The Sweet Science of Violence (Moritz)

[Antelokes]

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Focus and adrenalin slowly began to wash through Antelokes, forcing the tiredness and pain to recede somewhat from his muscles for a time. He narrowed his eyes, watching his opponent closely. Again, the man did not speak. Was he mute perhaps? Was that the curse he had been struck with? Thinking back, Antelokes tried to remember the tenday when the Sykans had each shared their curses. It had been very soon after he’d arrived in the settlement though, and many things had been new to him then. He did not remember if Moritz had been struck mute or not.

Snapping his attention back to the present, he examined Moritz’s movements closely, keen to avoid any surprises the man might have in store. He noticed the man’s gaze focused on his lower body. Was that what he had planned then? Another assault to his legs?

As his opponent closed the distance between them, he telegraphed a low leg kick. The same move again, from the look of it. Antelokes couldn’t blame him. It had worked just moments ago, though if he had anything to say about it, it wouldn’t be as effective on the second go around. Not wanting to fall so easily this time, he widened his stance and stepped towards Moritz, into the blow. His hope was to throw off the kick’s spacing and sap some of the power from it. However, the expected kick didn’t come. Instead, Moritz’s fist flew towards his abdomen. Antelokes only had time to tense, flexing his core as the punch landed. It stung, and Antelokes rocked back a fraction of a step.

Not content to let his opponent land a free blow, Antelokes responded immediately, not wanting Moritz to put more space between them first. His left hand flashed out even as he recoiled from Moritz’s punch, fingers curled and palm upwards in a loose hammer-fist from the side aimed to cuff the man across his right ear.

The young kelvic had proved adept at maneuvering and manipulating the space between them when they fought. Antelokes figured if he could remove that element from the contest as much as possible, he could even the odds a little more. So instead of backing up and taking combat in the careful, measured stye that martial artists seemed to favor, the blacksmith fell back on the roots of his youth of street fights in Sunberth. He pressed close into Moritz, almost leaning against the man. While he maintained the width of his stance, he tried to keep at least one foot next to Moritz’s or in between the trunks of his legs as much as he could to disrupt his opponent’s footwork.

Belligerent as a dog, Antelokes would keep this up, doing his best to ignore the smarting from the blows he had taken and trying to push Moritz into making a mistake. His head was ducked behind his guard, and he maintained a consistent stream of punches mostly targeting Moritz’s sides and ribs. Antelokes’ breath hissed between clenched teeth, and sweat dripped from his brow, but he forced himself to keep up the press as long as possible…

…or until a clear authoritative voice called halt in a tone that cut through the haze of combat like a knife through butter.

[Moritz Craven]

The more tired he grew, the longer he focused on the man within his Evantia aura, and the longer he focused on the task of sparring, the more tired Moritz grew. Both mentally and physically taxing, Moritz knew he needed to take a break soon, though in this moment the physical drain seemed less than the mental one. While he had learned better how to use his Evantia this was really the first time he had used it for a long duration once he had gone through that initial period of learning to understand it.

As Wysar had said when he gifted Moritz the gnosis, it would come in time and training and was not instant. Still he did his best to be diligent both in his general training along with his training for the usage of the gnosis.

While his attempt at a feint was obvious, that had kind of been his intention. He did not outright state he was feinting, but overacted a bit to make it seem he was going to follow through and perhaps was so tired he was making his movements obvious. If his foe took that overly obvious bait then that was not his fault... And it would be a good lesson for the man for next time not to trust such signs given by a foe in battle.

When the feinted kick turned out to be a feint and instead he threw a punch he hit his goal, landing the blow right into the mans torso. He could not help a small smile coming to his lips amid the bout at his small success, one of the first times he had managed such trickery during a battle. Though, he supposed, perhaps next time he should be a bit less obvious about it... But it was his first try, and such things would come in time.

He could have thrown his punch full force, but instead he had held back a bit. But apparently his foe had taken that to be a sign he had used a weak blow, and rather than reacting accordingly decided to dive in for a counter blow in return.

However being able to see the attacks coming and seeing their desperation, none really seemed that mighty a blow nor that critical. All it was doing was tiring the man out, and reminded of a boxing maneuver the Verusk woman had told him of, one tactic was to simply block until the foe tired themselves out and then counter once they were spent.

Dropping into his boxing guard Moritz knuckled up with both arms defensively to protect his torso, keeping light on his feet and avoiding the worst of the attacks. Many however landed, but no more than glancing blows hitting his guarding arms and nothing else more important on his body.

When the first blow came aimed at his ear he took a step back, just barely avoiding it. Still grinning at the man from behind his fists Moritz felt the impact of each blow one by one, biding his time. Not yet. Another strike. Oh, he took a step to the right and dodged that one. Another hitting his forearm. He slightly shifted about, making the blows land where he wanted or avoiding them entirely, managing to stop any blows from hitting important places but having quite a few land on his arms.

It was just then, the sweat dripping from the mans brow, the air hissing into his mouth, the tired expression, there as the opening. Bursting from his guard Moritz moved to make a strong blow after biding through all of the contacts... When the Verusk woman from before called out loudly. "Alright that is enough, stop there."

Pausing for a moment mid blow Moritz pondered pushing through and making his attack, after all he had put in all the work and found an opening! But no, she was his teacher in this context, and he would not disrespect her by ignoring her like that. After his momentary pause Moritz bounced back, putting distance between them, before slowing heading over to the boxing and dancing Verusk woman with long hair and a swift build.

Unlike the other Verusk woman he fought with who used more general combat styles, did not seem much of a dancer, and had a more soldier like demeanor.

Heading over to the woman Moritz smiled, watching as she nodded in return at his work and held out a pair of fists before each of the men, Antelokes as well assuming he came over. Opening her grip she revealed a small item to Moritz, a metal charm with a pair of bent arms crossing each other... Taking the charm he quickly added it onto his bracelet, before deactivating his Evantia.

For a moment Moritz felt a great burden, a weight dropping upon him as if his tiredness, his fatigue and weight had doubled... And then a moment later he felt something from the charm, felt an activation, and it was washed away just as quickly as if he had just woken well rested and ready to go. Both mentally and physically he was no more tired than that after a good nights rest. For her part the woman just smiled and shrugged, saying something about finding them around town. Looking over Moritz would check to see what his partner got, wondering if it would be the same or something else entirely.

WC: 908

[Antelokes]

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Antelokes gritted his teeth as he forced himself past the line of exhaustion, his mind doing its very best to beat berate his body into submission. However with every step, every swing, every breath, the movements of his arms and legs seemed less flush with his intentions. He began to slow, to falter. His feet felt like lumps of lead, as did his fists. Still, he pushed on with eyes hard as flint, betraying a soul with more discipline than the flesh. Just so, it was his flesh that gave in first. What was meant to be a jackknife step slipped on the loose sandy ground, and the young blacksmith’s foot turned, shedding the weight it bore. As a result, Antelokes stumbled, his guard flying wide and leaving him wide open to counterattack.

He braced in an instant, readying himself for riposte that never came. Instead the woman—the one who’d been sparring with Moritz earlier—called for an end to the bout. Antelokes paused with bated breath, meeting his opponent’s gaze. It seemed the haze of combat still hung over them both, and it took a moment to dispel. Dispel it did however, and as Antelokes drew himself up with haggard breaths he offered a nod to Moritz. The young man was formidable, and quick as a whip.

Antelokes followed Moritz to the woman, doing his best to hide the tiredness prompting the heavy rise and fall of his shoulders. The scaled woman apparently was not one to mince words either. After her brief exchange with Moritz, she turned to meet his gaze.

Her stare was sharp, precise, knowing, and it felt like she dissected him with a glance. It made the hairs on his arms bristle. Still, he inclined his head to her slightly. It seemed she offered a gift, and gifts were not to be taken without thanks.

He reached out his hand, and into it the Verusk dropped a small metal charm. The bright sun reflected off the dull silvery surface as Antelokes examined it closer. It was remarkably similar to a few other items he had found recently. Like them, the workmanship on this piece was fine and detailed, something Antelokes severely doubted he could replicate with any amount of time or equipment.

The item’s shape was unique, as had been the case with each of the other charms he found. It was curved and came to a fine point, like a tooth. A predator’s tooth, a wicked apparatus built to ensnare unfortunate prey.

Antelokes looped the charm onto the bracelet he wore (and couldn’t seem to take off, though not for lack of trying). Glancing up, he saw Moritz doing the same with his own bracelet. So the other man had found such a thing as well! Antelokes opened his mouth to ask him about it, but as he did so he finished adding the charm to his bracelet. A bolt of understanding shot through his mind in that instant, killing the words on his tongue.

The flash of knowledge wasn’t inscribed in any language, instead carrying it’s message through sensation and understanding. Agony, toxicity, the subtle mechanism of executing on another being’s mortality. This charm was an instrument of death. It was deliberate though, not wanton destruction. The charm also carried with it the means of cleansing its deadly package. Only two words flashed through Antelokes’ mind as he placed the fang charm on his wrist.

“Envenom. Purify.” Despite the heat of the day and from the exercise he had just done, Antelokes felt his heart chill.

The blanket of dread that fell over him was his own, no magical knowledge needed.

Made quiet by the sobering addition to the small menagerie of mystical trinkets on his wrist, Antelokes nodded again in thanks to both the Verusk woman and Moritz.

“Thank you for allowing me to intrude,” he said to the pair. “You’re quite the fighter. I’d be willing to try my luck with you again sometime, if you are likewise disposed,” he added to Moritz. “With time I mean to be something more of a challenge.” Shaking the Kelvic’s hand if Moritz was willing, Antelokes turned and left, made both exhausted and determined by the day’s events.