Solo Bruised and Bloodied, A Man was Born

[Solomon Black]

1st of Winter, 517 Solomon had won many of his fights over the years by just managing to stay standing longer than the other guy. If he was completely honest with himself, and these days he was, it's probably more responsible than his actual skill. Just the will to live and leg's that were luckily never broken. His life was just one long battle of getting knocked down but refusing to stay there. Ever since falling back into contact with his sister back in Spring he was determined to knock off the rust that had built up over the years of drinking and, being honest again, getting older. He needed a routine again, and he found one. He purchased a cheap body-building set and got to work with an old routine that he was taught many years ago. It wasn't anything fancy, just a simple set of moves he would repeat ad nauseum. Early in the morning, he pushed all his furniture aside, removed his shirt, pinned up his hair and took hold of Mercy, who was weighted with some chains. He wore weights wrapped around his ankles and arms with rope and two large weights on a chain he had wrapped around his waist. All he had on, clothing wise, was a simple pair of pants. Sweaty with his muscles taut he held Mercy straight ahead with his arms outstretched, holding that position while his feet moved in a form not unlike a box step, moving in a slow circle. The weight wasn't too much, an extra 25 pounds all together, but even a few extra pounds will quickly wear down someone who wasn't prepared. While he was not formally trained, work on a farm as a young boy helped him prepare for what could be considered the long distance run of a life. He'd help move hay bails and wood mostly, occasionally getting into fights with older boys from other farms. He wasn't a big kid, skinny and scrappy he was. He'd lose those fights, but not without making the boys work for it. Before he Mom got sick, right after Silver was born, he stopped fighting the boys so much. Rather, staying at her bedside and reading her poetry that she would write and read to him when he was sick. Soon after the sickness had taken both his Father and Mother he was at the orphanage for a short while, where he fought many of the older teenage boys. They would tease him and his sister for their case, attempting to numb their own. It wasn't long before a young Solomon was leaving his sister behind. Solomon raised the sword up and over his head, the blade now pointing at the walls behind him. The chains rattled and Solomon picked up the pace of his footwork, and with a spin on both toes, he slowly brought the sword down cutting down his invisible opponent with a steady breath out. If he ever wanted to see Silver again, he'd have to leave Ravok. Last time he made that major journey he was just a stupid angry kid, but it was also his first time holding a sword. The party he was traveling with armed everyone, even a stupid teenager like Solomon, and gave him a sort of rudimentary training of point at a thing, but it was the nightly beatings from other men that Solomon endured and it was those nights that he considered the true training that prepared him for the worst. When he became lost from the party, or more truthfully when they had left him behind, he was attacked and only with luck managed to get away if not wounded. He followed his parties tracks and through his injuries managed to find them again and cuss them all out. Solomon had gained their respect, however, no longer seeing him as an upstart kid but as someone willing to work for something. Though some men still would single him out, the rest of his trip was better. A droplet of blood fell from Solomon's hands, gripped tightly to the heavy weighed down sword. It fell among others as the strain of the heavy sword mixed with his slowly increasing tempo bore into his palms and the leather grips tore into them. His leg's trembled and every now and then would falter, forcing the old man to fall to his knee's. His patience would win out. His will would not allow him to give up. He would stand again, no matter hard or how much it hurt. He would stand and face them, taking his Mercy in hand and begin again. Dancing around the room, cutting down invisible foes. His mind battling exhaustion with the sun setting, his nightmares begin to walk his days. Those foes weren't always invisible. Solomon would often be in life or death battles working as a mercenary or when he did his time in crime. Rarely a battle where he found himself unwounded, he won because he needed to. One man would stick him in the side with a knife so Solomon would hold his arm there as he drove his own dagger slowly into the man's chin. Then as they both fell to the ground, he proceeded to get back up with a knife in his wide, take out the said knife and kill another soldier with it. He wasn't any good with a knife but he really did not like the idea of dying that day. It was him or the other guy, and the other guy is too often a scared kid with the capacity to hesitate before taking another person's life. As Solomon continued to push himself, his body could take no more. The opponents he would visualize began to solidify into specters from his past. In his delirium, he threw Mercy at one such specter with a roar, the sword useless bouncing off the wall. He then swung an empty fist around before collapsing into a wall, punching at it with enough for too bloody his knuckles. Voices slipped in and out of his head. Shari, Viper... Saying they hated him. Wanted him dead along with them, or at least to disappear. He wept, and collapsed to the floor, his bloody hands shaking weakly against his chest.The voices continued to accost him, pounding in his head. He kept his eyes shut, wishing not to see any more. He spent the night on the floor, weeping until he cried himself to sleep not long before the sun rose over Ravok. His dreams remained restless and he slept for no more a few hours before cleaning himself up and leaving his memory haunting place behind. Sometimes Solomon wished he could stop getting back up and dust himself off only to get knocked back down again. He long ago stopped having any real reason that he could use to justify it. Maybe he was just fighting for the only thing that can alter the path of someone's life Completely. A chance to see tommorow and try again later.