[training thread]Sparring with a Demon(Darian)

[Antar]

Afternoon, 12th day of Fall, 511av

The morning had been a fun sort of adventure, an interesting way to let off some steam after dealing with a thief who nabbed an empty coinpurse. Sure he could have let the little filching bastard get away with it, but there were certain principles he upheld with almost an iron clad code of behavioral responses... so he had gently decapitated the poor sot after wounding him in the leg... a mercy killing to be sure. No wounded thief or orphan would survive long, and in fact linger till the other scavengers of the city's streets tore them apart.

The way back to camp had been a simple one, made rather uneventful by any form of interruption so he managed to finish humming a song or two.

When he got to the camp, he lead his guest past the set of skulls on piked heads, their ever present grins from the season before shining in the afternoon light. They were remnants of a job he had done with Cade, the myrian barbarian. A sure sign telling unwary fools, and scavengers to keep away. But not those who were interesting to any of their group. Like the man walking beside him towards the clean crisp rows of tents the Crimson Edge's members pitched. Gesturing for the man to have a seat by some of the rocks and chairs he had made for the fire, the rogue threw Darian his water flask and gestured towards one of the large bundles of wrapped bread he stocked the barrels with.

He wasn't remiss to helping his guest have a nice, if plain meal while he prepared a training post for them both. Reaching his tent he pulled out his tools and walked towards the pile of logs he hauled in from the forests from time to time after work. Antar was getting rather cozy with the Carver brothers, and they seemed to enjoy working with him just as much as he did working with them.

Setting the log over another log he began to get to work, though soon enough his glances towards Darian and wondered if the man had skills other then those of fighting. "Care to help out a little Craeven? I'm not sure if you feel up to carving a little bit of wood, but I can throw together a mean set of training equipment now that I have a few sets of armor scraps. Though... it might be good for you to learn how to too."

If Darian came over to assist him, then the rogue would offer him a carver's awl to help remove the bark before continuing, if not he'd simply tell the man his thoughts as he waited by the fire amidst the chairs Noth had built. "I must hazard a bit of truth though, I don't think Craeven is your real name. Neither is Anthony mine, though I use it on a job. I must say, I've been wondering where you and that Cass woman went after the last job. You both seemed interesting enough for me to want you both to stick around. Possibly to offer you a bit of safety here with the rest of us in camp. So I'll make you a deal to loosen things up a bit while I set up a new training dummy for you. You tell me your name, I might tell you mine."

[Darian]

Grinning skulls by a warm firelight, by the gods, it was so much like home. Darian shook off the hazy recollection and took it all in stride, taking his seat in one of the wooden chairs closest to the fire. The red, and orange hues of it's bright flame danced of the metal showing from his longswords hilt, and beaconed him to memories he simply refused to allow to come to the surface. It had been done, and it was the past now, it was simple as that. He'd killed many since then and not though a moment about it but some how he could never forget his first. Suppose it was that way about a lot of things.

His attention flickered over to his sole companion for the night, a capable fighter he knew as Anthony and deemed to be well worth the time he invested in coming here. He caught the flask only just in his hand and graciously unstoppered it while grabbing a loaf of bread with his right. There was much to do yet, but it was good to get training in, it brought him back to his roots after all. Deep dark roots he tried to distance himself from even if he wasn't aware of it but at the same time he couldn't escape his heritage or the power it gave his hands. The subject arving spilled from Anthony's lips, and it was almost as if he was back home, working with the his tools to better understand that what his father did. Those where fonder times, times when blood had yet to stain his hands. Well, blood not spilt by him at least. He took a swig from the water glass and tore off a piece of bread before at last answering the man's hanging question.

"Certainly, I've done a bit of carving in my day to be sure. Call it a old profession" Darian stated, standing up from his seat and walking over to take a seat by the other man. He had tools of his own, but he cared not to tell Antar that unless it was needed. Best not let to much information be brought to light too soon after all.

With a patience born of practice he scrapped the awl along the sides of the log, chipping away the bark to reveal smooth wood beneath. Every section of rough bark that came off settled him more, and cleared his mind, Anthony's words all the more receipted. It was more than just a job for him, it was something he did most enjoy in the past and was a better way of exercising his very own demons that so haunted his spirits. His hand finally put down the awl, and his eyes flickered up to meet those of Anthony. The man's question hung heavily in the balance, and no mirthful grin touched his face. In a business like their's, names where not freely offered, though he supposed this one had earned this. No way he could have been connected to what had happened so long ago after all from what Darian knew, and besides the man was worth his weight in salt, his blade arm fine enough to impress him.

"My name is Darian."

[Antar]

"Darian." Noth mumbled as he looked at the man winnowing down the wood of the log, both with his eyes and his second Sight."A fine name... yes a fine name indeed." The man's aura was green, like the forests, yet tinged with red rivulets of bloody rivers. Perhaps from his bloody minded thoughts or otherwise, Antar didn't know. Smoothing the djed flow back into their natural course, the rogue would sigh a moment before he cocked his head to one side. Just staring at Darian appraisingly as his normal vision restored itself before he looked away, slightly to the side as he divulged something of import. "Antar. The name is Antar."

When that was said, Antar would gain his own awl and begin to scrap the underside of the log, working in silence as the two craftsmen began their shaping to allow the bark to be stripped and the white flesh to be laid bare. It was a calming process, soothing, and one he had done before. He had learned to make targets at the cutter and carver brothers and this would be no different.

When the training post had been laid bare of bark, he would instruct darian to grab one of his chisels and hammers to begin carving out a notch on the top of the post, only about an inch an a half wide so that he might make an inset for the training posts crossbar, approximately the height of a common man's shoulders. It was easy to say, but harder to put into practice, but soon the sound of ringing blows would sound throughout the camp... the smell of the wood, the feeling of working alongside a person who knew what they were doing both in and out of conflict was a blessing in disguise.

He could sense a kindred spirit lurking somewhere deep within Darian and he had on more then one occassion noted certain trademarks in his style of combat that spoke of learning things a little diffferently then most. A reluctance for wasting strength and motion in the slightest; similar to his own fashioning as an assassin. "You know, you may be a fighter... but you move like something else Darian. Like a snake, or rather like one who wishes to not waste any motion. Much like myself... I wonder; who trained you Darian, and what was it you were trained for?"

oocSorry this took so long; blowing off the rust and getting caught up

[Darian]

Darian nodded slightly, taking the name in, turning it over on his tongue. Such was the practicality of alliances in Sunberth, for now that they knew each others names, there came with them a certain measure of power. With that single title, he knew Antar could easily learn much about his exploits by keeping his ear close to the streets, and in the same respect so could Darian about him. You also knew who to go looking for should someone care to stab you in the back, and names to give hired swords if you had the coin for such things, but such was only if worst came to worse, and for the moment Darian found no reason to go against his civil man, one that displayed certain valuable qualities at that. He continued the rest of his thoughts while he worked to shape the wood in silence, the slight grate of it on the timber soothing in it's repetitiveness.

This would have been his life, he couldn't help but to notice, as the all to real feel of the awl in his hands became more and more apparent with every grating stroke of it against the log. Had not Sophia done what she had done, he would have been irking out his existence as a carver, and a thief when he needed the gold to keep his families bellies full. If it had not come to pass he wouldn't have been so burned as he was now, and possibly even married, but such a possibility was lost to him. Fate had dealt him a harsh hand, forging him into the shadow of a man he was now, and he had not the strength to even begin such delusions. His was a fate of a different quality from the common man, and when his time came the world would heave a sigh of relief he suspected. Death was his trade, not wood working, and he was bound to do nothing but kill for that was all he knew to do in this unsatisfying world. He hadn't forced him to do the things he had done recently, to kill those women, and that was the only solace he could take in the life he found himself in. No one controlled him, no one.

Turning his head to the side to regard his companion, his silently rose from the finished log he had been working on and grabbed the tools he'd suggested though his own where much closer. Better that the man didn't know that Darian had his own tools of the trade, though for though they'd shared their titles, a few surprises where always best to be kept away from even the closest of associates. Made it easier to kill them if worst came to worst.

Standing the log upright, he started working on it as Antar directed, the edge of the chisel bitting into the wood, and slowly forming notch in the wood for his companion to fit the other piece securely into. Gripping the chisel with a steady hand, his other kept swinging the hammer in time, bringing the deadly strength of his right arm out for oddly constructive purposes. Antar spoke again, but in more of a casual nature than that he had used to lay out the directions. His words brought more flashes of his bitter past, and brought a sour taste to fill his mouth, but beyond all odds he kept himself measured, and his eyes listless to keep away any unwanted inferences. "A myrian named Rolack trained me, trained me to be a weapon to be used by my uncle, but to what purpose they never got a chance to utter" He spoke slowly, each of his words precisely pronounced as he worked the chisel deeper into the wood with heavier smacks of the hammer. "And what of you? Who's responsible for training that fine swords arm you have?"

[Antar]

"My sword? A myrian named Mok. He's actually in this camp too but as for other things..." Antar said as he mused upon who this Rolack was... what was Darian really then? Was he more like Antar then the man had previously realized? Condemned to bear the pain and torment of a thousand forces to forge oneself into a weapon? Was there any past connections between them, or was Darian's uncle merely playing a game to see whom he might take as his personal play thing? Or was there something more different then the passing similarities between them?

Antar didn't know, but what he did know was that amongst what he suspected to be Darian's kind, knowledge of secrets were paid in return for letting someone into one's confidence. Though sometimes that meant boundaries had to be laid down so lines were not crossed. That was what professionals did. "my longbow, and kukri skills were developed a bit before then by others. I'll just say its good to not allow anyone else to dictate who I kill or won't now... and if you were to ask further I'll simply explain here and now that it was done by those who would simply slit your throat if you knew of them... and no; before you ask; your skills, nor mine are developed enough yet to the point where it might save either one of us. So I'll ask you not to ask again on that particular matter. Anything else I'd be willing to answer a question on in exchange for one of my own: Where were you from Darian, and who taught you to work the wood and did you ever learn the basics of burning it to create crafts?"

As Darian took the hammer and chisel and worked further on the sides of the training dummy, Antar would notice a slight flicking of the man's eyes to his pack, and his smile would grow a little bit wider. He didn't know why, but he seemed compelled by some inner force to show Darian a bit of a surprise; keeping a close eye to gauge the man's reactions to see if it would soon be apparent the man would need to be eliminated or not. Hovering his hand over the wood, a small bit of Res began to be produced and then spread a moment before it's exterior was transmuted to flame.

The tiny pattern would begin to ignite, and the wet wood pulp of the artifice would burn out quickly, only releasing a small trail of smoke wisping through the air as a small pattern of glyphs were etched by the fire. A circle of various glyphs conjured by the mind of Antar, and then set by the fires as the focus glyph was burned out slowly by a smaller ball of flame, its intentions set with sigils of curiousity, focus, all scrawled around a large cross for a target. About that, just for laughs, he drew a small heart shaped object as it was in the center of the dummy's chest.

"It is said that many of us prefer to provide a give and take attitude when we share bits of our history, time and knowledge. I wonder... if I was to search your pack what would I find there? Perhaps something I could learn in return for a bit further teaching as we get to know one another a little better? Perhaps I can teach you a little something to help ensure no one can ever use you again like your uncle did? I wouldn't mind that... though I don't induct people into reimancy."

Noth's eyes merely watched Darian from afar, his mind beginning once again to wonder if he'd have to rid himself of his newfound friend... the burn scars alone would prove an interesting tale if they were of some magical means. Perhaps his actions would prompt a reaction and the two would begin to fight. He figured he could at the very least, contain Darian a few moments.

And if need be... well he'd just have to wait and see..

[Darian]

Unmistakably his eyebrows raised at his associates mention of being trained by a myrian as well. Their ilk had become increasingly prevalent in the city over the years, but for what reason he had no clue. Still they possessed a reputation just because of their blood, and mostly deserved if you tended to creep in their jungles but as he found out with Rolack, they where hardly prepared to survive long in an urban environment like Sunberth. It made sense now though, the man's fighting style, and with that understanding Darian could feel some of the tension sliding from his shoulders. This man and himself seemed to be forged from the same metal, but he remained certain he was tempered in a different manner. Such was his past after all. Such would be the same for anyone put through shadows, flame, and ice to become unshakeable.

He remained respectfully silent as his companion continued, supplying further answers to his prowess, though in the same breath he uttered vague threats and hints a vision of the darker powers hidden within the decrepit alleyways of Sunberth. The latter piqued his interest the most but studiously he kept his interest far from his face. Above all this one could not know the full scope of his past, or the implications plain to see therein. Antar could not know that one such sort of organization had played a major role in his child hood, his entire family killed because of a slight his father made, his own life narrowly preserved because of a moment of weakness from his would be killer. A professional his companion was indeed, and he little feared emotion or loyalty from the man to drive him to kill him but it could do him no good to tell Antar his own plans, one involving the destruction of such a cabal whether his friend be in it or otherwise.

Instead he managed to distract himself with Antar's question, one worthy of note but brought the hint of a grimace to his features as he worked the wood with hammer and chisel. "My father trained me in the art. I was to take his place when I came of age. I didn't get to learn how to burn it to create crafts though for he inconveniently died before I got the chance to be taught" Darian replied coldly, his eyes not leaving the wood as he hammered in the pieced so they would stand to weather the ravages of practice and time. The beating of the hammer on wood came much too slow to match the pounding rhythm of his heart, and he acted presently to try and match the two with a feverous pounding of the metal on the solid wood.

Fire. The small orange glow attracted his eyes and ceased his relentless pounding effectively stalling him where he stood. As his mind comprehended it's source he found the strength leave his legs, and only his reflexes saved his face as he caught himself on the wooden dummy and held himself upright. Seeing reimancy again after so many years away from the warmth sorceresses bed, and after his incident with the ethaefal brought mixed emotions surging through is form, filling him with wrath and a soul paralyzing emptiness comparable to his initiation into servitude to his mentor. His hands could hardly hold him any longer as weakness leached into them but steeling his jaw, Darian managed to find the ground underneath his feet, and keep himself solid and balanced once more. The demons of his past could no longer scathe him or threaten his mission any more. He was his own blade to use as he wished.

"Search my pack as you wish, I'm your guest, though you'll learn far more from instruction than a simple bloodstained set of carving tools and bone trinkets. A trade of on instruction becomes far more interesting with every breath" He replied evenly, throwing in a halfhearted smile to dispel any unpleasantness attached to his tone. Memories served quick to sour the mood of a man thought to be colder than anything. A man who didn't like his illusion to be dispelled. After all it was skill that made a man invincible. It was his reputation.

[Antar]

"There's no need to search one's guests bags for tools... though perhaps that might change. Who knows... maybe it’s for better or worse?" He didn’t specify how it would change, though he noted Darian's recovery was good, very good.

It was like a verbal sparring match of sorts now between them, each one weighing the other and waiting for the other to blink as in their verbal maneuvering one might prove superiority over the other. But this was not a game of superiority, or dominance, no rather this was a game for who could understand or predict another's actions. If one ignored the norm and went to remove an element of byplay and undercurrents that would normally bring along the safety the trade provided it would ultimately force a conflict. To compare how this would normally go, a regular meeting of professional is similar to boxing, where one fights and secures an escape route at all times. But the way he was approaching it would be tantamount to brawling at close range, a duel with both players standing still.

Reputation in such a case did not matter, only the ability to offset the other player.

No this wasn't a game of professionals, nor was it a game of any master seeking an apprentice. This was something a bit more ... noble if you could call it that. By ignoring one of the unwritten rules of conduct straight off the bat, he'd begin to see Darian for who he really was, flaws and all. "Shame to hear about your father not teaching you about how to fire the wood. I guess untimely deaths of such beings are something we both share. Though I must say I think the man who was with my mother at the time might have met a different end. To make things short, I used a tool much like any one of these. I stabbed him in the jugular, because at the time he was beating my mother, my step brother, and my half-sister. Pity, it was much like this one, but I never did keep the original."

He picked up a small carving blade and spun it around in his hand to have the hilt be extended first. Without as much as a 'by your leave’ Antar would pluck the current tool from Darian's weakened grip and slap this one down into the palm of his hand. The weight was dropped... like a steel gauntlet thrown between the two. By his own rules stated prior implied to have the man not ask about Antar's past, he had never said he wouldn't reveal a bit on his own. But it was strange to be sure... what would Antar gain by revealing such a thing? His eyes never left Darian's, no he only raised his chin slightly, as if to expose his throat. If Darian wished to in this moment, he could have attacked and made a try to slit Antar's throat he would have had a good chance to succeed. It would seem a foolish thing to do, but it was a necessary gambit to deceive another. In truth, how could one hope to deceive another enough to have them deceive themselves long enough to show what they really were without taking risks?

The rogue would smile, a small smile, as if he was discussing something over tea as he continued. "I really must say that there's no need to worry about bloodied tools, right Darian? Why don't you try to rework your marks? Some weren't the best there..."

What would Darian do?

What would Darian say?

Would it be interesting enough to keep his attention? With these thoughts in mind, Antar watched him like a hawk, noting his observations on Darian's slight weaknesses in the knees as he lent too much weight on the tools and the wood of the training dummy. His marks were too deep, and then shallow, not a thorough even path as Darian began to rework some of his cuts. He'd let the silence stretch between them for a bit, seeking something he couldn't imagine he'd see in another professional. He was waiting for something to show which might betray Darian's state of mind, or mood. Something to keep him rattled. Soon though, Antar would again interrupt. "Your holding the chisel a bit off, let me help you a bit while you hammer."

Without another word, his right hand with the beads around his gauntlet lashed forwards to encircle Darian's wrist. Professionals did not usually broach the sphere of physical contact.

By omitting a second rule it changed the game even more... it would be like their wills were each wrapping their hands around the others throat and squeezing their fists. The first to reveal any information that hit home to break the crack in either of their emotional armors, and fortitude of wills, would die. There were many things which could go wrong in this game, if Darian was pushed too far, he could snap or attack, if Antar's observations were wrong then other fortuitous future ventures they might take together would be destroyed in this deadly balancing act along infinite numbers of invisible tightropes.

But, if anyone was to chase after such transient 'ifs" they would never lead themselves to victory. But what was the prize here? The prize was simple; if only Darian could figure it out. It was something which on the surface appeared to be exactly what it was; He wished to measure the man's capacity.

"When you approach woodcarving a soft wood, or a hard wood you need more force driving your cuts. But here, here in a wood like this you need to attack the problem from the side. Do you see?" Antar's hammer would hit the hilt of the sharper chisel under Darian's hand, flaking away bits of the wood in the same way the carver brother's showed him. What he didn't say was that two fingers would be pressing firmly into the side of Darian's wrist, taking his pulse as the last sound of hammer on chisel scraped a clear line away from where the training dummy's mast board would be anchored to the central pole before the entire thing was wrapped in rope and shreds of armor they had procured, but he wasn't done just yet. No for as he was speaking the djed began to make the translucent Res weep from his pores.

The smile of an innocent demon would stay on his lips as he continued. "Since your father could not teach you about fire hardening, then I believe it best that I should do so in honor of his siring a fine man for a son. We’ll start with the reasons I made that sigil on the wood to explain. But first... why are you afraid of fire?" As he spoke the beads would come down from his gauntlet at the last hammer fall, and his left hand would reach out to grasp them as the garrote came out, wrapping around Darian's wrist as he physically jerked the hand upwards and down to the flesh of the wood, making sure Darian's fingertips were touching the burned sigil. At his mind's will, the Res would flow, upwards between them, hovering at eye level between them as the ball ignited into a band of Res, slowly slinking its way downward.

It was an inimical attack which wasn't really threatening, but rather utilized best for breaking the feint of another's instinctive barriers and reflexes. There had been a pause at the notion of fire, and of reimancy being used; yet the reasons behind it were unknown. Were he to consider this behavior objectively he could come up with a myriad number of plausible reasons for this. But not saying or delving into such things was the third rule of professionals, but one which had to be broken if he was test Darian's resolve. Here would be the breaking point, or the point where things became crystallized. He was ready to accept any fate which would come…

Darian would take his efforts for an attack, and respond in kind, he would freeze in fear, or hopefully, he would take the longer odds and freeze because he willed it to be. A sign of not showing he was the type to succumb to fear or if he was to do something completely different than expected Antar would be pleasantly surprised.

Antar would hope for the third possibility, would take the second if need be, and would be prepared for the first and improvise if something new emerged to keep things interesting.

The Res would stop its descent, merely keeping warmth upon both their skin from its flames as Antar pushed back the other man's sleeve to reveal the burn marks he would state a fact, a fact he would have confirmed or denied by Darian's own words. "Fire hardening is the process where the outer layer of a tree, or article covered in sap is burned. Much like the outer layers of flesh can caramelize under the gristle if enough heat is applied. Like your skin here. Like your skin, fire hardening forms a barrier, removing the moisture from the layers below and wrapping the final product in a glaze. But that’s in plants with bark for skin, not humans or other animals. There, the burns progress to a point where they destroy several of the nerves and even after healing might still not have much feeling. Now, this is the reason why I’m doing these things now. I need to know how much damage you have, and how much you can feel. It may affect your ability to learn what I may offer you.”

Darian’s fingers would be pressed to the glyphed focus circle as above his arm the Fire burned, drawing away the heat of the air below the flame, making it cooler than it should be with a nearby fire … if Darian could feel it. “As in working the wood, or any substance you need to know very well that the material you use dictates how you would inscribe a focus rune, which is where anyone starts when learning glyphing as it is a set of sigils meaning various things linked together on the scroll or objects djed.”

After Darian’s palm was pressed against the burnt pattern in the wood, Antar would release Darian’s hand with the garrote as he lectured like a school teacher, “Tell me though, what do you know of djed in general? And what would you have to offer me if I was to teach you glyphing… and perhaps gave you a means of, after serious work, the ability to perhaps block anything that might burn you so much again? I’ll be blunt; you’ve shown me as a professional what you might be capable of, and if you wish: I think I can help you find a safe place here. There is an extra tent in my possession for you in this camp, and if I may: you don’t have to be just a ‘guest’ here if you are wanting to have others to watch your back so long as you watch their backs in returns.”

Of course, there was the silent thread of thought one might follow, just what price would the offer of relative safety require? Would Darian have to strive for some other means to repay such a possibility; or perhaps no payment of any sort would be needed save for what was spoken. For now Antar would imagine the man’s mind wearing in circles amongst his own thoughts of assessment and counter assessment to the rogue’s actions and perchance , while he did not actually stop his actions he would now give Darian the space he needed as the rogue reached back towards the woodpile for a suitable torch. He would ignite it from the Res before handing it to Darian and letting the fiery mixture fizzle out into nothing more than a puff of smoke. “Now in order to properly burn a wood, one must have a glaze over it, linseed oil works best over time, but any glaze or sap can do. Be wary though, some oils substituted for the act of wood burning are known to splatter and splash and can be quite painful when in contact with any burns one has… different glazes or oils will also cause different colors if they are put out in time.“

Taking out a bucket of oil he had brought from the carver brothers after he asked for it, the rogue would coat dollops of the mixture as he forced the last words out between them, “Please try to apply the concoction as evenly across the wood surface, a quarter of an inch will do on the lacquer . Then will come the bracing; drill holes for the divots and the gluing of the cross beam.”

Antar would stay, silently observing Darian’s work, of course, that was only if the man wasn’t going to attack him…

[Darian]

Darian stared hard at Antar as he wrapped his fingers slowly around the handle of the chisel placed in his hands, and he allowed his eyes to drop to the instrument casually. Such actions would have proceeded violence if it had been a stranger in Antar's place, but here he allowed the action. There was little else he could do after all surrounded as he was in the home of his quite possible associate. His grip tightened restrictively around the instrument still though, and found it's place against the wood as he slowly worked it against the grain, straightening out his sloppy marks to a degree better edge out the training dummy.

The man's words continued to careen through the quiet, and breathing slowly he measured each stroke and let his mind weight the man's words. The hinted at things, and played with the tension besotting the air upsetting the calm with his all too casual words. What did Antar hope to receive with his twisting words? It was a question he knew might be quite important before this encounter was over, though he would find himself hard pressed to discover the man's desires.

A hand lunged into view clasping his own wrist, and subtle tension rippled through his muscles at the uncharacteristic touch from the man. He surprised lashing out at him though for it seemed common enough, and perhaps his skills had grown stale of late. He held on just as firmly even as Antar followed it with hits from the hammer, etching lines into the wood with every resounding clang, and following up the natural music with weighted words. Keeping track of the man's words pertaining to the shaping of the woods, he found himself once more caught off guard when he posed a seemingly innocuous question.

Suddenly the man had his hand forced against the wood, the thin wire of a garrote clear to him, and drawing a raised eyebrow from him. It amused and irritated him to think that he had the vary same kind of beads, and yet did not recognize them around the man's gauntlet. He forced himself to keep still despite the initial shock though, his eyes slowly creeping up to take in Antars, and he let a genuine chuckle spill through his lips. Finally he realized what his mentor had meant with all his countless criticisms, and as he made the observation his heart hardened and his breathing came slower, it all dawning on him with Antar's simple question. He'd been weak for clinging to his past, for searching for the konti because she reminded him of someone he'd loved once and not someone that might be valuable to have at his side. Above all for clinging to the hatred for Sophia because of the deaths of his parents and not because she had slighted him.

With another slow measured breath that all changed, and his mirthful expression softening he allowed an answer to the man's question. "Afraid? No. Just surprised, something I won't allow for again. You needn't hold my hand to the wood. I've enough experience with flame to still my own flesh" He spoke calmly, his voice betraying not the quality of his thoughts. The floating glob of magic before him was all to familiar, though he felt little fear in it's appearance for he had experience far worse than the stinging bite that little spark would most likely give off. His eyes dropped from Antar's though to follow the band of res as it made its curious decent. What are you up to?

Darian found the question soon answered much to his liking, and his eyes flickered up from the small ball of fire to Antar's face. A odd rush of cool air whispered across the skin on the back of his hand. "Think of it more of a flash burn, and find yourself assured my faculties are up to order despite my appearance" He replied easily, flexing his strained digits after them being kept still for so long.

"My mentor taught me only what I needed to know of the subject and little else though his instruction was well balanced. I'll accept your tent, and watch your back in return for the same. In return I can teach you how to draw died from bones and indue special properties to instruments made with them and more of an arcane nature should you take to such learning which undoubtably you will with the talents you have already expressed" Darian said gesturing to the ball of res that hovered between them. Funny, he remembered this being more erotic the last time he took the time to discuss magic and sleeping arrangements with someone. Of course that had been with a woman of supreme quality and not with a man, though the comparison still stuck despite the difference in gender and reasoning. What the woman's reasoning had been was buried with her after all while Antars rested within his own mind. Why be so generous after all?

Taking a brush, he scooped up a bit of the oil and painted it along the grains of the wood, following the man's instruction to the letter while silently making notes for himself to use should he find need to make his own training post one day or to even apply to bone perhaps. The oil spread across the wood easily, and once it had coated a quarter of an inch thick on the post he stopped and released the tool into the bucket, his eyes settling once more upon the professional. And so the games began.

[Antar]

'Intriguing Responses.' Antar thought to himself as he unwrapped the cord from Darian's arm and stood back as the man spread the lacquer evenly across the training post. Their work was bringing it along much faster then it normally would have and he watched the other man's work with a keen eye. To Antar's mind, he had proven to Darian that he could catch him offguard, just not whether he could keep him there. However, he wouldn't let the other man know that his interest was piqued. It was said that those who responded the least might wait and bide their time for things to come to fruition in a manner most suitable to them.

Instead of replying immediately he crossed his arms and simply took in all his senses could fathom about the other man. He was a sharp dresser, if one went for a utilitarian style, much like Antar's own current vestments. But the wear of the day's prior events shown, though most peculiar was a bit of sand located on the back heel of the other man's boot. A sign of being crosslegged or swimming somewhere. It wasn't much to go on, but if he had to hazard a guess it would be best to see if the man himself would confirm it. Darian had jumped at the chance for a tent, and the only place with enough sand to cake one's boots at all was down by the bay... near the docks. Did that mean the man was living under them for a time? Of course such a thing might be supposition as well. But if he could use that supposition ... would perhaps that throw Darian off his game further as well?

The silence would stretch between them as for all intents and purposes, Antar seemed like a mercenary weighing another professional's words. Finally, after going to fetch his extra four man tent and placing it to one side, Noth would speak. "Very well, you shall have your tent and a place in camp if you wish. It's a step up from sleeping on the sands of the beach then."

Antar noted with a slight smile, more a crook at the edge of his lips as he waited to judge Darian's reaction. Would the man think Antar had known of where he had lived before? Or work out the methods he had made his deduction by? Only time would tell. Soon he wondered if Darian would do something which might surprise him as well. "If you understand that djed is a component of all living, and nonliving things, then you understand it is capable of being manipulated. Though in personal magic in a living thing it is hard to describe its use, perhaps as a painting of colors smeared together? Over time, if you use your personal djed, those colors will fade as you take more and more as those left behind spread out to color the whole canvas again as the original image because less and less visible to see."

Cocking his head to the side he would nod, as if seeing something before him demonstrated in approval. "No matter, we must move on."Handing the torch to the man, Antar would state. "Time for the lacquer to be set ablaze, begin at the bottom of the wood and let the torch start from one side to the other. You can see that the training post we're making is slightly askew and unlevel on the easels. This is to allow the lacquer from the burning to drip off so start at the top and work your way down."

Antar would wait for Darian to begin the fire hardening process before he furrowed his brow slightly to return to the prior topic of conversation. He furrowed his brow slightly, "If you wish to exchange knowledge, I will be happy to instruct you in both Glyphing, and Shielding. Though I myself am not to acquainted with shielding myself. Glyphing could help you I think in what you said about drawing djed from items. Whilst, with practice, Shielding may act as a defense against magical attacks. Perhaps we might carve a few glyphs as we cut your new tent some poles, but only after we're done with this training dummy. What do you say to that, Darian?"

Without further questions Antar would nod to the folded canvas of the tent he had set aside, the one he had taken from bandits some time ago, as if giving Darian permission to inspect it's quality later. After the training dummy was set alight of course. Just how many switches of topics could the other man juggle anyways? That after all was another bit of a test, at least from Antar's point of view...

[Darian]

"Perhaps, if beaches where the only place sand could be found" He retorted casually chuckling softly, though his humor was shallow. His interest in the man was deep though, for these word games he played showed him to be above the mindless filth Darian so often came into contact with throughout the days of his existence here reminding him how refreshing it was to associate with a man of his caliber. If Antar had any head on him, he knew that he would soon learn that he needed worry a strike from him so long as he proved competent. The moment he slipped, it would be like a mercy killing, Darian ending the man's life because he had grown inept at his craft. It was the least he could do for the professional, but something he didn't expect he would have to do like he was forced to with his mentor.

"To what end you manipulate it to is all that really matters in the end" Darian responded rather blandly, taking the torch as it was handed to him, and taking it secure in his hand he tipped it towards the top of the post to slowly start burning off the lacquer while taking Antar's every word and repeating it in his head so to better remember it. One never knew after all when mundane knowledge would become handy, only thankful when it was. It was almost surreal seeing the amber glow of the torch burning away at the thick liquid and searing to the rest of the surface to harden as Antar had told him. He'd never had the chance to train with equipment, much less make it, and no doubt he could use the same processes in the future when he found himself absent a sparring partner.

"You'll find me quite the capable learner, I'm almost finished with the hardening in any case. After that, if your hungry we can go see if we can't catch something and I could show you the art of malediction with the bones leftover. I find the magic most willing if you've killed the creature yourself" He remarked just as he finished hardening the last bit of the training post, and standing up straight, he handed the torch back to Antar.