Completed [Kendoka Sasaran] Keep It Simple, Stupid

[Jorin Ertihan]

Season of Summer, Day 48, 513 AV

Sixth Bell

"Complexity is the enemy of efficiency," Sohryn was saying, as he paced across the room. "The more complex your move, the easier it is to break."

One of the Akalaks, wielding a pair of fearsome looking wooden hook swords, was slashing away with an impressive combination of moves. Thrusts and counter-thrusts and sweeping cuts sliced across the air, making a dizzying array of attacks. Sohyrn watched for a few moments, then walked over and grabbed a quarterstaff from the rack and walked over. Without a word, he came up from the side, and rapped the quarterstaff across the man's shin, using the long range of the weapon to strike him from outside the swinging swords.

To his credit, the Akalak was able to continue to stand despite Sohryn's attack, but his complicated combo seemed to revert to him holding his swords in a cross-defensive position. It wasn't enoush, as Sohryn continued by knocking aside one of the swords with the end of his staff, and continuing the motion by sending the butt end of his staff into the man's face, his elbow coming up from behind to give impact and force to the strike.

Before the Akalak could recover, Sohryn swept the staff behind the man's ankles and kicked him in the stomach. The slight loss of balance, combined with the sweeping motion of the staff, caused the Akalak to fall to the floor. Sohryn finished by pointing the end of the staff at the man's throat.

"There is nothing wrong with choosing a weapon that is complex," Sohryn intoned, as he waited for the Akalak to rise to his feet. "Just be aware that complexity often leaves weaknesses where you normally wouldn't have them. A true master can overcome them, but it takes decades to reach that. In the end, simplicity is still your best defense. And your best weapon."

Sohryn turned to Jorin, eying him critically.

"So you're still here, human," he said in a neutral tone. "I would have thought you'd run home by now. No matter. Begin your two thousand repetitions for the day. When you are done, come find me."

Jorin just nodded. Taking up position at one of the corners of the Sasaran, Jorin started his routine.

[Jorin Ertihan]

Season of Summer, Day 48, 513 AV

Sweat poured down Jorin's face as he kept at his routine. He was only halfway done, and already his muscles were complaining. It hadn't been too long since Uleru had beaten his poor shins, and with the workout his legs were getting at the Sararan Jorin was sure those bruises were developing bruises.

"Your breathing is off," Sohryn snapped. Jorin groaned. Of course. Yet another thing he was doing wrong, no doubt. At this rate he'd never learn anything. Instead of explaining further, Sohyrn silently grabbed a staff from the racks and quietly walked up to Jorin, then without preamble, he entered forward stance.

Jorin made sure to pay attention to the master's breathing, and noted that the man's breath whistled out whenever he made a strike, and he very nearly held his breath between strikes.

"Some students, on occasion, find that it helps to shout out when you strike," Sohyrn added, striking a wooden dummy with the staff with a loud yell. "It is not strictly necessary but it can aid in learning proper breathing techniques."

Jorin tried this new technique, screaming a war cry with each thrust, strike, and block, feeling the air leave his lungs as the staff whirled into each new position. He realized that, with proper breathing technique, he was able to do the stances and strikes for longer. Before, he was out of breath by a few repetitions. Now, he realized, he had more energy to do the practice that Sohryn had assigned him.

"Keep it simple, Jorin," Sohryn warned. "You may think that I am not teaching you very much, just two strikes and a single block, but I can assure you, that with practice, those three moves can carry you a long way."

Jorin suspected it was true. Nonetheless, lesson taught, Sohryn returned to overlooking the other students, leaving Jorin to practice his forms. One. Forward Stance. Breath in. Two, front thrust, Yell, breathe out, breathe in. Three, horizontal buttstroke. Yell, breathe out, breathe in. Four, center block. Yell, breathe in, breathe out. Another deep breath, return to stance.

Breathing was such a simple thing. Even a baby was born knowing how to breathe. Jorin felt somewhat silly, that he had to be taught how to do it, but he suspected that breathing techniques were critical to being able to stay in the fight for any length of time. If you cannot breathe, you cannot fight, period.

Petch! Jorin had lost count again. Jorin wiped his brow, trying to ignore Sohryn's eyes boring into him. The man probably knew that, with the additional task of watching his breathing, Jorin would now have much greater difficulty with maintaining his count.

Focus, Jorin. Focus.

One. Forward Stance...

[Jorin Ertihan]

Season of Summer, Day 48, 513 AV

The breathing exercises certainly helped Jorin in maintaining his form for longer. He could feel his core expand and contract as he practiced each of the strikes, and realized that with the new breathing techniques he was no longer having his muscles fight his lungs for air each time he struck, which in turn would keep him in the fight longer.

He surmised the reason Sohryn wanted him to practice this was so that he would not have to think about breathing while in an actual fight, so that he'd have more time to concentrate on the things that actually mattered.

Jorin was frankly surrprised he'd not bumped into anyone in the last two days. He thought for sure that he'd have to fight a burly Akalak (and likely lose horribly), but his luck seemed to be holding and he was mostly left in peace to practice his forms. And a good thing too because he only knew two kinds of strikes and even then not very well.

As Jorin continued to practice, he noticed a few things about the forward stance. Every time he returned to it, he kept backing up a few steps. He realized it was because whenever he had to thrust forward, he'd take a step, and then when he backed up to return to stance he'd overcompensate and end up having to shuffle forward again, wasting precious moments.

Sorhyn hadn't said anything about it, so either he did not notice, or he did not see it as worth mentioning. Regardless, Jorin made sure to return to rest position at the same location, and not backpedal quite so much.

"You need to use your quadriceps," Sohryn intoned, and Jorin nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked up at the imposing Akalak, not comprehending.

"Your quadriceps. The front leg muscles," Sorhyn explained, as he reached down and adjusted Jorin's stance, patting the muscles in question sharply. Jorin let out a small cry. That was where he'd received several nice bruises, courtesy of Uleru, and he'd been hoping they'd go away but the bruises seemed to be fading all-too-slowly.

"Stop crying," Sohryn admonished harshly. "These are the largest muscles in your body besides your diaphragm, your core. If you don't use them, then you lose out on more than half the power of your strike. Show me the front thrust again."

Jorin entered forward stance, and thrust the staff forward, making sure to bend its trajectory with his forward hand. At the same time he pushed forward, his legs springing him like a gazelle towards the imaginary opponent, but Sohryn stopped him.

"You are wasting too much energy," he commented, as he reached down and grabbed Jorin's arms and brought them to a horizontal position.

"When you push forward, and you use your quadriceps you need to transfer that motion to your arms."

Jorin stepped forward, but leaned into the attack as Sohryn's large hand pushed into his back. He could feel the power flow from his legs into his arms. Sorhyrn grunted.

"Use your center, your core. Your entire body becomes a conduit. That's the key to successful quarterstaff strikes. The weapon becomes an extension of self."

Jorin nodded. He could feel that the jab would be quite powerful, but wouldn't it be slower? He opened his mouth to express this opinion, only for Sohryn to silence him with a glare. Right. No questions, just practice.

"You are correct," Sohryn agreed, once again almost reading Jorin's mind though his face was completely neutral. "It is slower, but you must develop muscle memory first before we begin you on more advanced training. You must know how to execute the move properly first."

Jorin sighed but nodded again, as he thrusted the staff forward once more. He could feel his quadriceps burning in protest, but he willed himself to ignore it. Sweat poured down his face. He'd done one set, just a few hundred more to go...

[Jorin Ertihan]

Season of Fall, Day 48, 513 AV

"So what other weapons do you know?" Sohryn ground out. Jorin almost jumped. For an Akalak his size, the man certainly was sneaky when he wanted to be.

"Umm, none," Jorin confessed, taking a few gulping breaths as he recovered from his sets. There was a rather uncomfortable silence as Sohryn absorbed this information.

"None," he repeated, his face stern. "As in none whatsoever?"

Jorin swallowed hard. Where was Sohryn going with this? Nonetheless, he nodded quietly. The man grunted once.

"Do you at least own another weapon? Do you even own your own quarterstaff?" Jorin's mouth felt dry. He felt like he was before his father again, telling him how he didn't pass an exam, or did not make top grades. Small. Inadequate. He shook his head meekly.

"Nothing?" Sohryn's voice was disbelieving. "Not even a dagger or a knife?"

Jorin shrugged. "Well, I have a hunting knife..." he offered. But he knew what was coming next, and really did not want to hear it.

"Then you should learn how to use it," Sohryn bit out, confirming Jorin's fears. He did not want to learn how to use a weapon with a blade. Too much chance of severely injuring or killing his opponent. Jorin was not a violent person to begin with, he only picked up the quarterstaff to defend himself. He said as much to Sohryn, who glared at him so hard Jorin just wanted the earth to swallow him up.

"If you don't want to fight than don't come here," Sohryn ground out. "This is a combat school, not a nursery. We train warriors, not nursemaids."

Jorin took an involuntary step back. Clearly, the Akalak had no respect for people who did not take fighting seriously. It wasn't that Jorin was lazy or undisciplined, it was more that he simply did not wish to harm another intelligent being if there was at all a chance to avoid it.

"So let me see if I understand this," Sohryn continued harshly. "You would rather let a wolf rip your throat out than to stab it in the eye with your knife? Are you naive, suicidal, or just plain stupid?"

Jorin frowned and his eyes flashed. He was neither! Was it so wrong to respect life? Was it so "foolish" to believe that all life was precious and deserved respect? If a wolf was actually in the process of ripping his throat out, he'd do everything to prevent it. If it meant he'd have to kill it, then so be it, but it had better truly be the only option. Jorin glared back at Sohryn, who silently walked over to the rack and picked up a wooden knife.

"Regardless of how you feel about it, in combat you cannot afford to be fair," he admonished, tossing the wooden weapon to Jorin. He stared at it like it was a coiled snake.

"If you have a rock, you hit them! If you have a knife, you stab them!" Sohryn snapped. "At close range your staff is worthless, good for maybe keeping them off you, and little else."

Jorin gripped the wooden knife in his hand tightly. He hated knives. He chose a hunting knife mainly because of its application outside of being a weapon. Sorhyn was in his face a moment later.

"What did I say this morning?" he growled. "Complexity is the enemy of efficiency. Keep. It. Simple. Stupid."

With that, he shoved Jorin backwards. Jorin stumbled, and nearly fell until he felt himself collide with someone behind him. The good news was the other person arrested his fall. The bad news was, he could feel the rush of air as the man; human as he turned to see, whirled to face him. He was carrying a wooden short sword in his right hand, and seemed fairly comfortable with it.

Great, his first real spar. Tucking the wooden knife into his belt, Jorin hefted his staff and got into forward stance. He just hoped he knew enough to actually do some decent fighting.

[Jorin Ertihan]

Season of Fall, Day 48, 513 AV

As his opponent began circling around Jorin, he felt nervous. Studied. Like he was a piece of meat and the other man was a tiger, just wondering how he was going to consume him. Jorin tried to follow by shuffling his stance, but he realized he couldn't shuffle fast enough. He had two options: abandon the stance, or stay still. He'd never practiced fighting outside the stance, so he opted to stand still, his eyes following the man until he was directly behind him.

Jorin tensed. Having an enemy behind you was never a fun thing. He knew that he was most vulnerable in that position, and he hadn't learned anything about moves to hit opponents behind himself. He figured there would have to be, probably, but he wasn't even skilled enough to do that anyway.

Every instinct in his body told him to move, and he complied by taking a leaping dive to his left, tucking his knees in and rolling. It was a technique known as a controlled tumble, and was quite common in the theater for certain scenes. He'd never been very good at it, but at least his clumsy dive would get him out of the way of the opposing man's sword, which swung through the air not a hair's breadth later.

Jorin whirled around, scrambling to enter forward stance but the enemy gave him no chance, charging forward and taking Jorin completely off-guard. Bells of training vanished as he backpedaled and tried to ward off the charging swordsman with wild staff swings, which the man easily dodged and slipped past as he send the "blade" of his wooden weapon straight at Jorin's neck.

The match was over. In less than a chime, Jorin had died. He hadn't even had time to use a single move.

[Jorin Ertihan]

Season of Fall, Day 48, 513 AV

Jorin tried desperately to catch his breath, chest heaving as he stared down the wooden blade of the man who'd beaten him. The man just withdrew his blade and tossed him a satisfied smirk, before going back to his practice rounds. Sorhyn was upon Jorin a moment later.

"What did you do wrong?" he intoned. Jorin sighed.

"I didn't use any real techniques. I wasn't able to maintain my stance. I... I panicked."

Sohyrn snorted. "That was quite possibly the most pathetic display I have ever seen," he grunted. "The forward stance is the stance you start in, no one said you had to maintain it throughout the battle. That would be suicide. By staying stock-still you've robbed the quarterstaff of its most powerful feature: range. Always be on the move."

Jorin nodded tiredly. An exhausting day, and now his first match had been an utter failure. Sohryn leaned in until his nose was almost touching Jorin's. "You want to give up?" he growled. "There's the door," he pointed. "Just walk out. No one will miss you."

Jorin gritted his teeth. How dare he. He gripped his quarterstaff tighter. "I. Don't. Quit." he bit out each word. Sohryn regarded him for a moment.

"I hope so," he said finally. "Because you will need dedication worthy of Wysar himself if a wet noodle like you is going to have any chance of beating anyone in a fight."

Jorin's head was an angry stormcloud as he returned to his corner, going back to his staff movements. Breathe. Stance. Thrust. Strike. Block. Return. They were such simple movements; why couldn't he use them in battle? Why did he revert back to the wild swinging he'd used when he was "fighting" Uleru? Jorin shook his head and returned to the present, swinging his staff forward again.

"Oof." came a cry, quite deadpan, as he felt someone bump into him. He turned, and it was the same man he'd fought before. He wasn't sure if it was deliberate or not, but nonetheless, he readied himself a second time. This time, he wouldn't freeze. This time, he wouldn't lose.

[Jorin Ertihan]

Season of Fall, Day 48, 513 AV

Jorin squared off yet again, facing his opponent and doing what the opponent did last time; circle around. The forward stance was pretty much impossible to hold on the move, so Jorin shifted into a sort-of approximation of it, his legs less bent but still pointing his right toe at the opponent while watching for any signs of attack. The other man seemed less aggressive than last time, and more cautious, perhaps because he did not have a golden opportunity to attack Jorin from behind this time.

Jorin was not sure how to proceed here. This was his first time truly trying to fight an opponent that wasn't air, and despite the grueling training he'd been through these last couple of days he still didn't know what worked and what didn't. The man lunged forward, and Jorin jumped back, but it was just a feint, designed to create a chink in Jorin's defense. The man faked left, and then came in from the right, sword raised high in the air and slashing down diagonally.

Jorin had no clue what to do in this instance. His training had only included one block, so he employed it, swinging the staff around and grasping at both ends, the wood of the sword colliding with the wood of the staff with a loud "clack!". Jorin knew he had not been taught to do so, but his body moved on its own, Bells of practice making the next move swift and natural, as he quickly ran his left hand up the length of the staff and then swung the butt-end about, around his opponent's sword and toward his face.

The opponent was savvy though, and ducked under the buttstroke. Jorin swore. He hadn't been fast enough. The sword had left Jorin's staff and had come up from below now, a low stab intended to land on Jorin's gut. Instinctively, Jorin jumped back, bringing the staff down hard on the man's arm. This was not a move that Sohyrn had taught, nor was it one he'd practiced, just pure instinct at this point, and so it was clumsy and missed its mark, landing on the man's shoulder instead.

Nonetheless it did the job. The sword did not reach its intended target and went wild, the point going off to the right. Jorin decided to take advantage of his opponent's momentary stun, surging forward with a thrust. Jorin was frankly astonished this was working as well as it was. He was really only using the three basic moves he'd been taught, with a few improvised ones when they simply didn't apply, yet he was holding off a clearly much more skill opponent.

[Jorin Ertihan]

Season of Fall, Day 48, 513 AV

Or so Jorin thought. Jorin's opponent batted aside his thrust as though his staff was a wet noodle, and sidled up to him, swinging the sword horizontally toward his neck. Jorin had no real time to react in any other way than to try to protect his face, bringing the staff back while stumbling and nearly tipping over. The sword struck home, hitting him harshly on his wrist and Jorin swore again as pain blossomed in the area. Nothing broke, but he could see the purple bruise on his wrist. Great.

Testing the joint as he backed off, Jorin realized had that been a real sword, he would not have a hand anymore. He couldn't afford to make mistakes like that again. He needed to block with his staff, not with his body. Fortunately, it was not a very hard hit, and despite the stinging pain and the bruising, the wrist seemed otherwise OK. His opponent, however, relentlessly charged forward, not giving Jorin time to catch his breath, swinging low this time in an effort to cut him at the knees.

Jorin swung the staff down, using his right hand to guide the staff as his left thrust it forward slightly, looking to catch his opponent across the side of the head. Cursing, Jorin's opponent grabbed the end of the staff and wrenched it, and Jorin stumbled forward, just enough for his opponent to bring his sword back across in a backhanded slash. Jorin had only a few options here.

He was too close for his staff to be much use now, especially with his opponent grasping the other end. He could try for some sort of elbow strike but in this position he didn't have the leverage to do it. Jorin really only had a moment to think as the sword was coming straight for him, and shrugging he sprang forward, dropping the quarterstaff and tackling the other man to the ground.

The other man reacted with surprise as Jorin collided with his sternum, arms wrapped around his chest and bearing them both to the floor. Jorin rolled off the man's stomach and went for his sword arm, hoping to grab the man by the wrist and somehow prevent him from bringing his weapon to bear. But it was not to be. As he wrapped his arms around the man's waist in an effort to gain leverage, his opponent had brought his sword-arm back around and "stabbed" Jorin in the back.

Jorin swore. The match was over. He'd "died", yet again.

[Jorin Ertihan]

Season of Fall, Day 48, 513 AV

"That was absurdly bad," Sohryn's voice intoned from above. Jorin glanced up, and scrambled to get off the man he'd tackled to the ground, standing up as quickly as possible. Sohryn was bearing down on him like a parent with a child, and Jorin actually flinched at the man's harsh gaze.

"What have I told you about dropping your weapon?" Sohryn snapped, as he picked up Jorin's staff and shoved it roughly into his hands. Jorin barely caught it before it slipped through his fingers.

"An opponent gets that close, you don't drop your weapon. You want to learn unarmed combat, we have a school for that. They get that close, you do whatever it takes to create distance. Use a headbutt, an elbow, a foot stomp. Bite him if you must, but you have to create space. The quarterstaff relies on a certain distance to be effective." Jorin nodded. It was easy to hear this lecture when not faced with an actual opponent, but he wondered if he could actually follow the advice.

Sohryn dragged Jorin back to his corner. "I didn't see enough movement," Sohryn growled. "Standing still in battle is like an invitation to attack. And keep in mind you only did as well as you did against your opponent because your quarterstaff's superior range gave you a significant advantage. And you still lost."

Jorin only gulped. He knew better than to speak. "I'm doubling your practice today," Sohryn snapped. Jorin's eyes grew wide as saucers. WHAT?! But Sohyrn just barreled onward.

"Four thousand repetitions. Clearly you need the practice. For every word of complaint I hear, I'm adding a thousand."

Jorin's muscles were already strained. He could feel the protest with every step he took. And his wrist was killing him. The door of the Kendoka looked so inviting. It'd be so easy to just tell Sohryn he was done for the day. Technically, he didn't have to listen to the man. But Jorin was not a quitter. Sohryn clearly thought this four thousand would break him. He'd show him.

With a defiant nod, Jorin got back into the forward stance. Sohryn watched in silence as he practiced, and his arms and thighs burned with every repetition. Sweat was pouring down Jorin's back, and his eyes wavered. He was half-expecting to collapse, and he knew that, after this, he'd still have to beat feet to the Amphitheater for rehearsals. As Jorin's arm swung across with another buttstroke, he wondered why he even bothered. He had no specific love of Riverfall, why was he doing this?

Jorin shook his head, sweat flying off his brow as he cleared his mind. No. He needed to keep focused. As for the answer to his own question to himself, the answer was obvious. He'd started on this path. He'd taken up the Quarterstaff as a weapon, and by Wysar he would finish. He wouldn't stop until he was as good as it was possible for him to be. It was simply who he was.

Jorin's breath whooshed out, the sweat now drenching him from head to toe, as he finished the final set. His entire body felt like it was on fire. His lungs burned with effort, and his legs felt rubbery and weak. He turned to see what Sohryn would say or think of his performance, but the man was gone. Apparently left, just before he'd finished. Jorin snorted, and fell to the ground, his butt hitting the floor as he leaned back against the wall. Shutting his eyes, Jorin leaned his head against the wall as well, letting his tired muscles finally relax.

~Fin~

[Caelum]

Thread Award Name: Jorin. Skills: Weapon: Quarterstaff +5 Tactics +1 Unarmed Combat +1 Lores: Quarterstaff: Breathing Technique Quarterstaff: Forward Stance Notes: Training, training. La, la, la. Well written as always. Please delete or edit your post with this thread link in the grade request thread if able and, as ever, don't hesitate to contact me with any questions, concerns, or cobbler.