[Just outside of Sunberth] The Trunk (solo)

[Lievdarg Prustian]

Morning of the 1st of winter, 511 AV. The was nothing but creatures of the day there. Birds with vigilant eyes watching him, as well as few small mammals hiding from the human who had trespassed into their peaceful space. He stood there alone, with the cold breeze of the morning blowing on his golden hair. His face showed an expression of confusion and inner conflict. In his left hand, tightly clasped, there was an assassin's dagger. This man was slightly wounded, with a few cuts on his forearms and a scratch on his right cheek, as well as several bruises throughout his body. In front of him stood a large pine tree, and on its exposed roots lied a backpack, which belonged to him. Lievdarg closed his eyes and breathed deeply the cold air that nature threw into his lungs. His body was at peace, but his mind was in chaos. For once he chose a peaceful environment for his presence, away from the centre of the anarchic tension of Sunberth, which he would normally cherish as well, but not in that day. He could be away from the chaos, but it still pursued him within his own mind, wherever he'd go, confusing him. In his mind there was one single idea bothering him, that of humiliation and defeat, the lost pride. The sound of metal colliding with stone, which once was emitted by the very dagger that he held in his left hand. The picture of loss tormented him. He was a defeated man, defeated by a petty old thief. How could he call Sunberth his home he was unable to protect his own belongings from such pathetic thievery? He punched the trunk in front of him with his right hand. He was weak. He could not protect himself. He could steal, but he not keep whatever he stole, because he was weak. Perhaps he actually did not belong in Sunberth at all, perhaps he belonged in a place like Syliras. Perhaps he was not one worthy of spreading chaos anywhere as he wished, because he was too pathetic and weak. He punched the tree once more. He had been taught how to do many things to survive in Sunberth, but he had not been taught how to defend himself. He had to know it if he wanted to one day become a powerful man. He had been in fights before, but what had happened the day prior to this morning was much different. He felt like he was drowning, his worst fear. The trunk of the tree suffered yet another blow. His hand cried for rest, but he did not care, he cursed it. He pointed the dagger at the tree and opened his eyes. His voice was raised within his mind. "What am I thinking? I was taught many things indeed, but why should I rely on teachings? Does knowledge has to come from outside? I was taught to pick pockets, but I would never be as successful at it if I hadn't tried and failed many times. That is something I learned by myself, because of my own efforts." What now stopped him from learning by himself how to fight? Who or what stood between him and his desire to learn? There was nothing but himself. He could not afford to become one of the helpless fools from whom he stole. He felt greater than that. He had not been born to be an insignificant animal that flees his own home when threatened, like he once did, or like the creatures surrounding him. He had been born to become a lion, one who takes whatever it is he desires. "That's right," he thought, "If I can hold something, whatever it is, and know how to protect it, then it is rightfully mine." He stared at the trunk with a serious determination in his eyes. "I don't need help, I don't need anyone to survive. I don't need someone like HIM!" Suddenly the picture of his father was projected by his own mind on the trunk, as he had remembered of him. The tall, somewhat out of shape middle aged man with a slight balding dark brown hair. The dagger was projected violently against the man's imaginary neck. "Idiot! You ruined my life!" he screamed in his head while pulling the dagger back and slashing the old man's guts away. "I hope that the Ebonstryfe had you tortured, I hope that you had a terrible death! With a lot of pain!" the dagger gently flipped in his hand into a reverse grip, whilst Lievdarg stepped forward to get within shorter range and wildly stretched his arm to pierce vertically the imaginary man on the skull. He then released the dagger, which remained there, stuck into the bark of the trunk. He stood back and stared at the grass on the floor. "Only the weak need protection, only the weak need guards and laws. I am not like that!" He sat down to calm his nerves, breathing deeply and releasing his body heat into the cold environment. After a chime, he looked at the tree once more, and saw the marks carved by the dagger. "I wonder if I truly would have the courage to kill you," he thought, "I wonder if mother is still alive..." he raised his eyes above and admired the clouds for a moment. "I was too weak...to protect her."

[Lievdarg Prustian]

(A bell later) The bark was sliced off by his swing. He was dedicated, and even though training attacks on a large piece of wood wasn't exactly the best way to improve his abilities, it was at least a start. The tree did not fight back, but it did serve as a good target for his attacks, and it allowed him to plan possible ways to attack. The imaginary figure of his father was there once more, this time for training purposes. "So, if I use the front grip it appears that I can attack at a longer distance more easily," he thought while practicing a few stabs with the front grip, "And when I try the reverse grip," he switched the blade and held it tightly, with the blade pointing down, "It appears that I have to get closer to my target, if I intend to strike it with the blade in a reverse grip." He practiced a few blows, stabbing horizontally from both sides, then vertically in an up-down direction. Attacking from bottom up with a reverse grip seemed tricky to Lievdarg. He had to move his shoulder and turn the whole arm to launch an effective blow. "This is a slow move, I must practice it more. It might surprise my foes." He repeated the whole movement a few times, striking his father under the ribs, as well as in the bottom of the skull. But he noticed that he did it all too slowly. "I must be faster. It's the whole purpose of wielding a dagger!" He began repeating these pre-determined moves more quickly. The tree was suffering severely, and with the lighter insides exposed through a hole on its bark protection, it was all covered with straight lines carved in various angles, as well as large point-shaped marks. "The reverse grip seems to be quicker to strike, as it is as if I were sacrificing range for a sharp extension of my arms." He kept on repeating the moves, aiming for a point on the tree and trying to hit it precisely. "It requires more practice. It's not as easy to hit accurately as the front grip, it appears." He kept on repeating the stabbing moves and missing the intended point slightly, filling the trunk with holes. "I must be able to hit the target on the proper location. Of course, there must be some locations on the body that are more effective to hit than others. I don't know about anatomy, but I know that if the heart stops, life ends, and I know that a heavy blow on the head can make a man faint." He aimed for his father's chest this time, and began practicing a few stabs on it with the reverse grip, one faster than the other, but rarely actually hitting precisely the small point that he intended to pierce. He got a bit of distance and stood laterally in front of the tree this time, making his left arm closer to the target and his right arm more distant. "Ha!", he said out loud in surprise, as if something that was obvious but unknown suddenly became evident, "I can actually get a nice range with the reverse grip like this, but it must be difficult to defend the incoming blows this way. Well, at least my heart and my head are more distant from my target than if I were facing him directly, it may actually be a good idea to use this stance in combat." He struck the target a few times with this stance, but it was even harder to strike accurately, as his eyes were more distant. He was beginning to like the new stance and the reverse grip. "Maybe I should have tried these while fighting that thief, this could be decisive in a battle," he thought, "But he had me disarmed in the end. How could I avoid that? I was a bit distracted, but still..." he stopped striking for a moment to continue thinking about the situation. "I didn't even think of disarming him. I was just attacking mindlessly!" He kicked the tree. "He used his free hand to disarm me, and he had a good chance at that. Maybe I should try using this hand more often as well. I did use it in the battle, but I did it so poorly." He returned to the front stance and punched the imaginary man on the face. The impact was not as painful as it was before, because the bark of the tree had already been removed. It was still not a very good option for punching, however, and his hand once more felt the pain. "How do those brawlers train their attacks, aside from getting into fights? Perhaps I should go to the Drunken Fish and find some trouble," he chuckled with the idea, but he still needed something softer to punch, something that resembled more effectively human flesh and bones.

[Lievdarg Prustian]

(A bell later) Lievdarg was getting hungry already. So much training and no rest. He returned his dagger to its original place, behind his belt. It seemed a bit worn out from all of the wood-cutting. "Eh, this may not be good for the dagger," he thought, but then just forgot about it and got closer to the tree. He grabbed his backpack on the bottom of the tree and pulled a loaf of bread from inside, then throwing it back to where it previously was. He chomped off a portion of the bread, and then lied down on the grass while chewing it, looking at the clouds once more. "Mother...are you alive?" he wondered, "I shouldn't have left you behind with that monster and the Ebonstryfe. I was such a coward...but it was for the best that you didn't come with me. Sunberth is not a place for women like you, it is a place for whores and criminal wenches." He raised the bread to his mouth and chewed another slice off. "I was quite careless, was I not? Leaving like that, out of the sudden, without saying a word. Maybe they both died just a few days after that. Maybe they just got Dogan. I hope they didn't harm her just to torture him mentally, as he already hurt her enough." He began thinking about the past. Ravok. Things were much different back then. Ravok was different. "There were guards, there was protection. It was not the most lawful city in the world, and there was plenty of corruption, and there were thieves as well, but it was not Sunberth." Sunberth had no walls, Ravok had the lake protecting it. Ravok had Rhysol protecting it, or so they said. Lievdarg had always wondered how such an old city with so many wooden structures didn't just become a huge pile of debris and floated away in the lake. "Maybe it was Rhysol indeed." He had left because of the Ebonstryfe threatening his father, and making his life hell. The reason was probably because his father was a jerk to one of them, or so Lievdarg thought. He loved incriminating and blaming his father however he could, because of his deep hatred for the man. He chewed the rest of the bread. He began thinking about his friends in Ravok. His real friends, not the idiots who almost had him drowned in one of the canals. He then realized that he was quite lonely in Sunberth. "Who do I have? Old man Gustev disappeared, he was a true friend, the one who taught me what I know. I know a few more people, but still..." suddenly his pride took over and stopped him from continue the thought. "What am I thinking!? I don't need anyone. I exploit people, I use them, I don't need them. They are tools, and now I need to get strong so that I can more easily bend them into my will!" He thought quickly raged and censored him, and he energetically stood up to resume his training session. He drew his dagger and began attacking the trunk again. "Mother, I will get strong, and one day, when I am strong enough, I will return to Ravok. And I will protect you. Please survive." Those were the most honest words he had had in his mind that day. He really needed to get strong. Living the way he was living seemed pointless, he was just surviving for the sake of it. He needed something more. He had to aim higher. There had to be something more expecting him in the future, something greater than what he was now. "I really am...insignificant," his words were finished with a stab on the trunk. "But I can become something," he thought, "if I struggle and train harder, I will become someone. And people will respect me." He began thinking deeper about it. He needed connections. He needed more power in Sunberth, he needed to grow. "But how?" He continued attacking the trunk with the various tricks he had discovered earlier. "Maybe I could try to join the Daggerhand?" He stopped slashing. "But aren't they just a bunch of thugs? I don't know much about them, aside from the various brawls on the street. I don't want to be someone's pawn, but I suppose I have little choice, for I am no one."

[Lievdarg Prustian]

(A bell later) "Why can't I become stronger?" Lievdarg thought, while sitting by the tree. "Old man Gustev had a dagger, but he never taught anything about it to me. Why didn't he? Maybe he would have taught me before he left? Why did he leave?" So many questions, and little answers. "Why did it take me so long to think about all of this? Did I just need to be defeated, to have my pride harmed? Am I that arrogant? I am such a fool!" He punched the ground. He wanted to be strong, but one does not become strong overnight. "I will challenge them all, the Thief, Gustev, my father, Rhysol's pawns..." at this point he was perhaps going a bit too far on his thoughts. He stood up again, and looked at the tree. "I need to focus, I need to get stronger!" He had slight flashes of his combat with the thief. He looked at the cut on his right arm. "That was a poor defense. Using Hypnosis to confuse him for a moment was a good idea, but I didn't make proper use of the chance I got." He began picturing the moment of the attack, with the thief approaching quickly with the dagger, aiming at Lievdarg's ribs. "I merely blocked his attack with my arm. I should have stopped his attack somehow." He then visualized the possible ways that he could have responded to such an attack, but not being successful in any way. "Perhaps I could stop him if I used both arms to stop his attack, or perhaps I should have dodged. But would I be fast enough to step away? He was faster than I am." He began imagining how he would dodge the strike. "He was too fast, way too fast to change the direction of his attack easily. I should just have sidestepped, but I barely used my legs in that fight, did I?" At this point he looked at his legs, which were bruised from the fall when he attempted to reach the roof of a building the day before. "Footwork," he smiled, "That's always the problem." He got into his newly discovered stance, and tried to find the perfect movements with his feet to attack. "I shouldn't just stand there while attacking. That makes me quite easy to hit, isn't it?" He stepped a little back and distanced his feet a bit. He clumsily stepped forward and pushed his whole body along with him, and then launched an attack. "This should be a safe way of attacking. But at this pace it will be too predictable. I should work more, I have to make these feet faster, but how?" He began repeating the movement for a few chimes, albeit still clumsily. "I suppose I need to run to become faster and have a better footwork, aside from training the attacks." He sheathed his dagger and looked far into the horizon. "How much should I run to actually become faster?" He suddenly remembered how poorly he chased that thief in the market, because the thief was so fast in comparison to him. He had become completely breathless with the whole chase the day before.