Solo An Old Friend

Training Thread

(This is a thread from Mizahar's fantasy role play forums. Why don't you register today? This message is not shown when you are logged in. Come roleplay with us, it's fun!)

A city floating in the center of a lake, Ravok is a place of dark beauty, romance and culture. Behind it all though is the presence of Rhysol, God of Evil and Betrayal. The city is controlled by The Black Sun, a religious organization devoted to Rhysol. [Lore]

An Old Friend

Postby Elias Caldera on November 30th, 2018, 5:07 am

Image
56th Day of Fall, 516 AV

It was a strange relationship they had, this chunk of wood and he.

The post was his partner and his confidant, such as it was. It sufficed as his target too, when he practiced with his bow. Elias knew it was silly, seeking out the same damn length of wood whenever the call to reassert his ability with the blade took him, but it was familiar. Durable. Proven. You couldn't ask for much more than that.

Besides, it wasn’t likely to complain when he accidentally nicked it with his sword like so many other training partners were liable to do.

Eleventh bell into the day and the Ravokian stalked underneath a sky as calm as the rhythm of his heartbeat. A norm that had returned to Ravok as of late with the new Voice’s claim of the crystal throne. The mere thought of the woman alone stirred to frenzy an endless tirade of thoughts and concerns within him. Sasha Valeer, the Voice of Rhysol reborn. Trapped by Ivak and hidden away from even her lord in the depths of some dormant vulcano, she was the third to ever hold her title, and now she was to replace Myleena after the lady’s great ascendance into divinity. Elias knew all this because he’d heard the woman say it herself with her grand speech, but his mind was not concerned with it. Just the post, and the blade in his hand.

He tossed the shimmering weapon from hand to hand, seeking communion with it. This was not the longsword he'd carried for years this fire infused slice of steel This was Cinder, an arcane weapon he’d had no hand in magecrafting or forging, but instead had been gifted to him by his master Malachai Quinn.

He whipped and slashed the sword through the air, unencumbered by all save his belt and breeches. He wanted movement for what he planned to do -the training he needed.

What I need is a partner[i], he thought sourly, shooting daggers at the inoffensive and mute post. [i]But this is what I have.

His mind was enough. What he could see, imagine, and react to would suite his needs. For the moment that was a phantom with a short sword, swinging it diagonally down to cleave through his shoulder. Elias reacted; his arm shot up, sword flat to ward off the blow. Then he pushed up and to the side, opening up the phantom's guard.

Thunk

His slashing riposte bit down into the post at neck level. He'd sharpened the weapon, of course. Every day, like all his blades. It was ritual and upkeep both, the routine of any man that lived by the tools of death. He noted with satisfaction that it bit more than an inch into the wood. Had it been an actual neck, it would have cleaved straight down to bone, severing veins and muscle on the way.

Elias ripped it free and paced around the post. Hacking. Slashing. Cutting. That's what the heavy blade was made for.

In mid-step he swayed away, as if the phantom had swung at him and he jerked his body back, sword cutting nothing but air in front of his face. In retaliation for the blunder, he burst forward, sword tight at his side, arm suddenly straightening as he thrust forward with it.

Thunk

Not intended, but definitely useful. The tip of the sword stabbed into the pole, almost an inch. Elias had to wiggle and jiggle to pull it free. A man? He'd have had blood smeared all over his hand, blade buried to the hilt in his guts.

Again, his unseen enemy attacked, a stab at his own belly this time, and Elias stepped to the side, slashing out with his sword to knock the blade away, following up with a viscous backhand.

Thunk

More power there. Especially when he threw his hips into the motion and summoned forth from the depths of his core the power of the flux. The phantom's throat would have been crushed, all thoughts of retaliation forgotten in place of keeping heart from pouring out of the ragged remains under his chin. He had to grip it two-handed to pull it free that time, and then he was back to pacing, tossing, thinking, imagining.

Elias really needed a partner. But this was what he had.


WC - 710
User avatar
Elias Caldera
Playa
 
Posts: 902
Words: 1255874
Joined roleplay: September 14th, 2013, 1:28 am
Location: Ravok
Race: Human
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Scrapbook
Journal
Plotnotes
Medals: 7
Featured Character (1) Featured Thread (2)
Overlored (1) One Million Words! (1)
Ravok Seasonal Challenge (1) 2018 Mizahar NaNo Winner (1)

An Old Friend

Postby Elias Caldera on November 30th, 2018, 5:08 am

Image
He wasn't trying to cut the pole in half. Not that his sword could do it with one swing, but if he kept burying it time after time into the wood and then yanking it back out, that's what would happen.

He tossed the blade about between his palms. From hand to hand it went, movements so smooth and familiar that Elias didn't even need to look down. Strange how it was almost the same weight as the one he'd lost in the depths of the aperture. He swung it briefly around his hand then settled it close to his hip.

Don't want some bastard kicking or snatching it out your hand, boy, he remembered, voice of his father Caiden rising from the buried past to impart just one of countless useful lessons he'd even taught. Keep it tight to your side, your grip tighter and your arm loose. Need to be ready to move it fast.

Not all brawls ended quickly. Not every enemy was taken down with a quick slash. Elias knew that very well. So he shook the beads of sweat from his brow and rolled his shoulders. Time for a different enemy.

He came in fast, bludgeon of metal and leather swinging for Elias's head!

The stryfer ducked and slid to the side, baring his teeth in feral aggression. There was no resistance as he ducked under his enemy's swing and slashed into his leg as he went, sword hacking into the wooden post but not burying inside it. Elias barely had to yank it to free it again, backhanding with his free fist again in roughly the same spot.

The phantom howled, going down to one knee, tendons on his right leg shattered and shorn apart by the impact. No mortal man could impart such wrought with a single blow. This was the work of the flux, the magic that made muscles into weapons themselves. The mage was growing better and better each fight with controlling the flow of magic, and today was no different. Soon enough, and the ebb and tide of his flex would be as second nature to him as breathing, he knew it.

Elias's empty left hand shot out, palm first, deflecting and catching the knobbly-headed mace before it could land a blow, stopping it dead and, more importantly, the arm swinging it. In his mind’s eye he hacked down with his sword next, chopping through thin air and the elbow of that arm, breaking it, cracking bone, ruining ligaments and muscle.

Thunk!

The finishing blow. A diagonal hack into the middle of the pole, roughly where the kneeling, crippled phantom would be. It would cleave muscle and veins and arteries and wouldn't stop until it ground into spine. Elias yanked it free, imagined the man falling, toppling, gushing blood and already forgotten.

His pacing continued, sword hopping idly from hand to hand, and his gaze did not leave the ravaged pole. Still early. Still much left to do. Much to catch up on.


WC - 503
User avatar
Elias Caldera
Playa
 
Posts: 902
Words: 1255874
Joined roleplay: September 14th, 2013, 1:28 am
Location: Ravok
Race: Human
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Scrapbook
Journal
Plotnotes
Medals: 7
Featured Character (1) Featured Thread (2)
Overlored (1) One Million Words! (1)
Ravok Seasonal Challenge (1) 2018 Mizahar NaNo Winner (1)

An Old Friend

Postby Elias Caldera on November 30th, 2018, 5:10 am

Image
It wasn't the blade that mattered, it was the body that wielded it. Elias had learned that lesson young and had yet to be embroiled in a contest where it wasn't true. He'd seen century-old rusted garbage best Isurian steel broadswords, because the man swinging it actually knew what he was doing, and had the will to win.

The body won the fight, not the blade. The blade just ended it.

He bobbed and ducked and swayed and slid around the pole, sword in hand, slashing and swinging but never hitting the pole. A phantom with five limbs and evil intent was before him, slashing at him over and over. Every time he avoided a blow, he imagined another one coming to gut him or hammering at his side, forcing him to slide across the courtyard away from it, sword swinging down to knock away the barrage of blades by this newly conjured eypharian foe.

With a sudden burst of speed, he ducked down to avoid a club to the skull, stomach and legs creaking in protest as he halved his height in an instant, sword lashed out at crotch-level in retaliation before he spun away again, body jerking hard to the side, letting a heavy blade meant to ruin him part air where his torso shoulder have been. His answer? To punish the impudence of his attacker with a swing of his hips leading to a knee slamming upright into their stomach!

On and on and on it went until the sweat poured from him in rivers, but he did not stop. Avoidance, agility, these were things he could know intimately and yet never express unless his body was as fit as his mind. So he wiped the sweat from his brow and shook out his hair, splattering sweat beads all around him.

His legs ached. His arms were lead. He danced on.

He slid to his right, sword slashing up, caught in the light like captured silver as it blocked a blow that he countered with a boot, kicking out and hammering into the pole violently.

Twisting away again, he heaved his body back and to the side as a spear that would have gutted him sailed clean past its target. Summoning the flux once more, his body tensed and muscles with rigid with the expectant force of djed as Elias grabbed out with his free hand, breaking the captured arm with a devastating snap, and finishing with his sword slashing an unseen throat.

The fight was far from over however, and using his enhanced body, the swordsman jumped back, light as a bird, trailing a minor shower of sweat as he went, as it was the only way to avoid a swinging broadsword that could have cleaved him in two had he remained complacent and still.

The djed was cascading freely now, rushing from one limb to another like a mighty wave caught in a storm of magic. He surged forward again, gritting his teeth as his legs howled under him, hacking to the side with his sword to knock away the weapon of his nemesis while also making sure to duck under a haymaker swinging for his face.

Thunk

He landed a punch of his own at where the kidneys would be, if a pole had kidneys, shaking the battered but still-standing wood.

Thunk

He hissed through the pain in his knuckled as he slammed his fist again into it, higher up this time. The blow gave him opportunity. It gave him an opening. Sliding hard to his side, avoiding another swing, he wound up behind the phantom, behind the pole.

Thunk

Elias buried the sword into the back of his enemy's neck with a satisfying growl.

For a long moment, his little corner of training yard was silent save for ragged panting and the odd, protesting squeak of wood pierced dozens of times by uncaring humanity. Elias found himself almost hanging off the handle of the weapon, arm twitching and twinging from the effort. How long now? Half a bell? Three-quarters? More?

Keep going, he reminded himself, needing two hands to pull the sword free. Just a bit longer. Just enough… to clear my head.


WC - 701
User avatar
Elias Caldera
Playa
 
Posts: 902
Words: 1255874
Joined roleplay: September 14th, 2013, 1:28 am
Location: Ravok
Race: Human
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Scrapbook
Journal
Plotnotes
Medals: 7
Featured Character (1) Featured Thread (2)
Overlored (1) One Million Words! (1)
Ravok Seasonal Challenge (1) 2018 Mizahar NaNo Winner (1)

An Old Friend

Postby Rohka on August 29th, 2019, 10:52 pm

Image
Elias, PM me for your grade if you return to Miz!
Most active on weekends.
User avatar
Rohka
So?
 
Posts: 345
Words: 366352
Joined roleplay: May 24th, 2013, 5:28 pm
Location: Zeltiva
Race: Human
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Journal
Plotnotes
Medals: 1
Mizahar Grader (1)


Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 0 guests