• Solo • Pit of Lashes

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Woe
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Pit of Lashes

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100th of vhalar 719

The blacksnake whip snapped, twice and then again as it's tail end met with the candles, snuffing them out. It's braided cord slithered across the training grounds like a serpent coiling for another movement, another strike. Woe brought it over his shoulder, holding his arm high, and then throwing it ahead again, this time decapitating the candles.

One of the men training nearby grinned at him unkindly, and laughed, "It's an intimidating weapon, Flogger. Hurts like hell, but eh... It won't kill a man."

Woe shook his head despondently at the man's answer, "Death is a waste. It's far more important that they get the point, that I'm not going down without dealing pain."

Besides, Woe could always slip under the radar. All it would take is one glance in the mirror, forget who he was, and presumably so would everyone else. He hadn't tried it, of course, but in darker moments the thought occurred to him. Perhaps he'd age to white hair then, becoming decrepit and old. The idea was an intriguing one, if not exactly welcoming.

The blacksnake whipped forward again, hitting the candlemark targets one after the other.

"You know, I could teach you a real weapon? You could deal with pain, without drawing blood, or killing? It's all in how you execute your technique..."

Woe sniffed and took another few shots at more candlemarks. "If you're so sure of your weapon, why not try me at mine?"



Last edited by Woe on Sun Jan 26, 2020 12:47 am, edited 1 time in total. word count: 256
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Woe
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Re: Pit of Lashes

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The man's mouth threw agape, his hands raised in a defensive posture. Then he laughed nervously, "I use a blade and shield. I'd just tangle up your whip and rush you, mate."

Woe shrugged, as he weighed the blacksnake's handle in his grip. He gave it a look, and then turned toward the blade-wielder. "Let's see how that pans out in actual fact?"

"Oy, fine. But don't say I didn't warn ya! I'm not responsible for any scars ye might get!"

Woe shrugged, and so they stepped into a more open area pen, where men could square off against each other. This one was unoccupied, as none wanted to get their eye scratched out by a flailing whip. It was true, the weapon was more difficult to control for the amateur. It was temperamental and ill-suited to pitched battle, or a battlefield in general. It was not a weapon of war. It was the trappings of a torturer, one who wielded despair and pain in equal portion.

So, as they circled each other, Woe assumed his unarmed stance, the only modification being his right hand was lifted well over his head, gripping the sly handle of the blacksnake. For a moment they sized each other up, trying to gauge how the other would approach their battle. The shield covered the man's face, a prudent move, but there was still plenty of area to work around. Using a whip was just as much an exercise in controlling space as actually hurting a combatant.





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Woe
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Re: Pit of Lashes

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But as they sized each other up, the bladesman came forward slowly, testing, teasing out an approach. Of course, Woe held him at length with his whip, bringing it forward with a swiftness that belied the length of the weapon. It cracked in the air, making the other man wince. Woe took note of the man's sensitivity to sound.

The bladesman tried another approach, this time moving his shield to compensate for the whip's cracking in his ear. The unfamiliar posture, or so it seemed to Woe, was enough to set him off guard, which the torturer exploited with another crack of the whip. Inside the knee now, landing a hit.

"Ahh fucker!" He grasped his knee, where the leather lash had fallen. "Give me a moment." He said, holding out his sword arm as he worried at the welt that was rising beneath his pants leg. "Fucking... shit." Woe took the opportunity to create more empty space between them, sussing out the circle, and establishing a domain in the fighting pit.

"Are you prepared to give in?" Woe asked the man, genuinely curious if he should stop. Otherwise, his inclination was to whip the man while he held the advantage. It felt absurd to just stand there, pacing the pit while his opponent lay prone, and ready for another lashing.

He was answered soon enough, with the man lifted his shield and charged once more, the square of wood leading the sword as he collided with Woe.

The man was fast on the foot this time, and tackled the torturer down to the ground, holding him down while brandishing the shortsword in his face.
word count: 277
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Woe
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Re: Pit of Lashes

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Woe held his hands by way of submitting to the bladesman. "You... You win this round? How about we try... eh, unarmed next?"

His opponent stared down at him, from behind the shield and shortsword, and then grinned, setting the blade aside and giving him a hand up, to get on his feet. Once they were there, the man slapped him on the back. "Fucking whip hurts like a snake bite. Yeah let's go without weapons... Maybe..."

"Maybe?"

"I mean, you don't look like much. Barely any meat on your arms. Could you hurt me if you tried?" The man patted his own well muscled arms for emphasis. He shook his head at Woe.

Woe shrugged, "I can take a hit, don't worry."

"And where'd you learn to fight, then? How?"

"Slave pits." Woe lifted a finger to show the swordbrand on his cheek. The other man just shrugged at it. "This means I earned my freedom." The mortalborn said by rote. He'd said it so often he almost believed he'd fought his way out of the slave pens. In reality, most of the fighting he'd done was while in the shadowy city of the Naer. But there he'd learned to fight Lotharro, fighting dirty, fighting men far bigger and stronger than he was, and winning... occasionally.

"So you don't know any real style, technique? You just ground pound or flail your arms?"

Woe shook his head, and grimaced, "Try me?"

The man gave him a wry look, then they dropped their weapons, kicking them aside. In a few moments, they faced each other in the middle of the pit.

word count: 279
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Re: Pit of Lashes

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"Oy! Who said they wanna slap 'ands!" A bellowing voice sounded from beneath the darkened awnings beyond the fighting pit. Out of the shadows, a fat, balding, heavily tattooed and greased up man wearing little more than rag cloth trousers appeared. "I'll show ya how to slap 'ands, boys."

Woe looked from the bladesman to this new challenger, and quirked an eyebrow at both of them.
To the bladesman, "You know this... man?" Inquiring, he looked at the man, taking in his pear-like form.

The bladesman palmed his face and shook his head, "He's just a drunk that likes to get fucked up down here. Won't be any trouble to us. Just..."

Here the bladesman lowered his voice, so Woe would hear, "Don't let him catch a fish hook in your eye or anything... the man isn't the best fighter, but he's tricky and dirty."

Woe nodded to the advice with a shrug and then turned to give the pear-shaped combatant a chance. Without warning the fat man charged him, shouting what must've been his name, "Gwar, wago dirtbag!" And with that, he barreled into Woe's solar plexus, knocking the senses out of him for more than a bit.

Woe's vision was a haze, as he then jumped up with surprising agility, and began fighting the bladesman. The bladesman tried to grapple with Gwar, but the fat man's skin was slick with either sweat or grease, and every attempt slipped off of him with ease. The bladesman shot a jab at his face, in hopes of catching him, but Gwar merely ducked beneath it, and put the man in an armbar.

Once he was locked in place (which must've been a feat for as greasy as Gwar was), the bladesman began tapping his shoulder, giving up as Gwar twisted and nearly popped the socket. He might have even, if the bladesman didn't collapse then and there, and give in to shock.

Once he went limp, Gwar groaned, "Aww, no fun. You guys were supposed to be a challenge." His eyes roved from the bladesman, and then over to Woe, who swiftly shut his eyes. Gwar must have noticed him watching, for as he got up and stepped over the mortalborn, he grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to a sitting position. Gwar was to squat and small to really lift him up on his feet.

"Oy, boy, ya wan' learn Vy'ufnaji?! Fight like a real piece of..."

Woe stammered, and stepped tentatively away from the man, "I prefer my own style..."

Gwar's eyes widened, and he threw his hands to the side, "Aw, what? Yer grab bag of pit grapplin' and Ki'Enaq? Nah, boy. You gotta learn a real man's way. Ki'enaq is for women and kids. I can teach ya to hook a man in place with little more than a finger, and escape holds that a gorilla couldn't navigate!"

Woe wasn't in the mood for lessons. He didn't remember his last training session very fondly. "I just remembered, I have to meet my wife..." Woe stammered, and then beat a hasty retreat.

"Fookin pansy. Come back when you're ready to deal some pain..."

word count: 550
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Re: Pit of Lashes

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Woe:

Knowledge:
Acrobatics: Falling is the first lesson in acrobatics.
Strength: Pit of Lashes (1/4)
Strength: Pit of Lashes (2/4)
Strength: Pit of Lashes (3/4)
Strength: Pit of Lashes (4/4)
Unarmed Combat: Vy'Ufnaji: A greasy, grappling style of combat.

Loot: -
Wealth: -
Injuries: Bumps and bruises.
Renown: 5, for sparring publicly in the pits of Ne'haer.
Magic XP: -
Skill Review: Appropriate to level.
Points: 10
- - -
Comments: Snuffing out candles with a whip is quite impressive in my opinion. Woe sure is skilled!

You called this thread “plotless” in your review request, but it actually has a plot. It may not be a particularly elaborate plot, but it is one, nevertheless.

You described Woe’s fighting with his whip quite well. I found the thread entertaining!

Enjoy your rewards!

P.S.: You forgot the date! Please add it!
word count: 142

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