Solo Combat Training - Dirk

[Tyrek]

Day 65 of Winter in the Year 513 AV

It had been a while since Tyrek had spent any length of time brushing up on his combat skills. It was something he couldn’t afford to get rusty with. Not in Ravok. The moment he left the safety of the four walls of his room, he was fair game to the rest of the city. Being a non-resident among one of the most racist group of people, painted a giant bulls eye on the back of any visitor. Unless a traveler passing through was skilled in evasion or some form of combat, they would be jumped and quickly devoured by the beasts known as Ravokians.

Hand to hand combat was not something the Svefra was gifted in. Any sort of brawl he found himself involved in, he usually left worst for wear. That is not to say he was a bad fighter. He just didn’t have the patience to beat someone senseless. For every blow that did not incapacitate his opponent, allowed a chance for he himself to be injured. He would much rather run someone through with a sharp blade and end the fight then and there rather than run the risk of getting hurt. It was just logic. He would humor someone if they wanted a fight, but as soon as he got hurt, his temper would flare and the weapons were quickly brought into play.

Tyrek rubbed his left arm and winced. It was still sore from a minor scuffle that he found himself in during his time in the Plaza of Dark Delights one afternoon a while back. Of the four men from the fight, he was lucky enough to come out on top. One dead, the other left with a horribly smashed face and the third an escapee. Tyrek managed to get away with only a severely bruised arm and a knock to the head. It was luck that allowed him to escape that day and he knew that streak wouldn’t last forever. Which brought him to his combat training.

A week had gone by since then and his arm was coming into the final stages of its healing. It was still slightly tender to the touch, but overall he was pleased. Tyrek picked up a leather scabbard from a small table sitting beside his bed. He held the dirk, still in its sheath, in his open hands, staring down at it. He had never been very comfortable with large weapons, they just seemed so bulky and cumbersome. Unless you were at war, fighting a large amount of people, they didn’t seem practical. But a small dagger wasn’t large enough to adequately defend oneself. So he settled on a dirk. A mixture between a short sword and a dagger. It measured to about twelve inches and was easily concealed beneath his coat but also large enough to protect himself against enemies.

Tyrek wrapped his good hand around the leather bound hilt and slowly slid it from its sheath. It silently slipped free, a dull sheen in the flickering of the candle light. The Svefra took a small bowl of water and set it beside him on the table. He reached over and picked up a small wet stone and dipped it into the water. He began methodically dragging the stone over the blade at an angle, the sound of rock on steel breaking the silence. His brow furrowed as he concentrated. Every few passes he stopped to dip the stone in the water before continuing. After a few ticks, he rotated the blade and continued on the other side. He finally stopped, he set the stone down and gently ran his finger over the steel. Satisfied that the blade was razor sharp, he grunted and put away the stone and bowl.

Tyrek stood up from his bed, task completed. He intended to train but he needed his equipment to be in top condition at all times. He picked up the sheath from the bedside and slid the dirk into its home. He quickly looped it through his belt and let it hang. The Svefra reached down and picked up his discarded shirt and slipped it on over his head. Grabbing his frayed coat, he headed for the door ready to begin his activities for the night.

[Tyrek]

Day 65 of Winter in the Year 513 AV

It was finally dark enough where he would be able to go outside to train without being disturbed. His favorite place to go was along the piers where the merchants would bring their wares in their small boats. He loved to hear the water lapping against the wooden beams that sunk deep into the depths below. It was tranquil, it allowed him to still his thoughts and focus on each motion as he worked his technique.

Tyrek arrived at the pier, boots thumping as he strode across the wooden planks towards the end of the dock. He stripped off his coat and shirt and draped them across one of the beams that jutted up from the pier. Tyrek stood quietly in the center, feet shoulder width apart, one foot slightly in front of the other, arms held loosely by his side. The only sound to be heard was the water lapping quietly against the wood and the sound of voices in the far off distance.

He began breathing deeply. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Suddenly his right hand snaked forward and drew his blade from its scabbard in one fluid motion. Tyrek held the weapon diagonally across his chest in a defensive position. He slowly brought the point of the dirk in a downward slashing movement, pivoting on his left foot, bringing the blade behind him, stabbing at an imaginary foe. He returned to the neutral position and practiced the motion again.

After he was satisfied with the result, he bounced on the balls of his feet and rolled his neck as he shook out his arms. Having loosened up, he began his next drill. He bounced loosely up and down on his feet. Suddenly he struck, point first, in a stabbing motion at chest level. But before the blade would hit its target, he feint left and pivoted around his imaginary target. He grabbed the would be assailants head and pulled it back, exposing the neck. He quickly ran the blade across it.

Pushing the imaginary body aside, Tyrek flipped his dirk in his hand, pommel up, blade running parallel with his forearm. The Svefra ducked as if dodging a sword overhead. He swiftly popped up, sliced the dagger in an upward motion, as if to slit open a throat. He spun the knife around again in his hand, the weapon facing blade up. He made as if to block a punch to the face by lifting his left arm up, and swung the pommel of his dagger towards the head of his assailant.

Tyrek took a breather and lowered the weapon. He would have preferred having a sparring partner to that of an imaginary one, but he didn’t have the luxury of finding one. Having no friends made that a difficult task. The only sparring partners he was liable to have were the ones who were trying to slit his throat and take his money. Not exactly the interactions he was looking for.

Tyrek wiped his brow with the back of his hand. He strode over to one of the thick, wooden beams that rose up from the dock, five feet up. He placed his blade in its sheath and stood in a neutral position. He practiced drawing the blade from its sheath and aimed for the throat, heart and stomach from different angles. He needed to be able to get in a kill shot in one motion, just in case. The beam began to show wear as the blade ripped into its wood.

Tyrek stepped back and took a few deep breathes. Fighting without a partner was almost more exhausting then fighting with one. At least with a partner his blows and parries were met with resistance. It was almost frustrating trying to train without someone.

Almost as if someone had read his mind, a figure stepped onto the dock, sending vibrations through the wood. Tyrek froze and slowly turned his head. His eyes narrowed as he saw the form advance. He held the blade loosely in his hand, uncertain what this person wanted. Seeing it was late at night, the encounter couldn’t bode well for him.

[Tyrek]

Day 65 of Winter in the Year 513 AV

The figure slowly advanced across the pier, boots thumping loudly on the warped lumber. The form was completely covered in a cloak, masking any sort of physical appearance Tyrek might have been able to make out in the night. A cold pit formed in his stomach, churning as uneasiness began to roil within. Having recently recovered from his previous beating, he wasn’t looking to jump into a fight any time soon.

“Maybe he just wants to talk…” the ridiculous notion almost made him laugh out loud. No one in Ravok came out late at night, clothed in a black cloak, walking around ominously without the intent to cause some sort of trouble. The figure had to have seen the moonlight reflecting off the blade the Svefra held at his side. Most people would avoid anyone holding a weapon in their hands. He kept it lowered, he didn’t want to alarm the rapidly approaching figure and accidently instigate a fight.

The cloaked form stopped in front of Tyrek. “Can I help you?” Tyrek asked cynically. He tried keeping any tone from seeping into his voice but he couldn’t help it. He had a pretty good idea of what was about to go down. He just didn’t know why.

The mysterious figure slowly reached up and pulled back the hood. Red curls cascaded from the cowl, revealing the perpetrator’s face. Thin cheek bones gave her a tantalizing look. Her lips were pressed firmly together. The woman’s eyes were a deep emerald. They were not pleased to see him it seemed, they were staring daggers at him. He hesitated a moment, surprised. That was not at all what he expected to see under that hood. Seeing her in front of him only brought on more questions than answers.

“I’m kind of in the middle of something, what do you want?” He was terse, he wasn’t going to let his guard down just because she was a woman. He lived among the Svefra for the first seventeen years of his life, he knew exactly how vicious they could be when they wanted.

The woman let the cloak slide to the ground. Her slim form was covered in leather, held together with black laces. A long sword was strapped to her side and she rested her hand on it. “You murdered my friend. I have been watching you for the last week and I will avenge his death!” Wasting no words, she jerked her sword free from its scabbard and charged.

"Lady, you don't under-" but he was cut off as he was forced to dodge her attack.“Well that bit me in the arse faster than I would have expected,” A maniacal burst of laughter burst from his mouth at the absurdity of what was happening. A week prior, Tyrek had been jumped by four men and one of those men he had stabbed through the throat in self-defense. He knew killing the man would have consequences, he just wasn’t expecting them so soon.

“At least she didn’t get the Ebonstryfe involved. That would have gone poorly for me.” He had a much better chance of surviving this then he did a group of soldiers. Though by the way she wielded that sword, he might have his work cut out for him.

Tyrek side stepped as she recklessly swung her blade down towards him. “She’s angry so she’s going to get sloppy.” So he had that going for him which was nice but he was also tired from his workout. The blade barely grazed his arm as he moved out of the way. He counter attacked by thrusting his dirk straight for her chest, trying to skewer her. She quickly brought up her sword, deflecting the blade and spinning away.

“She might be angry but she sure know how to wield that thing.” He was a little impressed despite himself. He didn’t care much for bulky weapons, they only seemed practical on the battlefield. He preferred an easily concealed blade, but large enough to be useful in a fight. Her one advantage was her reach, she easily had five feet on him with her sword alone. He had to get inside her reach to avoid being cut to pieces.

As she was gathering her resolve to attack, Tyrek leaped forward, ducking under her sword and wrapped his arms around her waist, taking her to the ground. He was not expecting her to savagely head butt him. Light exploded as Tyrek’s head snapped backwards at the blow. She shoved him off her and jumped to her feet.

Tyrek’s vision was blurred as tears welled up, momentarily blinding him. Luckily, she missed his nose and smashed into his cheek. He wiped a hand across his eyes and looked up. The woman held her long sword in both hands, blade pointing downward.

She lifted it up, rage contorting her face, “This is for my friend.” The razor sharp steel plummet down, directly for Tyrek’s chest.