He Gave Me Wings

[Abaddon]

This Trial, the 67th of Vhalar, of Arc 718

For the first night in Trials, Abaddon had slept. There were nightmares as always, and though they nipped at his heels, there was a certain comfort he longed for in his search for wakefulness. Those few Breaks gave him comfort, and he lazily awoke to eat breakfast with Klein who'd informed him of Alistair's absence. They hadn't connected yet, but in time. "I shall train, then," Abaddon said. "Tell him he can find me in the library and later the yard; this home is such a maze."

Sitting upon the comforting leather chair in front of a desk, he drew the smocks upon his legs up to the knee, taking a bare quill from the lectern and tracing it across his skin. In his mind, he began to pool the Ether into the tip of the pen and promptly drew those glimmering golden runes of strength upon his waxed calves. Interlocking lines representing muscle, tightened into a shape reminiscent of a fist, they could be seen glowing dimly even through the thin fabric, and they flared brightly as he touched them with his fingers to activate them.

Rising to his feet, he felt almost weightless, throwing out his arms for balance before waddling off to the yard, his Skaldori chain tucked safely in his belt. What began was a morning routine, where Abaddon had a new fitness and training regimen, motivated to be something, to stop hiding from what he was, and what he would inevitably have to face. The Creep felt trivial compared to the fear he held for the monster of the night that preyed upon his clan, but he knew he had to grow, to push himself.

Bowing forward into a brisk jog, he started running around the house, the Runes of Strength in either leg working in tandem to support his weight, the speed at which he ran increasing dramatically by consequence. He continued until his lungs burned, and meandered to the center of the yard, drawing out his chain and letting the links spill through his fingers.

Throwing his wrist, he twirled the metal whip around by the portion with the metal ball. This was the traditional practice he was expected to master, to be able to spin, throw, and grasp with either end of the chain. This weapon had so much utility, but the complexity made it difficult to use, Abaddon never quite mastering it, even if he did look somewhat graceful as he tucked his arms to his body and turned with the spinning flail, skimming the earth and sending it flying across the yard in thick clumps and causing the ball to alter in its trajectory, arcing around towards his leg.

Yanking back in correction, a sharp, heavy weight collided with his ass and Abaddon yelped, gasping and stamping around the yard as if he'd stubbed his toe, clutching the metal ball in his fist.

[Alistair]

Rise and shine.

The sun's gleam scarcely touched through the thick clouds that mired above, or at least so he'd thought in his brief tenure here. Yet totrial, the light broke in through his windows, projecting a cast of crimson onto the area of his dresser, which reflected to him a most irritating glare. Alistair would need to ensure such a thing did not happen often, though he found over-indulgence into sleep an unfortunately wasteful tendency. With a displeased frown, he quickly rose from his bed, bare of chest and sporting a tight pair of linen briefs that clung to his waistline, and ended before his knees.

The mage yawned, rubbing one eye, as he drew his feet beneath the edge of the bed and met with the floor. With lumbering, exhausted steps, he made his way to the dresser. The mage would proceed to dress in simple clothes - a form-fitting linen woven tunic and a second layer of pants, with black leather boots to hold back some of the frost. Fortunately, it was still yet Vhalar, and his ichor had not yet suffered the whole onslaught of the cold. He was still able to dress relatively informally, largely at the behest of his thick muscles and therefore steady insulation.

Immediately after dressing, bringing with him his spear and other equipment - such as his Locket-watch, some wells and a satchel full of reagents - he went to check on Abaddon in his chambers, but was met with the jubilant grin of a blond-haired Lotharen, instead. Kleine, of course, who always made sure to attempt to brighten the start of his trial. In response, Alistair smiled in turn, stepping over to offer the smaller man a fond embrace.

"H-Hey Ali," the Lotharro said from within the confines of a laugh, as Ali swished him around. As much as they argued, and as much history as they bore, the two of them were still dear friends. They always remembered that, in moments like these ones.

Finally, with a hefty lift and drop, the mage set his friend down as the world lightly spun, then corrected itself. "Fare thee well thine morning, manservant to the prestigious Lord Alistair Venora. Where's my breakfast?"

"You'll eat during your morning tasks, anyhow - I've seen you neglecting my meals so you can shop at Dmitry's. Go off, you scoundrel," he shooed him, face lit with a silly grin.

"To be sure," Alistair nodded. "But firstly, where's Abaddon? I was hoping we'd get to rendezvous a bit - I can teach him some form, and--"

"Uhm," the Kriger pondered. "I think he said the library first, but it's vacant. So he's in the yard, testing his prowess, or something of the like. Should be where you can find him. Now -- Mrs. Florent," he trailed off... with Alistair nodding yes, yes and yes until he was down the steps and before the door leading to the yard. Waving politely to his nurse and assistant, he quickly barged through the yard only to witness Abaddon hopping around like one with a broken ankle, or a particular, debilitated limb. Alistair's brow cocked and he stepped forward, gesturing for the man to calm.

"Careful there, darling. Is everything alright? What's going on?" Concern lit his eyes. If there was one thing that Alistair most certainly wasn't, it was irresponsible over those he cared for. He was a busybody, always eager to mend, guide and assist. To see that he'd already been absent for one injury was unfortunate, though nothing looked incredibly serious. Abaddon wasn't Fridgar - he wouldn't be traipsing around getting limbs ripped off or organs twisted into with blades. He was a calm and collected individual, at least comparatively to the people Alistair had affections for in the past.

[Abaddon]

Bewilderment shook Abaddon to the core when the Master of the House began descending towards him, that stocky frame taking up so much of the yard that he could do little but stare, standing at attention with back straight and stiff despite the throbbing pain in his buttocks. "It's alright, it's fine," he choked, wrapping the chain about his arm. Shrugging, he tried to be cool, even if there was now very likely a blackened bruise where daylight rarely shined. "I trust you slept well?"

The Runewarrior-in-training stepped forward with excitement, forgetting about the runes upon his legs. At once he bolted from the ground from what was supposed to be a hop, losing balance and falling straight into Alistair's arms. His belly lifted, air sputtered from his lips, and hoarse laughter began bellowing from his lungs. "Aha! I have the grace of a balancing tortoise when bolstering my legs to be as strong as yours!" he roared, hugging the man's limbs to hoist himself up.

Twisting and holding Alistair at arm's length, he stared into his eyes. "I've been thinking of the Creep, and how I should be training more to survive out there. Admittedly, my ancestors lost much of the way of the Lotharren traditions, and I was unable to find my true Path in Uthaldria. Would you care to show me the way?" Alistair was the only man he knew who seemed to be a stronger warrior, who could also train him, that he could trust. Whatever plagued his family, he knew that he would not be taken so easily with the talents of Alistair.

[Alistair]

Though his eyes did not express much in the way of believing Abaddon, Alistair allowed him the comfort of delusion, particularly considering there was likely little he could do to mend that of a blunt wound to the... well. "I did, in fact, sleep well." The mage confirmed this fact with the almost lazy, slouching demeanor he bore, and the forceful attempts to keep his back from pressing into the nearest wall. Alistair did not often garner a proper night of rest, and when he did, his body longed for more. His sleep ironically had the opposite effect of what one would expect - it helped him to recognize how drained he really was.

But still. The night had been good. He dreamt of things he could scarcely remember, and thought within the gaps on Abaddon, and what privilege he had to have met him. And all the things they could do with one another. It seemed Abaddon was equally as excited, as from the onset of his question, he'd immediately rushed to the side of his partner and quickly plummeted into his torso. A wild, premature endeavor, though one that the mage responded to with a barrage of laughter and soft strokes to the man's smooth locks of hair. "A balancing tortoise?" The mage laughed again, and louder this time -- Abaddon's wit was genius, and had managed to impress him already to little end.

"Don't sell yourself so short, darling. You're more akin to a... childbearing Seagull, or a freshly woken Sohr Khal. Clumsy and self-destructive, but only for a spell. You'll get there -- or may your own two acorns be at stake," Alistair threatened, teasingly. He then quickly drew Abaddon deeper into his chest, and kissed at his cheek, then his neck, then softly against his lips, pressing his own weight back into the wall like his body had lazily beckoned. As Abaddon hoisted his stature to normal, the mage allowed him his strait of distance, their eyes meeting as the trills went by. He listened intently, then, to the words of his partner as he stated his intentions for the trial.

"Well... yes, but..." The mage's eyes grew almost reluctant, inhibited by the framing of the question. A Path was a highly important detail of a Lothar's life, and Alistair would simply never understand its importance. He'd chosen his whimsically in order to help free his old havendal from the Jeger stronghold, and followed it afterwards for the privileges a Path offered in Lotharen society. Altogether, he was uncertain as to what he meant, and so could not dare to answer with confidence. "I can only truly offer you my company, and my insight, my light. Perhaps you'll find meaning in your life, here, within Ashbrook's crimson stones as a Kriger, or out slaughtering Ferahorns as a Jeger, as I am." It was exceptionally rare for a non-Lothar to derive from a Path, but Alistair had committed himself to one, regardless of his initial reasoning. He was certain Abaddon would likely raise an eye, but with Alistair's training had come the opportunity to impart such knowledge to others.

"If you wish to pursue the Path of the Hunter, then I can show you a part of the journey, and help you to grow in martial ability. You have an inherent strength of mind, and the advantage of a lean, muscular form like the Valendale. Much like my own form before I arrived in Gauthrel; I can help you to grow larger and more peerless as well, my light. But we need to uncover what few things you would like to improve upon the most. Your skill with a weapon? Your endurance, mobility -- what? When I first became a warrior, I followed intently a grueling tree of tasks I needed to perform, and goals I needed to meet. There was no freedom nor pleasure in the ascent, but through sheer fortitude, I've arrived exactly where I hoped to be. You can do the same." And so, the only option was to decide where to begin. Magic, might, body, mind... Alistair was an inexperienced trainer, but a devoted partner, one that would do well to encourage the survival of his companion.

[Abaddon]

Weariness remained in the back of his mind, a certain fear that he might have afflicted Alistair with the drain of Kielik's mark by accident. This was quickly dismissed by the fact that his own body had slumbered the night before, so he ceased fretting on that note. "I'm so glad," he breathed in exasperation, embracing the man as he laughed to the tune of wit and jest. A deep inflection marred his voice as he murmured "I know, I know" into the kissing one's affections, tilting his chin down to teethe along the hardened skin of his better. "Childbearing Seagull," he chortled. "Perhaps a Childbearing Sohr Khal would be a middle ground between the two, hm?"

An embrace soon faltered, and they grew apart, Abaddon's eyes ever staring into Alistair's like an obedient dog. This absolute loyalty, this dedication, it was all he could do to keep the other part of his mind from leaking out. Although Alistair seemed to share similar traits, he wanted to show that he could control his own darkness, and to downplay how terrible he really was. "Company and insight are the guiding stones to the Path I walk by your side, Alistair. I have always fancied the Jeger, although I find them to be limiting outside of the woes and difficulties my Lotharren brethren suffer each and every Trial in Uthaldria, plagued by the great beasts that dwell in the lands there. Here, however, the threat is much smaller here, though the training should be no less arduous." Alistair was already so impressive that he could not question the man's abilities, even having not seen them. His body alone was testament to that fact. "You shall show me the Path of the Hunter, as you understand it," he agreed, internalizing what followed, his eyes wandering out to the yard as his mind envisioned the responsibilities and ardor to come. In his youth, he'd trained much, though for some reason he'd ceased for the last few Arcs. Perhaps it was depression? Who knew, but in any case, Alistair was his light now, and he would follow that ember for as long as it flared brightly, even from the depths of the great void. "Then shall we create a regimen to follow, Alistair? I will trust in your foresight, in how I should sculpt my body, mind, and soul to the needs of fighting the Creep."

[Alistair]

A childbearing Sohr Khal. The mage failed to imagine one teetering on the edge of labor - as beings predicated on their lean, agile forms and their mid-flight grace, one wielding a massive, unwieldy belly was--

"Wait. Don't they lay eggs?" Sohr Khal did. He remembered that they did, from the perched nests in Northern Gauthrel. He'd seen their massive enclaves of vegetation. And for that matter, didn't seagulls lay eggs too? Alistair immediately buried his forehead into the base of his palm, before slapping it once. "Gods. Did I actually forget that birds lay eggs? I've spent too little time outdoors of late. Please abandon all pretension that my jests are, or ever will be, remotely entertaining." The mage laughed it off as he could, though in fact he was quite embarrassed, considering even the most brain-addled child knew that a Seagull didn't get pregnant.

Nevertheless, as embarrassing as his comment may have been, the mage quickly pivoted the conversation towards something more productive. Abaddon was indeed correct; outside of Uthaldria, or particular regions of Idalos, there was little necessity for a Jeger and little opportunity for such men to thrive. The beasts were typically not as powerful, and thus the training was far less rigorous, left unhoned by the ardor of the actual world. But Quacia provided them a different path -- one of equal danger, or even more. Alistair had thought on this considerably, and so took his time to explain his beliefs on the matter.

"The Jegers have never been more needed than in Quacia," he said. "Rather than a dissident flurry of unaffiliated and unintelligent beasts, Quacia faces a collective and singular threat - a curio of Godless things that seek to abolish the presence of other dissimilar forms of life. The Jegers have always been an elite, disciplined force within the mass of rowdy berserkers of Uthaldria. A collective with a thousand different strategies for each type of foe to be encountered. The only difficulty is that, in Gauthrel, they are plagued with the chaotic nature of the region -- they may be in the process of eliminating two Lurkers, only for a Feron to smell blood and join the fray, disrupting their organization and culling those present. But Quacia does not wield the same element of chaos, and can utilize a Jeger's talents for more - our ability to codify all apparent weaknesses, and discover counter-strategies in response. Our precision in defeating key targets, dispatching them handily. Our mobility, and ability to operate within harsh environments, antithetical to human survival. I truly believe, Abaddon, that men of such talents will be the saving grace for this city. I will make it so."

And so he, of course, would be his first progeny. He had the talent, the body and the mind, as he'd explained previously. What remained was merely, as he raised, a regimen alongside field experience. The mage recalled his own initiation as a Jeger, forced into the wilds for many trials with a particular objective in mind. He learned how to procure sources of water, to build shelter and acquire meals. And to hunt, and be hunted - and reverse the trajectory of predation. Such an exercise would benefit Abaddon, particularly now before he grew too acquainted to the luxury of living in the Ashvane Estate.

But before even then, the body came first.

"We'll need to train your endurance first and foremost. It is the foundation of all physical progress, and training in it will allow for greater, more consistent gains in all other schools of physical activity. Afterwards, your strength will be of foremost importance. Weapon training comes amidst the rest, and we'll handle that in alternating sessions of training. We'll divide our regimen into five trials - every first and fourth trial you'll practice honing your endurance. On the second trial, you'll practice with a weapon, and on the third and fifth you'll improve upon your strength and muscular definition. When we've acquired an adequate foundation, we'll cut out the second trials for endurance and strength training and replace them with something else... such as climbing, or hunting, or wilderness survival. Within all of these trials, you'll have the opportunity to improve upon your magic, if you so desire. I'd be happy to delve into that equally - though I will admit I am no master of the magics you practice, nor am I initiated into them." He bit his lower lip.

Right now, he supposed it was the beginning of the first day, which meant that Abaddon should be keen to delve into Endurance. With the limited space of his training yard, however, it would be difficult to perform the typical early functions such as hiking a long route back-and-forth. There was other methods to train endurance, however; any form of continual activity until one's muscles gave in, the endurance of pain, and straining specific sections of the body. Even deprivation of food and water could supply endurance to someone, though Alistair would prefer Abaddon's muscles to develop quickly, and so they would forego that method.

He let out a deep, dissatisfied sigh. Running it was. "Alright - on the first trial, we'll go running in the underground tunnels. I've done so before, and they're fairly safe, as well as lengthy, with few interruptions. The second trial, we'll focus on weapons training via sparring, your weapon versus mine. This yard will suffice for that. On the third trial, for our strength regimen, we'll simply lift weights and perform exercises in the yard -- same deal on the fifth and final trial. On the fourth trial, for endurance training, we'll perform stretching and straining exercises, as well as artificially stimulate your energy with breathing control methods and other practices. All of it should balance into a healthy regimen, not dissimilar from my own. How does that sound, my light?"

Alistair was clearly disinterested in his approval, considering his eyes had already shot to the sides as his mind fell clearly into his own thoughts. He wondered of when it would be appropriate to test Abaddon's abilities in the field, and thought of dates during which he could schedule their wilderness survival activity. This would be a lengthy and time-consuming progress, and he needed to be sure his schedule was clear. With the nervous twisting of his lips, he continued to think, and weigh.

[Abaddon]

Abaddon shrugged, eyes bulging, arms waving out to the side. "Dunno! Never seen one!" A hand raised as Alistair made that diversion into self-pity, but he ended up smiling instead of encouraging the man, laughing with him to keep the mood going. "Ah, and soon you'll forget women make younglings when another hammer knocks your skull rattled!" A common Yari dilemma. So many people weren't right in the head in Yaralon. So many.

And then, Alistair began. Oh, he began. Abaddon relented and held an arched hand over his mouth in contemplation, squeezing his cheeks together, elbow in. It was a lot to process and he missed a lot of it, but by the end of it all he was left with musings about the monster at hand. It's intelligent. Chin turning over his shoulder, he wondered to the outdoors, how it might try to trap them both. That is distressing. Nodding as if to pretend he understood what a Lurker or a Feron was, he invited more questions into his mind, but kept them at bay, listening and listening... "Mmm, you're right. It may be a smart thing, but it's not so varied as the wilds." It registered in his mind that the Lurker and the Feron were certainly nothing to be trifled with, even if he knew little about what they were, and to compare the Creep with monsters even Alistair found threatening was saying something. "Killing things quickly, weaknesses, being mobile, knowing how to move and survive out there, yeah." Men of such talents? Wait...

...There would be more men? Alistair wanted to start a faction of Jeger within the city?

Eyes wandering back, their gaze met again. Endurance. "I've got a pretty good pain tolerance," he lied. In fact, he was a wimp by Lotharren standards. How that happened growing up in Yaralon was a mystery, even to him. Strength, it makes sense. Being stronger might give me a better control over that weapon of mine. Paying attention to the regimen, he started to plan how his days would look, between working for Alistair and training to be better. There was little time to be wasted, but he knew he could focus on more scholarly pursuits or even the exploration of magic while his muscles were recovering from the strain. "I'm certain your insights into everything you have mentioned would be far more valuable than I could have gleaned elsewhere, my light, even where magic might be concerned," he praised. Running. Excellent choice. Breathing in, he mentally prepared himself for the Trials to come. "This is going to be difficult, but I will meet every demand of my mind, my body, and my time to the best of my ability, and hopefully beyond that, too." Thinking back to the Quacian version of vice, he wondered if he should give up alcohol entirely, but decided he wasn't there quite yet. "You and I, weapons training. Weightlifting, exercise. Ah, never thought about breath control! That all sounds like a good time, to be sure." As Alistair thought, he too thought, to the cavernous ceiling above, mentally acknowledging what he would be doing day in and day out. There were long Trials ahead for the both of them.

[Aegis]

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Thread Review

A nice little thread, the teacher/student relationship that is formed/forming is interesting to see developing. I particularly enjoy the comparisons Alistair makes between Abaddon and Fridgar (or tries to not make). Makes it feel more real.

Alistair

• Skill Points - 15
• Renown - 0
• Skill Knowledges
  1. Teaching: Developing a curriculum
• Non-Skill Knowledges
• Items and Other Rewards

Abaddon

• Skill Points - 15 (Can be used for Hone)
• Renown - 0
• Skill Knowledges
  1. Whip (Skaldori Ball-And-Chain): Spinning With Momentum
  2. Whip (Skaldori Ball-And-Chain): Hitting Yourself In The Arse, Ow!
  3. Tactics: Studying an Opponent For Weaknesses
  4. Hone: Guiding Ether With a Quill To Draw Runes
  5. Hone: Strength Runes To Both Legs, Enhancing Running Speed
  6. Hone: Balancing On Bolstered Legs
  7. Endurance: Talking Through Pain
  8. Endurance: A Regimen With Running, Stretching, and Energy Stimulation
  9. Strength: A Regimen With Weights & Exercises
• Non-Skill Knowledges
• Items and Other Rewards

Final Notes

If you have any questions, please PM me. Also please add the provided stamp to your review request found here and please update your CS with all of this information.

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