pyr min solemnly swears he is up to no good (twinclaws) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-08-30 02:25:00 |
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The training regime Councilor Cassul had designed for Pyr to put him through his paces had made Pyr realize that, in his fifteen years of life, he had never before understood the meaning of the word exhausted. His day started at 5AM, at which ungodly hour he rose from his bed as the undead from their graves and, through a process of trial and error, found which part of his body belonged in which item of clothing; then, he lurched down to the kitchens with his eyes still half-closed and shoveled down breakfast. After that, Councilor Cassul took him running, the distances long enough to make Pyr’s muscles lament their fate. Rather than be afforded a reprieve after this, Pyr had to attend training sessions and do other tasks around the guildhalls until 6PM in the evening, by which point he was so tired he barely managed to make his way back to his room. Worst of all, he hadn’t been told when this torment would end—only that it would continue until the councilors deemed it sufficient. That day, he was to have one-on-one training with one of the senior guild members, a Fell Knight called Divina Marcos. He’d seen her around on occasion, and from what he’d heard, she wasn’t exactly lenient when it came to training, so he supposed she was a perfect addition to his private hell. On the bright side, his previous training session had ended early, so he had about twenty minutes free before he was to train with Divina. Pyr knew a golden opportunity when he saw one, and so he lay down on the ground to wait, and decided to nap while he waited for Divina to show up. And so it was twenty minutes later that Divina crouched over his form, instinctively moving so as not to cut herself with the claws at her hip. She did not often handle squires, and only recently did such assignations pick up. Previous administration had their reasons, she was aware; Aspel and Liu were infinitely more tolerant. Still, while she was convinced of the legitimacy of her class, Divina came to such training sessions dressed in the fur and leather of a berserker. The Dark was tempting, and it was not a choice that could be taken lightly. Certainly not one to be made by impressionable squires. She sighed, distancing herself from her thoughts. Had Divina not been struggling with sleep herself, she might have smacked the boy across the head. Instead, a hand drifted to his shoulder to shake him awake. “Min.” Pyr had been flitting in and out of sleep, hearing the sounds of training in the yard as if they came from a very faraway place. The sun wasn’t punishing, and there was a slight breeze blowing. The perfect nap. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes when he heard his name called, and looked up to see Divina had already arrived. And she didn’t look at all cross that he’d been sleeping—she seemed nice, he decided. Still a little groggy, Pyr gave her a big smile and clambered to his feet. “I’m sorry I was sleeping,” he said, because apologising was the polite thing to do. Then he saw the claws at her hip, and he became excited about what that meant. “Are we training with claws?” She made a noncommittal noise. Wordlessly gesturing for him to follow, Divina walked toward the gravel. Her heel tapped against the surface for a moment. Seemingly satisfied by whatever it was that she’d tested, she turned to the squire. “Knuckle push-up position,” Divina said. “Here.” Scratch that. Perhaps nice wasn't the word. Oh well, at least she hadn't said they wouldn't train with claws. There was room for improvement, though that wasn't saying much if they were starting with knuckle pushups. Pyr got into position on the gravel, as instructed, and started. His abused muscles complained, but he gritted his teeth. Better to get the unpleasant part over with soon. Divina moved a few yards away. “One hundred fifty, Min,” she called back, clearly audible, although it didn’t seem like she was raising her voice at all. “And, if you are now awake, I will hear your counting.” Nice was definitely not the word. Pyr barely held back a groan of dismay—if he complained, Divina may give him even more pushups to do, and then he would die. And he would never be able to make trouble with Sky or eat chocolate again. “Five,” Pyr began, loud enough to be sure Divina would hear. He didn’t want her to make him start over just because of counting in a low voice. The minutes drove on until, at long last, the squire reached one hundred fifty pushups. Divina grunted as he reached one hundred fifty and made it back to his side in quick strides. “On your feet,” she said. When he rose, she demanded further, palm out. “Your knuckles.” As expected, the gravel had been rough enough. His knuckles were bleeding. Albeit painful, the wounds were manageable enough for any other fighter to Cure thoughtlessly, but Divina knew even the tiniest misstep would result in her casting Drain. It was with herculean effort that she focused on the wounds, mending the broken skin. “Remember how this feels,” she said, “because, should you desire to employ claws, you will bear these wounds time and time again. No matter how much one might pad the grip, eventually it will wear down on the knuckles.” She let his hands go as she finished the last of the wounds. “Normally, the wounds would be left to heal on their own, so that the skin toughens and become accustomed to the strain.” Pyr looked down at his hands. His knuckles had hurt like crazy while he was doing the pushups, the gravel digging painfully into his skin—but he hadn’t noticed the blood until he’d stood up, short of breath, and seen the red spots on the gravel where his hands had been. He let Divina’s words sink in. You will bear these wounds time and time again. If he began to use claws, his knuckles would bleed just as they were now. It wasn’t something he’d ever thought about, when he’d dreamed about learning to wield that particular weapon, but he considered it now as he stared at his bloodied hands. Weren’t all weapons the same? Cressida had warned him about the risk of injuring oneself when shooting a bow, and his instructors back home had told him how an incorrect grip on the knife may lead to the wielder cutting himself. And now he knew, claws meant bloodied knuckles. Did this change anything? He’d already decided some time ago, hadn’t he? “I’ve made up my mind,” Pyr told Divina. “I want to learn to use claws anyway.” She made a soft noise in the back of her throat. There was a brief smile on her face. “I was not asking.” Divina reached for her hip, unlacing her claws. The favored hell claws had been left at home; today, she’d brought claws of a more reasonable length and weight for a squire Min’s age. She demonstrated how to put them on before taking them off and handing them to him. Her hands went to her hair, winding the strands into a thick knot. “Stretches, drills, forms. And then sparring. You’ll wear them for all of it. Understood?” Pyr strapped on the claws as Divina had demonstrated. He was tired from the pushups, but he couldn’t help the excitement that bubbled up inside him. He’d always wanted to learn how to use claws, but he was wearing them for the first time today. That feeling fueled him as he carried out the exercises Divina set for him, one after the other, without a word of complaint. He couldn’t wait until it was time to start practising with this new weapon, and because of that the stretches and drills seemed to last forever. Just when he was starting to wonder, Divina indicated they were done. It was time to spar. But. How were they going to spar? Divina was unarmed, and there were no practice dummies around that he could see. “What should I do?” he asked, uncertain. “Defend yourself.” The knight swooped in with a roundhouse, twisting mid-air to follow up with a jab of her heel, a backfist. The strikes were fast, but carefully paced so that even a squire might have dodged if he was trained enough. “Three rounds,” she said as she moved. “Each round ends when you cut me.” “Understood,” Pyr said, grinning. She was fast, but speed was his speciality—his only real advantage in fights, actually. If all he had to do was cut her skin, he was confident he could win. He dropped into a guard stance. The claws felt foreign on his hands, but he told himself this just was like fighting with knives—only he wasn’t going to use stabbing attacks. He slashed with his left hand and followed up with the right in quick succession, then moved in closer when she dodged. Perhaps he was being too daring, but the way he saw it, a fast onslaught of slashes were the key to winning this. Too daring, indeed—Divina dropped low, sweeping his legs with a long arc of her right. She struck out with an elbow before moving back. Her eyes moved rapidly to analyze his every moment as she mentally drafted a critique for the round’s end. Pyr fell on his back, but managed to dull the impact by hitting the ground with his arms first, discharging some of the energy from the fall. He got to his feet with a wince; he’d moved in too close, and that strike would leave a bruise. Another bruise; he seemed to be collecting them lately. He wasn’t deterred, however. He tried a feint this time, one of his favourite tactics—letting his right shoulder drop slightly before going right, and then when she blocked that attack, he let his right shoulder drop again, but this time he went left and moved to slash her side. She flipped smoothly away, catching the offending hand by the wrist in an open-handed block. The hand twisted, gripping his wrist firmly. With a forceful tug, Divina ducked and turned to throw the squire down. Divina was going to throw him to the ground again, but as long as her grip was on his wrist and she was standing close to him, he could use that proximity to his advantage. With his free hand, he attacked one more time—this time, for sure, he had to get her. He was clever. And Liu had not been kidding about his speed. A millisecond too late, she would have missed the follow-up slash. But Divina struck his wrist with a closed-fist block, quickly re-angling her arm into a punch to his gut, careful to avoid the solar plexus. Again, she yanked on his wrist, and down the boy went. Divina’s strength was overbearing, and Pyr couldn’t avoid falling, pain exploding through his body when Divina’s punch connected. Once he hit the ground, she released him to avoid being dragged down with him, and he used that small chance to roll to the side, before she could follow up with another strike. As long as he was on the ground, he was at a disadvantage, so he hurried to get back to his feet. With every failure, he only became more determined to end the bout quickly. Though his endurance wasn’t the best, he’d improved in that area lately, yet still not enough that he could spar all day. He needed to cut Divina now, while his body was still able to keep up with him. He tried a roundhouse kick, which would not cut her, but did make her move to the side to avoid getting hit. As he turned to return to a guard stance, he let his leg bend a little too much under his weight, as if he’d landed his foot wrong. He’d actually been careful to land properly, but affecting an imbalance in his stance was a personal hobby; if done convincingly, it could work well to lure an opponent in. If Divina approached to exploit that opening, he’d slash up with his claws. He would cut her, even if the price was getting punched again. That it might have been another of his ploys crossed her mind. He seemed to prefer diversions, feints and tricks and lures—it was no wonder, Divina considered, he’d gotten in trouble in the first place. But whatever he was doing, intentional or not, it was the right thing. Her range was much further than his; there was no way he was going to get to her without drawing her in. It might mean he would have to be doubly fast to compensate for her superior strength. However, such risks were necessary in battle. So, as if to tell him, very good: Divina took advantage of his opening, sliding forward with a front kick. (And if the bad fall had been accidental, well. It would be a lesson to watch his feet.) The kick hurt like crazy, but he’d asked for it, hadn’t he? Perhaps he should start being more careful what he wished for—and yet, this was his chance. He slashed at the underside of her leg, lightning fast. He had been expecting her to strike, so his reaction was quicker than usual in spite of the pain. When she withdrew her leg and he stumbled back a step, he took a look at his claw and saw the tips of the blades were tinged with red. Round one. “Two to go,” he said with a cheeky grin, and settled back into a proper guard stance. If Divina landed as many successful hits in the next two rounds, he would be bruised all over by the end of the lesson. And yet, he was having so much fun, he couldn’t bring himself to care. It was a disconcerting moment for the fell knight. She was struck by an intense feeling of deja vu—she’d been here before, hadn’t she? Except it had been she who was laughing, holding up the claws, and her father across from her, his eyes gleaming with approval. She’d wanted nothing more than to be a monk then, a holy knight— Divina brushed the blood off her leg, nonchalant. Her fists came up, opened in knife-hand, ready to give Pyr another round of hell. “Again.” |