20th Trial, Ashan, Arc 718
South-East Outer Perimeter
18th break
South-East Outer Perimeter
18th break
There were things he didn't think about when he did them. Because he didn't need to. The way he moved, the position of his body, the means to get to the end result... it was known by his own muscles so well that his mind didn't even need to be part of the equation. That, Kasoria had found out, could make the difference in the middle of a fight. Most people needed a trill, or even a third of one, to think about what they needed to do next. But that was nothing more than hesitation, and that could kill you in a brawl.
No easy way to learn it, though, he thought as he bent down yet again, picked up the knives yet again, walked back yet a-bloody-gain, to the doorway. Either you practice hard and every day, or you get in fights every night.
Kasoria would rather take the first option. He was at the age where the sensible solution was always the most preferable, and far past the age where he had to prove his manhood to anyone, especially himself. So instead of trawling the bars looking for moving targets, he sheathed his knives, then drew one.
Looked at the target and the crude chalk outlines on the torso that he'd put on there. Bright and sharp against the old black coat covering it. Heart, lungs, liver. All he needed to know, for the moment. He'd closed the distance from fifteen feet to ten, as well. Baby steps, he had to keep reminding himself. But he was getting older, and starting from scratch didn't come easy to him.
So learn.
Stance. Grip. Draw. Snap. Release. Five steps that he'd come up with himself, after running through his memories of Wicked over and over. There could have been more that he was missing, but it wasn't his weapon and Wicked... well, that little sod always made it look easy. Didn't even look like he was aiming, yet with a flick of his wrist and a wet chuckle, there'd be a flash and twenty feet away, a man slumped over with a knife in his throat.
Not you. Not yet.
He straightened his arm, and rested the knife tip on the heart. There. That was where the release needed to come, and that was the discipline, he was learning. Letting go at that exact, precise moment. Too soon and you flew wide and above. Too late and it went low and much the same. So when he drew back that time, he tried to picture again where his arm had been in front of him. He lunged, flung, arm flying into his vision as he held the knife-
-fingers snapping out and releasing it-
THUNK
He smiled. The clang-thunk ratio was improving. His accuracy still wasn't great, but at least most of his throws were landing pointy-side-in, as it were. Before the knife had even stopped wobbling, he reached down, pulled a new knife-
Have to adjust the height. Don't need to be stooping down and to the side all the time.
Then he paused. The breaks wore on and on and he was sweaty, and his muscles ached, but didn't hurt... and he was getting bored. He licked his lips and decided to switch things up a little. Narrowed his eyes at the target and swept the hair out of them with his free hand. The release... that's what mattered. Getting his arm straight, then releasing his grip so the knife was aimed the split-trill before it was thrown. So, if that was the case, then it didn't just have to be one way.
So find out.
Kasoria moved his knife-hand across his chest, then slowly backhanded in front of him. He shifted his stance, sideways to the target instead of facing it like before. Yes, more room to swing his arm, a fraction more time to build up speed. Twice and a third time he swept his arm through the motion. Raising the knife across his chest, near his ear, then whipping it around and in front, until his arm was straight and at his side... and aiming at the target. Then when he thought he was ready, he drew it back more time and-
The pair of felines on the wall twitched briefly as the human seemed to move in a blur. His arm flung out at his side, sharp shiny thing he'd been holding flying from his grip-
THUNK
Shoulder. Not even close. Probably wouldn't even slow the bastard down, if he was hopped up on something. But Kasoria still nodded to himself. Straight throwing, and backhanded throwing. Now he knew them both. But that didn't mean he was necessarily good at them. So he sighed to himself, and drew another knife.
Hard, and every day. That's the rules.