Closed Sons Of Chaos. (Erick)

[Alexander Faircroft]

Description "Alex Common" Alex thoughts "Myrian" "Fratava" "Others"

Watching Erick rise back up from the fall was something Alex expected. All knights were tough. Tougher than nails. However the moment their eyes locked Alex spotted his objective. Eric was angry, virulently so. The splatter of blood and spit against the sand a marking of the simple fact that Alex was only outthinking him. Not out skilling nor overpowering just out thinking him. The difference in the glare was simple Alex was showing he was better but not in a condescending manner. At least that wasn’t his intent. It was simply easier to rile people up when they thought they were being looked down upon. And for that brief flash where Eric met the sand for a second time, he now was.

The snarl, the anger. Alex simply took a deep breath. Revy held anger that overshadowed Erick’s by magnitudes untold. Garland’s raw strength out stripped Erick’s by leagues. Greyheart’s skill by miles. However something which Alex possessed it seemed Erick possessed too. Resilience. Even above that, defiance. He wasn’t going to stay down without a fight. The shield strike wasn’t fully expected nor the sand blast that almost caught Alex in the eyes. Instinctively he closed them and tucked his head in. A reflexive action to protect his head. The force of the shield against his forearm smashed open his defence. His blade then came across like a whip, even eyes closed Alex could hear the shifting of steel amongst the fight. Though the subtle, rush of wind over the blade was lost on him amidst the clamour.

The blade strike against his left shoulder And then in a recoiling motion as he drew it back Alex recouped his right arm enough to bring the blade up to meet Erick’s. Using the back of his gauntlet he wiped the sand from his eyes and blinked them open. That smile still plastered over his features. A small chuckle dark and icy emitted from him.
“Now you’ve gotten serious!” He spoke with that soft light tone but the words almost felt like frozen mist crawling through the space. “I suppose I should too then?” His body heaved with his breaths, not out of exertion, to the contrary his stamina reserves were high. No this was purely to intimidate and seem bigger than he was. A tactic that his “father” often used on his enemies, and a short while in the past on him. Alex locked eyes on Erick’s and in that fraction of a second conveyed one thing, a single word spoken that Alex hoped Erick could see clearly. Run. A word not spoken just a feeling.

In what seemed to be a single step Alex closed the distance, lunging in low and sharp his left blade screaming through the mist and the silence as it tore towards Erick’s torso. Not towards the breastplate though, instead the weakened faults that lead into the tasset. His right blade came in low again the blade eating the space and moving like a white flash through the space. It’s aim wasn’t low, instead it arced overhead like an anvil dropping, his goal was to force that shield up, or at the very least the sword, and show just how much power a properly executed swing held.

Alex was aiming to kill, but not in a sense where he wanted Erick dead, there was no malic behind the swings just force, no intent just purpose. Adopting a persona of some dark and deadly foe was often enough to break weak willed people. Alex was trying to push Erick, to make him think twice, to make him crawl his way forwards through a battle. He was trying to show that no matter what happened losing you cool was the worst thing that could occur as he himself had learned. If the attacks worked, Alex was in the position of power.

[Erick Barnett]

The blast of sand had done as Erick had intended, more or less. The sharp metallic shearing noises that sprang out of his blade as he dragged it across Alex’s left pauldron. He grimaced and grunted under his breath with the impact as, on the arc back across with his weapon, the younger Squire had pulled his other blade back, the two lengths of steel singing as they met just short of Erick’s second attack finding its mark. Erick’s facial expression had softened again as Alexander opened his eyes. Bastard is still smiling at me. Like this is just one big joke. As if to concur, Alexander began to chuckle right to the older squire’s face. ”Now you’ve gotten serious!” As seemed normal for him at this point, Alexander’s words were barely more than a whisper. Yet even at that low volume Erick could feel the cold detachment in his words. ”I suppose I should too then?” A chill ran all across Erick’s body at this. The rage he had felt had been intense, but short lived. A single flash of wild fire across his mind, now extinguished by the realization of the situation he was in. Alex had just tried to take his head off, and nothing about that tone in his voice gave Erick any reassurances he wasn’t about to try it again. And as they locked eyes, he could see it plain as day in Alex’s face. He had seen that look before. ”Petching hai, you realize this is just a sparr-” Alex was on him in a tick, both swords moving simultaneously. It was as Alexander said; the younger squire was using his head. Attack from above, and from below - Erick’s mind had barely the time to recognize it as such, but his body already moved on instinct. His sword leapt up immediately, but the massive force of Alexander’s overhand swing almost made it pointless. His wrist bent to an uncomfortable angle as the attack slid off Erick’s guarding weapon and slammed into the top of his right shoulder, causing his upper body to reel back and his face to wince. He had tried to block both hits, of course - but his shield arm had been too slow, as Erick oft found it was. Alexander’s right blade slid right off the curved surface of the kite and bit straight between two of the interlocked tassets - grinding noisily into the cuisses beneath. Without being deflected by the angled curves of the tassets, the sheer force of the strike, even against a layer of steel, made Erick whimper, and reel even harder. Time seemed to freeze for just a single, solitary moment as panic gripped Erick’s chest with tight, icy fingers. A wrong move, a misstep, and he could die. Death in the abstract didn’t frighten him; he had nearly died once before, and had, at the time, nearly laid down and allowed it to happen. But this time was different. It was not his life to give. A series of faces briefly flashed before his eyes in that moment. Sera Goldmane. Mother. Father. Lady Priskil. Too many debts left unpaid to leave now. And someone had to put this sociopathic “Squire” in his place. Erick took a lunging step forward. It was unbelievably risky - best case scenario, Alex’s sword would get trapped between the tassets and the cuisses, and become useless. That, or Erick could lose a leg. It was a move born of desperation, and to seal the deal, Erick’s left hand released his shield, and quickly grabbed for the wrist that held the sword in place. His right hand brought the sword around - not in a showy flourish this time, as Erick lacked the energy for that, but in a quick downward arc - at first, seemingly aimed at Alex’s shoulders, as if to mirror Alex’s own attack, but he altered the swing at the last moment, aiming to knock Alex’s other sword straight into the ground. Weather it worked or not, with the step he had taken forward, he whipped his head backward, and then straight forward again, aiming to bash forehead straight into Alexander’s nose.

[Alexander Faircroft]

Description "Alex Common" Alex thoughts "Myrian" "Fratava" "Others"

Each strike bit into Erick but was stopped by the armour. Alex had aimed for the weak points although, even a weak point on plate was still re-enforced. However he paid little mind to the strikes, little mind to the impacts. His eyes were focused on Erick’s. He wanted to watch wanted to look for that moment when he broke. When his rage faded, and clear as day, he saw it. The moment the sudden burst of strength and determination shattered. Feeling Erick crumple like an accordion in front of him was something that he forced his hands back from. He was there to teach, not injure. Right now though despite the villainous demeanour he was in fact pushing Erick towards one very clear very easy to understand truth.

Running wasn’t a sign of cowardice, but a sign of intelligence. Knowing when to run and when to fight was just as important as knowing when to make a stand and to just let something slide. However watching Erick break was only a temporary thing. Only a brief moment of pause as then the truth of the matter came forwards. Something Alex usually pushed on. Grit, determination, resolve. The will to push forwards, to win. However as much as Alex wanted to let Erick have this chance at redemption and standing, he had a lesson to impart and by thunder he’d leave a LONG lasting impression. Alex felt the sword in his left hand ripped free from his hand.

Using the armour to disarm, risky but effective. For a flash of a moment there was almost some genuine pride behind that empty smile. Then came the arc from above, a mirrored motion to his own which in a flash took his other sword from his hand and flung it a few feet away.
Mimicking a stronger blow and using it to mask a technique of your own. I’m almost sad I haven’t thought of it sooner. Then came the coup de grace the head butt, Alex recognized that instantly whipping his mind back to Sunberth. And for a split second that empty feeling of no malice but devoid of emotion filled with a very real, very tangible, extremely volatile anger. The smile flickered briefly, and then his open and free left hand siled up like a hammer of bestial fury towards Erick’s forehead. Steel against bone, and a trained fist.

Alex hissed out a slow breath as he spoke again his words settling back into that calm cold, detached nature. The roaring fury suppressed.
“Just because I’m bereft of a weapon don’t think me unable to attack.” Now came the moment where Alex hammered the final nails into that coffin. Where he smashed shut the lid and buried it. His left arm pinned against Erick’s forehead, his hand then flipped back around to try and grip his head and hold him in place for an extremely sharp knee to the gut. Then a sharp elbow to the back between the shoulder blades. His left hand then shot out to try to reclaim his blade before it fell to the ground.

He’d pressed Erick to the limit and was beginning to show just how far will alone could take him, how far bravery would get him. How long he’d survive following a code of honour. In battle at least. He’d taken lessons from two py-ken masters, which when scaled up to actual human size were just as deadly if somewhat less acrobatic.
“Feeling out of breath yet?” Alex stepped in closer maintaining the short distance, making sure to keep the pressure up as much as possible. He didn’t want to seriously injure Erick if possible.



Boo

[Erick Barnett]

A spray of yellow and white dots, like thunder ripping across the brain, flashed across Erick’s vision as he ended up ramming his own face into Alexander’s steel-cloaked fist. Erick’s forehead burst open like an overburdened levy, his vision almost at once completely awash in dark red as the blood splattered his face and his opponent’s gauntlet. No time to react or think. His head didn’t even get to snap back from the blow, as the younger Squire wrestled Erick forward and pulled him down to greet an upward knee - capped in steel just like the fist, and aimed with knife-like precision straight into the solar plexus. Fortunately a spot where Erick did have armor, but all the padding in the world didn’t - couldn’t - absorb all that force. His lungs emptied all at once, and as he gasped, his breath was caught in a messy red spray as he blood continued to run down his face. A final strike to the back, and Erick’s legs finally gave, and the sandy floor of the training arena once against raced upwards to greet him. The older squire layed there a moment, Alexander’s demure voice once against calling down to him. ”Feeling out of breath yet?” Apprehensively, Erick lifted his face from the sand, spitting a mouthful out of it again. It tasted of metal and saltwater. He locked eyes with Alexander for a moment, and said nothing a first, allowing a deep silence to occupy the space between them for a several ticks. Then, Erick did something strange: He began to smile. His grin was streaked in crimson, and as he pushed himself up to his feet, his body began to tremble with laughter. It was an empty, hollow sound, that seemed to bounce right back at the two squires, as if contained and trapped by the fog. ”This is all a farce, innit?” Erick’s laughter stopped suddenly and without any warning, his expression turning to stone. ”I’ve had it.” Erick had dropped his sword in the sand as he sat back up. Yet, despite his words being that of surrender, his eyes still burned. His lips were stilled twisted into a snarl. His palm still radiated a soft, ethereal light. But no amount of sheer willpower could force his body to keep moving. Just keeping himself upright, against the weight of the armor and his own flesh, took monumental strength as the world was still lurching around him, his breath coming in long, ragged gasps. ”You win.” He practically spit the words at Alex.

[Alexander Faircroft]

Description "Alex Common" Alex thoughts "Myrian" "Fratava" "Others"


Watching Erick fall to the ground Alex knew in that instant that the strength had left him. Whereas Alex had a good reserve. Channelling the fury he wanted to direct at Randall he looked down at Erick the laughter echoing. A familiar sound, why did everyone who fell have to laugh that cold distant laugh. It was starting to drive him a little mad, still when he rose up from the ground before Alex’s sword a simple question pushed through the empty space.
Was it all a farce?

Alex took stock of that fire; that drive to survive. He was sat up and staring him down. Alex damned near grabbed Erick by the collar of the breast plate when he spat out the words. A sharp glare simply all that he returned.
“It was never about winning. I wanted to simply impart a lesson. Something that I found out long ago.” He leant in close to Erick’s face a few inches between them now his elbows resting on his knees. “At times you’ll find people, monsters, beasts, that you can never hope to defeat. Your best choice in that situation is to run. However there often isn’t a choice to run. So you stand and you fight until the last vestiges of strength within you give out and you can barely breathe let alone move. You fight to the last ounce of your strength to give hope to those around you.”

Alex rose up and picked his blade from the ground, sheathing the both of them.
“Today I merely played the role of the monster. And you played the role of dutiful soldier all too well. Erick, if I was you…” He paused long enough to let the silence settle in once again. To let doubt and fear creep into Erick’s mind and let that fire finally quell to just embers.
“I’d learn. I’d learn as much as I could from as many people as I could. The best weapon people own is the one they rarely use.” Alex then offered his hand to Erick as a show of respect for how he’d done. His Footing angled to help Erick up.

“Now’s the time to ask questions. But first I’d put some pressure on that head wound. Cuts to the head tend to bleed heavily even if they’re small.” Alex’s voice had returned to that quiet, soft and well-spoken manner, as his hand outstretched with a folded piece of cloth for Eric to press down his head against.

[Erick Barnett]

Alex stood there a moment, glaring down at the older squire before finally breaking the silence. "It was never about winning. I wanted simply to impart a lesson. Something that I found out long ago." Erick found himself leaning back slightly instinctively as Alex leaned in much closer, though it did have the affect of making his whisper of a voice easier to perceive. "At times you’ll find people, monsters, beasts, that you can never hope to defeat. Your best choice in that situation is to run. However there often isn’t a choice to run. So you stand and you fight until the last vestiges of strength within you give out and you can barely breathe let alone move. You fight to the last ounce of your strength to give hope to those around you.” Erick grimaced, but was silent, listening intently as Alex stood up and sheathed the both of his blades. “Today I merely played the role of the monster. And you played the role of dutiful soldier all too well. Erick, if I was you…I’d learn. I’d learn as much as I could from as many people as I could. The best weapon people own is the one they rarely use.” As he wrapped up, Alex did the unexpected, offering Erick a hand up. The older squire eyed it a moment, narrowing his eyes, taking it with trepidation. With a boost from his sparring partner, Erick found himself back upon his feet, although he partially wished he wasn't. He was still breathing in long, heavy gasps, and as he came up to his feet, he nearly collapsed immediately again, his legs protesting the weight with quick, sharp pains beneath his breath. Erick leaned over, bracing himself against his knees, closing his eyes as he tried to bring his respiration back under control. His eyes opened again as, after several more ticks passed, he heard Alex's whispy voice again, almost strangled into nothingness by the thick mists. "“Now’s the time to ask questions. But first I’d put some pressure on that head wound. Cuts to the head tend to bleed heavily even if they’re small.” Eagerly accepting the piece of cloth he had offered him, Erick quickly dabbed the excess blood from his face - particularly from around his eyes - before flattening it out to put pressure against the cut across his forehead. Questions, eh? Keeping the pressure on the cut with his right hand, Erick carefully leaned over - nearly tipping over in the process - to snatch his fathers sword from the dust and dirt of the arena floor. He didn't sheath it yet though, keeping it point first against the ground as he contemplated a moment longer. "I guess my main question is where you learned to hit like that. Don't get me wrong, I've been in a few fistfights, but it's always been against drunken buffoons and petty thieves." As he spoke, he pulled the cloth away from his head, eyeing it a tick. The crimson stains had arranged themselves in just such a way, like two narrow eyes with a wicked grin staring back up at him. He smiled softly at it, pressing the cloth back into his wound as he continued. "Certainly you're the first person who was quick enough to stop that little headbutt trick. Usually catches 'em off guard every time."

[Alexander Faircroft]

Description "Alex Common" Alex thoughts "Myrian" "Fratava" "Others"


Alex watched Erick try and regain his balance as he stood even taking the strip of cloth and putting the pressure on his head almost knocked him off balance. Perhaps he’d gone a touch too hard? Still though it didn’t change the fact that he’d started to impart a lesson, to learn. However the first question that came to him wasn’t one he’d expected. Where did he learn to hit like he did?
“When you’ve spent a lot of time travelling you pick up some things. I spent a year in Sunberth. That was…A dark time. However that head-butt I’ve taken to the face once before. So I could see it coming as you started it.” Alex’s voice as usual was soft, and airy but this time somewhat distant like he was recalling a time he didn’t want too. “The moves I used on you there were some I’ve picked up watching the pycons train. I just scaled them up. When you’ve sparred with Ball five times in a season you learn very quickly what pain is as well.”

Alex shifted his eyes out over the mists that surrounded them and spoke slowly his words flowing like a soft stream. “It’s hard to press on when you keep staring at the past. After all it haunts the corners of your mind doesn’t it Erick?” Alex’s voice instead of having that smooth Syliran edge to it changed to that rather sharpened but still sophisticated Ravokian accent that he now noticed that Erick had. Alex smiled that practiced smile but the truth behind it was as empty as always. He just didn’t know how to be happy. And from his perspective he probably never would. “We’ve still got some time if you’d like to ask more. The knights won’t be here to train for another bell and a half yet."

[Erick Barnett]

Erick had heard of Sunberth, but he had never been. The existence of a place like Sunberth was very antithetical to what the Knights represented as a whole, however, and the influence of a city like that did something to explain how strange Alex seemed when set against the backdrop of the other Squires and Knights he had encountered. However, the mention of pycons really caught his ear. He typically wouldn't ever consider going to a pycon for lessons involving combat. Not before today, at least. Erick picked the name 'Ball' up, and opened his mouth slightly with the intention of asking about him. Until Alex said something that made Erick freeze. “It’s hard to press on when you keep staring at the past. After all it haunts the corners of your mind doesn’t it Erick?” It wasn't just the words themselves that caused Erick's blood to run cold. Certainly they seemed to suggest that Alex had a more intimate knowledge of who Erick was than he should have, given that they had never met. It was, of course, probably just rhetorical. Most everyone Erick had ever met had things hidden away in their pasts that caused them pain. But the exact wording of what Alex had said hit Erick like a sack of bricks. Haunting. Memories and voices and sights and sounds that all clung to the mind as fresh as the day they were imprinted there, burning. Like a sore on the roof of the mouth that would probably heal if you left it alone, but you can't. More than that, the inflection of the words - the sharp elegance that the syllables took on brought with it a rush of nostalgia, and made the hairs on the back of Erick's neck stand at attention. One word rushed into his mind: Ravokian. "You were born in Ravok, weren't you, Alex?" Erick took the cloth from his head, which had finally stopped bleeding after having enough pressure applied too it, and took the cloth to the side of his longsword, beginning to wipe the sand and grime from it as he continued. "Well, you're right, in any case. Whether people realize it or not, we are all slaves to our pasts. Some more than others, perhaps." Although he would definitely need see a smith about getting the edge sharpened back up after today, it was clean enough for the time being, and he deftly slid it back into his sheath, before locking eyes with Alexander and continuing. "The only really important question though, is when am I going to get my chance at a rematch?"

[Alexander Faircroft]

Description "Alex Common" Alex thoughts "Myrian" "Fratava" "Others"

Alex paused taking the time to let his breath slide free into the open mists before drinking another to answer.
“Born, no. I’m not sure where I was born. Raised however, that’s another thing entirely. Nice to see you picked up the accent, it’s a hard one to try and fake, as well as to try and get rid of.” Alex shifted his eyes down slightly to the wound on Erick’s head, the bleeding subsided which meant it was clotting finally. And the truth of his words struck home with Erick as well it seemed. “Being a slave too it and learning from it are very different beasts. One’s a set of chains that drag you down. The other is a guiding light, and a chance at redemption for your failures. Which I subscribe too, that I’ll let you figure out.” Alex’s voice was still carrying the Ravokian accent now not trying to hide it and openly carrying it about it made the lightness and softness in his voice flow like gentle music.

Then came the moment of Erick locking eyes with Alex’s own. A mutual understanding between them reached. When could he get a rematch?
“When you find me again. I’ll be ready anytime you are, until that point though Erick, get stronger, in both body and mind. Sharpen the weapon that they never make you train. That’s the only reason I won here today…” Alex offered a hand to Erick for him to shake if he wanted too or not, as an agreement upon his words. And a show of good faith. After all, Alex was demonstrating that the cold sociopath was just an act, and one he knew how to play exceptionally well. It came easily when raised by one, there was that little cherry that Alex had left out of the conversation.

[Erick Barnett]

Erick fell quiet for a time now, as he often did, simply allowing Alexander to room to speak without interruption. And he listened. The words flowed from between the younger squires lips like wine, the gentle interplay between the sharp curve of the harder consonants and the soft roundedness of the lighter vowels like the steady fall and rise of the wind. Dull pains ebbed just beneath Erick’s flesh, and in a myriad of other places as well, but he felt the vigor and satisfaction that always followed an intense workout. The adrenaline still coursing through his body gripped him like icy fingers, and he stood up, nodding slowly as Alexander finished speaking. ”I try to pick up a lesson from each failure. Some are more obvious teachers than others.” He sighed, glancing down at the glowing gnosis emblazoned on the back of his right hand. ”My patron always says, pain is the best teacher. Though sometimes I wonder if the damage is always worth the gain.” Alexander continued on, and wrapping up, extended a hand to Erick. A sign of respect. Erick smiled softly, clasping his own armored hand with the younger Squires firmly. ”There’s probably more than one reason you won today,” Erick’s smile turned into a grin as he gently pumped Alexander’s arm. ”But it is advice well taken, nonetheless.” The knighthood certainly didn’t seem too bothered by whether or not Erick was sharpening his mind, and there was a sneaking suspicion somewhere in the back of his mind that this was not unintentional. Slow-witted soldiers were easier to control, after all. ”Next time, Alexander, I promise you. It won’t be as easy.” The words might have came across as threatening, but the tone certainly wasn’t. Erick spoke with enthusiasm, like a child recounting the gifts he had received for his birthday. ”You’ll look up at me from the fat of your back.” With that, Erick gently released Alexander’s hand.