Closed [Fighter's Pits] A Not So Routine Morning (Byron)

Orin and Byron meet in the Fighter's Pits

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This shining population center is considered the jewel of The Sylira Region. Home of the vast majority of Mizahar's population, Syliras is nestled in a quiet, sprawling valley on the shores of the Suvan Sea. [Lore]

[Fighter's Pits] A Not So Routine Morning (Byron)

Postby Orin Fenix on May 8th, 2015, 7:30 pm

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8th Bell, 59th of Spring, 515AV


Orin opened his eyes with a groan. He was really starting to regret his decision to get up almost every morning to work on his physicality. Still he hadn't missed a day yet. And his constant attention to bettering himself, at least his combat skills, was finally starting to pay off in major ways. He'd learned how to throw daggers and while he didn't necessarily trust his skill in an actual fight it was certainly refreshing to know that one day Orin would be able to drop an opponent at a distance. Still that day was a long way away. Orin rolled out of bed, careful not to disturb Sylvette if he hadn't already. He was never sure how aware she was on these morning excursions of his, although he'd never lied to her about where he went. Orin figured she just liked sleeping in although he really would've loved for her to tag along. It got boring doing essentially the same routine day in day out. Those times when something broke up the monotony such as when Orin saw someone he knew in the Fighter's Pits and ended up sparring, either by choice or, on rarer occasions by necessity. Those later ones older seldom came up for which Orin was grateful.

Dressing in the dark so the light wouldn't ruin his exit and wake Sylvette. Orin made it a habit to place his clothes and his boots in the same place each night for this very eventuality. Not having a window was a real hassle sometimes. Orin padded to his door and opened and closed it carefully. He waited as the latched clicked, but when there were no sounds of movement within Orin figured he'd escaped successfully once again.

Breaking into an easy job Orin set the now familiar path from his apartment to The Fighter's Pits. He could probably make it there in his sleep considering he'd done this most mornings for around half a season. Sometimes it felt like he did since when he started running each day often the fog in his mind that sleepiness brought him didn't clear until he was almost at the Pits. Today was one of those days. However when he did arrive he was feeling at least marginally less sluggish. And he wasn't anywhere near as winded as he normally was. While his speed hadn't necessarily improved all that much Orin didn't have as much trouble with keeping going for longer when he ran.

Orin entered the Pits proper. He had to shade his eyes against the sunlight that streamed down and illuminated the few people already training. Orin bowed his head. "Thank you Leth for guiding us through another night and Syna for granting us another day." His words were simple but heartfelt. Orin didn't necessarily worship those two deities fervently but he did respect them and hoped that his little pray would help bolster them. Of course the idea that Orin could mean anything to the gods was so funny that he had to laugh at his own folly. He was beneath the notice of such beings.

Making his way over to the wall, Orin threw his left leg onto a conveniently placed bar. He was working diligently on his flexibility even though he hated it. His leg couldn't go much above his waist, but Orin kept working on it. If he wanted to be more effective with his kicks, he needed to be able to kick higher. Of course his kicks were terrible anyway so Orin wasn't sure how much better he could make them. After about a chime Orin let his leg down. He gave an experimental front kick making sure he was balanced before he did so. His leg felt a little looser. Encouraged, Orin put his right leg up on the bar and stretched it. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

When he'd stretched as much as he could handle Orin stepped away from the wall. Fingering his throwing knives, Orin made his way to an empty target. Taking up one in his left hand Orin eyed the distance between him and his goal and took two careful steps forward. Once he settled Orin brought his arm back and then forward. He released at the end and watched his dagger spin slightly before embedding itself in the target. Moving forward Orin inspected his handiwork. It was at a large upwards angle. Orin sighed. He'd been having this problem with his left arm recently. While his right wasn't consistent yet, at least he didn't make the same error every single time. He was pretty sure it stemmed from releasing the blade too early but no matter what he tried he couldn't seem to correct it.

Tugging out his dagger, Orin put it away. It would probably be a bad idea to reinforce bad habits. He'd ask Sayana for some pointers on it when he saw her next. Taking out his regular blades Orin weighed them cautiously in his hands. Recently he'd been getting an urge to try something dangerous. During his training Orin had made it a point to work on both his left and his right arms. While he was more accomplished with his right since it was his dominant hand he was now slouch with his left either. Today though, Orin wanted to try to use both of his hands simultaneously. Slipping one dagger into both hands Orin squared off. His right dagger was held in a reverse grip and his left in a forward grip. Bending his knees slightly and putting his weight on the balls of his feet, Orin slashed forward with his right. He'd been intending to immediately follow it up with a stab with his left but his body rebelled and his second attack was incredibly sluggish and not at all accurate. Orin frowned. That was not how he'd imagined this moment going. Stepping back, Orin ran through the combination a few more times. He improved minutely but nowhere near the amount he'd been hoping.

Growing disgusted with his so far poor performance Orin sheathed his knives. He needed to do something with all this pent up aggression. Stalking over to the weapons racks Orin scanned them until he found what he was looking for. Taking it out, Orin simply held it for a moment. It was a single long and polished piece of wood, a quarterstaff. Orin had absolutely no idea how to use it, but he'd spotted two fighters sparring with them recently and had been inspired. Taking it in both hands Orin stomped to the nearest empty training dummy. Gripping it tightly without even bothering to wonder if he was doing it properly Orin raised it up and slammed it down on the dummy's fake head. It was about as satisfying as Orin had expected although the staff was surprisingly heavy and his arms protested at the foreign movement.
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[Fighter's Pits] A Not So Routine Morning (Byron)

Postby Byron Allestor on May 12th, 2015, 6:32 am

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If anything the grounds stood to serve as a decent place worth training but most of it appeared to be based on combat wise training, hardly any real material things were here to help real physical training other than dulled weapons used every day. Byron wanted to learn a lot of combat here lately but he didn't feel himself able to fit the idea just yet, too much strain would be wasted if he didn't shape up his body to better fit the role to begin with anyway. Tailen decided he preferred to stay back at their place for the time being seeing as how he'd been following Byron around a lot, especially here lately since they had arrived in a new and foreign place. Yet part of it was due to Byron's own obsession with protecting his little brother, even though Tailen had nearly reached that age where he should explore on his own. Still a boy with his type of condition didn't need to wander around aimlessly, thus it never worked out well with Byron's own nerves, when he remained separated from the younger sibling for too long.

After a while though Byron found himself able to shrug the worry off, and with a bit of time spent to clear his head, the point behind his meditation had been met well enough for him to start. When he opened his eyes and found that the usual amount of people were here, training like they normally would do he could only chuckle just a little, amazed to find that nothing really changed so quickly around here. That perhaps would be a good sort of thing to welcome, if that tended to happen with the rest of the city as well. There had been so much change of scenery over the past couple years, he had started to find it difficult to adjust to all of it so easily. Once he found himself on his feet Byron looked around to see where the best open spot was, granted he didn't wish to attempt his own personal training in the way of others, then again he wasn't sure if what he had in mind really suited the Fighter's Pit. Either way he would find out sooner or later, since he would- well what do you know!

One of the would be fighters to come here had appeared to practice something of interest to Byron, a fancy little trick which involved the ability to throw knives and daggers at a distance. That looked to be something useful to Byron, even if the man who practiced it showed little mastery of the skill. Such skill alone would help give Byron an edge, a sort of advantage to an enemy should he find his quiver short of arrows. There were also a number of ways that the skill could serve useful, ways that made Byron itch deep within his mind as he wanted to learn more. Figure out how it worked and how to perfect its technique, he'd become overly curious of it now and that fed his inner desire to learn. Oh how he missed this feeling, after being without books or access to a library for so long, he'd certainly almost forgotten how badly it prodded in the back of his skull. The wanting to learn already a demanding temptation he could hardly overcome, before he could manage to find a way to approach the man however it appeared the knife thrower became fed up with his performance.

Now what's he up to? He made his way over to a nearby rack where the weapons resided, discreetly watchful as he witnessed the guy choose another weapon of choice. One long piece of wood that appeared well polished, a weapon that looked just as well interesting as the ability to throw knives. Oh I see then. A smirk developed on his face then as his eyes turned to his own rack he stood at, another quarterstaff presently stationed there as well as though fate ordained this opportunity. Without a another tick to waste he gripped the pole at its center, a much awkward feel to its length tagged with it as well. He'd never held one of these before nor considered it until now, and while it certainly didn't feel like a weapon he could use, that didn't stop him from wanting to at least get a bit of experience with it. Finally with weapon in hand and a reason to approach the guy he noticed earlier, Byron walked over to him rather proudly in an enlightened manner.

Once the boy arrived at his destination he stood at few good decent feet with the pole held in one hand, the awkward feeling set aside with a smile as he engaged the man with conversation. "So! Noticed you were practicing with knives earlier, that was pretty cool actually." He more or less figured a compliment would've been a good way to go about things, granted most of the people here liked to hear what good work they do. "I've never really practiced using one of these," He hinted to the weapon he held, "but I figured if you knew a thing or two or were just learning, maybe we could both do a bit of learning together?" He suddenly realized that he might've started to come off awfully strong, and therefore cleared his throat as he took a step back. It at least prepared for him the chance to move elsewhere, should the man have rebuffed his rather thoughtless inclinations instead.
"Byron's words" Byron's thoughts "Tailen's words" "Others words"

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[Fighter's Pits] A Not So Routine Morning (Byron)

Postby Orin Fenix on May 12th, 2015, 1:23 pm

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Orin reveresed the direction of the staff, not feeling the release that he was so desperately seeking. Instead of bashing the training dummy with the top of the staff, Orin jabbed forward with the butt. However, lacking any sort of control, the bottom slid off the dummy's chest. Orin felt his anger spike. Now even the training dummy was daring to ignore Orin's will. Orin was choosing to get angry because otherwise he would cry. He's been feeling trapped and lost recently and he couldn't quite put his finger on the cause of it. It was frustrating in the extreme, to know that something, somewhere was wrong in the world, in his life, but being unable to pinpoint the exact cause. It was enough to drive anyone crazy with anxiety and worry, and Orin was no exception. And the usual cures Orin had found, working on his physical skills, had failed him as well. Orin slumped, dejectedly. He didn't know what the point was of continuing as he'd been going. It didn't seem worth it anymore.

Then, Orin paused. He realized that he was letting anger and nerves get the best of him. And though he knew little of fighting, he knew that too much feeling just got in the way. Though Orin despised Aren personally, the Akalak warrior had drilled that much into Orin's thick skull. It was a good lesson. Emotions clouded the mind and in a real fight they would just end up getting Orin killed. Setting the end of his staff against the ground Orin pondered how he would best go about actually making his stresses seem smaller. Finally Orin closed his eyes. He had no idea if what he was about to do would actually work, but it was better than nothing. Orin began breathing as deeply as he dared. He imagined that his rage flowed out with every breath. While the air wasn't exactly fresh, containing the rather ripe Syliras smell, at least it was free of the taint of the emotions Orin had been experiencing.

Orin would've stayed in that state longer but a voice from behind startled him into awareness. He stumbled forward a few steps before instinctively catching himself on the staff he was holding. Since it was firmly planted it took Orin's weight without complaint. Once Orin had his feet under him, he pivoted to turn and face the person who had snuck up behind him. The man appeared to be Orin's age. He was also slightly shorter than Orin and more compactly built. While they were both lanky, where Orin was only sinew and long limbs, this other man had some muscles on his frame. His hair was brown that was neither too short not too long. His eyes were blue, as blue as the sky above and his skin was as pale as Orin's own. And he carried himself with an unconscious pride that Orin envied.

Orin narrowed his eyes. It was a bit odd that the man had been observing him. Normally, Orin was the one watching people in the Pits. He felt a twinge of guilt now. If any of them had noticed Orin's gaze they probably wouldn't have appreciated it any more than Orin did. Orin resolved then and there not to unofficially stalk people in The Fighter's Pits. He'd either get proper instruction or just stick to what he knew. Because for all Orin knew one of these days someone was going to take offense to Orin's eyes on them and turn out to not only want revenge on Orin, but also likely to be a much better fighter than Orin himself was.

The other man retreated for which Orin was eternally grateful as it gave Orin time time collect his thoughts. Orin absentmindedly ran the fingers of his free left hand through his hair, leaving the strands of it sticking up in his hands wake. Once Orin was feeling a bit less rattled he actually focused on the man standing before him. "Hardly, I mean, that's not the word I would use to describe for what I was doing earlier with the knives." Orin snorted. He was sure he looked a damn fool out there and this man was just being kind. "A friend taught me, y'see and I promised to her I would practice. So, here I am. Doing that, practicing I mean." Orin cursed himself and his rather less than nimble tongue in a long ago resigned way. Orin didn't think he'd ever really change but at least he'd come a long way from the bumbling idiot he'd been when he first arrived in Syliras. Still, now was not exactly the best time for Orin to reflect on the changes in his life.

Orin raised an eyebrow at the man's eagerness. "I'd be lying if I said I knew what I doing with this thing," Orin commented ruefully, picking up the quarterstaff. "I certainly don't. And I don't make a habit of sparring with strangers." However, Orin hesitated. Perhaps the two of them together could figure out what to do where just one of them would fail. Orin risked a shy smile. His no sparring with strangers was mostly to prevent Orin from getting beaten soundly. And it might be nice to have some companionship. Even though Orin had Sylvette in his life, he'd felt lonely more often than not. "Tell you what. If you help me figure out how not to fail with the quarterstaff, I'll show you a few tricks with the dagger. Sound like a deal?" Orin crossed his arms across his chest. "First though why don't we get to know each other, at least a little bit. M'name's Orin Fenix. Lowly cook, at your service." Orin was half joking at the lowly cook statement. He still found it strange to find himself surrounded by all these warriors. Still no one has made an issue of it quite yet, and Orin would continue to come out here until someone did.
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[Fighter's Pits] A Not So Routine Morning (Byron)

Postby Byron Allestor on May 14th, 2015, 4:02 am

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A bit of a chuckle followed as the fellow seemed to shrug off the compliment, modesty present as he seemingly admitted he felt quite the opposite of it. "Still you did better than ever probably could, I've not a clue how to hurl a knife." Yet even so it sounded like this guy decided to practice due to a promise, something he apparently wished to uphold granted he was actually here instead. That alone proved admirable granted nowadays keeping promises proved hard, for Byron it almost seemed impossible to keep up with at least just one. Of course the point of this personal quest was so he could uphold that promise, yet here he stood just like this fellow staff holder wanting to learn combat. With the comment that he also didn't know how to use a staff to follow, Byron's eyebrows furrowed as he couldn't help the grin that developed for a short moment.

"No worries there, I didn't intend to hold a spar in the beginning." He admitted just before it seemed as though an idea came to the stranger's mind, it appeared that the knife thrower felt inclined to teach him what he could, that is if Byron were at least capable of helping to figure out a way to use the staff properly. That already sounded like an interesting idea to go through with, yet even so he still had to consider whether or not it would actually do him good. That was after all the smarter route to follow, granted last time he wound up in a spar, it was with an Akalak that practically kicked his ass in a few ticks. Though he hadn't a clue how to use a staff on his own, that didn't mean he couldn't figure it out and help another in turn, really it only stood as a matter of trial and error and they could take it from there. "Sure! I've not a clue how to fight with one of these but it could serve useful, seeing as how it won't take too long to figure out what ways are best to use it as."

There existed a sense of optimism within his reasoning, probably due to the idea of how much he could learn from this. It had always brought a sense of enlightenment to him, when he found opportunity to learn knew interesting things like this. "By the way, you can call me Byron." He extended a hand in a manner of a respective introduction, and waited a moment to allow the stranger to introduce himself. Regardless whether or not the hand was shook, Byron soon took a few steps back and held the staff flat before him in both hands. From what he gathered the weapon had to be two handed for the right kind of balance, otherwise it would've been hard to use it with just one. Yet when he adjusted his hands to one of the lower positions of the staff, he felt the weight of the other end create the awkward unbalanced situation once more, a contemplative look quickly developed when they returned to the center once more. Two handed weapon, long and blunt, balanced at the middle. Interesting... He changed how his hands gripped the center of the weapon then, one on a side and the other alternated a couple of inches just below.

Seems to me that this weapon is good for jabbing but... without any points to inflict wounds, there wouldn't be any real serious injury. The idea behind this seems very skill based, likely a combination of dexterity and speed would maximize its performance. He reasoned as he considered the logistics behind the mental image of the jab, which changed into wide sweeping blows from sides as those seemed more plausible. It had two ends for a reason after all, therefore a way to utilize them existed somehow. "I think the best place to grip the staff is closer towards the middle, get a feel for the balance first and see how that works." He suggested as he held his out to display his own manner of hand position, at this point he really hoped he knew what the heck he were talking about.
"Byron's words" Byron's thoughts "Tailen's words" "Others words"

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[Fighter's Pits] A Not So Routine Morning (Byron)

Postby Orin Fenix on May 15th, 2015, 10:51 am

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Orin scratched his head in puzzlement. What he'd done really hadn't been all that special. And there were many people even out there in the Pits who were doing far more impressive feats. Throwing a dagger wasn't all that useful in a fight unless someone was really good at it, which Orin most assuredly wasn't. "Well. Have you ever thrown a knife before? If not I would not expect you to know how to do it." Orin shrugged. He really didn't see his skills with daggers to be that noteworthy. Partially it was because Orin knew he wasn't any good, especially compared to real warriors. Partially though it stemmed from Orin's knowledge that daggers when compared to a sword or any other type of weapon didn't measure up. About the only advantages they had were that they were light and could be easily concealed. Of course when you were someone like Orin, lacking the requisite muscles needed to actually use one of the heavier weapons, daggers were about the only option available. "It's really not too difficult to learn. I got the basics down in about an afternoon." Orin didn't know if this man had any experience with daggers at all. So it might give the other man a bit more difficulty than it had given Orin. Still, anyone with a modicum of control over their bodies should be able to master throwing a dagger quickly enough. Or at least, they’d be able to use the most basic toss. Orin himself didn’t know any more advanced techniques, or even if more advanced techniques existed.

Orin was getting a bit sidetracked from his conversation with the other man, though. Coming down out of his thoughts, Orin actually began focusing on what the other man was saying. Orin nodded in relief. He didn’t particularly feel up to sparring today and if his performance continued to be as lackluster as it had been earlier, Orin didn’t think the spar would end well for him. ”That’s fine with me. I don’t spar that often, anyways. Besides if we try to spar with a weapon we’re not familiar with I don’t even want to think of the results.” Either they’d both fail to do any damage at all--not that Orin would be aiming to hurt his new acquaintance, but that seemed to be the general way mock fights seemed to go--or one or the other of them would get seriously hurt. Playing it safe was absolutely fine by Orin. Orin watched the man’s face carefully for any sign of duplicity and couldn’t see anything that raised a warning flag. The man seemed to be just what he was, although Orin was still wary around strangers. He’d been hurt too many times before to let his guard down completely around someone he just met. In fact, Orin rarely lowered his barriers with anyone who was familiar with him, either. Except for Sylvette, simply by dint of who and what she was and her bond with Orin, Orin tried not to let others see the innermost portions of Orin’s heart. Still, with nothing to base distrust on, it quickly faded. Unless he did something outlandish, Orin figured the other man would be safe enough to be around. ”Well, thanks. I’m glad I won’t be trying to figure this out on my own. I’m not a warrior, y’see, so thinking in terms of how best to use a weapon really isn’t my strong suit. If you need to know how to spice a dish though, I’m your man.”

Byron introduced himself, finally, and stuck out his hand for a shake. Orin complied, and gave the man a firm handshake, albeit a quick one. Tilting his head inquisitively, Orin took a few steps back when he saw that Byron was doing the same. Presumably it was to give them both room to work. ”So Master Byron, what is it you do, exactly?” Orin had been assuming it was something that required fighting for a living. As far as Orin could tell, he was one of the few regular citizens, or, rather one of the few non-combatants who made it out to the Fighter’s Pits with any consistency. Not that Orin actually knew anyone in here really, since he kept to himself most of the time. But since the few people Orin had clashed with in here had inevitably been mercenaries or squires, who came down to experience a different type of fighting style, he was getting the impression that commoners didn’t come out here a lot. Of course, that made sense, since none of them were as insane as Orin was. After all, they usually worked the same hours as Orin did, if not longer. And, on top of that, unlike Orin, they probably had some sort of personal life. So, they didn’t have the time or the energy to get up at the crack of dawn every single day and work on their combat skills. Whereas Orin saw it as a matter of survival, they probably saw it as a chore to be completed. With that in mind it wasn’t surprising that Orin was unusual in this regard as he was in so many other.

However at this point Byron seemed lost within himself. Orin smiled briefly. He knew that look well enough and was sure it graced his face more often than not. It was the absentminded look someone got when they were so totally engrossed in their work that the rest of the world could have fading or the building could be burning down around them and they’d barely notice. Orin’s estimation of the man’s skills went up a few notches. As Byron shifted his hands around Orin guiltily remembered that he should be doing his part to contribute to their combined knowledge of the weapon. Staring at it, Orin tried to will his mind to think like a warrior. Well, it’s wood. Which means you’d want to keep it away from sharp edges at all possible. Which in turn means you’d either be dodging blows or turning them aside by hitting the flat of the blade. Orin frowned at the weapon. That was a severe limitation, but the weapon’s reach would probably help make up for that lack. After all, Orin would never try to block a sword with a dagger, so he was already in the mindset of avoiding blows whenever possible. And since the quarterstaff didn’t have any edges of it’s own Orin knew that it had to rely on blunt damage. Since the ends were so small and the pole was thin in general, Orin decided it would be no bad idea to aim for the joints with it, as Orin tried to do with his daggers. Finally Byron spoke. Orin slid his hands closer together until they were almost touching, then lifted the weapon off the ground. It felt incredibly awkward so Orin checked Byron’s hands and saw they were farther apart than Orin’s were. Orin relocated his fingers until the were about a foot apart, which felt much more natural, if still somewhat strange.

Orin figured it was his turn to make a contribution. ”Well, unless you want your weapon chopped in half, you’re going to want to knock aside or avoid blades with it. Oh, and I think it’d be best to aim for joints. Like this.” Orin brought his weapon up and guided it slowly in an overhand blow. It was actually quite difficult, considering the weight of the staff, to move it at this slow a pace. Still, Orin didn’t want to chance any misunderstandings between him and Byron. Orin shifted it around Byron’s own staff, and lowered it gently towards Byron’s wrist. Of course, the other man would probably dart away. Orin knew he would if some random person brought a weapon anywhere near his body. However, Orin had discovered something already, so if this attempt failed it wouldn’t end so badly. The muscles needed to use a weapon could be given quite a good workout by simply moving through the strike patterns slowly. Orin filed that away in his mind for future use. Right now, he had to concentrate on not actually hitting Byron with anything other than the slightest amounts of force.
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[Fighter's Pits] A Not So Routine Morning (Byron)

Postby Byron Allestor on May 27th, 2015, 8:48 pm

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Byron could only shake his head no to the cook's question before he could answer, a glint developed in his eyes as he was told about it only taking practically an afternoon's worth of time. "If the basics aren't that hard to grasp, then it shouldn't be too hard to learn then." He enthused as he felt all the more encouraged to help his new learning companion out. There proved to be more or less relief in knowing that the fellow staff holder didn't really warm up to the idea of sparring, Byron himself wasn't really for or against it all the same, it just made him a little more excited to meet another individual like him. From what he could tell this cook didn't just wish to learn how to fight, he wanted to be able to understand how the weapon worked, or how effective it could be while engaged in combat.

A soft form of a chuckle sounded out when Byron had been thanked, from what he could tell the cook didn't really enjoy fighting all that well. "It's no problem really, I'll keep that in mind for when I want a good meal." In truth his mouth slightly watered when his ears registered the word spice, even though it wasn't probably intended for it, the boy really wanted something spicy to eat here lately. He'd almost started to day dream just a little bit, until the cook's next question briefly snapped him back into reality. "Huh? What do I do? Pretty much hunt really, though I'd like to think myself a gatherer of knowledge." He responded with a soft grin before he finally focused on the weapon in his possession, he pretty much then focused on the examination that took place afterwards.

After some consideration and a brief explanation of what he surmised, the cook decided to put in his own bit of thought into it. From what had been gathered the weapon, being blunt and wooden, served best for quick punts in particularly weak areas. Joints being a key point in that regard, as the staff holder tried to provide a pseudo demonstration of a sort, where he lightly struck Byron at the wrist with the intent to reduce as much force as possible. Of course there had to be consideration with the weight of the weapon, so when the end of the blunt object tapped onto the surface of his skin, only a small dose of pain had been inflicted upon impact. It had been nothing he couldn't shrug off with a split tick grimace, a mental note on the idea taken as he found agreement almost instantly. "That does seem like the good thing to do, granted joints are easier to injure. I'll bet if one were a skilled acrobat, they could do all sorts of things with one of these." He wagered as he looked at his staff once more, first to one and then to another.

"From the looks of it both ends are meant to be used in a fight, which means you'll have to work on coordination with both arms to make it work." He pointed out as he thought more about it, granted it wouldn't really work out well if one didn't exercise that kind of balance. He could see how it played out now, the way the staff would more than likely work against the user. With the right movement and maybe even fluidity however, the staff could be a fast executive punishment on an opponent. When he looked down at his feet next, his brow furrowed a little as he contemplated the footwork that would be involved. "Hold a moment." He murmured as he backed up a little further with his eyes still on the ground, he stood in the same stance as before with both hands gripped alternately on the pole, yet his attention seemed more diverted to the positioning of his feet instead.

"Combat is all about strategy and footwork if I'm not mistaken, so it's important to learn what the best stance is, normally its whatever feels comfortable to the body." He added as he slid his right foot forward with the toes pointed outward, his left foot changed accordingly as the toes pointed away from his body. There existed a bit of a bend in his right knee but more or less the position felt comfortable to hold, the staff more or less still felt a little awkward to hold even with the comfort he found in the stance. "Something like this maybe?" He muttered to himself as he looked a little puzzled, a couple of fingers were used to scratch the side of his head out of thought.
"Byron's words" Byron's thoughts "Tailen's words" "Others words"

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[Fighter's Pits] A Not So Routine Morning (Byron)

Postby Orin Fenix on June 3rd, 2015, 6:10 pm

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Orin scratched his head, slightly puzzled. He wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to react to Byron’s statement. It was not only just a repeat of what Orin himself had already explained, but the statement actually seemed to repeat itself. If the basics were not too difficult then of course it shouldn’t be hard to grasp. Those two just had fundamentally the same meaning, so Orin wasn’t exactly sure why Byron had seemed compelled to point it out. Unless of course the man was speaking to his own physical capabilities, in the sense that if throwing a dagger was an easy task, then for Byron it should be especially simple. However, Orin didn’t know enough about the man to make a judgement of that sort and he definitely didn’t want to dissect the comment since Orin still didn’t have a good sense of the type of person Byron was. He was a confident enough man, seeing as he had approached Orin asking for help, but he didn’t seem like one of those toughs who were constantly trying to prove themselves and their worth through their combat prowess and their ability to dominate opponents in The Fighter’s Pits. In Orin’s mind, those were the worst kind of bullies. They were the people who were bullies of the highest magnitude, all brawn and no brains, and Orin wished that there was some way of reaching through to them and convincing them that they didn’t have the measure their self-worth by beating up those weaker than them. On the flip side of that equation, though, Orin was starting to take a perverse pleasure in taking those men down when they inevitably tried to challenge Orin. Of course Orin didn’t always win such bouts but he was starting to win a few and even in the one’s he lost Orin was putting up a good fight. They usually expected Orin to cower and not be much of a challenge and when he surprised them he was at least able to get in a few lucky blows before they started reacting. Orin still didn’t like combat of any kind, it was true, but he hated bullies even more, and would go through whatever trial he had to in order to prevent it.

Still, Byron didn’t seem to be that type of person at all. Quite the opposite in fact, seeing as the man actually laughed at what Orin knew wasn’t a funny comment. When Orin got nervous, which was usually the case when faced with any type of prolonged interaction he tended to start spouting off the most ridiculous comments. At least Byron was kind enough to take them as they were, as jokes, and not as the rambling comments of a bumbling fool. Orin was cautiously optimistic that Byron was just what he seemed to be, a nice, normal guy. Orin didn’t meet many of those. Either they were belligerent and only looking out for themselves or they had some problem or another. Or, if they were normal, they weren’t guys at all but actually girls. In fact, Orin could count on the fingers of one hand the men Orin wouldn’t spending more time with on the fingers of one hand. However, Orin was once again letting himself get distracted from the conversation. ”You do that. Always happy to cook for a new friend.” Orin smiled at Byron, his mind drifting again trying to figure out what The Rearing Stallion might be cooking today. Even though Orin wasn’t in charge of these types of decisions he still liked to imagine what he would do if he was. Since he wanted to open his own place someday, it seemed to be a good mental exercise. Byron’s next statement brought Orin’s attention fully to the other man. Orin knew next to nothing of hunting but it was an area he was trying to expand his knowledge in. ”You should bring some of your catches to The Rearing Stallion sometimes. We always love to have a new supplier. I mean, I don’t know where you’ve been bringing them so far just thought I would mention it.” Orin paused briefly before he started bombarding Byron with questions. When he did start his inquiries Orin was also sure to keep his pace down a bit. Orin had learned his lesson that people actually needed time to answer and as long as Orin was focusing on the issue he was typically able to prevent himself from going too far. ”I hope you don’t mind if I pick your brain a bit. I don’t want to necessarily be a hunter myself but as a cook I like to know when I’m getting the best goods. How do you hunt? Traps or with a bow?” Orin didn’t know how to use a bow or make traps but he was reasonably certain those were the two most common hunting techniques. The last part of Byron’s answer, though, was strange and very intriguing. Orin had a curious side himself and he wondered how exactly Byron collected information in Syliras. The Knights kept the Archives locked up tight. ”And where do you do your research. If it is, I mean, well, whatever you call it.” Depending on what type of knowledge Byron was pursuing Orin actually might be able to suggest a few spots. In fact, The Rearing Stallion often served as a hub of gossip and rumors flew. Often, sorting out the truth from the lies and exaggerations took more time and effort than Orin had.

Orin immediately retrieved his staff from where it had landed on Byron’s arm. Orin didn’t think he’d actually hit the other man with any real amount of force but Orin’s arms were getting tired and he wanted to plant the staff on the ground. Beyond that, it was incredibly awkward for them to have a conversation that way. As Byron explained his next theory Orin nodded in agreement. It would make sense that someone with the quick reflexes, superior coordination, and greater flexibility would be able to wield a weapon that relied on precision and speed rather than strength. ”Unfortunately, not being a skilled acrobat myself means that I’ll just have to stumble through in my own way.” Orin chuckled at the thought of himself trying to actually do the flips and rolls and other movements that were a professional acrobats stock in trade. He was much more likely to fall flat on his face than actually perform those tricks. When Byron mentioned both ends of the staff were meant to be used Orin lifted it off the ground. It was true that both ends were basically the same. Repositioning his hands where Byron had suggested earlier, Orin experimentally swept the bottom of his staff against an imaginary opponent's shins. It felt awkward but Orin figured it would be a useful technique to master, especially against opponents who were used to more conventional attacks. Orin waited patiently for Byron's next observations. He was trying to come up with another contribution himself but Orin's brain was refusing to come up with anything.

So Orin simply ran his eyes up and down the quarterstaff as if staring at the weapon would force it to yield its secrets. Orin settled on the end that www currently up in the air and frowned. He had an idea but it seemed so simplistic that Orin wasn't sure he should even mention it. At that point Byron started talking about stances. Orin shifted his feet to match Byron. It did feel a lot more natural that way, especially since it was similar to the way Orin stood when he was properly punching someone. Orin swung the staff just to see if there was any difference and it did seem easier even if Orin's body continued to insist that these motions were unnatural. Coming back to a more neutral stance Orin decided that he should contribute something even if it didn't seem like much of a revelation. "You know I'll bet you can also jab with the ends as well as bash people with the staff. I'd imagine hitting people in certain spots that way would cause quite a bit of damage although I couldn't tell you how to go about doing that." Shifting his grip Orin lunged forward awkwardly, actually stumbling a few steps. The end went far wide of the location Orin had actually been aiming for but since it was all empty air hopefully Byron wouldn't see that. Regardless, as Orin recovered his balance he hoped the demonstration would be good enough for Byron to get the idea.
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[Fighter's Pits] A Not So Routine Morning (Byron)

Postby Byron Allestor on June 17th, 2015, 2:41 am

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With Orin to push the idea of bringing any of his catches to The Rearing Stallion Byron gave a nod, he definitely needed to have a variety of places to provide for, seeing as how it would serve better to have multiple suppliers when it came down to coin. As it stood he only sold what he caught to a few merchants in the Bazaar, and while they seemed to offer a fair deal he expected they would tire of him for too long, or have less need of whatever he brought when it wasn't in demand. "Its no trouble at all, a curious mind is a healthy mind or so I learned." He quoted with a transparent expression, his attention seemed to evenly divide between Orin and the weapon he had in his possession, something he found himself often good at doing when multitasking became a must.

"Archery is my preference. I've next to no knowledge on using traps right now, though its an option I wouldn't mind exploring once my aim's improved. I like to keep it simple though and go for the smaller mammals, squirrels and rabbits are challenge for me as it is and birds... well I just hate the flying bastards." He muttered in a momentary diversion of memory, an unpleasant recollection of a personal traumatized moment nearly made him shudder. "I usually look for libraries or city archives that are open to the public, but unfortunately Syliras likes to keep such things to itself. I'd wager it's because they're pansies that just don't want the public to get smarter than them, because Gnora knows they lack anything but a poor sense of humor." He mused in a lower tone of voice that suggested the manner as jokingly, of course he wasn't sure whether or not Orin would find offense to the statement.

Byron's hands as well as form reverted to the normal posture with a hand on one staff, the centerpiece of the wood rested between his thumb and index finger, while the upper end of it rested against the back of his shoulder as he felt more acquainted with the weapon. This is a weapon naturally fit for the quick and nimble, as well as the hardy resilient who had the skill. He really started to like its feel at this point, almost to the brink of favoring the weapon. "Well..." He finally added in with Orin's statement of the jab. "The key would be dexterity or so I would imagine. I'm no expert on this of course, but if it feels comfortable enough in your hands, then you can learn to use the weapon in all sorts of flawless manner." He took in a deep breath and released just momentarily after the inhale, his hand positioned to angle the staff in a horizontal manner. With the other fingers he had outstretched he adjusted his thumb to turn the staff in his grasp, which brought into play his pinky finger as the pole rested in his grip. This transitioned through a cycle with the other fingers, as he slowly began to twirl the weapon with a lot of both physical and mental effort.

"Dexterity is something that exists in many forms, it can come from the limber stances a body can hold, down to the smallest position a finger can do when angling a dagger." He remembered there had been a book on a rogue like character, some sort of thief that gave such long speeches about things. In the story he'd more or less played as a hotshot thief who could get away with anything, yet Byron found that all the tales in that book were highly embellished. A lot of books were like that half the time, which made it difficult to decide what had been real, and what had been the author's figment of imagination. "Though I doubt that's really all that is, there's definitely gotta be more to it then that." A finger finally cramped and pained his hand for a brief moment, which made the thinker drop the wooden pole without intention as he grimaced. "More you'd surely have to learn through practice. The best way to learn stuff is through trail and error, whether it be your self or with others around!" He enthused as he bent over to pick up the weapon, curious to know what Orin might had to think on that.

"So tell me about throwing daggers and knives, and a little bit more about your self of course. You're a cook I know that much, but I really didn't get a name nor what you like to do." He prodded as he rested the staff on the front side of his shoulder, eyes curiously honed on the cook as he waited to hear what would be shared.
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[Fighter's Pits] A Not So Routine Morning (Byron)

Postby Orin Fenix on June 30th, 2015, 6:14 pm

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Orin frowned thoughtfully at Byron’s words. They seemed practiced, somehow, heightened by the end where the man mentioned he’d learned them. It was a good saying, regardless of where it came from. ”Words to live by, I guess, if you’re a curious sort like me.” However, that same curiosity wouldn’t let him stop thinking about Byron’s rather absentminded response. ”Where exactly did you learn that though?” Biting his lip, Orin suddenly realized that he knew next to nothing about the man before him. Certainly he was friendly enough and Orin doubted there were ulterior motives here, but it was better to be safe than sorry. ”So what brings you down to the Fighter’s Pits exactly?” Orin had found that he was the exception to the rule here. Very few civilians ever made their way down to the Pits. Mostly it was mercenaries and guards and very occasionally knights and squires, slumming it down here for reasons Orin couldn’t begin to comprehend. Most people seemed to assume that the Order would protect them. Unfortunately after too many run-ins with dangerous situations in the areas surrounding Syliras, Orin didn’t have the luxury of letting others protect him. Besides, he was tired of letting people walk all over him because they felt they had the right simply due to their superior abilities at arms. Despite his non-confrontational nature, Orin wasn’t a pushover and he certainly wasn’t an idiot, even if he did prefer to keep the peace. But he also couldn’t stand bullies of any sort and went out of his way to stop them. And to do that effectively he needed to hone his martial abilities as best he could.

When Byron explained that he was first and foremost an archer and knew little of traps, Orin was a bit confused. Most of the hunters he’d encountered were trappers, since it was more effective, apparently, and hunting with a bow and arrow was much more dangerous. At least, that’s what Orin assumed, although he was prepared to revise his opinions depending on what Byron said. However, the other man’s heated admission that he hated birds startled a laugh out of the cook. ”Is there a story behind that? Sounds like there might be.” It seemed like an unusual statement for anyone to make. Birds had never particularly bothered Orin although he hadn’t actually had all that much contact with them over the years. Strangely, he didn’t seem to cook them that often either. Mithryn had many herds, so it was much more likely to find a cow, sheep or goat in the kitchen of the Rearing Stallion. Chickens were mostly kept for their eggs, not for meat.

Byron’s next words had Orin glancing around furiously to make sure there were no patrols close by. If a knight or squire was in plain clothing he wouldn’t be able to tell them apart, but at least patrols didn’t usually venture into the Pits. Orin’s voice came out somewhere between a hiss and a whisper. ”I don’t know you very well, but here’s a word of advice. Speaking ill of the Order is a surefire way to get yourself in trouble. Even if you’re with someone who might share your sentiments you never know who else is listening.” Orin had also been turned away from the archives, and it still stung a little. He couldn’t imagine what was so important in them that at least portions couldn’t be open to the public. All he’d wanted was to find out if there were any cookbooks in there waiting to be discovered, and even after he’d conveyed his wishes to the scribes, they’d refused to even look for him, let alone bring them out. Realizing he was probably being incredibly rude, Orin raised his voice just slightly, trying to keep it civil but quiet. ”Look the Order is problematic but you’ve got to be careful who you say it to.” He stepped back to let Byron think about what Orin was saying. Resisting the limits placed upon the populace by the Knighthood was futile. Not that Orin really wanted to, but some more freedom would be welcome.

As Bryon was processing Orin’s advice, Orin realized he had a few questions of his own that would be good to have the answers to. From the man’s actions of just a few moments earlier Orin was getting the impression that Byron was not a native of Syliras. Most Sylirans wouldn’t dream of questioning the Order, and those few who did knew better than to utter such comments in public, especially to a stranger. Hopefully Orin had conveyed that he was safe to speak to, although never in such an open place as the Fighter’s Pits. At least the hunter had kept his voice pitched low. ”So, Byron, where are you from then?” And then, because he couldn’t contain it any longer, he finally inquired as to the name Byron had uttered. ”And who is Gnora?” Byron had said it almost in the same way Orin would speak of Priskil, but there was no god or goddess Orin knew of by that name. That wasn’t to say there wasn’t one. Orin was quickly coming to realize that there was more in this world than even his rather active imagination had dreamed of. Some of the stories he had from his acquaintances painted vivid pictures far more varied and fascinating than anything Orin could come up with on his own. So the idea of a new and unknown deity was far from unthinkable.

Finally, they fell back into practicing with the staves. Now that Orin knew that Byron was an archer, he felt more inclined to trust the man’s advice on how to use the weapon that was new to them both. After all, he was almost certain the bow and arrow required a keen eye and a quick hand rather than strong muscles. As Orin watched, amazed, after some adjustments that he did his best to follow closely, Byron began spinning the length of wood in circles, slowly at first, before picking up in speed. It was a dizzying display. Even when it fell out of Byron’s hands at the end, Orin still was incredibly impressed. Even if it had no practical application it certainly looked good. ”I’ll have to agree with you then, about dexterity that is, especially after that little trick you just pulled. I thought you said you’d never used this before!” Orin’s voice came out accusatory, but in a joking way. Without waiting for a reply, Orin tried to twirl it the same way that Byron had just demonstrated. He made it through one rotation before it tumbled away from him in a clatter of wood. Heads turned to look in their direction as Orin retrieved it, red-faced. ”Maybe I’ll leave that particular move to you.” However, when they returned to the subject of throwing daggers and knives in general, Orin remembered his promise. And while he was far from an expert, he was on much firmer ground here than he was with the quarterstaff.

Orin was a little surprised at the request for more information about himself, personally. Most people took his answer that he was a cook and where he worked as more than enough information. After all, being a chef was far from a glamorous profession, or one inclined to good stories. So Orin tried to come up with something to tell Byron. It was only fair after Orin had inquired after the other man’s own history. ”Well, there’s really not all that much to tell. I grew up in Mithryn, moved to Syliras last Winter and have been working as the assistant chef at The Rearing Stallion ever since. And that’s about it.” Sadly, that much was true. Although Orin was leaving out a few details, he didn’t know Byron well enough to reveal intimate details such as his family history or the fact that he had a bondmate. Nor would he ever feel comfortable talking about his past, dark as it was.

Walking over to the weapons racks, Orin replaced his borrowed stave, and resumed the position he’d taken up earlier in front of the target. Well aware that he now had an audience and that he had to become a teacher as well, Orin tried to remember as many details from when Sayana had instructed Orin on the proper way to throw a dagger. ”Well, here goes nothing,” he muttered under his breath, before speaking at a more normal volume. He figured he’d start with the basics. Handing over the chipped blade Sayana had lent Orin all those days ago, he began explaining what he knew. ”So, the hold you want to use is a bit different from how you’d normally hold a dagger. Watch closely”. Orin wrapped his fingers around the handle, as was normal. His thumb though, didn’t wrap around in the other direction, but instead went straight along the handle, in a line with the blade itself. This was to allow the proper release at the end of the throw. He held his hand closer so Byron could inspect it.
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[Fighter's Pits] A Not So Routine Morning (Byron)

Postby Dove Brown on November 5th, 2017, 2:48 pm

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