet safety in the woods, and holding them near the axe head with the sharp end back towards him. Just another portion of the set of the skills he was trying to develop.

When he passed the finish line at a jog, he was breathing hard, and his hands felt numb from the recoil of slashing against the tree, but at least he had made good time. He took a few moments to drink from his water flask, wet down his handkerchief with a bit of water from his drinking flask before he cleaned the sap off his weapon and sheathed the sword.

He turned back towards Mok and Zandelia, wondering what his next task would be... but took a few moments of silence to just concentrate on his recovery in order to breathe easier.

[Zandelia]

Zandelia’s mind almost imploded as the giant that was Mok set about dictating their next set of tasks, and incredible tasks they were too for the sodden and shaky trio. She had to admit that the other two were by far better off than she was herself after that damned stone carrying event, their lifestyles more suited to the rigours of exertion and weighty burdens. She had only just recently set about improving her fitness levels, and that was merely a redundancy for her employment for the most part – the ability to run for long distances and at great sustained speeds of great value to a message carrier. Still, even with her single eye she could see they were all breathing hard and barely recovered from the first task. Mok’s words of encouragement based around the need to push the body to improve its limits served to agitate her more than encourage, but she used that to fuel the recharging of her energy reserves – anger being a powerful tool when channelled appropriately.

More like destroy the body in order to rebuild it afterwards you great brute! she thought to herself as she walked around din circles slowly a few times to try and ease out her muscles, complaining as they were in an incessantly annoying way. She cursed herself and merely fed those thoughts into the bonfire she was building within her mind.

“I’ll show you, you bastard” she muttered to herself grumpily as she took up her spot at the line running section of the camp, secretly grateful he had chosen it as her first task. Perhaps he had known it would be more of a reprieve for her than the tree slashing chore, but either way it did not really matter.

She awaited the signal of commencements, drawing in deep breaths in anticipation of the endurance trial that lay before her. She timed it carefully, breathing in air through her nose and panting it out sharply from her mouth, restoring her oxygen debt to a level as normal as she could make it in such a small period of time. She rubbed at her thighs, the front and back, just to ease the tension there and then took up a tight crouch that resembled the coil ready to unwind rapidly. Silence reigned for what seemed an eternity before the signal came.

“GO!” shouted the barbarian and she could see Antar spring forwards with a grace she had not imagined from him as Mok’s more mechanically adept movements began to propel him forwards too.

She launched herself forwards, powering up with her legs into her first few long strides in an attempt to eat up the ground on the first fifty yards as quickly as possible. She knew that the first two lines would be easy compared to the last two and was more than willing to exercise her slight frame and low centre of gravity towards a burst of speed that she could taper off into an adequate pace once the initial stages were done. The first fifty yards to the beginning line sped past in a brief matter of moments, her breathing sharp and crisp as her lungs worked to fill themselves with air as quickly as possible. Her legs were still surprisingly fresh underneath her as she crouched down to slam her palm upon the line, using her lowered stance to curl herself around and her now forwards thigh to push herself back in the direction she had come. As she ran back at high speed to the starting line she could see the other two setting about their own tasks with a single minded devotion that she used to solidify he mentality.

Returning to the start she lowered herself once more and gracefully twisted her body to slap the ground and accelerate her speed a little further on her second trip out across the plain of lines. The hundred feet to her second milestone passed not quite as quickly this time, her breathing starting to become a tad ragged as she slapped the line and ran back to the start. As she returned to the start position for the second time she could feel her strength beginning to ebb, reaching the point she knew well by now that lay between speed and stamina. She was beginning to slow, but she could accept that in so far as it gave her a little more time in between sections to recover her chest from the burning sensations that were beginning to erupt within her torso. She twisted, almost mechanically now, and slapped the ground before setting out on her third sojourn.

As she got towards the halfway mark of the one hundred and fifty yards to the third line out from the start her pace was more akin to a quick jog than a sprint and she knew that Mok had not chosen this task as a reprieve at all but as a test of mental endurance more than physical. She knew, as she approached the line now and slapped her palm down before turning on the spot smartly, that anyone could do the task she had been set as long as they had the mental fortitude to force themselves through the physical wall she was now set before. She had begun to fall to a medium paced jog, her breath coming as quickly as she could force it despite its ragged, semi-wheezing nature. She tried to tap into her rage, feeling it flood through her very limns to lend her strength she did not know she had. This task was different to her missive running, not so much a series of quick dashes followed by punctualities of rapid recovery. No, it was a slow and methodical torture to the muscles and a fiendish rack to willpower.

She touched the start line for the last time, briefly catching a glimpse of Antar on his way back to the start, the tree she surmised having been marked several times by now. She forced herself onwards, her body grudgingly soldiering onwards and forwards, her speed much diminished from its starting pace. Reaching the last line and bending down to touch it after two hundred yards was difficult for her, almost causing her to lose her balance and slip into the dust. She righted herself with much effort, however, and pushed herself on the last leg of her journey. Two hundred yards had never seemed to be a long distance to her, but the last section was by far the most gruelling. She all but threw herself over the line, seeing that Antar and Mok had already finished, and tried to stop her shaking legs from crumpling beneath her.

“Bloody…damned…barbarians” she grunted as she made her way to the water barrel once more and drank as deeply and quickly as she could between deep breaths of recovery.

I swear to come up with something twice a petching tortuous for you one day Mok, I swear she thought to herself, with no real heat to the ideas. She was too tired and her anger would need to be reserved for the other two tasks this day.

Instead she merely walked around shakily, trying to keep her muscles from cramping up on her with a few mild stretches that seemed t make her legs scream at her in agony.