| . . ......... My journey is my destination. . . . . |
Winter 513, the 19th day.
Warmth. It was a strange feeling to Svan now. He had begun to grow so accustomed to the cruel winter wind that he almost didn't know what to do with himself now that he could move freely again. Svan took in a deep gulp of the air and breathed it out peacefully. He was sitting cross-legged in the same clearing that he had done battle with Samantha, but now it was quiet and he felt at ease. He enjoyed these moments of alone time with nature. They almost made him feel like a true follower of Caiyha. They almost made him forget how often nature tried to kill him. The dhani let out another peaceful sigh and let him mind fall back to his task. Eager to make use of this brief reprieve in weather, Svan had quickly set out this morning to find an open spot to train his combat skills. His quest for a training ground had led him here to the clearing, but Svan had hit a wall with his training. He had never had any proper tutelage, and so when Svan had tried to recall former skill and techniques he was only able to draw up a scant amount of knowledge. This had led him to his current position. Sitting in with legs crossed and mind drifting, Svan traveled back into darker parts of his mind. This was often a dangerous move as Svan had memories in his childhood that he dare not try to recall, but those were often centered around his sadistic mother. For now at least, Svan only wanted to recall memories of his father. He sat there for many long minutes, as he drifted in and out of memories, never quite getting one to stick long enough to recall it clearly. He frowned in disappointment. His father was the only one to ever try to teach Svan any combat, but the young snake had never cared to pay much attention to the teachings. This was mainly because while Svan was right handed, his father was left. This made it painfully difficult to practice the things he was taught, and it didn't help that Svan's father had apparently never had the idea to start with teaching basics before flourishes. Instead his father seemed to believe that the best way to learn a fighting style was to be beaten by it. Repeatedly. Svan had to wonder if his father simply thought that the knowledge of how to use the weapon could simply be passed to another via a blow to the head. "What? Your head's bleeding my boy? That just means you're learning." Svan coolly repeated his father's words. His skull had still never lost the indent from that concussion.
With a certain calmness Svan rose to his feet and gripped the sword breaker at his side. As he drew it from its sheathe, a few small bits of white hot steel sprung out of the scabbard's mouth. Svan smiled at the small shower of sparks. While most men would call it a design flaw that marked a worn and dull weapon, Svan's father referred to it as his favorite feature. Holding the blade in his right hand, Svan made a light swing through the air. It was an odd feeling to him. The despite being smaller than a long sword, the weapon was thick and surprisingly heavy. He couldn't help but feel awkward holding the thing. The diminutive size meant that the blade could preform complex maneuvers without compromising balance, and the heavy weight meant that each slash would be heavy and powerful. However to Svan it was just a very troublesome combo.
Svan switched the blade to his left hand and closed his eyes. Slowly he moved his hands and the blade followed. It carved out wide arks through the air over and over. With each swing, Svan fell deeper into a trance. Steadily the movements grew less awkward and smoother as the memories of his father's displays flooded back to him.
Warmth. It was a strange feeling to Svan now. He had begun to grow so accustomed to the cruel winter wind that he almost didn't know what to do with himself now that he could move freely again. Svan took in a deep gulp of the air and breathed it out peacefully. He was sitting cross-legged in the same clearing that he had done battle with Samantha, but now it was quiet and he felt at ease. He enjoyed these moments of alone time with nature. They almost made him feel like a true follower of Caiyha. They almost made him forget how often nature tried to kill him. The dhani let out another peaceful sigh and let him mind fall back to his task. Eager to make use of this brief reprieve in weather, Svan had quickly set out this morning to find an open spot to train his combat skills. His quest for a training ground had led him here to the clearing, but Svan had hit a wall with his training. He had never had any proper tutelage, and so when Svan had tried to recall former skill and techniques he was only able to draw up a scant amount of knowledge. This had led him to his current position. Sitting in with legs crossed and mind drifting, Svan traveled back into darker parts of his mind. This was often a dangerous move as Svan had memories in his childhood that he dare not try to recall, but those were often centered around his sadistic mother. For now at least, Svan only wanted to recall memories of his father. He sat there for many long minutes, as he drifted in and out of memories, never quite getting one to stick long enough to recall it clearly. He frowned in disappointment. His father was the only one to ever try to teach Svan any combat, but the young snake had never cared to pay much attention to the teachings. This was mainly because while Svan was right handed, his father was left. This made it painfully difficult to practice the things he was taught, and it didn't help that Svan's father had apparently never had the idea to start with teaching basics before flourishes. Instead his father seemed to believe that the best way to learn a fighting style was to be beaten by it. Repeatedly. Svan had to wonder if his father simply thought that the knowledge of how to use the weapon could simply be passed to another via a blow to the head. "What? Your head's bleeding my boy? That just means you're learning." Svan coolly repeated his father's words. His skull had still never lost the indent from that concussion.
With a certain calmness Svan rose to his feet and gripped the sword breaker at his side. As he drew it from its sheathe, a few small bits of white hot steel sprung out of the scabbard's mouth. Svan smiled at the small shower of sparks. While most men would call it a design flaw that marked a worn and dull weapon, Svan's father referred to it as his favorite feature. Holding the blade in his right hand, Svan made a light swing through the air. It was an odd feeling to him. The despite being smaller than a long sword, the weapon was thick and surprisingly heavy. He couldn't help but feel awkward holding the thing. The diminutive size meant that the blade could preform complex maneuvers without compromising balance, and the heavy weight meant that each slash would be heavy and powerful. However to Svan it was just a very troublesome combo.
Svan switched the blade to his left hand and closed his eyes. Slowly he moved his hands and the blade followed. It carved out wide arks through the air over and over. With each swing, Svan fell deeper into a trance. Steadily the movements grew less awkward and smoother as the memories of his father's displays flooded back to him.
