Solo Advice from a Hunter I

[Kynier]

Timestamp: 12th of Summer

It had been quite a while since the last time Kynier had entered the No Man’s Land tavern. Between Doler, intruders, and a ghost, he had been tired for most of the summer already. During the 15th bell of the day Kynier was walking by when he smelled the food cooking inside. Suddenly aware of how hungry he was he decided to stop and have dinner made for him. There was food available at home, but it lacked the flavor, and heat. The thought warm roast or steaming cup of stew made his stomach grumble loudly. Not feeling the need to debate, Kynier stepped inside.

There was a large crowd inside the establishment. Lana, Hammer, and other employees of the place were moving with a purpose in every which way. Loud laughter and the smell of liquor filled the air. Normally he preferred to come in during a quieter period of the day. You could never tell how long it would be before someone eventually got rowdy. In a tavern that sort of behavior had a domino effect on the patrons. And Kynier just had no interest in that, even on his worst days. But the needs of his stomach were overwhelming almost every thought process he had. Weaving and squeezing through the crowd he managed to get to the bar. No seats were available anywhere. Each table was packed and every stool occupied. It was becoming less and less ideal to stay. Yet there was at least one thing that he could do while he was here.

Several chimes had passed before a good opportunity presented itself. Kynier stuck a hand up in the air to get Hammer’s attention. The large man made a motion with his hand. It was hard to tell whether it was an acknowledgement or dismissive. But the bartender looked again almost immediately. When he recognized Kynier the man pointed at him. For a good deal of spring Hammer had been holding “messages” for Kynier from a “strangely colored woman”. For an instant his hunger dissipated to make way for excitement. The last few times he had stopped by there was nothing to receive. The large man quickly gave out food and drink to those he was engaged with. When he was done he disappeared through an archway to the back, rather swiftly for a man his size. Not a full chime later, Hammer reappeared and walked to Kynier’s location. The man ignored all other patrons that called out for service, wearing a beaming smile as he approached.

“There you are!” he yelled just to be heard. “She was here a couple days ago to leave this. She told me that it was going to be the last one!” Kynier looked at cloth bag skeptically. He thanked Hammer as he took the bag. It was heavier than any of the previous gifts. Kynier looked up to see the large man still standing there, waiting. During the spring he had watched Kynier take each gift with a smile, sometimes questioning the meaning of it. For a few of them, like the gold armband and feather, Kynier kept that secret. With this being the last one, Kynier decided to settle the bartender’s curiosity. Opening it he felt more than heard the soft clink of metals. He took out a leather collar with a metal band in its middle, an agate gleaming gently in the fixture, with a sunburst star hanging off it like a dog tag.

Kynier’s eyes widened drastically as an agape smile filled his face. “Yes!” he screamed, shaking the collar in his fist. Hammer obviously didn’t understand based on his expression. “She did it!”

Hammer shook his head, confused. “Did what? What did she do?”

Kynier pocketed the collar, smile still blazing. “She got out! She got out alive!” The bartender didn’t fully understand and just shrugged off the experience. “A bowl of stew and some ale!” Usually Kynier avoided anything that caused inebriation. But it was a moment worth celebrating. Hammer wandered away, but Kynier remained. She had managed it. Though he didn’t know if it was legal or not. Perhaps she was on the run, or maybe she was set free. In either regard, he was happy for her.

[Kynier]

No matter how hard he tried, Kynier just couldn’t stop smiling. Even as he pondered over what to do next about the situation. They never spoke about how to meet again. Because they didn’t know when it would be safe to do so. Maybe it still wasn’t safe. But Kynier felt the need to find her. Though he had no idea where to look. He never mentioned how she could find him either. But he was determined to find her, however long that took.

“Did you ever consider that she took her other form and just flew away?”

No he hadn’t. His guess was that she would immediately shift. Experience the things she hadn’t been permitted to feel or do for a long time. Fly away? No. Kynier had felt her need. Not able to explain why, he knew that she desired him. The way she last spoke in his ear still sent shivers down his spine when he thought about it. Tomorrow he would begin his search. He had one idea on where to look for her.

The bustling crowd did not dwindle before Kynier’s meal was served. Lana quickly approached and turned over the food and drink without any pleasantries. Kynier set the mug on the counter and blew on his stew. Steaming rising from its still bubbling surface. Hot vegetables and meat goading him to eat. The warmth radiated through his body as he at the stew. In combination with the warm night Kynier’s brow began to perspire. The mead, still a bit warm and less sweet than he’d prefer, did little to cool him down. A stroll by the river maybe necessary tonight, to cool off.

As he ate he watched the people in the crowd. Many of them were swaying and spilling their drinks. Whores laughed loudly with their nasally voices, and arguments were ensuing. There was on at the counter that grasped his attention. A man was yelling over the tumultuous atmosphere at an older man. Before Kynier could distinguish what was really happening between them, the old man made a few quick motions. The younger groaned loudly as blood gushed through the fresh rips in his shirt. The old man was still seated on his stool as the other crumpled to the ground. That hushed the patrons a little.

“Ye ol’ swine!” Shouted another man as he drew a dagger. He hacked down at the old man who didn’t even bother to leave his seat. Kynier saw a flicker of light on steel before the dagger’s tip embedded itself in the counter. The old man had a short sword digging into the other weapon arm. With a quick motion he cut down the length of the man’s arm before slitting his throat.

“Damn it, Kich!” shouted Hammer. The big man coming around the counter. A small opening formed around the old man, Kich. “You promised you wouldn’t cause any trouble tonight!”

The older man laughed gleefully. “I did, didn’t I? Well I kept my promise there, Carston. I caused no trouble, just ended it.” The older man looked to be about sixty, human, with hair transitioning from gray to white. He looked filthy. The man’s hair was completely unkempt. Dirt covered most of his tanned flesh, and dried mud was present on most of his clothing. With a flourish the blood flicked off his weapon before he wiped it clean on his own leggings. Hammer draped the dying fellow other a shoulder and dragged the wounded one behind him outside. Left behind was an open stool at the counter. Kynier waited only to see that no one was willing to take it. Bringing both his food and drink, he waded over to sit next to the older man.

The fellow was drinking from a large mug. Lengths of ale running down either side of his mouth washing away a little of the dirt. Now that Kynier was closer he could tell that the man had a wretched smell to him. Like feces that had been out in the heat for too long. Past that, the man had a wild look to him. He wore a leather jerkin and his leggings were comprised of some sort of animal hide. Leaning against the counter by his feet was a bow and quiver. Strapped to his chest were two short swords. Inside his boot was a dagger. Though the man was older he had a strong presence of vitality. Kynier ate beside him quietly for a chime.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” he asked the older man. He didn’t look at Kynier, just stared off at the wall in between intakes of ale. Kynier considered asking the question again, but louder. He refrained, feeling certain that the man, Kich, had heard him. So he stirred his stew while watching the man. Eventually the fellow sighed heavily.

“By killing monsters that would eat you for breakfast,” he stated with a bored tone. The man never turned his eyes on Kynier.
“I would be interesting in learning that.” He stated. The man started laughing.
“I don’t even have to look at you to know that you’re a city slicker. The wilds would chew you up and bury you. Stick to the city, where there’s only one type of predator to worry about.”
“What? No. I don’t want to learn about the wilderness. I want to learn how to be as good at the short sword as you are.” Finally the old man looked at him. He had remarkably blue eyes that were faded nearly white, with the darkened eyes of a Chaktawe. Kynier could feel the man’s gaze measuring him.
“The prospect of teaching has diminished with each student,” he said turning to his mug. “No matter the subject.” He drank the last of the contents, then belched loudly. “Carston! Another!” he set the cup loudly down on the counter. But the bartender wasn’t behind the bar.
“Pretty sure he’s still dealing with the…” Kynier indicated towards the tavern door. He leaned in a little towards the man. “I need to get better with a blade. You seem like the sort who has a lot to teach.” The man’s blue-white eyes were staring off ahead of him. His arms were crossed, and his expression impossible to read. “If it’s a matter of money, it shouldn’t be an issue. I’m not some Brat that’s constantly looking for scraps for a living. I can…”

The man quickly turned and cut at Kynier with a blade. Instinctually Kynier leaned away at first, but the glint of light on the steel made him lean so far that he stumbled out of his stool. Grasping the counter to keep his head up, Kynier fell on his ass as the stool topple over. With his other hand he felt his neck, swearing that the blade had at least grazed him. The skin felt unscathed. Kynier looked up at the old man who now faced him, a short sword pointed at Kynier’s eyes. The man started laughing so hard he was swaying on his seat.

“At least,” he said between breaths, “you have a good reaction time!” His laughter had made his voice high pitched. The man sheathed his blade as Kynier stood back up. Refraining from losing his temper, Kynier sat down and glared at the older man. Those blue-whites caught his hazel and his laughter quickly stopped. “Ah,” he said pointing at Kynier’s eyes. “There it is. The eyes of a killer,” he whispered. Then he chuckled. “You’re smart. To not draw your blade against me.” The man’s temperament had changed, now sounding serious. “Others would’ve drawn their weapon in anger. Not you though. You might worth teaching.”

[Kynier]

Kynier cleared his throat. “Okay,” he said, his throat suddenly feeling dry. “Can I ask your name, or are you going to try and kill me again?” The old man laughed heartily.

“It wasn’t personal!” He said giving Kynier a slap on the shoulder. “But if you can’t avoid a drunk old man at this distance, you’re better off dead. And I’d be doing you a favor.” Hammer finally came over and refilled the man’s drink. From the look of the bartender’s eyes he was ready to give the man a hand out the window. “My name’s Pajalkich, the Quiet.” Kynier looked at him perplexed. Nothing about the man seemed quiet.

“Kynier Haltara,” he returned, offer his hand in greeting. Pajalkich looked at the extended hand. After a brief hesitation he accepted it. The old man’s grip was strong, stronger than his own for sure. The way he squeezed it was unusual. The flesh of his palm grinded against his own. When the gesture ended, Pajalkich scrapped his fingers down the length of Kynier’s.

“You’re not from Sunberth.” A statement, not a question. “I don’t recall the last time I shook someone’s hand. Definitely wasn’t here.” Kich, took a swig of his ale, never taking his eyes off Kynier. “You’re hands are soft, clean. Means you’re not poor, nor desperate. You’re more a man of intellect,” he pointed an accusing finger at him. “The natives here would just learn as they go. Sun Births excluded. Strongest get to survive, sort of deal. Not many people ask for the ability to learn without just being told to do so.”

Kynier nodded. “I’ve managed to survive a few difficult encounters. Mostly by luck, or some divine’s favor,” he said with feigned skepticism. “But luck can last for only so long. I need more skill to survive these streets.” Kich listened intently. Though he finished his mug, it didn’t seem to be dulling the man’s senses yet.

“I’m not due to head back out into the wildlands for a while. I will train you each day until then. If you seem to improve, maybe I’ll teach you more.” He stared hard at Kynier. “Fifteen gold mizzas per day.”

Kynier scoffed at the proposal. “Eight gold mizzas,” he countered.
“You think my time and knowledge is worth so little?”
“I think my time is no less valuable.” Kich guffawed at that.
“Twelve gold per day.”
“Ten.”
“Eleven.”
“Ten.” Kynier met the man’s stare with his own. Silently their wills battled as they waited to see who would buckle first. Eventually it was Kich.
“Fine. Ten gold mizzas per day.” He offered his hand out to Kynier, who accepted it. The agreement made. “First lesson is tomorrow. Outside the Southern Watchtower a bell after dawn. Better bring a midday meal with you.”


Kynier smiled and returned to his stew. They didn’t exchange any more words for the rest of the night. While the old man seemed to have shifted his interest to others, mainly a whore or two, Kynier silently observed Kich to gain a better understanding of the man.

“He’s a strange individual. A bit reckless, though easily amused it seems.”

Kynier couldn’t help but agree. Kich was going to be very different from Bourin. The Eypharian was a patient man who’s every move and action was carefully made. Pajalkich seemed to be more impulsive, making decisions based on instinct. Unlike his new instructor Kynier slowly sipped his ale. Though it did not take much for him to feel the effects, Kynier always tried to pace himself.

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the collar. Kich wasn’t paying any more attention to him, and didn’t inquire about it. Kynier traced his thumb over the starburst.

“I’m sorry. I won’t be able to come looking for you as soon as I intended.” He said softly to himself. “Though, I don’t think you’d mind once I tell you the reason.” Stowing it away Kynier reached into his other pocket and pulled out a small braided lock of hair. It was black and faded to white at the tips. Placing it under his nose he took a deep breath of her scent. He knew it wouldn’t be long before they found each other again. Kelski most likely had to find her bearings once obtaining her freedom. Food, shelter, and clothing. All of those had been “provided” for her. Kynier wasn’t worried about her… not too worried. The Kelvic had resiliency, and would overcome whatever this petching city could send her.

Drinking the last of the ale, Kynier put the braided lock away. Waived down Hammer to give him the silver he was due for the meal.

“Thank you for what you’ve done.” He said passing the man a gold in appreciation.

“If there was a woman like that for me, I’d hope someone else would do the same that I did. She’s a very interesting one.” The large man had a wishful smile.

Kynier smiled at the man broadly. “You’ve no idea.”

Ledger Changes: :

-5 sm for tavern meal.

[Kynier]

Timestamp: 13th of Summer

It was before Syna’s rise when Kynier rolled himself out of bed. It was bells away before he had to meet Pajalkich for his first lesson. But most of that remaining time would be spent just getting there. Groaning he went down the stairs of his home to gather some food and water for the day. He wasn’t sure how long the old hunter intended to give instructions. So he over prepared by getting two meals together. Afterwards he got dressed in simple clothing that was not quite cleaner than the rest of his wardrobe. It was going to be a hard, physically intense day he suspected. With that thought in mind Kynier elected to leave his cloak behind.

The temperature was on the rise in the humid city. The stink of shit and blood that ran in the streets was more pungent in the summer. Sometimes Kynier felt that the citizens avoided killing each other at this point just to avoid the stench. On the other hand, the heat makes them more noticeably irate. His altercations this last spring were probably going to be child’s play to what the summer would offer.

When he stepped out onto the street he looked up at the sky. Syna's glow was just over the horizon and Leth was descending to his rest. Kynier turned dow the narrow street heading west. Narcotic distributors were lingering in the open, trying to peddle their substandard goods. Outside the slums Kynier walked by a man lying face down in the road, a puddle of black blood beneath him. Kynier scoffed, wondering how other's could so blatantly leave their kills out to be seen.

When he reached the Southern Watchtower morning's light had officially crept over the horizon. Pajalkich wasn't in sight though. Kynier set down his food and waterskins in a shady spot under a bush. As he waited Kynier worked on his technique for sword drawing. Working on expanding his midsection to lock the sheath in place. After a while Kynier switched over to work on drawing the weapon with his left hand. By the time Pajalkich could be seen in his approach, Kynier still hadn't found the right angle for a left handed draw.

The old hunter was shuffling his feet as he came. The vitality from last night had left, and what remained was a dirt covered man with large bags under the eyes. Kynier stopped and watched him, questioning if he was actually going to learn anything. Eventually he noticed the hunter was dragging three pieces of timber, approximately three feet in length.

"You're here. Good. You bring the gold?" Kynier held up a small pouch before tossing it to the man. He caught it one handed and shifted it around between his fingers. An approving grunt was all that he gave. "Let me see that blade." Kynier gave it over. Kich gave it a few testing cuts in the air before staring down the edge. After that he flicked his nail against the edge to inspect it. "Needs to be sharpened. But it's cold iron, so it won't need it frequently." He looked at Kynier skeptically. "You do know how to sharpen it, don't you?"

"I've not been shown by an expert. But yes." Kich scoffed and tossed the wood boards aside. He took out a whetstone and beckoned for Kynier to join him.

"If necessary, you can use a rock by a stream. But these are more efficient." Kich hacked up some phlem and spat on the stone. Then he set it down and angled the sword's edge against it. "Hold the edge at a slight angle. The steeper the angle the sharper it becomes, but it'll also lose it's edge faster too." With a fluid motion he scrapped the edge against the stone. "Only scrape it in one direction, towards the hilt. It has a better effect for cutting."

Kynier watched for a chime as Kich worked both sides of both edges of the cold iron. Then Kich handed the blade and the stone to him. Kynier had no shortage of difficulty trying to find the right angle and combine it with a smooth motion the way the hunter had. Constantly it was too deep or shallow. Tilt it more that way then this way. Press against the stone harder, but not too hard. For the whole first bell, that is what they worked on. Once Kynier was making the right motions, and in the correct form, Kich flopped on his back.

He took a deep breath, "Smell that air boy. That is how it should smell. Not smelling like the by product of Ivak's asshole." Kynier just continued to sharpen the blade silently. After a chime or two Kich began to snore. Pausing his work, Kynier slapped the old man on the gut with the blunt side of his short sword. Kich woke up with a startled snort and sat up abruptly.

"I'm not paying you to sleep."

Ledger Changes: :

-10 Gold Mizzas (Short Sword Lessons)

[Kynier]

"That's as much sharpening as you want to do. It doesn't take long before all you're doing it wearing away the steel." Pajalkich turned and crawled over to the three pieces of timber that he had brought with him. Scooping all three in his arms the older man got up and moved to a sizable rock to sit on."Here," he said holding out one of the planks, "take this and do as I do."Kynier stood up and took the wooden board offered to him before sitting on a smaller boulder nearby. Kich set his feet wide and held the end of the wood with one hand. The other drew a short sword and started whittling.

"You need to hold the blade like an extension of your arm. Make the hilt part of your bone structure. Otherwise your grip will give out very quickly." Kynier watched how he set the blade against the wood as well as how he was gripping the blade. The older man's wrist was slightly tilted to align the hilt with the bones of his forearm. Kynier mimicked the stance and held the wooden board with his left hand. Kynier set the blade against the side of the wood and pushed. All he did was knick the wood before the blade flipped over. With how much effort he had tried to put into it the blade nearly cut the side of his leg.

Kich laughed, as though expecting it."Not like that. Like this," he made a few strokes against the wood, pealing off thin strips from its surface."As you push you need to also pull to the side. Cut with the length of the blade rather than a single point of its edge."Watching more carefully, Kynier thought he saw what the hunter meant. He repositioned his sword and worked at finding the right combination of push and pull.

The hunter made it look easy. After several chimes Kynier hadn't even gotten what took Kich a few strokes to accomplish. Though he kept at it. Maintaining the form of his grip was trying at several points. Kynier once tried to switch hands but Kich demanded that he continue with his right hand through the whole process. The muscles in his forearm developed an ache as he stripped off the wooden surface, piece by piece. Something that helped was to regulate his breathing to synchronize with his strokes.

After a bell, Kynier looked over at Kich's progress. A pile of shavings lay at his feet. The wooden board was taking shape into that of a rudimentary wooden sword. "We're carving wooden swords?"

Kich didn't pause in his work as he spoke."Yes. With these we can truly practice, without getting you killed. Feeling a blade, even a wooden one, connect against your opponent is a much better learning experience than just slicing at the air." Kynier looked down at his progress. It would be a long time before he got to where Pajalkich was now with his carving. Setting the weapon on his knee he shook out some of the stiffness in his hand and forearm. The fatigue from overgiving several days ago was definitely affecting him. But he couldn't stop, all he could do was push through it. Taking the blade up again, Kynier set it agains the wood and slowly whittled away at it.

[Kynier]

Over the course of a bell and a half, Kynier managed to slice away enough wood to make the plank about the size of a short sword. The ache in his arm increased to a burn before just becoming completely numb. When that occurred Kynier just kept going, feeling sure that if he stopped his hand couldn’t regrip the short sword again. Pajalkich had finished his a long while ago. As he waited he walked around and examined the environment. Now he came over to look at Kynier’s progress.

“That’s good enough. I will work the finer details into its shape.” Kynier placed the tip of his sword into the ground with a relieved sigh. The fingers of his right hand felt like they had been turned to lead and refused to bend or extend. As he tried to make his hand work again, Pajalkich held out the third unworked plank of wood to Kynier. “Carve another one. This time though you need to use your left hand.” Before he could finish saying the words, Kich was smiling broadly. Kynier could see the man’s chest and shoulders fluctuate in an effort to not laugh. After a moment of despair, Kynier took the last plank and griped it with his right hand. “That expression never gets old,” Kich said to himself, laughing.

At least he wasn’t the first to suffer from this antic. Kynier took up his short sword and adjusted his grip before starting. It was more difficult. Not because of fatigue, but because it wasn’t his dominate hand. The strokes took more effort for less result. But he saw the importance of it. Sometimes he would need to use his off-hand instead. So he was going to have to work on becoming ambidextrous. Whittling was proving to be a very efficient training exercise, if the pain in his hands were any sort of indicator. But the extended silence was getting to him.

“What made you decide on the short sword? Why not use a regular one?” he asked the hunter. Pajalkich had retaken the other rock. He was making smaller, carefully made cuts to the wood to shape it.

“It’s too long and clumsy for the wilderness. Excellent against other men, but not well suited outside a city. And a dagger… is too short. Not enough penetration to be effective against big game. Learned that one the hard way on a bear. Short sword is perfect. Enough blade to skewer a bear’s heart through the ribs, but light enough for quick movements. Works better as an extension of the body too. Daggers can work like claws, while the short sword is more like a stinger.” Kynier tried imagining the old man tangling with a bear. It was a difficult thing to picture in a way that allowed him to sit there and tell the tale.

“That means he’s really dangerous then.”

He already knew that. It was something that Kynier envied. What he really hoped for was to become dangerous enough that trouble made efforts to avoid him. Kynier had seen a few men in the city with that type of presence. Other’s with something like the opposite, where their attendance nearly guaranteed the occurrence of trouble. But those were the things he wanted for himself. A few of the things at least. For now, what he wanted was for the need to whittle to end.

[Kynier]

Eventually he was able to get a rhythm down with his cuts. The striped shavings grew larger and larger as the bell passed. Pajalkich had nearly finished his detailed carving during that time. The first two planks of wood both bore a strong resemblance to a short sword. At this stage Kynier was beginning to feel excited about using them. To hasten the project he tried to harness that excitement into his whittling. Though his grip on the hilt was beginning to wither, affecting his form in a way that required more muscle. He paused for a moment and stretched his fingers out. The last wooden short sword needed perhaps another ten chimes of work before Kich could take it for the finer details.

That wasn’t soon enough for Kich. He came over with one of the first two wooden weapons and a long length of what looked like leather. “Here,” he said, trading possessions with Kynier. “Use that to smooth out every surface of the bokken. We don’t want any sharp ends or splinters.” Kynier felt relieved to be able to put his short sword down. As Kich went to work on the last bokken Kynier examined the length of leather he was given. The surface wasn’t as smooth as regular leather, and felt a bit thicker. He wrapped it around his hand several times like he would a bandage and began to rub it forcefully down the length of the wood. To his surprise it didn’t catch but scrapped off a thin layer of dust. Taking his hand back and forth a few times Kynier ran a finger down the wood he had just rubbed. It was definitely smoother.

“Whenever you find time,” Kich said as he carved the wood, “find a large piece of wood and whittle. Humans have soft skin. If you can carve through wood easily then cutting a man will be as easy as petching a whore.” Kynier just gave a grunt of acknowledgement as he tried to not breathe in any of the dust he was making. After a time the leather in his hand was getting warm and he had to pause to use a different section of its length. The bokken began to look good. The pale wood turned smooth as Kynier rolled it over in his hands. First he rounded the blade, then the hilt. There was a small indent for the guard that was easy to work on.

Over the next bell, taking them past midday, Kynier smoothed the surfaces of the bokkens after Kich sculpted them to a more weapon like shape. After Kynier finished smoothing all the surfaces of the third one they stopped to eat. Kynier retrieved his food and water from the shady place from earlier. Kich snacked on a small sack of berries and drank something that didn’t smell like water. The day was getting fairly warm, so much that a dip in the river became an appealing thought. Kich was sweating as much as he was, but didn’t seem bothered by it. Kynier supposed the man had grown tolerant of many discomforts while in the wildlands.

Wetting his lips with water helped him to feel better. The numb sensation in his arms started to recede back to a dull ache. Combined with the heat and his overgiving fatigue, Kynier felt ready to fall asleep.

[Kynier]

For several days he had been hungrier than usual. From depleting his djed resources and overgiving, Kynier had been trying to eat more. Strangely, everything tasted better while being this hungry. The balanced ration was normally quite bland. Today he bit into it greedily. The not nearly muted flavors seemed extra savory. After a few quick bites he slowed down with a pleased sigh. Kynier’s gaze trailed northeast to Tent City. As he ate he looked over the field of nigh poverty. A few columns of smoke rising from sporadically pitched tents. A few wanderers roamed the outskirts of the main city. Kynier realized how fortunate he was that he was never debased to living among such desperation. At the same time a spark of pity lay inside him.

Surely some of those people had skills that could be of use. But they were discarded and neglected. In this city only power, drugs, control, and the pleasing of your carnal nature held importance. Everything else was a hidden game. All your efforts were being countermanded by someone else, perhaps unknowingly, and their ambitions. Sunberth was the epitome to the phrase “winning at another’s expense”. Pajalkich stood up suddenly and stripped off all his weapons. Once he was done he stepped away from his stone seat and beckoned for Kynier. It would’ve been nice to rest a little longer, but there were things to accomplish and Syna wouldn’t wait for them.

As Kynier stood, Kich tossed a bokken to him. “Take off your short sword and slip that through your belt.” Doing so, Kynier walked over and stood in front of the hunter. “Now. Attack me with the bokken. Do not stop unless you manage to ‘cut’ me or I tell you to stop.” Without delay Kynier drew the wooden short sword from his hip and began attacking with a horizontal sweep. Kich didn’t draw his bokken but stepped back away from Kynier’s attack. Something pointy jabbed Kynier in the ribs with some force. He winced from the bruises the Daggerhands had given him only three days ago getting prodded. Bringing the blade back around without moving his feet, Kynier aimed for Kich’s throat. The hunter didn’t even move and Kynier’s attack missed. As though to prove a point the older man slid the length of his bokken up Kynier’s torso without needing to shift his weight.

How was he doing this? Kynier chased him with the fastest swings he could muster. Pajalkich quietly moved around, evading every attack and performing a riposte. The man liked hitting the ribs in particular. Each one a cumulative sting slowing Kynier’s attacks. If not the ribs then a quick slash across the arms, legs, or midsection. Once Kynier was tenderized up and down both sides the hunter called an end to it. Kynier was breathing hard while Kich seemed to have only taken a walk.

“Why didn’t you cut me?” The way he asked it wasn’t condescending, nor boastful. In his eyes lay curiosity to what Kynier managed to learn.

“You,” Kynier managed between breathes, “kept stepping out of reach.”
“Yes I did, but I was always able to stab you and you have a longer reach than me.” Kynier thought on that for a moment. The exercise ran through his mind as he recalled all of the movements that had been involved.
“You never moved in a straight line. It was always a curved motion.”
“Mostly correct. A few instances I did make a linear movement. First thing to learn, regardless of what weapon you use, always be moving.” He pointed down at his feet, indicating that Kynier watch closely. “Wind and water are the elements of evasion.” Kich made several example steps of his movements. Sometimes it was a single step, others a pair of steps, but always there was one crescent shape movement of his feet involved. “You want to adapt water the most. Because life thrives around running water, but not lives in stagnant water. Stand next to me and mimic my movements.”

Kynier complied and watched closely, trying to move as the hunter moved, and when he moved. The footwork felt unusual. Yet as they performed several in a row Kynier noticed they had covered a lot of ground with little movement.

[Kynier]

After a moment Pajalkich came over to stand in front of him, wooden short sword drawn. “Now don’t get cut.” Without delay he made a thrust for the midsection. Kynier tried to make the crescent step but it was rushed. With a twist of his wrist Kich managed to swing again and make a disemboweling cut. The hunter said nothing as he returned to his fighting stance, bokken held at the hip with the point aimed at Kynier’s eyes. Kynier stood there waiting for the attack. But his body weight was shifting with anticipation until all his weight were on the balls of his feet. At that point Kich stabbed him again.

“Don’t anticipate. You never know how they’re actually going to attack. You must be relaxed enough to move or they will stick you when you can’t.” Kynier nodded and took a deep breath to calm himself. Kich waited. And Waited. The longer it took the faster his heart beat. When it finally came Kynier managed to evade, but still wasn’t out of reach of a quick follow through. Grunting in displeasure he retook his stance and tried the crescent step a few times on his own. Watching his own feet as they moved slowly he tried to understand what he was doing incorrectly. Kich said nothing as he did so.

With a nod Kynier indicated he was ready to continue. Kich quickly lunged forward without settling himself first. Intuitively Kynier raised his own wooden short sword and cut at the attack limb. His blade made contact just above the elbow and below the bicep. “That’s better,” Kich said, “But you’re still too close. You’re blade should make contact here,” he moved Kynier’s bokken to his own forearm. “Or here,” he shifted it down to his wrist where the bones were prominent. “Otherwise you should just go for a kill point if you come in this close.”

Thinking on that Kynier repositioned himself. On the next attack he made his crescent step take him backwards more. This time his weapon couldn’t reach Kich at all, but Kich couldn’t reach him either. Less of a step but still more than before. Hashimer did not say anything, but Kynier could feel the presence of his thoughts in the back of his mind. Again Kich came with the same attack. Kynier moved and brought his bokken down on the hunter’s wrist. Though he didn’t smile Kynier felt satisfaction. Kich just gave a nod and commented on doing it again. And they did. Again and again and again. Until the point where the motions felt repetitive and lacked feeling. “Alright. Now hold the bokken in the other hand and do the same.”

Upon switching to the other side Kynier felt a loss of whatever confidence he had managed to build. His coordination was much less developed with the left and the wooden short sword jabbed his ribs painfully once more. It was the first of many. The cumulating pain combined with his fatigue was slowing his movements. Kynier let the wooden weapon droop at his side.

“I need a moment to rest. I’m so tired I…” but his words were interrupted as the hunter stepped forward. In a blur of motion Kynier felt his feet get kicked out from under him and she fell flat on his back. All he breath was taken out of him and his throat was compressed by Kich’s bokken as the hunter knelt over him.

“This is when you train,” his words sharp as steel. “When you’re tired and don’t think you can lift your arms to defend yourself. That is when someone will try to take everything you have.” The need for air was intolerable. Kynier felt his face flush with blood and tried to push the wood from his throat. The hunter had his full weight behind it and it wouldn’t budge. “The best training occurs when you’re not at your best.” Kich stood up and removed the bokken. Gasping loudly his lungs overfilled with air in desperation. Kynier coughed hard as he tried to stabilize his breathing. “Get up and do it again.”

[Kynier]

Begrudgingly he stood, still coughing though not as hard. Kynier could still feel where the wooden short sword had compressed his throat. After a couple of breaths his head became light and his vision filled with a thousand tiny glitter spots around the edge of his sight. He nearly fell over again as he stood in place. Placing his hands on his knees for support he took steady breaths until his equilibrium returned to normal. Kich watched with what looked like impatient anger. The hunter’s brow scrunched together and the skin around his nose wrinkled up.

Without notice the older man attacked. Kynier crescent stepped and managed to evade, though a little too far to riposte. That wasn’t the end of it. Kich turned his wooden weapon and cut horizontally, chasing Kynier. Caught off guard, still light headed, and fatigued, the bokken scrapped across his chest as he failed to crescent step. Another cut came and Kynier was already retreating with the correct movement. As he raised his weapon to cut down on Kich’s forearm he was knocked on his ass again. Pajalkich had used his other hand to hit Kynier across the jaw. Blood dripped from his split lip. Filled with anger and adrenaline beginning to pump through his system Kynier rolled backward over his head and shoulders to his feet. As Kich came in Kynier crescent stepped in the direction that would expose Kich’s back. Then he lunged forward for the ribs.

The hunter seemed to slide away from his bokken without much effort. The annoying factor was the hunter dragged his blade across Kynier’s extended arm when he slid away. Recoiling, Kynier slashed diagonally. Kich side stepped and slapped the bone of Kynier’s wrist with his wooden short sword. The pain course through his hand and up his arm. It sabotaged his grip and he dropped his bokken. Kich stepped in immediately and placed his tip on Kynier’s throat.

“Pain is a secret to fighting. Most aim for a killing point. But when someone is in pain they make mistakes. Openings are made that are easy to take advantage of.” Kich stepped away and turned his back. Kynier picked up the bokken with his pain free hand. He did not realize how heavy he was breathing or how much he was perspiring. Wanting to quench his thirst he turned to retrieve his water skin. At that moment Kich attacked again. Kynier ducked just in time to avoid. Again Kich was relentless and made Kynier move in circles. Each time Kynier tried for a riposte or to attack Kich was able to move out of the way. But Kynier’s movements were getting noticeably sloppy. Kich stopped after managing to score several more strikes to Kynier’s already aching ribs.

“Time to rest,” he said only a little breathless. Kynier wandered over to the shade and sat down. As he poured the water down his throat he coughed again. It was dry and damaged. So instead he drank it in a series of short sips.