The Path of True Strength

by **Quzon** on September 5th, 2013, 8:47 am

2nd Day of Fall, 513 AV.
7th Bell (Sunrise)

Quzon’s sleeping mind slowly began to grow alert as his consciousness ignited into action. Pale green eyes slowly opened only to become blinded by faded reality. Quickly lifting his right hand from beneath the covers of his bed to rub his eyes. Quickly finding meaning within the shapeless shadows of sleep-idled grog. The haze quickly resolving as he found himself staring up at the earthy colored interior ceiling of his hut. Every morning for the past few years Quzon rigorously devoted himself to waking up early to train. His conscious mind recognizing the simple sounds of everyday life outside of his hut like a bell to force himself to wake him up. It was simple habitual response to over sleeping. He tossed his blanket aside to will himself up and sit onto the edge of his bunk.

Quzon’s bunk ran horizontal to the back wall of the hut where he ended up sitting parallel to the wooden entrance to his home. Looking to his left along the wall was the hearth to his home where a table and chair rested in front of it. To the right, a grouping of body building equipment laid on the floor. Solid metal weights stacked against a wall as a iron bars laid in front of them. Several thick ropes and chains wrapped and coiled like snakes near the weights. Despite being raised in the Myrian culture, Quzon was as fanatical as any other pure blood Isur in his worship to Izurdin. His father gifting him with the body building equipment as religious items to worship. While he is by no means a crafts man, he wishes to honor the god of strength by turning his own body into a work of art and strives for perfection.

After standing up Quzon started his day by performing dynamic stretches. Remembering the words of his father to always get the body prepared to lifting weights. Quzon wore absolute nothing to bed so was now simply trained naked in his home. He started to perform walking lunges from one wall to another across the twenty by twenty length of the house. Step forward using a long stride, keeping his front knee stable as he lowered his body by dropping his back knee toward the ground. Maintain an upright posture and keeping his abdominal muscles tight. For several chimes he walked from wall to wall, letting the toes of his front leg touch a wall before turning around to lunge out with his leg to continue the lunge-walk.

Once he reached the center of the room he stopped his lunges to lay on the floor to assume a face-down prone position. Keeping his feet together to allow his body weight to be on his chest. Bending his arms the muscle of his arms contracted as he lowered his body to the floor. "One." He whispered before raising himself by pushing off of the ground away from himself. Breathing out as he pushed. Feeling a light tingle shoot through his shoulders and chest. “Two; two. Three four.” He counted each time he lifted his body off of the floor. A light sweat forming on his brow as he continued for several chimes. “Sixty-two; two, three, four. Sixty-three; two, three..” His vice became gruff as he huffed out the last number. “four.” The last number spoken through gritted teeth as he quickly fell to the floor having warmed up his arm muscles more than he should have, but his arms were now prepared to lift his weights.

by **Quzon** on September 5th, 2013, 1:45 pm

"That will be enough of that…" He said with a quick roll to his back where he ended up sitting up on his knees. "Lord father Izurdin, guide me. Let the world see your power through me, mighty and strong. Help me to hold this image in my mind and heart as I patiently follow my life’s path. Allow others to witness your strength shining through me as I walk with confidence. I shall now work with tools of metal; like a speculator. To craft my body to perfection and be worthy of your strength."

His prayer was sincere as the words were spoken with love, and pride. The art of body building being a religious ritual to Quzon rather than some luxury activity. As soon as Quzon stood to his feet he looked down at his body as he flexed his muscles, bending his arms to take note of the size of his biceps. Pale green eyes looking down at his naked form to examine the contours of his rippling abdominal muscles. While Quzon knew he was in great shape he realized that he could grow much stronger with hard work and commitment.

Quzon stood to his feet to walk over to his body building equipment. Moving to set the iron barbell pole into the center of the room. With a natural strength above that of an average human granted to him by his mixed blood lineages, it took more weight than a typical novice human bodybuilder for him to feel any strength growing effects. Quzon set a single solid fifty pound circular metal weight on each side of the Barbell and clamped the weights into place.

While standing in front of the barbell he bent down to grasp the iron bar with his hands set at a shoulders width apart. Fingers snugly holding on too the bar with an underhand grip since his palms were facing up. Standing straight up with his feet together, it turning into a hefty task alone to keep his back straight, as his arms were fully extended and lifted the weights off of the

ground. The bar resting against his thighs which caused him to suddenly remember something his father told him.

"Keep your back straight. Swinging your body back to aid in moving the weight up if cheating! Only your biceps should be used to move the weight! Keep your elbows set at your side! And for the love of the Lord Father, the bar should never touching your body when lowered! It is bad form. Work for perfection or not at all!"

As soon as Quzon realized what he was doing he held out his arms to move the bar out and away from him. Keeping his pale green eyes facing forwards, elbows tucked in at his sides. He was held his body completely still as he slowly curl the bar up up to his chest. Groaning as he squeezed his biceps hard at the top of the movement, and then slowly lower the one hundred twenty five pound weights; the two fifty pound weights with the added twenty five pounds of the iron bar alone, lowered the bar back to the starting potion. Noticeably keeping the bar from touching his body once he lowered it. "One." Counting the first of many future reps as his eyes remained dead set on the door of his hut.

by **Quzon** on September 5th, 2013, 2:34 pm

From one to twenty, counting the number of repetitions in his head. The number twenty had become the maximum number of curls he would perform before ending a set. Repeating the count starting from one again as he began a new set of barbell curls. Their was a heavy feeling in his shoulders each time be lowered the weights after a lift, the sensation growing as he started to feel a cold burn flow through his veins.

Nineteen, Twenty...

Quzon finished his second set with his arms fully extended downwards with his elbows touching his sides. The efforts of his curls could be seen by the way his veins were now protruding up against his pale skin. Throbbing as his heat pumped blood through his body at an extreme rate to get air to his muscles to keep them working hard. Having completed two sets he had already curled the heavy weights forty time. The amount of his reps, and set of lifts were suited for strength building rather than defining or toning his muscles. The heavy weights were now causing his shoulders, triceps, biceps, and pectoral muscles to burn. It was wise to use low reps with heavy weights to keep the muscles constantly working.

Nineteen…

Quzon was now breathing deeply, controlling his breath as he inhaled through the nose and exhaled from the mouth. Keeping his heartbeat at a stable active beat. The last rep causing the mixed-blood to grit his teeth as he used all the strength and endurance he could muster to raise the bar to his chest.

“Twenty!”

He roared out like a wild tiger that just killed its prey. Curling the bar upwards as his elbows bent and his biceps contracted tightly. Once it was down he lowered the bar back down and crouched slightly to set the weights down onto the floor. With three sets of twenty finished resulting in sixty complete curls of one hundred and twenty five pounds. Quzon’s arms felt light as feather once he was no longer holding the weights and screamed with mighty roar as a sign of his victory over the concept of weakness.

Leaving the bar of weights in the middle of the room as he walked over to the chest at the end of his bed. Opening it to put on his loincloth and belt. His throwing-axe and Chakram were sitting on his table where he moved to pick up both of them. The handle of the axe sliding down his belt to be snugly held in place until needed. The flat metal hoop with its razor sharp outer edge was looped around his head, wearing the weapon like a ornamental piece of jewelry. His body felt light as his blood was pumping with excitement.

Now was the time to go train out side....

by **Quzon** on September 5th, 2013, 5:54 pm

In the corner of the room where the walls of the hut met each other loomed a hulking wooden figure. Its lifeless form leaning against the wall as if a drunken warrior, or some 'thing' that was near death. The simple wooden training dummy made from two thick pieces of lumber crafted in the form of a cross which was made to be stuck into the ground to stand upright on its own. The dummy was dressed in a tattered beaten-down useless piece of brown leather armor. Quzon's personal training buddy when he wished to practice alone. It was an easy enough task to pick up the dummy by tossing the length of its body over his shoulder to walk it over to the door and out of the hut.

With the day just starting the morning air carried a chill of the previous night. The sun blazed down from the sky combating a cluster of clouds that refused evaporate. Signs of the heavy monsoon which only a day ago ran rampant as the last of the summer rains fought hard against the fall. He walked a eight yards out of his hut and looked up at the sky. He couldn't tell if the clouds were going to fade later in the day or stay to offer their last bits of Makutsi's rain fall.

Deciding to leave the house bare footed he could feel the wet morning dew covering the grass between his toes. He started to look for a nice spot to place the dummy into the ground as he laid the wooden man down onto the ground. Remaining in his low crouch as he started to run his hand along the grass top, pressing his palm to the ground until he found a soft patch of soil. His attention was diverted from the ground when he heard a mutter of conversation. Tobacco smoke coiled out of a pipe as a two Myrian men walked past his hut smoking.

He watched them walk away into the distance with a sudden urge to smoke as enjoyed relaxing with a nice smoke. It would be something that he would seek later but for now his pale green eyes returned to the ground. Quzon needed a post hole for the dummy and the quickest way to do that was through Reimancy.

The palm of his hand began to glow an ethereal alabaster white as Res began to manifest from the palm of his hand. The glow soon enveloped around his hand as the Res took the form of a liquid. When turning his res into a liquid, it help him to imagine whatever physical form of res that he wanted in his mind. So, in his mind he visualized the Kandukta Basin. The glowing liquid res seemed to soak into the ground as he controlled it to form a the shape of a two foot deep, foot long hole.

That was when he had to concentrate, turning his Res into an earth magnet as the ground literally started to break. The ground where his liquid Res occupied starting to rip at the earth itself until the ground crumbled into itself. Like a sinkhole the soil was attracted and melded onto the mass of Res, forming an outer crust of solid earth.

He lifted his right arm into the air commanding his Res to lift from the ground. The earth attracted to his Res following it into the air. In its place remained a rough post-hole with the near-exact proportions of what was needed to place the dummy into the ground. Quickly shifted his arm to his side to move the dirt away from the hole. Taking in the sensation of the presence of on his inner Djed coursing through his veins. With his task complete Quzon tossed the soil aside letting it fall to the floor in a scattered pile of dirt on the ground. A smirk on his lips as he picked up the training dummy and forced it into the post hole to stand up right.

by **Quzon** on September 6th, 2013, 3:51 am

A faint smile touched the edges of his lips as he grazed his fingers along tattered leather armor the dummy was dress in. He reminded himself of a very basic notion that most seemed to have let evade them in whatever it was that made Myrians the standard measurement for savages by which all savagery is compared by the outside world. Myri’s will being to see the survival of her people. To live life in terms of confrontations and rising to the challenge. There are causes to serve, struggles to be overcome, battles to be won. Obtaining victory though conviction .

In his life Quzon was raised to be a warrior who invariably would become attracted to all challenges. Each challenge being of significant value to his life — learning to live within the hostile forces of nature and survive, finding loyalty outside of his clan with fellow fang members in the army, standing strong while constantly berated by undesirable elements in the community, doing his best to help ease racial prejudice against his fellow mixed blood Myrians, and the greatest victory he could think of being coming to terms with himself to want to stand strong. Each small victories, some physical battles while others were introverted conflicts.

Quzon took three steps back away from the dummy to drop to one knee, closing his eyes as he started to pray. “Goddess-Queen Myri. I am your soldier. I have achieved many victories that have become the cornerstones of my very existence. They are foundations built strong through blood, bone, and determination. Since the moment I could walk I have strived to strike laziness from my life and not become a burden to the tribe. I am a Warrior who wants to leave a mark of my will on this world, on whatever important acts that I touch. This is no voice of ego, but of the fighters spirit, give me the will to rise up and declaring victory in situations, no matter how vexing!”

His prayer to Myri held less strict religious intonation in his voice. Rather, Quzon spoke from the heart as if a heartfelt conversation between a mother and a child. He was a ‘child’ of Myri and Myrian blood still coursed through his veins. His words were spoken loudly with unbridled passion that caused several spectators to gather around the dull-skinned half-breed. He was son intently focused on the prayer that he didn't notice the collective of five other Myrians in a circle around him.

“Strong words for a Spider mouth." One man said, relishing the tainted though misinformed words. It through Quzon off for a moment as he stood up from his kneeling position. Was the man comparing him with his pale skin to the sickly fragile Symenestra race? Once he recognized the meaning of the words, the insult dug deep into his soul. He began to feel a swelling combination of open emotions. His body ways completely prepared for combat after stretching and weight lifting. His prayers to both of his beloved gods causing his mind to feel at peace, his mind becoming keenly focused as if his soul was the edge of a blade now ready to decapitate anyone who stood against his beliefs.

“I am no Petching brittle-bone you KotakbilKotakbil- a loaded insult to one's intelligence or prowess. One who makes too much noise in the jungle; literally "heavy footed"." Quzon stood in front of the five foot eight inch tall Myrian male. The drastically pale, slightly blue hued mixed blood standing to his full six foot height to slightly tower over her the insulting man. "I am Quzon of the Barbed earth, son of Lekwa." A hefty bass began to swell the tone of his voice, causing a threatening tone to reverberate through the air. "...And Son of Banir Gemshock Pitrius. My father who hails from the land of strength, steel, and stone. The Isur Kingdom of the Sultros."

He took a step back from the man to look at each person that had managed to gather around, "Don't be a coward… make your name known so that we can correctly tell the story of your stupidity later." His words to the crowed was a tactic to aid him in backing away from the man as he insulted him, wanting to get to a safe distance away from any surprise attack if the man was short on anger. Taking his place near the wooden dummy again.

More spectators gathered around to form the perimeter of a circle in front of

Quzon's hut. The wooden dummy marking the exact center of the circle as Myrian male walked part way into the circle with a With a Gladius in hand. "I am Gatonk of the Tainted ThornMade the NPC on the spur of the moment. Will assume his skills are.

Unarmed Combat- 19
Weapon: Gladius- 16
Botany: 5
Medicine- 5
Poison- 5

and you should mind your tongue you sickly skinned Half-breed." A smirk tugged at Quzon's lip as he felt the tension swiftly rise.

Quzon caught his anger causing him to try and control his breathing to calm himself down. "Why don't we skip this lovely conversation and prove our prowess through a spar?" Quzon's recommendation was met with slight cheers from the crowed as they all goaded Gatonk to accept, which really wasn't needed as the man quickly nodded his head in agreement; a smirk also forming on the pure-blood Myrian warriors lips.

by **Quzon** on September 8th, 2013, 1:16 pm

When combat initiates, the fight or flight response triggers causing the mind to feel torn with anxiety on which path to proceed. For a Myrian, a particular mental attitude is developed from birth to calmly be able to choose to fight as face rather than run. Quzon’s mind only considered with his sparing partner focused only on him; however the ambient symphonies of the world heightened the sensations of combat. The environment, the feel of the fresh grass, the rustlings of the crowed, the sound of an his opponents breathing patterns and by extension the rate of an opponents heart beat, the motion of someone’s body language; all of it were things that started to illustrate the portrait of the fight in his mind. The concept of combat eventually shifts from the savage instinct to claw and gnash teeth like an animal into a work of art. It became the defining moment where the fighters were no longer foes, but artist using their bodies to bring meaning to life and death.

Visually similar to one of the walking lunges he preformed before his body building session, Quzon took a single step forward with his right leg bent at the knee, and his rear left leg straight with a two foot gap between each foot. His hips and shoulders remain squarely facing forward as he lifted his right hand to grab the throwing-axe on his belt. Feeling the coarse wooden handle of the light axe balanced for throwing within his palm. The axe held in his lead right arm as the purpose of the stance allowing a great deal of power generation from his legs into his arms. Quzon kept his elbow slightly bent and ready to block, parry, or attack with its sharp edge, or the pointed back end of the axe.

The base of Quzon’s heel grazed against part of the wooden base of the training dummy logged into the ground. Glancing to the side to inspect how much space he had to work with. He wanted this position at the center of the fight with the dummy behind him for a reason, wanting to use it as an aide and fighting partner. At the exact moment Quzon looked away, Gatonk shortened the distance to bring Quzon into the range of his short sword, wishing to charge into the pale-skins guard.

Gatonks held his gladius in his right hand with a Hammer grip. The man’s finger tensing around the wooden hilt and under the belly of the handle. With the swords pointed tip allowing it a much better capacity to stab rather than slash, as he charged Quzon he held the blade forward with his wrist locked and square to keep the sharp tip of the sword forward.

Quzon’s eyes shifted back to Gatonk as he watched the man perform his charging, lunging-stab.

The grin on Quzon’s face faded as he bent his knees to lower himself into a slight crouch, cutting his height down by three feet. As Gatonk grew closer he shifted his lead right leg out and to the side, beyond a shoulder length. Using the led foot as a pivot point as he leaned all of his body weight on it to turn and shift to the right. The thick wooden figure of the training dummy behind Quzon was a standing cross in armor, so he used his quick pivot to duck under an arm of the dummy to get behind it.

Gatonk’s charge ended with his sword stabbing into the chest of the wooden dummy.

Quzon wasted no time, as soon as he ducked under and found himself behind the dummy, he circled around and out from under the other wooden arm. As Gatonk was distracted by pulling the tip of his swords blade from the wood, Quzon was already on the Myrian warrior’s right side and slightly standing behind the pure-blood; just behind his shoulder. In unarmed combat, kicks are a fighters longest range weapon, punches falling into the medium range, and elbows 'in the clinch' meaning extremely close range. Quzon was now 'in the clinch'.

He lashed out with a hooking left elbow strike. The half-isur bending his tattoo covered grey hued skinned arm. The elbow swinging around as his hip turn and twist into the hook. Not allowing his forearm to drop or rise. Keeping it solidly at the same shoulders height. The forearm running perfectly even, parallel to the ground, crating a smooth path for the strike from his body into the back of Gatonk's head.

Quzon kept his body soft and relaxed to use speed. Allowing his body be soft during the movement. However, right before he hit, suddenly tensed his arm. Breathing before the hit made contact, and when he hit, Quzon released his breath outward. Shifting his hips, at the knee and ankle, and rotated on the ball of his foot as the elbow came around.

In response, Gatonk's head was forced forward from the blow as the ridge of Quzon's elbow opened up a cut on the back of his skull. Standing so close to the wooden dummy, the pure-bloods forehead slabbed into the training dummy equally causing a second cut from headbutting hard wood.

Out of instinct, pain, or need to avoid the awful situation. Gatonk blindly turned to slash in Quzon's direction. Quzon was too close to escape the slash completely as he was 'in the clinch', having to take a drastic measure to avoid his belly from being cut open. Leaping directly backwards as, while now in mid-air, the tip of the sword caused a shallow cut to slice horizontally across the mixed-bloods abdomen.

The leap ended with Quzon's back slamming into the ground a yard away, throwing his legs up and over his body as he entered into a backwards roll where he ended on his feet in a low crouch. Axe held up in his right hand as his pale green eyes lowered to see blood dripping down his abs, covering his pale skin in dark sanguine. The leap backwards sent a surge of pain through his shoulders and upper back as he groaned slightly in agitation from harming himself.

Quzon gritted his teeth as he touched three fingers to his wound, collecting blood on his fingertips as he spread his fingers to run them across his cheeks, causing his face to be covered in strips of blood. A smirk turning into a wide grin as his left hand fell to touch the ground. Entering into a crouching stalk on three limbs around the perimeter of the circle. Like a predator cat stalking its prey.

The crowed growing larger as they began to take sides, splitting in cheering between the two combatants.

by **Quzon** on September 8th, 2013, 5:32 pm

An accumulation of blood and sweat collected on Gatonk of the Tainted Thorn’s brow. There were few pains more potent than being hit in the face. It always caused a swell of emotion that caused a persons pride to become all the more sensitive. A blood haze cascading through the man’s mind. Gatonk was a killer-bee, born to fight, easily agitated, and could poison with a sting if he wished. His left hand lifted to wipe the blood from his brow to avoid getting it into his eyes. Turning to look at Quzon as the pale-skin circled the area like a white tiger.

Gatonk needed to enter an assault range, though slowly this time. His first step was to avoid, evade, and the attack while he moved in; Quickly managing to find himself three feet in front of Quzon. He raised his weapon and with great force lashed out with the gladius arcing upwards; a killer's move, designed to end the fight in one smooth motion.

Quzon quickly stood up from his crouch to swing his ax downward, his hand griping the very end of the handle to catch the sword with the underside of the ax blade on the crook of axe’s head to the handle.

Pulling down on Gatonk’s sword to parry it, and with the sword hooked by the ax, Quzon used all his strength to pull the Tainted Thorns sword arm away from his body to open him up to unarmed combat. The downward motion of Quzon's parry caused his ax to grind down the length of the gladius blade, metal on metal, and run down the hilt to rake the skin along Gatonk's right hand, forcing him to drop his sword.

Gatonk acted immediately as soon as his hand released his sword, leaning in with the full weight of his body to bash his forehead into the mixed bloods forehead. Quzon stumbled backwards, now slightly dazed, as he fell to the ground. The headbutt caused Gatonk's cut to open further as blood dripped down his body. With Quzon on the ground Gatonk leaped into his guard, the guard being a ground grappling position where one combatant has their back to the ground and the other is on top between the others legs. He grabbed a hold of Quzon's right wrist with two hand where he started to bash it against the ground to force him to drop his ax. A result which happened after three slams.

Quzon wrapped both of his legs around Gatonk's waist to keep him from moving as he punched Gatonk in the jaw with his free left hand. The strike was shrugged off and the position of advantage seemed to move into Gatonk's favor as he rained down a series of punches onto Quzon. A hard blow landing solid against his jaw, another his left pectoral, and a third just below his right eye.

To block any further assault Quzon lifted his hands up to defend himself with his forearms. While every thought Quzon was on the losing end of the fight, it was the exact opposite as Quzon decided to fight unarmed rather than use the chakram that was worn around his neck. In an instant, he could easily just grab it and slice Gatonk open with the circular blade. However, Quzon peered though a gap in his arms to time the Tainted Thorn's punches.

One... Two... One...Two...

Quzon thought to himself as punches landed against his arms as his opponent tried to hit him in the face. Pale green eyes watching as a fist was making its way towards his face.

That was when Quzon reacted. Opening his arms to catch Gatonk's forearm.

Holding onto his right arm, Quzon pulled it tight against his body to hold it to his chest. Quickly putting his right foot on Gatonk's hip and lifted his body up as Quzon rotated his own body to the side. The motion ended with the pure blood Myrian's arm wedged between the mixed bloods legs and around his armpit.

Now with his leg over Gatonk's head, he controlled his arm to hyper extend it as he squeezed his knees together, lifting his hips off the ground and arched to apply the submission pressure. Quzon was on the verge of snapping the mans arm in half at the elbow when he started to scream. Slapping his free hands palm against the ground, pulling at the grass from the pain.

"Victory is yours! You win!"

The words cause Quzon to stop, let go of the arm, and roll to his side.

by **Quzon** on September 8th, 2013, 5:36 pm

8th Bell

Their were mixed combinations of boo'ing and cheers at the outcome of the savage spar. Gatonk holding his pain filled right arm as he laid on the ground, Quzon sitting cross-legged next to him with a smirk on his face. There was a bond of brotherhood that people could feel after a fight. It was the courage of a warrior, the connection of the fighting spirit that causes any past hostile intentions to vanish. It was a bond that could be felt when Gatonk glanced over from the ground at Quzon, and was met as they locked eyes.

"Good fight." The tainted Thorn said as he sat up. Quzon nodding in mutual admiration as they both started to relax. Blood covered, tired, and wounded as the crowd around them both started to scatter and dissipate until they were left alone.

The spar was a challenge of belief and now with the illusion of racial superiority gone. Another pure blood Myrian now respected a mixed-blood like a true brother in arms.

"Shyke. Didn't expect to be covered in blood so early. Good fight, Gatonk." Shaking his head, Gatonk made a friendly introduction. "Friends call me Gat." He spoke while standing up to his feet to pick up his sword and sheath it on his hip. Quzon did the same as he found his ax and held it in his right hand. "How is the arm?" The conversation grew as both men walked in opposite directions. "Its fine, my head hurts worse. But it iss nothing Suma root won't help with."

Quzon was facing the direction of his hut as he glanced over his shoulder. "Suma root? Whats that?" The question caused Gat to stop and turn around. "It is a root of a large ground vine for medicine and tonic. Helps the body’s resistance to fatigue and disease, build energy, and and has a restorative effect on the body as a whole." That drew his interest as he wanted to try the root. "Where can I find this? "

Gat slowly turned to walk further away as he spoke over his shoulder while hugging his pain filled arm. "Large green leaves with subtle ridges, without having see it before you will recognize it fast if their are beetles around. It often is sheltering ground beetles. Just boil some leaves to drink it as a tea for the healing effects."

With those last words Gat had stumble off holding his head, and Quzon entered into his hut to lay on the floor and relax.

by **Traverse** on September 10th, 2013, 9:14 pm

Quzon

Skill	XP Earned
Acrobatics	2 XP
Bodybuilding	2 XP
Endurance	2 XP
Hand Axe	1 XP
Meditation	1 XP
Observation	4 XP
Reimancy	1 XP
Rhetoric	2 XP
Unarmed Combat	2 XP
Wrestling	1 XP

•	Lores Earned
•	If One Has No Crafting Skill, Craft the Body
•	Excercise Right or Not at All
•	Utilizing Reimancy to Dig Holes
•	Being Mistaken for a Symenestra
•	Acquaintance: Gatonk of the Tainted Thorn
•	Getting in for Close Strikes When Unarmed
•	Using an Axe to Disarm Your Opponent
•	Making a New Friend the Myrian Way
•	The Appearance and Applications of Suma Root