Solo New Lessons

[Razkar]

21st Day of Spring
The Middle Suvan Sea
16th Bell

There a grunt and a hiss as the bandage comes off and a salve is placed against the wound. Muscles stiffen and nerves scream a message up the body to the mind, who quickly suppresses any further reaction. The Myrian forces himself to look down and see the careful, precise fingers apply the salve to the gash, which is closed and scabbing but still raw.

Eranis looks up at him and nods curtly. "You heal quickly, Myrian."

"Yes. I thank you, Akalak."

"I said you would be healed," Eranis says with just the hint of a sigh in his voice, settling back under the shade of the deckhouse and returning to his carefully bookmarked tome. "And so you shall be."

Turak made a snorting sound with his eyes still closed, hands crossed behind his head as he dozed.

"Didn't see any kind and tender attention when my balls were crushed like eggs."

"They're not crushed, just bruised." Eranis replies without looking up. "And you stopped limping three days ago."

"Not bloody right, whacking an Akalak in the balls," the big male keeps grumbling, eyes slitting open just for a moment to scowl at Razkar, "Not enough of us around as it is."

The Myrian rolls his eyes and hauls himself somewhat upright, legs crossed in the lotus position, stretching tired limbs. Tingles of pain still crackle up and down his arms and wounded leg, but they're fading. The Akalak was as good as his word, and now he is ready to begin again.

"You never said not hit balls in fight." He said, shrugging without remorse. "Just win. So, I win."

Turak mumbles something unrecognizable and probably obscene, but Razkar lets it go. The Akalak's cousin is whom he's interested in today. It's been six nights since they're sparring session, and ever since then he's been biding his time as much as waiting for his wounds to heal. That fluid, deadly, precise form of lakan combat... it's definitely something he wants in his own head and locked in his muscles.

Wording it, though... that's more challenging.

Eranis can feel the words before they are spoken. He's deep in the lore of the Syliran Knights, of course, but the Myrian's body language screams of his intent. Since they set out from Riverfall, he's re-evaluated much he thought he knew of that race. This one may be a "savage", but that does not make him stupid. Eranis has seen Razkar display cunning, calculation, analysis and even tolerance. Such are not the marks of a stupid man.

"You are going to ask me something?"

Razkar narrows his eyes. Eranis had a habit of doing that. Asking a question while not even looking at you, like he plucked your intentions from your mind with nary an effort. He's still unsure whether or not he does it just to annoy people, or he simply wants to get to the core of a matter quickly.

"I wish to train more."

"Hmm..." Eranis flashes him a look and turns a page of his book, eyes jerking back down to it as he replies. "Train. Not spar. Would it be more accurate to say you wish to learn some of my skills?"

Razkar's lips thinned but he did not express himself immediately. Eranis was a man of brain, not just brawn; he would appreciate one who chose his words carefully, and-

Oh, for the Goddess, just say what you mean!

"Your skill are incredible, and I wish to learn more of them." Eranis looked up fully now, book momentarily forgotten, and saw an earnest yearning in Razkar's dark eyes. "I can offer pay, if you want. But I want to learn. Your speed, your... way you hold." Razkar seems to shuffle without moving, but his eyes do not waver. "That is all. I have no more words."

A ghost of a smile flits over the Akalak's face and he sighs softly, straightening his back. They have been at sea for more than three weeks now, and the first inklings of true boredom are starting to creep up all of them. The Svefra don't make for port; they don't need to. Water, food, supplies, rigging, all are provided for and in ample supply, and why would a Sea Treader brave the dirt if they did not have to? The fact their passengers are not that way inclined is, Eranis gathers, something they regard as an aberration to be pitied but not indulged.

His cold eyes per over the edge of the Cuttlefish and see the endless waves beyond the stern. Well, not endless. The Suvan is a sea, certainly, but an inland one, and even in the center the mirage of land can be seen. They are in the Middle Suvan now, and those ghosts are more solid, miles and miles away but still there, with forests and beaches and cliffs dotting them.

Eranis has read the same book six times. He has seen the same waves even more. His nose and chest has healed, and much as he wishes to exercise his mind, it is his body that needs the outlet as well.

He wishes a teacher, his mind whispers to him, so teach, as you have ever done... just don't teach him everything. And remember: you will learn, too.

The Guardians Of Virtue: An Anthology is carefully marked once again and placed to one side where neither spray nor sun with mar it. Turak opens one eye and sees his cousin get to his feet, stretching and straining and obviously preparing himself.

Razkar turns as he hears a stream of chiding Tukant fly from the bigger Akalak, eyes open now, frowning. Eranis shoots him a look and his face crumples briefly into a distasteful grimace. The Myrian cocks his head to one side. Distasteful of him... or the way he was just addressed? Either way, it was answered with a familiar grumbling from Turak, who shook his head and decided to get back to sleep.

Eranis and Razkar got to their feet, the latter just waiting... and the Akalak turned to him, eyebrow cocked.

"Well?"

"... what?"

"You must be flexible to study at my pace, Myrian." He reached out and grabbed a low piece of rigging with both hands, letting himself fall forwards, arms forced back... and back... until he let out a grunt and released himself. "Stretching is all part of it. Your muscles, ligaments, bones-"

"Lig-ar-mants?"

Eranis blinked several times and remembered whom he was talking to. He suppressed the urge to sigh. Not his fault he wasn't born speaking Common, after all. Finally he scratched under his chin and patted his wrists, elbows and shoulders.

"Where you bend. Or stretch. Or strain. That is where ligaments are. Now stretch."

Ever the good student, Razkar does as he's told. He spreads his legs wide, bends down and touches the deck... feels his inner thighs and spine crack bit by bit until a delicious wave of low-level pain signifies his stiffness is gone. He jerks himself back up and pivots... left... right... arms cocked as if ready to punch, further loosening his torso.

The hiss of steel on leather from behind him. Out of instinct he turns... and finds Eranis waiting, a lakan in either hand. He has that familiar stance, once again: both daggers held in reverse, as if ready to stab, the curve of the steel facing forwards, and his pose, his positioning... like a boxer.

Razkar draws his own weapons and stands next to the man, aping him, both facing the passing, crashing waves. Above them all, on the forecastle, Captain Tonio looks down and shakes his head. To his eyes, it looks like two pugilists getting ready to square off against the Suvan itself.

"Warriors," he mutters, then gets back to his inventory, "Never learn to just relax..."

[Razkar]

"The key is to punch, but to miss."

Razkar blinks and digests this little titbit... and thinks he understands. Eranis steps smoothly in front of him and directs a slow-motion punch, his right arm straightening, coming at Razkar's upper left arm... but missing it.

"The steel here-" Eranis' finger flexes at the top of the lakan's hilt, and another does lower down, both of them covered by blades metal "-and here, provide a powerful hit. Almost like a metal knuckleduster. But the point, of course, is to use the blades. Which is why you punch... but always slightly off..."

He finishes his blow and Razkar sees that while the fist would have missed him, the blade under it would have laid open his arm pretty cleanly. Eranis does the same with his left arm, a sweeping semi-circle blow that misses his stomach... but the lakan would have disemboweled him.

"So... it is like boxing?"

Eranis steps back and nods, slight look of amusement on his face, but also that there is an understanding between teacher and student. The deck sways slightly under their feet but the Svefra know these waters, and the waves. They will not be too disturbed by the motion of the ocean.

"Indeed. Boxing with blades, as it were. The fluidity and power of those punches, though-"

The Akalak lets fly with a half-dozen punches that are over in mere moments, right hooks and left crosses, blades flashing under his fists. Razkar does the same, muscles unused to such... refined blows. Brawling is more his forte, without the simplicity of a humble punch. But put a lakan in each hand...

"-is augmented by the lakan you hold in each hand. In fact, it changes the style entirely. Boxing is the base of this style of combat. It provides the groundwork, and not just for your arms. Boxers, unarmed combatants of all kinds, know that footwork is essential, too."

He demonstrates and Razkar watches closely, sees swift and sure feet slide sideways over the deck, and he pivots as he moves, gliding to the right of an invisible opponent and sweeping a left hook at an exposed flank, a right hook opening an intangible throat as a killing stroke.

Razkar moves like him, or tries to. Not steps, with feet off the wooden deck, but quick, gliding motions. Eranis nods, approving, pointing briefly to his feet.

"Good. Terrain will not always permit it, but full steps throw one's balance off slightly. Stay in tune with the ground, work around it-" he slides backwards, leaning back as he does as if avoiding a strike, left arm jerking in an uppercut as he does, slashing at a reaching arm, then sliding forwards and to his right, right arm punching/slashing diagonally upwards "-and use it to stay within range of your enemy and yet avoid him."

Razkar frowns slighty, looking at the daggers.

"They are short. You must get close. What if it is too close?"

Eranis shrugs and holds up his arms.

"That depends on your enemy. Keep striking as we talk."

Razkar does as he's told, focusing on an opponent in front of him and unleashing flurries of punches. They start slow, one-two combinations, then graduate to three- and five-punch techniques, from groin to throat. All the while, Eranis does his own routines, and imparts his knowledge.

"The simple and unavoidable fact is, the lakan is not the weapon for all opponents. Some, like the Dhani, the Jamoura, and beasts such as the Myrian Tigers, are too large and fierce and durable to be laid low by such short weapons. Oh, one may deliver many piercing wounds, but enough to kill? Unlikely."

Razkar grunts in amusement, cocking an eyebrow.

"You have good skill. You are fast, and accurate. You could do it."

Eranis thinks on this as he unleashes a fresh torrent of blows, swaying, pivoting, sliding around like oil on water, fists moving in tandem with his body.

"Possible. But not certain-"

Without warning he sways towards Razkar, lakan striking out in a low, horizontal punch. Razkar instinctively jerking his left hand down to block the blow-

-and the lakan sweeps over his fist and misses his stomach by a scant inch.

Eranis actually chuckles as Razkar curses in his native tongue, tapping the top of his fist near the thumb.

"Something you must learn, also. Warriors are used to their blade, their weapon, being above their fist. With this style, it is below. To block and parry, you must keep this in mind. Note also..."

He points to the curved end of the lakan, which is curving outwards.

"See the curve? It faces towards the enemy... much like that." He points at Razkar's kukri and nods his approval. "A fine weapon. Similar in many ways to the lakan, but designed almost solely for slashing and hacking, not stabbing. The curve is another aid to you, for when you block-"

He slides the blade of his lakan across one of Razkar's own, and the Myrian sees the blade slide across the curve and towards him. The Akalak shakes his head.

"-that does not happen. When the enemy's blade strike the lakan, with the curve facing outwards, it directs the blade away from you, not toward you. You found that out when we last sparred: with the curve towards you, a blade can skirt along its length and still find you. With the curve outside-"

"-it protect me better. And makes slash more strong. Like kukri."

Eranis nods again as Razkar finishes his own lesson-

-and lashes out again, this time with his left-

-only for Razkar's jutting right fist to come down, lakan blocking lakan with a jarring impact and a brief flash of sparks-

-but his right lakan has already moved again, a sweeping roundhouse punch at Razkar's throat-

-stopping a mere inch from it. Two sets of eyes bore into one another. After a long, frozen moment, Eranis speaks, that same calm, educational tone as before, as if he is in some landward classroom and not a rolling ship with a savage across from him.

"But take advantage instantly, Myrian. The moment after an opponent's blow has been blocked is the most crucial, because it is the most shocking to him. His blow, his minute momentary plan, has been derailed, and most will need one or two blinks to reform. Most will only have the one weapon; you will have two. So as one hand blocks, the other takes advantage..."

He taps the edge of his blade against Razkar's throat, then steps back.

"... and ends it. Now... again."

[Razkar]

Over and over and over and over again. The curse and the truth of all training.

The Myrian stands on the deck with the Akalak circling him, going through routines and katas until he feels the tremble start going through his upper body. Eranis rarely speaks, apart from when he gives advice, corrects form... and he never speaks right before he strikes.

That much Razkar has noticed. Which is just as Eranis has been planning on.

Without a word he jabs towards Razkar's shoulder, and the Myrian sways back and to the left, right arm uppercutting to knock the lakan under the Akalak's fist up and away-

-left fist crossing at chest level, fit aiming to miss, lakan under it aimed to disembowel-

-and Eranis steps back as light as a sparrow, nods in approval, and keeps walking...

"You are improving. But the key is practice. With that, the movements become smooth... become second nature. You will not think before each one, and your reactions in combat will become seamless. Then you will be capable-"

He flies at Razkar, both blades, but the Myrian has been on his guard too long to be taken completely by surprise. He noted the tensing of the Akalak's taut leg muscles, the increased pressure on the soles of his feet, the slight bend of his knees and the slope of the shoulders indicating sudden movement-

-and his left hand jerks up, lakans meeting in a jarring metallic crash-

That second! This second! Remember!

Instinct. Muscle memory. Repetition. Whatever it is, it drives up Razkar's right arm to knock away the second lakan coming for his neck, bringing the dagger stabbing down on the reverse at Eranis' suddenly exposed chest-

-but he jumps back again, and is smiling a little wider.

"You learn quickly."

"Have been practicing for a bell. More, maybe."

"It will help, and you have the basics, I think."

"When I learn more?"

Eranis cocks a satirical eyebrow and wags one finger. "Oh, no, Myrian. You expect me to teach you everything?" He sees frustration cloud the savage's face and crosses his arms. "Let me put it this way: if I approached you a few bells ago and asked you for gladius training, would you impart all that you knew?"

Razkar opened his mouth... and nothing came out. The Akalak was right. Much of his blade skill had come from the Training Yards of Taloba, and he would be damned (quite literally, in fact) if he would share those secrets with the barbarian races. He grimaced briefly and sheaths his lakans, Eranis doing the same... but the Akalak does not go to sit.

"This is... something more?"

"Your ax." Eranis nods to the curved, bone-handled ax under the shade, Malediction symbols carved into its hilt. "I wish to learn, also. I have not faced many wielding one. So..."

Razkar nods slowly, smile spreading as he relishes the chance to get a much more familiar weapon in his hand. A salty, misty breeze blows over them and the Myrian does not notice it. He walks over the swaying deck without feeling the roll, taking his ax and swinging at the empty air experimentally, just until his grip has... yes... perfect.

The Akalak only draws one lakan. The Myrian cocks his head and Eranis shrugs.

"You only have one weapon. For now, so will I."

"Would be better if you had two."

"I will be fine."

Razkar's grin become truly pleasured now, and Eranis feels an unfamiliar shiver of apprehension. But by the time he identifies it as that, his training begins.

Continued here

[Anchor]

Loot Razkar's Find : Skill Points Acrobatics 3 Weapon: Daggers 3 Dual wielding 3 Observation 4 Lore Turak: Bruised Blue Balls Eranis: Direct, Intelligent, Thorough Daggers: Miss with fist, hit with blade Lakans: Curve moves weapons up Dual Wielding Daggers: Quick Followups Great thread, and good delving into the various characters involved. I'm still awarding Dagger weapon skill points because that's what you've been growing, but feel free to ask for a change to Lakan. Anything else just let me know!