• Mature • Blending Genres (Graded)

[Kasoria]

42nd Trial, Ymiden, Arc 718
Outer Perimeter, South Side
15th Bell

Continued from here





If he was honest (which he often was, despite himself), this was the part he'd been looking forwards to the most. Because it was more a part of him than even the blades he carried or the reputation he brought everywhere he walked. It was simply a matter of finding the time and means to... blend together, these two parts of him. One new and ill-tested, but growing in proficiency. His skill with throwing knives was a recent development, yet now he could draw and turn and aim and plant one of them in the trunk of a dummy a dozen paces away or more, within the space of two trills.

But marrying this burgeoning ability with his oldest expertise... with this strength - no - this gift that he'd been nurturing since times he no longer remembered... so deep and familiar he barely needed to even think when he let loose with it... that was the ultimate goal.

Separate, they're dangerous. But together, they are unstoppable.

Kasoria opened his eyes and took in the space around him. The dummies had been moved. Now one was in front of him, and the other was to his left. He didn't want to get too familiar, too complacent. So he switched things up. Kept things moving and flowing and changing, just like every brawl was. He rolled his shoulders and the loosening motion went down his arms, his torso, his legs... until he was ready.

He breathed in. This was the part that made it even more real. This ability to see dead wood and lifeless matter... then close his eyes... inhale... exhale... and open them again, to see flesh. Faces. Bodies. Enemies.

Now he was ready.

Without preamble he drew a knife from his right sheath and hurled it to his left, aiming low-

Most armor protects the torso. The trunk. All the valuable organs. But you're less likely to see it on the-

THUNK

-blade piercing the groin, and before the impact had even rippled through the dummy, Kasoria was bursting forward-

-right arm thrown up as he went, coming in low and fast towards an enemy that was not a wooden puppet, but a real, raging opponent. Swinging a sword at his head and he could almost feel the impact when the imaginary blow was blocked by his forearm-

-left hand going from cocked at his side to exploding up-

-heel of his hand hammering into the face of the dummy. In his mind he saw a nose broken, felt the hot spurt of blood across his palm, enemy reeling back in pain as his vision exploded and his balance vanished-

Never waste that moment. You may not get it twice.

He drew back his right hand as his right leg flew out, stamping hard on the dummy's leg. Nailing him hard on the thigh, enough to splinter wood and he could see the broken-nosed man fall down to one knee with a gasp, still managing to raise his sword-

-as Kasoria drew a throwing knife from his thigh and-

THUKTHUKTHUK

Stabbed it three times with blinding speed into the side of the dummy's neck. Dark, weather-blown wood was carved away by the trio of blows, revealing the brighter, untainted matter underneath. Were it a man, his carotid would have been ripped open, devastating blow opening a ragged hole that no hand or binding or salve could have closed before death claimed him and-

Not done yet.

Kasoria turned fast and hurled the same blade at the dummy he'd crotch-shot mere trills before. Still swaying slightly, man still probably screeching and trying not to vomit. But still alive, still a threat-

THUNK

So Kasoria let fly and the blade whipped across the yard, landing with an oddly meaty sound in the dummy's chest and-

-the dance did not end.

[Kasoria]

Were the men, they would be dead. One for sure. The other, pierced once in the balls and again in the chest (only without armor, remember?) would be on the way. But that was the joy and trap of training by yourself. It made things easier, because only still wood and empty air was facing you. A rank amateur was a master of his craft, because there was no real challenge imposed by another.

So you had to impose it yourself.

Kasoria imagined the dummy he'd just pierced again was either armored, high on something truly diabolical, or simply not human. Either three were possible in Etzos... in fact, he'd come across each one in turn. So the scenario changed. The man was struck, sure, but he was still moving. Moving and lurching towards Kasoria with a bastard sword in hand, swinging it hard and sideways to take the little fucker's head off and-

-Kasoria lunged forward but did not strike-

-instead tucked his head and shoulders down and rolled across the hot stones-

-under the blow, world going whirly and blurry as he went upside down for a moment, but keeping his head-

-for when his feet slapped onto the cobbles again, at the side of his target-

Yelling out like a savage as he exploded upward, right hand held out straight and flat as a knife, swinging up-

CRACK

-crying out again, drowning the pain in his hand with the rush of the moment. Smashing the knife edge of his hand into the side of the dummy's throat. The blow could easily collapse the tubes and arteries in there, leaving his enemy choking and agonized, and once again he-

-capitalized, before his enemy could react-

CRACK

-jerking his right knee up between the dummy's legs, grazing the knife already lodged in there as he did. The feel of the weapon buried there birthed a new idea, and before the dummy had even settled again Kasoria grabbed the huilt of the knife, ripped it from the crotch and-

SHKKK

-slashed it across the bruised throat of the dummy. Being a throwing blade, it's point was far deadlier than its edge. It was designed to do damage with that tip, flying at high speed, ripping through flesh with a quickness a simple thrusting or slashing hand could not provide. But this close, and for this purpose, the edges were enough. Kasoria imagined a hairy throat cut open, blood spewing over him, onto him and-

Keep it moving, keep it going!

CRACK

-stabbed the little blade into the ruined throat of his dummy, finishing it off for good. High or plated or inhuman, a throat crushed then slashed then impaled by a hunk of steel, did not belong to a being who was walking away alive any time soon. He let go and immediately grabbed the hilt of the blade still in the chest of the dummy, yanking it out and as the blade came free-

-his arm snapped out towards the second dummy, the one he'd first charged towards. He used the broken trill it took to grip and yank it loose to aim, then hurled it backhanded towards his enemy-

THUNK

-and was rewarded with a strike to the stomach, enemy stopped in his tracks as he suddenly found his guts run through.

Kasoria paused. It wasn't enough. It wasn't just pride or stubbornness, it was... reality. There was always more to do. More to learn. Harder to push yourself, and for longer. So the pause did not last long, and when it was over-

-Kasoria turned his back to the target and pressed his arms to his sides. Fates, he was grateful no-one could see him. He'd look like a genuine fucking nutter. Pretending to be gripped in a bearhug from behind, squirming with his armed pinned at his sides, when there was nothing to his rear but an abused and long-dead hunk of tree. Dressed in rags little better than his own, held together with nails and cord. But he still pretended, and in doing so, he remembered.

He wasn't a big man. People often assumed they could just grab him, hold him tight, even pick him up, and it was done. So he'd learned quickly to prove them wrong. And he realized that pinning his arms at his side put his hands right next to the sheaths at his thighs. He tucked his chin low as he struggled, touched it against his chest as his right hand drew a blade, trying to move as little of his arm as he could. When it was in his grasp, held like a dagger-

-his head flew back, back of it crashing into the wooden face of the dummy. Hard enough to confuse and befuddle his enemy, if it didn't break his nose or chin., using that moment of slack to-

-stab backwards into the groin of the dummy, over and over, laying on strike after strike until he was sure any sane man (hells, any man capable of feeling pain) would have let go, and then he was free, free to-

CRACK

-slam a rear elbow from his left back and up into the chin of the dummy, knocking it back, keeping the sideways motion going as he whirled around-

THUNK

-stabbing the throwing knife into the side of the dummy's throat yet again, next to the first one he'd left there. Then he let go, just for a trill, and gripped both of them at the same time. A stab buried a blade deeper than a throw; pulling two was twice as hard as one. Both factors led to Kasoria grinding his teeth, growl rising from them. No pain. Just anger. Not bubbling, not raging, but simmering. Harnessed like a flame placed in some mechanical contraption, powering wheels and gears. So while he snarled when the blades came free, it was not mindless, for in that moment of struggle he'd been-

-watching-

-finding-

-aiming-

-and again he backhanded towards the first dummy, still swaying with a knife in it's stomach. He let both blades go and one smacked into its chest, probably caught in the ribs, sticking and grinding against bone and the second-

CLANG

-went wide. Struck brick and clanged like pots banged together. Kasoria finally stopped. Panting and sweating, rivulets of it streaming down from his hair, leaving little streams of dark perspiration on his cloak. The sheet-like garment felt as heavy as chainmail as his chest heaved... and the actual chainmail he wore, well..suffice to say, he was hoping he'd be able to finish off a fight before he had to worry about collapsing from exhaustion. Like now.

Getting fucking old.

Kasoria groaned at the treacherous notion and shook his head. Went through the motions and gathered up his knives. He left the dummies gently twitching in the sun, observed by the cats that hadn't bolted once during his performance. Instead they'd looked placidly on, like nobles regaled by some poor mummers at the market, without a hint of either approval or condemnation. Kasoria smirked up at them and resisted the urge to give a mock bow.

It's bad enough you talk to them.

Right on cue, a one-eyed example came sashaying around his legs from inside. Meowing insistently and rubbing what little tail she had left against him. The killer chuckled and bent down to scratch her behind the ears. A minor deluge of sweat cascaded from him when he did, and Bella shot away with a hiss.

I agree, cat. Time for a bath.

The bells rang out across the city, from high perches reserved for the noble and affluent, higher and deeper in Etzos. Kasoria marked the time as he wandered back in time, relieving himself of his sheaths, then his clothes. The progress was good. But it could never stop.

No best, no ending, he reminded himself as he started drawing water. Only better than yesterday.

[Pegasus]

Kasoria

Overview

My favourite part of this thread was right at the beginning when he was thinking about the merging of two skills - it was like he was musing over the merging of two aspects of himself - which in a way he was. It was really well written and it pulled me right in there. Beautifully done, enjoy the rewards

Points

XP: 10 (not for magic)

Renown: nope

Loot

none

Knowledge

Acrobatics: Forward Roll
Throwing (Knives): Aiming For Unarmored Body Parts
Throwing (Knives): Also Useful for Stabbing (Well, DUH)
Throwing (Knives): Pulling a Knife From a Body and Immediately Throwing It Again
Unarmed Combat (Ki'Enaq): Palm Heel Strike
Unarmed Combat (Ki'Enaq): Knife Hand Strike ("Karate Chop")