PM to join The Sharp End of The Curve (Valerius)

[Konrad Venger]

76th Day of Spring, 516AV || The Terraces

He didn't like to dream. Oblivion was always preferable. It was safer. Easier. Faster. He rolled into bed, sometimes not even bothering to free himself of his weapons (though they were always close to hand), and tipped his hat over his eyes. Sleep found him soon enough, whether it be through drink, drugs or simple fatigue. He didn't have trouble sleeping, despite what many thought.

Konrad didn't fear guilt he didn't feel. But he could not abide any realm he could not control, even minutely.

He was in his home. It wasn't a house, could barely considered a dwelling. Like many in the Tent City, it was cobbled together for boards, scraps, bricks, stones, anything that could be piled and nailed together and wouldn't collapse from heavy rain or thick snow. There were only a pair of rooms serving all functions, and a door that didn't close properly.

It wasn't a house, but it was his home. He had no other word for it.

"Fuck're y'lookin' at, boy?"

He was drunk. It was a default state for the brooding, tattooed thing that squatted heavy on the young boy's soul. There were only a handful of times he remembered the man being sober, rational, clear-headed. They were an improvement, but that wasn't saying much, compared to what he was like when-

"Sed what're y'fuckin' lookin' at?!"

"N-Nothing, father! I... I just-"

"Speak, boy!" He was up in a lurch that should have been ungainly, clumsy, totterign but was not. His father was of a blood that was hardened by a deadly jungle. Even years from the continent of his birth had not stripped that from him. In a blink he was away from the fire and hurling the bottle that the boy barely managed to avoid. "m'talkin' t'ya!"

A woman squawked in the shadows. He couldn't turn to see her face. He was pinned, fixed rigid and wishing that bottle had hit him now, instead of showering broken glass and foul liquor over him instead. It might have knocked him out. Sent him to darkness and ended the beast's interest.

In that place, in his home, that is what his father became. Mottled skin and facial tattoos that writhed and shifted across a cruel, sweating face. He stomped over and lifted him up with one hand by the scruff of his shirt.

Again, a woman's voice. Low but desperate, pleading, begging pathetic and brave at one, touching her husband's shoulder-

"Fuck'af me, slut!"

The beast shrugged and pushed all at once and the woman went clattering into a table. The beast turned his eyes back to the boy and they were burning, dropping, melting but never falling away. Every word he spoke reeked, choked, blew foulness over his face and he wasn't a man, he wasn't a towering nightmare in a black hat with steel weighing him down and knowledge of how to use them.

He was a boy, and he'd made his father angry. With a practiced tug his belt was off and raised high, leather glistening in the flames from the fire.

"Dun' stare at me, boy! Y'hear?! D'ya hear?!"

"Y-Yes, father-"

"Don' call me dat-"

The belt came down and-

The knocked tore through realms and world the sleeping man was buried him. The sound grew strong handed and yanked him out from that drowning place, brought him to reality sputtering and grasping at any steel he could put his hands to. Konrad was half-swinging as he rose from his bed, ready to lay open that bastard with everything he-

Nothing there. No man. No woman. No belt. No home. Just a sparse room with some clothes slung in odd corners. Morning light trickling through the curtains. The dull roar of a city rising and grinding into action from the south... and that petching knocking.

Konrad winced and shook his head. Which was not a good idea. His head felt a couple of sizes too large and holding it didn't help. Quite the opposite, in fact. He swung his feet out of the bed as gingerly as he could and sat there with slumped shoulders and helpless misery, listening to that deafening battering on his door while he waited for-

"Wait, fer petch's sake!" He bellowed, voice hoarse from sleep and frustration. "m'comin' when m'comin'!"

That seemed to shut them up for a chime. Enough for Konrad to pull himself to his feet and remember where he was. Kenash. The Terraces. Working for the Radackes. Yes. He remembered it all and as was his usual routine, his hands roved over his body and touched each weapon he possessed. Once he'd taken inventory of all four, he rubbernecked around until he found-

His hat. On the floor, where his startled awakening had thrown it. He reached down, snatched it up and donned it on one, not-quite-smooth gesture.

Always smells like salt here. Must be the sea.

There was another old ritual for answering the door. He approached it from the side, casting no shadow across the front of it. When he looked through the little peephole drilled into the middle, he did so be standing at the side of the door, leaning over and briefly pressing his eye to it.

Not for long. And not with the bulk of him in front of it. Konrad knew that a strong man with a good blade could jam it through that wood and into whomever was behind it. A mark dead and a contract fulfilled, without even having to open the door.

He knew it from experience: he'd been the one knocking, a time or two.

But thoughts of assassination were dispelled when he saw whom it was that had disturbed him. He frowned for a moment as he took in the aristocratic features and the haungty, stoic expression. The finely-brushed clothes and the sharp features of born nobility.

Konrad opened the door with his left, and gripped his kukri with his right. Just in case.

"What the petch d'you want?"

[Valerius Nitrozian]

Being well versed in all kinds of social situations and able to break a man that was tied to a chair, Valerius Nitrozian had realized, was not enough if you wanted to succeed in Kenash. It had been enough in Ravok where his grandfather’s name had carried a lot of weight and people had been afraid to touch him out of fear that they would anger Sitanos Nitrozian himself by doing so, but in Kenash he was on his own. He needed something to back his words up with so that people would think twice about crossing him, even though he was a mere Freeborn for now and still a largely unknown factor.

This was where a certain man with a hat and questionable hygiene standards would come in. Konrad Venger’s appearance as well as his social finesse left something to be desired, but he seemed to be quite capable of handling himself in situations where mere words ceased to be effective. Once upon a time he would have thought twice about seeking the company of such a person or even engaging in physically demanding activities, but he had come to the conclusion that a little flexibility could be quite beneficial sometimes. And thus it was time to pay an old acquaintance of his a visit.

Konrad’s current residence was easy to find. He’d seen the man around the Terraces for a few days now. It had been easy to find out where he went when he was done with whatever things he did for the Radacke dynasty. He approached the door of the house that in his opinion did not look particularly impressive.

From their handful of meetings he had the impression that Konrad Venger was not the most trusting man, and thus he left the blade he had taken with him where it was – in its sheath at his belt – and positioned himself a few steps away from the door after he had knocked. That served two purposes. Konrad wouldn’t be able to stick a piece of his without a doubt impressive collection of weapons through the door and just stab him, and he would also be able to see him more clearly and realize that he looked familiar and was unlikely to have come to kill him, although one could of course never be completely sure in this city.

“A good day to you as well, Mister Venger”, he said in that polite polite tone that he so often employed as Konrad finally opened and greeted him in a somewhat questionable manner. He did not comment on his rudeness. He had long given up to try and instill some good manners into the man. He was a hopeless case in that regard, but his other talents made up for that, to some extent at least.

He briefly found himself wondering about the man’s living arrangements, but ultimately decided that he’d rather not look past the door, into the house. Without a doubt it was just like its owner, of questionable appearance and an insult to his olfactory sense. He was curious as to where Konrad kept his perverted, tattooed companion though. It was unlikely that they shared a bed. Konrad Venger did not seem like the kind that preferred the company of other men. Three Eyes probably lived in the basement, if a house that was so close to the ocean had one, he thought, somewhat condescendingly, and petched the whores that nobody else in Kenash wanted.

“I have a proposition for you”, he continued, noticing the kukri in the man’s hand, but saying nothing. He would have been more worried if he were unarmed. “And a few golden mizas, if you are interested in them.” The tone of his voice was hardly arrogant at all, almost as if he were speaking to an equal, although he did of course not really consider Konrad such. When you wanted something from somebody, it was a bad idea to put on an air of superiority though and treat the person opposite of you like an unsavory sanitary risk. “When we last met, I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed to be quite skilled with a weapon. I’d like to know if you are willing to share some of your knowledge with me.”

[Konrad Venger]

“A good day to you as well, Mister Venger.”

Konrad all--but-snarled at the tone of the Peacock rousing him from his slumber, though he supposed he should be thanking him, given its content. But Valerius had a knack for making even the most polite and innocent of greetings sound like "go petch yourself with a flaming torch". Some toff thing he'd learned in Ravok most likely.

"Nod'inna' mood fer yer shite, mate," Konrad grumbled, wondering if he should reach over and pound on the wall a few times to wake up Three Eyes next door, then deciding against it. "Speak what ya want an' quick wid'it."

“I have a proposition for you. And a few golden mizas, if you are interested in them.”

Ah, that was enough to perk Konrad's interest. Barely five chimes awake and some swell offering him coin? What better way was there to start the day? But he still folded his arms and kept the brunt of his stoic glare, merely raising an eyebrow in inquiry.

No bastard ever gave out coin for nowt. Something brewing here...

“When we last met, I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed to be quite skilled with a weapon. I’d like to know if you are willing to share some of your knowledge with me.”

The second eyebrow followed suit in slight surprise. Lessons? Valerius wanted a teacher? Konrad flicked a glance up and down the man and wondered why the petch he would be bothering with him? There were schools and tutors, he was sure of it. If Sunberth had the Proving Grounds, surely Kenash had some... genetleman's hidey-hole where the Dynasts and their ilk went to train?

Maybe he knows quality when he sees it, Konrad thought, smile twisting one side of his face as his ego purred, mind not fully awake enough to consider that maybe Valerius simply didn't know that many potential trainers. Minded his tone, too. Boy's learning.

"Y'wanna know how t'swing steel, aye?" Konrad stretched his sore muscles, rolling his shoulders and crunching his head from side to side. He was bootless and jacketless, clad only in breeches and a dirty white shirt. Even in those, he was already sweltering in the Kenash humidity, rubbing his unshaven chin and feeling a dry scratch become a sweaty rub. "Well... could be arranged, I think. How much gold we talkin'?"

[Valerius Nitrozian]

It was indeed the quality of Konrad’s training that had compelled Valerius to go and see him, or rather it was a certain quality that the man with the hat embodied. In Zeltiva, many years ago, Valerius had trained with his professor of Nader-canoch, Argent Berrywillow, but the man’s instructions, it had turned out, had been woefully inadequate. Professor Berrywillow had not had any field experience, and he had believed that fighters were bound by an honor codex. The honor codex, Valerius had come to realize, had become obsolete a long time ago.

For that reason he would not ask a dynast, and he didn’t know of any schools where he could learn. He also thought it better if his students believed him a harmless academic that they could let into their homes without a bad conscience. Konrad Venger would not gossip unnecessarily, he would not treat combat like just another academic subject, and unlike Professor Berrywillow he had killed before. He was a dangerous man, but after their little interrogation session with Jeron Valerius was confident that he could handle him. He was his best choice, or rather the best choice in a row of bad choices with a certain Belinda Lucavis near the very top.

It seemed as if he had caught him in an unopportune moment though. He was grumpy as if he had just gotten out of bed, he had not shaved yet (he probably didn’t bother to shave regularly anyway), his shirt was dirty, and he wasn’t wearing any shoes. He probably thought that drenching his shirt in sweat would be enough to kind of clean it, after all sweat was a liquid, wasn’t it?

Valerius was sweating a little bit as well, of course, but he was wearing the kind of clothes where sweat stains weren’t as visible, black pants and a midnight blue shirt of cool, thin silk, and whenever the heat started bothering him a little too much, he pictured himself in the snowy wasteland outside of Avanthal for a moment. Sometimes the little exercise in self deception and self control even worked.

“If you put it that way, yes, I would like to know how to swing steel”, he replied. His deliberate mention of money seemed to instantly have improved the Sunberthian’s mood, as he had expected. They all wanted money, whether they were a Freeborn or one of the lords of Kenash. “I am willing to part with ten golden mizas. Will that be enough? I have brought my own weapon of course. I wouldn’t even dare to dream of asking for one of yours.”

He pointed at his blade, but he didn’t draw it – not yet. He knew better than to do so unasked in the presence of a man who was used to people wanting him dead for about a hundred different reasons. The appearance of the sheath and what was little of the blade suggested that neither of them had been put to much use yet and that they were of course of good quality.

[Konrad Venger]

Konrad's mercenary soul was already wide awake when he heard the exact amount Valerius was going to impart, but the rest of him was taking it's sweet damn time catching up. His head still throbbed, at least no longer pounding like bailiffs at the door. Happily, it appeared he was sobering up enough to chuckle inwardly at his choice of words.

Oh, I'm sure you'd dream about just ordering me to train you and not having to pay, you petching peacock. Well, we're not in Ravok anymore.

The hissing thoughts rebounded in his head and yet his eyes were drawn with professional interest to the blade at the man's side... and he frowned. That wasn't the one he'd seen before. A long, thin rapier that noble types always seemed to swan around with, delicate and deadly... or so they thought. But this one was different. Broader, shorter and exuding a rude strength the Peacock's previous blade did not. A proper sticker, as they called them back home.

"Gladius, innit?" He rumbled, one eye popping open as he ground the heel of his hand into the other, as if trying to force some illumination into his addled mind. "Aye, aye, I'll show ya a thing'r three. C'mon."

Konrad wasn't kidding, either. He snatched up his belt, with sheathed kopis attached to it, and closed to the door behind him, turning the lock as he went. Valerius might have noticed that, for once, he hadn't even bothered donning his habitual black jacket. Although the broad black hat was, of course, permanently glued to his dirty-blonde hair.

"Here'll do."

The duo stopped in what appeared to be a stables, or at least the back end of one. The Terraces had a stables, of course, for more than a few Freeborns liked to flaunt their independence by looking down even further on slaves from the top of a horse. Konrad's own was snuffling somewhere inside, but this wasn't where the beasts entered. It was a quiet patch behind it, with hay bales piled to one side and a rank of suspiciously stinking shovels and buckets on the other.

"Jus' gimme a..."

Konrad let the sentence trail off and wandered to the nearest trough, dropping his hat and sword before he got there, gripped both sides and-

-his world became a deafening roar of water in his ears, his nose, his mouth, eyes, every orifice and crevice his skull possessed. It was early enough that the merciless Kenash heat and Syna's relentless attentions hadn't warmed it too much, and Konrad cursed aloud as the icy grip percolated through him and-

Forced himself to swallow. Gripping harder. Almost drowning. Mind and lungs exploding with panic and then-

-with a gasp he threw his head back, arc of grimy water fleeing from an equally grimy head of soaking hair as he did. Wet through, one could see the man definitely needed a trim: straight blonde hair made even darker by the water hung past his shoulders, bobbing and plastering to cloth and skin as he coughed and retched the remainder of his hangover into the water.

"P... Petch me... a'right..."

There was definitely some solidity to his movements now; the purpose and practice of a man who took what he did seriously. Besides, he was being paid, after all. So he bunched up his hair and tied it back before returning his hat to his head, keeping his eyes unburdened. Then he stooped down and pulled his kopis from its sheath and slashed the air a few times, tossing it from hand to hand, letting the weight and balance become keener with each time he did it.

Until he spun the weapon around one hand, caught it again and ended up-

-pointing it at a waiting Valerius... with his other hand beckoning him, fingers flicking towards himself.

"Money first. Then we'll get started."

[Valerius Nitrozian]

"I came to the realization that the rapier was inadequate", he replied as Konrad commented on his choice of weapon and shrugged his shoulders, as if it was not a big issue. The rapier was the weapon of noblemen that fought for sport and went to a tavern for a glass of wine afterwards, with nothing but a wounded pride, and of women of questionable origin, and he was tired of being compared to such people. He finally wanted more even if it meant that he had to go against his previous convictions.

He was curious as to what kind of place the Sunberthian deemed appropriate for their little combat training session, he had to admit, but he did not ask him where they were going, but followed him quietly. He was quite patient. "Ah, the stables", he remarked, somewhat indifferently, once they had finally reached their destination. Unlike so many other residents of the Terraces Valerius did not have a horse nor did he want one. He founded horses unpredictable and visually unappealing. Valerius preferred to ride in a carriage, to use a ravosala or be carried in a litter.

His thoughts were interrupted as he noticed that his unlikely companion wandered to a trough and proceeded to submerge his head in the same water that the horses likely drank from. What was he doing? Did he not know that the water was old and unlikely to be very clean? No, he probably didn’t and was unlikely to care anyway. Konrad did not know anything about medicine.

Valerius frowned slightly and shook his head. He did at least have the hope that the water would improve Konrad’s appearance slightly and get rid of some of the dirt, but unfortunately, he noticed, as his head appeared from the trough again, this was not the case. If anything, the brief bath had made it even more obvious how much the Sunberthian neglected himself.

Valerius wondered how Konrad could even look in a mirror and then came the conclusion that he probably didn’t own one which solved the problem of being confronted with his ugly face quite nicely.

He did not even blink as Konrad spun around and pointed his kopis at him, but calmly reached into a pocket, removed his wallet and handed him the ten golden mizas he had promised. His hand did not tremble one bit. "Feel free to check them, if you want", he encouraged him, thinking that people had likely tried to cheat him before. "They are not counterfeit."

Once Konrad had taken the money, Valerius finally drew his own weapon and made a few steps away from him. "Shall we begin?" he asked as he slowly swung the gladius a couple of times to get a feel for it. He was not yet used to his new weapon. It was heavier than the rapier he had used before, shorter, broader and sturdier, but at least it was a proper weapon.

[Konrad Venger]

"Shall we begin?"

Konrad pocketed the money first, of course, before turning his attention and his mind to his student. These were two separate things, as far as he was concerned. You could be staring right at something and pay it no mind, but he'd been paid to train the Peacock, and he'd no intention of failing.

Means he might go somewhere else next time. No more mizas. Not good.

"Aye, we shall," he said, flicking a glance at the man's stance. "Soon as yeh know how t'hold yer weapon."

Konrad turned so that Valerius was looking at his side, holding his kopis - so different to his own straight sword - so that the other man could see it plainly. His knees were slightly bent, left leading him a little, but none of the T-shaped stiffness that a fencer's stance would require.

"Hold it like this," he said, kopis in his right hand, held roughly at shoulder height, almost perpendicular (although, with it's curve, it was hard to tell). "See? That way you can block-"

Konrad jerked the weapon to the sides, as if stopping dead invisible swords swinging for his head and shoulders. Then he twisted his arm and the blade went from straight to sideways, parallel to the ground, protecting his head from an incoming blow from above.

Horses neighed and shuffled. Feed rustled around in bags in water sloshed in troughs, and the sea beyond them... but he could hear the echo of a hundred feet on sandy stone. The grunts of scores of sweaty, determined men all thrusting and slashing and barking as one, spurred on by their grizzled instructors. The Proving Grounds. Where he'd first learned to hold a sword like a sword, not a sharp club.

Gods. Seems like a thousand years ago.

Konrad shook the sound and the memory from his head, echoes receding back into his mind. He turned to Valerius and jutted his chin at him, expectant look on his face.

"Now youse."

After a few chimes of the Ravokian practicing those same moves, Konrad would continue. Until then, however, he circled the man relentlessly. Staring, judging, growling little bits of advice here and there and hopefully hiding the fact he had no petching idea what he was doing.

Since where were you a teacher? Where do you even start? Defending? Attacking? Differences in the weapon? How to stand, how to grip, how to-

"Stop!"

Konrad barked in a manner worthy of the bloodthirsty bitches who'd trained him in the Grounds and once Valerius stopped, resumed the same starting stance he had before.

"That's defendin'. When youse attack, s'different to mine. See this?" He held up his blade, let Valerius see the curve of it, pointing downward like an inverted cavalry saber. "This is made t'cut, t'slash, t'lay open bodies an' take off limbs. That?" He pointed at Valerius' straight blade. "Made t'thrust, t'stab. Block yer enemy's blow an' then finish him with a stab through the trunk."

He gestured from his neck to his groin, indicating what he meant by "trunk", then held up a finger from his free hand.

"But..." Konrad kept speaking but his eyes were suddenly wandering, flitting and flying over the urban landscape around them until they settled. "... don't mean it can't do both. There."

He walked over to a hitching post a little taller than himself and trusted Valerius to follow him. Man was paying for a lesson after all. He assumed a stance in front of it, waited a moment and then-

-Konrad's arm snapped back and then swung forwards, curve sword flying-

THUNK!

-slashing at the thick pole and biting into it before he yanked it out-

"That's an arm, maybe the ribcage."

As he pulled it free, he stepped back and swayed, as if he was avoiding a retaliatory blow. His kopis and arm cross his chest as he went, so he could backhand but lower-

THUNK!

-hacking at the pole around shin-and-knee-level, enough to bring a man down easily.

"Legs. Youse get a chance t'take those from a man, do it. Man on his back can do little-to-shyke in a fight."

Then Konrad licked his lips and got ready for the hard one. He pulled his kopis back and tight, then thrust out, body twisting to the side as he flung his hips into the movement-

THUNK!

The curved blade stabbed into the pole in a way that Konrad would agree was somewhat awkward. It would have gone through flesh, of course. Three feet long in total and sharpened keenly every day, he knew what the weapon could do. But just like a fish wasn't made to fly, the kopis wasn't meant to thrust and stab like the gladius. The end of his bladde was an inch into the wood; the gladius would go deeper.

Maybe. We'll see.

"A'right," he said, stepped away and gesturing to the pole. "Your turn. Blocks n' cuts and thrusts. Legs, shoulders, wherever y'can. Go!"

[Valerius Nitrozian]

Well, that was definitely surprising, Valerius thought as Konrad began his instructions. He sounded almost like a real teacher and actually seemed to be making some effort rather than forcing him to stupidly hit a tree for bells until he broke down from exhaustion and was none the wiser as far as fighting with a sword was concerned. Who would have expected that?

Most of his former peers would have complained that they already knew how to stand correctly. Not so long ago Valerius would have joined them and stubbornly insisted that he already knew what to do with his feet when he was fighting, thank you very much. Now he didn’t want to have anything to do with that kind of stupidity any more though and swallowed his pride.

His old rapier and his new sword didn’t look the same, so it made sense that they needed to be handled differently. He didn’t say anything to Konrad. He was not the kind of man that made superfluous comments when it would be better to take action. Instead he simply met the older man’s gaze for a moment, almost as if to challenge him to find something wrong with what he was doing, before he tried to imitate him.

His knees too were slightly bent, with the left leading him a little, and he held the sword at about shoulder length, in an almost perpendicular fashion. There was nothing stiff about his stance now, nothing at all. He jerked his weapon to the sides, and then he twisted his arm slightly so that his weapon was parallel to the ground as if he were trying to protect himself from a blow that was coming from above.

At first he moved somewhat slowly as most of it was still somewhat new to him and he did not want to make any mistakes, not in front of this man, and then he moved faster and faster until he almost matched Konrad as far as speed was concerned. He was just about to raise his sword again to defend himself against yet another imaginary attack, when Konrad screamed, “Stop!”

He didn’t flinch despite the tone of the Sunberthian’s voice, but merely lowered his sword abruptly and looked at him. “I know where the trunk is, Mister Venger”, he remarked somewhat dryly. In Ravok he had worked as a doctor and was quite familiar with the human body, including the parts where it hurt the most. That was the only thing he said though before he followed Konrad to the hitching post, like a good little student.

Just like Konrad had, Valerius assumed a stance in front of it. He considered the pole for a moment as if he were indeed facing an enemy and was thinking about the best way to attack before he swung his sword forward and yanked it out again, which to be honest took a small amount of effort as it had gone in a little bit deeper than Konrad’s kopis. In Konrad’s hands it would likely have been even more effective – the Sunberthian was stronger, by far – but Valerius’ movements were at least fluid, and he tried hard, as hard as he could, which, to be honest, surprised himself.

He made a few steps backward and raised his weapon quickly as if he were defending himself now before he attacked again. The next attack was a little lower, aimed at his imaginary opponent’s legs, and then came a thrust towards his midsection before he pretended to block another attack. He continued like that for several chimes and executed one block, cut and thrust after the other until he felt that it had been enough. His final attack was aimed at his opponent’s heart, a little dramatic maybe, but he could not help himself.

His heart was beating a little faster now, and tiny beads of sweat had begun to appear on his forehead. He was not used to such physical exertion, but part of him enjoyed it, despite the fact that his opponent was made of wood and his teacher’s body odor was quite noticeable. He lowered his sword again and turned to Konrad. There was a certain shimmer in his eyes now that had not been there before. “Any comments, Mister Venger?” he wanted to know. “Shall I continue or will we move on to something new now?”

[Konrad Venger]

Konrad wondered if this was an inkling of what his instructors felt, when they'd strutted and stalked down the ranks of recruits on the Proving Ground. Eyes hard and forever critical, piercing bone and flesh and seeing instead form, fluidity, concentration, will and intent. He didn't look beyond the flesh, most times, because those times, when steel was being swung around him, it was usually at him, and he didn't have the luxury of a thorough critique.

Just needed to find a chink to slide my own blade. Although, this is much the same.

Konrad watched and posed himself a simple question: How would I kill the little bastard, if I had to, right now? As he walked around, he spotted where Valerius over-reached and hesitated, how he was still thinking too much about the movements instead of just doing them. But the gladius and the rapier were very different animals. Konrad knew that meant different styles, in almost every way. He circled, and he pondered, and as the chimes went by, the Ravokian improved.

So did Konrad's mood, with Syna baking his head damp instead of dripping, drying his clothes and actually waking him up rather than making him grunt and growl. He rolled his shoulders and gathered his thoughts. Yes, he'd start with that. Konrad opened his mouth-

And the Peacock stopped. Without orders. That irked him. Barely an instructor for half a bell and already he felt that prickly, twitching indignation of drilling personnel the multiverse over. The Ravokian asked something and Konrad came to a quick decision.

He'll thank me for this. One day.

"Put up your sword. Get ready..."

Konrad made it clear what was going to happen. His own stance slid into one best described as "combat ready". Legs bent, sword raised, eyes flinty and body crackling, aching to be let loose. Once Valerius did the same, Konrad would give a quick nod, question stark but unspoken.

Ready? Good.

He went easy on the boy. His swings at his side were half of what they could have been. No lethal intent, fast enough for the Ravokian to block them with his gladius. He struck low, then high, not letting the blades grind against each other too long. After a chime he flex his other hand, struck at Valerius high and to the right-

If the Peacock blocked him, the moment their swords met, Konrad would lunge forward a step, left fist raising as he did, and jab at his jaw. Again: going easy on him. But it was always nice to have a back up, and if the boy blocked the blow and countered with his own weapon, Konrad's hand would move a lot faster-

-snapping out to grab the Ravokian's wrist that held the sword... and jerking his right shin quickly into the man's crotch, instead. Going easy, going easy, he had to remind himself. Not enough to send him doubling up and retching, just like the punch would barely raise a bruise.

But the lessons would be learned. Pain was a wonderful teaching aid.

"Two things," Konrad would say after his blows landed, voice conversational but unable to keep a ghostly smirk from his lips. "First, youse don't stop 'til I say ya do. Second, you've got four limbs, aye? Two hand, two legs. That's four weapons t'use, not just the one made a' metal."

After a generous period of recovery - half a chime, tops - Konrad would settle back into his ready stance, and wait for Valerius to make the first move that time. His heart beat steady, but his breath was hitching a little. Not for booze or food or djed, but the simple... strangeness, of the situation. And his anticipation for it.

Let's see what you've learned.

[Valerius Nitrozian]

Valerius put up his sword of course because had come to Konrad to learn from him and not to complain about his treatment of him, although it did leave something to be desired. He, too, assumed his stance and looked at the other man coolly for a moment before he nodded. He was ready. He was quite aware that the man was going easy on him – he had seen Konrad in action, after all – and it was appreciated. Valerius was also quite aware that his skill with the sword left something to be desired, or rather, that it was in fact almost nonexistent.

He blocked the Sunberthian’s first attack and then his second one, raising his sword as he did so. He also managed to block Konrad’s third and fourth attack, barely this time, but he did not expect him to lunge forward immediately afterwards and strike his jaw with his fist. He barely had enough time to think about the implications of that attack before the man dared to grab his wrist and went for his crotch immediately afterwards. That was definitely not appreciated as he was rather fond of a certain body part and intended to use it again in the near future.

He attempted to free his hand from Konrad’s grip. He definitely didn’t smirk. He didn’t complain either though, he didn’t let him know that he might be slightly uncomfortable as that would be a sign of weakness, but simply looked at him for a moment. “I am quite aware that I have four limbs now, Mister Venger”, he replied, somewhat coolly. “Thank you for telling me. It was rather enlightening.” Valerius almost managed to sound as if he were indeed grateful, although he didn’t think that Mister Venger would appreciate it if he kicked him in the groin, even during a training session where he had told him to use all of his limbs. On the other hand, it was doubtful that Konrad still had need of a certain body part. He doubted that any woman in Mizahar would be brave enough or blind enough to petch him.

The recovery time Konrad gave him was rather generous as well – half a chime at least, almost enough to go to bed and awake again fully rested – although, to be honest, Valerius was not exhausted yet anyway. He could continue for a little while longer (how long that little while would ultimately be depended on what kind of things Konrad would make him do though).

He did not attack Konrad immediately, but studied him for a few moments, not longer than a few ticks before he assumed his stance and readied his sword again. He aimed low as well, out of necessity due to their rather noticeable difference in height, at the man’s knees, remembering Konrad’s previous advice. Next came a stab towards his mid-section as that was one of the more vulnerable parts of the body, then another low attack, aimed at Konrad’s right side rather than his left, like the first attack. His last attack was aimed a little higher, at Konrad’s chest. He was still mostly copying what he had seen from Konrad at this point.

He tried not to think about what he did with his sword this time, but just do it, to turn his mind off, to stop thinking and let his weapon speak instead, to move faster than he had before. There would be no time to plan his attacks in a real fight either, he would have to depend on his still somewhat underdeveloped instincts, which was a bit of a challenge, to be honest.

Konrad had told him to use all four of his limbs and not only his weapon, so if the man made a mistake or if he saw an opening in his defense, as unlikely as that was, he would try and execute a quick punch to Konrad’s stomach as that part of the body seemed to be easy to reach and rather vulnerable.

The situation seemed slightly surreal to him as well. Valerius Nitrozian who was so used to forcing others to fight and risking their lives for him – fighting himself and punching people? Who would have thought? If somebody had told him that he would do such a thing a mere year ago, he would have replied that he was more likely to become Grandmaster of the Syliran Knights and abandon his gods than do that!