Solo In A Better Frame

[Razkar]

35th Day of Spring, 514AV
Sunset Quarters
13th Bell

The last time he'd attempted it, he'd destroyed a barrel with one punch and nearly broke his hand doing so. His rage and guilt had focused his djed in the worst way: so that it was beyond his control. It had taken him the rest of the voyage back to Sunberth to recover; allow the bones in his hands to heal and the invisible muscles of djed to stabilize. Ten days and night holed up in his bunk with nothing to do but count weevils and read the same old books.

But now things had changed, and Razkar hoped for the better. His room seemed to reflect his new mindset. Gone was the garbage tip from five nights ago, trash enough to keep a colony of cockroaches happy. He'd even let in Hannah to scrub and sweep, tipped the girl a little extra because, let's be honest, it was a lot extra.

The Myrian looked around the space. Four walls and a large enough area cleared for him to practice. The bed and furniture had been shoved against the walls, and he stood bare save for his loincloth in the middle.

Still. Breathing shallow and steady. Eyes closed and hands by his sides. He was getting better at this: shutting out the waking world and communing with the wyrd inside him. Seasons and sessions added up.

Breath... focus... push aside the flesh and see the strength within you... the muscles beyond your muscles... power flowing under them...

He breathed in again, face tilting upward... and smiled when he felt that raw surge swelling under his skin. Only the thrill of his gnosis could compare to it; that... empowerment, of something beyond the mundane flesh of the world.

Razkar had long distrusted and feared mages. After all that happened in Sahova, those feelings had not changed. But the knowledge - no, the certainty - that he could master those same forces within himself... that was a great boon, and a great advantage in a world rife with magic.

But like all things, it must be practiced before it can be mastered.

He settled into a defensive crouch, arms up and ready, hands bet but not in fists. He already had a few ideas for this session; some new combinations he wanted to try. Still, he was new to this art; a rank novice in ways, despite his practice. So the djed he willed would only go into broad areas.

It will be enough.

He blinked and imagined an enemy before him, lashing out with a boot aimed between his legs-

-he slid neatly to his side, right arm crossing his chest, willing djed into the limb with a whisper-

"In two breaths-"

-djed-enhanced forearm swinging inward and down like a pendulum, smashing into the side of the imaginary leg at the knee, powerful enough to dislocate or break it-

"-fall and quiet."

-then lunging towards his target, who would probably be flailing and toppling back or to his side, left knee jerking up to slam into the stricken opponent's ribcage or kidney. Even without The Flux, it would be enough to keep them down.

Two breaths, as he'd planned. In that time his enemy would be wounded or crippled, and Razkar straightened himself again, readying his body for-

-the harsh tingles that crept up his arm, reminding him that Overgiving was not just a warning; it was a consequence. In time it would be easier to control, but now he paced in small circles, flexing and relaxing his right arm alternately, willing the pain to subside...

"Not bad. Would be better if you could do the same with the knee. But you think you're ready for that? Yes, of course you are..."

He fell into the same position, mocking smile on his face.

"You always do."

It would be the left, that time. His right arm still throbbed dully and he did not want to aggravate it more, cutting short his session. Razkar paused for a few ticks, seeing his enemy in his mind alone, seeing him tense, the tell-tale signs of a coming blow.

Felt the djed pool in him, ready to be commanded. He breathed in, began to let it flow-

-saw his enemy lash out again, with his left leg, aiming low and dirty-

"In two breaths-"

-he slid again, lithe and controlled, djed pulsing in his left arm as he swung it down, disabling that kicking leg, hearing the silent screams of his enemy as the blow connected-

-then redirected the djed immediately, sweat forming on his brow from the exertion, cursing himself for the time it took, sending it flowing down to his right knee-

"-fall and quiet."

-then exploded upward and forward as his knee flew up into his disoriented, wounded target's torso. The Myrian felt himself fly off the ground as the unearthly force gripped his leg and yanked it up, a blow that could burst a kidney, not just bruise it-

-then he landed, bending his knees, eyes already screwed shut-

"Shhhhhhhhhyke...!"

As the aforementioned consequences hit him like lava under his skin. His leg shook as the djed fled from it, but the aftershocks were like hammers battering at his insides, forcing him to rest his arms on the ground-

-and he cursed again as his left arm shook and nearly buckled under him. Finally he gave it up and let his body crumple, forehead resting against the cool wood.

"Too ambitious, boy..." he chided himself, groping for the water skin off to one side. "Alright... enough for now."

[Razkar]

Enough for now, but never enough for good. It might as well have been one of the many mottoes of the Taloba Army. Train and spar and strain until your bones crack and your muscles tear, then relax... but don't kid yourself that you won't get the same tomorrow.

It's a hard habit to break. Razkar hadn't succeeded and didn't particularly want to. As he had been told and as he'd reminded his Sister Kaie, "No best; only Better". That didn't come about from lethargy or laziness.

And really, what else did he have to do in that room?

Four bells after picking it up, the Myrian took another slug from his water skin and pondered briefly on going out to the Isle. A somewhat deserted locale, it was true; he'd used it before for training... but that was before he and Jax Bradshaw had killed a dozen Dragoons there. The story had sped across the city like a mind virus and while Razkar hadn't paid much attention to that, he did understand that they had found him there pretty quickly.

The Sun's Birth was watching out for him. They had eyes and ears with his name and his face on close call. Better to be here, at least for now. He didn't want the Dragoons laying waste to the Quarter.

He walked past the canteen for the Orphanage every day. He saw their faces and heard their voices. Far as he had fallen, Razkar would not have their deaths on his conscience.

He swilled the water around and brought his mind to a fresh and more constructive exercise: what moves would he try next? He'd been suggesting and dispelling possibilities and combinations for hours, but one in particular... yes... it had merit.

And risks.

The Myrian got to his feet and assumed the position, as it were. He focused on his breathing, ignoring the time that passed as it slowed and steadied. Time was irrelevant; only the peace found mattered. The laughter of the kids below... an argument five doors down... Hannah grousing with the Elder Mayhew about the bottles in his room... they all faded, little by little...

Razkar smiled as he felt the djed show itself, like some great whale under the surface of his skin, slowly coming to the surface. There all along: vast and powerful, needing only the right circumstances to emerge.

Slowly the Myrian directed the flow of djed into his upper body. He was far too unskilled to tap it into his neck or head and, frankly, he wouldn't anyway. His blows when using The Flux were extreme and powerful even to himself; the idea of infusing his neck and skull with such unstable energy was foolhardy at best, suicidal at worst.

Upper torso will do fine. That's where the movement comes from.

He opened his eyes and saw another enemy before him. Scowling or smirking; spitting or sneering; confidence or confused, it didn't matter. He was there, and he was approaching and...

Razkar braced himself... then held up his hands, palms outward, the very picture of pliant conciliation.

"From peace's face-"

-then he tucked his chin down, gritted his teeth and jerked the crown of his head forward with the force of his muscles and his djed. The sensation almost made him gasp in shock, the feeling of his collarbone pressing against his skin, like a hook pulling him forward-

Rein it in! You control it, not vice versa!

The Myrian planted his foot hard onto the floorboard, stopping his forward momentum. The shattering headbutt sent his phantom enemy reeling back, nose broken, vision beyond petched-

-Razkar drained the djed from his collarbone, pumping it into his right arm, biceps swelling without any change to the muscles themselves-

"-Dira's embrace."

-and Razkar's formerly placid arm lashed out in vicious knuckle punch at his enemy's throat, strong enough to pull him off-center again but with enough powerful to crush his windpipe and larynx. Between both blows, he doubted anything short of an Akalak or one of the Monkey People would get back up. Ever.

But where there was risk, and reward, there was always cost, and Razkar nearly screamed as his shoulders seemed to burn under his skin. Head lolled back and grimacing at the ceiling, he forced himself to pace, roll his shoulders, grunting with the pins and needles - fuck that, more like swords and daggers - stabbing into his upper body, not to mention his arm.

Breath it out. Let it subside. Remember: time is irrelevant. You are not yet a master, able to use this wyrd as easily as your own fists. These fumbling steps are necessary; like the first of any journey.

Eventually, it did, and Razkar found himself in that same position, but feeling the cost of his sparring. His nerves were firing off little messages telling him to slow down, at the very least... but he had enough in him for one more. Just one.

That smile again. That placating pose, as he breathed in and felt the djed rise in him like flood water.

"From peace's face-"

-and again his head snapped forward, chin tucks, mouth closed, teeth gritted. So many people screwed up a headbutt, he always noticed. They used their forehead, they did it with their mouths slack; both were good way's to dislocate your jaw or give yourself a concussion. The crown, though, that was the thickest bone, so that's what you used.

And in conjunction with The Flux, slamming his head forward even harder, he knew that alone could smash his enemy's nose into his brain.

If it doesn't fracture your skull, as well, a prudent little voice reminded him. But he stilled it for now, movements a little smoother now, djed already redirected as his head reared back-

Still slow. Still needing these pauses and breaths. In a real brawl... no, I can't use it yet. But it's coming-

"-Dira's embrace."

-and his right arm snapped out firmly again, fingers bent at the top of his proximal flange, forming not a fat fist but a narrower, shaper knuckle-edged blow-

-that blasted out with The Flux empowering his bicep, throwing him off-balance-

-and he fell to one knee, spitting curses and bracing himself for the pain.

It wasn't late coming. Always punctual, is the cost of one's hubris. The Myrian crouched there for a while, almost as if at prayer, head bowed and shoulders rolling with pain. The Orphanage had let the kids loose for the day by the time he stood back up, covered in a sheen of sweat and stinking of satisfaction.

"Alright," he told himself with a pant, finishing his water by dumping it over his head, "Now you're done..."