01-16-2018, 07:53 PM
So. The grand swordmaster could be taken by surprise. Good. Jai might have smirked, but the response was lost behind the diffuse clouds of muddled focus: watching his target almost extra-corporeally. When that outrageous sword hefted up to meet his chosen short, Jai had to concentrate every ounce of his effort into holding his own wrist tight enough to not drop it.
Steel rang steel. He managed to keep his grip on the fat hilt through the first strike: poorly wrapped with old, fraying leather as it was rather than the tensile strength of silk cords he regularly used. But in follow up, he hadn't expected a fully extended club of an arm to swing for the stars and hit his throat. Jai felt his heels slide through the dirt, carried forward by his own rushing momentum, while his chest plummeted back. The only coherent thought was to avoid skewering himself on his own bloody sword.
He laid there, wind knocked from his chest and throat gasping for air through what felt like sucking on a collapsed straw. Lennox shoved the sword into dirt beside his ear, mimicking a gruesome pike through his opponent's face, and called the spar finished.
"Dead. Luckily you already stink of a corpse. Be about your way."
Jai glared up between gasps. So much for the guy's immense reputation for honor. That was no spar. That was a cheap shot. Luckily, moments before alarm settled, the collapsed throat released its spastic clench and soothing air rushed in freely. He rolled to his side, coughing so hard he expected a lung to spew from his mouth. Or at least vomit. He vaguely remembered vomiting at some point recently. Then collapsing forward afterward hoping his cheek wasn't laying in it, but too apathetic to actually check if that was the case. Unfortunately, no hands snaked under his shoulders to help him up now as those had to get him someplace cleaner before.
Lennox stepped away about the time Jai found his voice again. Hoarse, but driven to call out his opponent for his inadequacies, he yelled after his retreat. "Yeah?"
Lennox turned, "well that's the thing. I don't feel dead yet. So bloody stand and fight, Orander!"
Jai carefully pushed to one knee, grappled the flimsy sword in his strong hand, and managed to get into a defensive stance. Lennox obliged, and somewhere within Jai was grateful. His arms dragged like they were on fire when his offensive lunge was quickly turned into fighting for his life again. Their clash nearly ripped the sword from his hand, too. The death grip on the hilt transferred the energy to his shoulder, and nearly suctioned it from the socket as a result. He stumbled to keep his feet under the flailing shift of momentum while the shock wrenched sounds of surprise from him, but his body followed the arm where it was flung around. Part of him recognized the parry looked far less energetic than it felt, but he couldn't process what to do about it other than avoid falling on his face two seconds into their reignited spar.
Then a second cheap shot. He was open, and deserved it, but still yelled horribly when the part of his face that hinged his jaw to his skull collapsed. The force transferred clear to the other side of his face. His teeth clamped down instinctively, but the stabilizing iron bulge of muscle could not prevent the bone jamming out of place. Jai was only aware of its complete dislocation when he realized his teeth no longer laid atop one another as they should; and the fracture when the lower molars dangled off line from the remaining rigid row. Almost all the molars.
Bleary eyed anger riddled him to his hands and knees though, needing to avoid laying face down in the dirt more than he cared about the dismemberment of his face. He swallowed an acidic bolus of vomit back down his throat, concerned he wouldn't be able to open his mouth wide enough to expel it if cleared his tongue. Something solid went down with it, though. Nausea lurched as blood from a toothless hole filled his mouth, seeping out from between his lips where he managed to part them. And he watched what slid down his chin drip off and congeal when it hit the dirt below. The simple imagery thankfully held any flashbacks at bay, and he barely avoided what threatened to overwhelm him.
"Dead."
Lennox called the spar for a second time.
Strangely, the pain and nausea subsided quickly. Feeling around for the damage felt like boot-prodding an anonymous body on the field to check if it was still alive. He found a sunken in depression on one side of his face, and the bone swung freely back and forth where the other half was immobile. Strength surged enough to bring him to his feet again. What the hell kind of spar was this?!
Once the horizon stopped rocking, he swiped some of the wetness from his chin. It didn't do much good, and he was swallowing more than what leaked out. And it tasted like drinking liquid sickening steel. Then fumbled with hanging onto the hilt with now blood-soaked palms. He cursed the shoddy leather giving him no traction for a grip, and gazed around, trying to decide exactly which black coat was Lennox's honor-whipped, retreating back, but paused on one guy standing with the the rest of the watching circle. He was gesturing rapidly as though wiping his hands on his coat. Another one squat down to grab a fist of dirt and showed it to him. Jai blankly stared a few moments longer, then realized he didn't have to call Lennox back this time. He was learning on his own, apparently.
His feet and arms moved. Blocking out a sequence from near the end of the routine he performed every morning. He knew the deficiencies as they were executed, but was unable to do much about it. Lennox was unlikely to let him start over. Cause the guy was the bannerman for sportsmanship. The substandard move transitioned into a poorer sequence after. The hilt slid through his fingers, and he clamped his other hand down across the first to hold control, but the reach of that monster blade was too long, and Lennox in the peak of his strength turned Jai's sword from its path with such force the hilt slipped from his fingers altogether. Complicated steps carried Lennox out of sight; a circle Jai failed to mimic. His knee collapsed, and he fell forward a second later. He threw his hands in front of his face as a gurgled yell spewed the dirt with more red spray. The open prongs that once glued the long roots of a molar in place was still leaking down his windpipe.
NO! His tongue couldn't form the word, but he threw his elbows under his face to brace the fall; uncaring of how the same move yesterday split bone through flesh like a dry twig on Sunday. He couldn't land in the dirt. Not again! Inches from landing face forward in the dirt, he hastily flinched away from it. He gained some footing and thankfully cleared the ground. A heart already pounding from the exertion barely eased itself back from the brink of panic.
It did him no good. A solid kick to the gut could arch the hardiest of men. The immediate tension stiffening his abdomen diffused very little of Lennox's reinforced boots, and he ended up in the dirt anyway.
"Dead."
Again.
He almost stayed there. A splayed out, dark body forgotten under the wrinkled sheen of silk and wool. But as he said before. He wasn't dead yet.
He clamped his eyes shut, cringing when the attempt to grit unresponsive teeth sent wobbles of pain across his face. Then rolled to one side. He clawed his way back. Found the sharp edge of the sword he'd dropped, and followed the line of it to the hilt. Slicing up his hand as he did. Then used it like an old man's cane to come up enough to kneel. Where he waited, rocked forward with his forehead against the pommel and disheveled coat all pooled in the dirt around his ankles, until the ability to stand to perfused fresh blood through his legs. Letting the pit in his gumline drain from his lips under the flow of gravity for a bit.
Saidin was there. Pounding at the inside of his skull. Tempting him to reach for it, and keel over within its welcoming incineration. He'd not be able to control it. Not now. He was lucid enough to know that. But despite appreciating the destruction it would bring, he thought about it. Every channeler did; a line of temptation traced back through the generations to the Kinslayer himself: the day his pain forged Dragonmount. But today wasn't Jai's turn. He shoved himself up and stumbled forward unaided by the Source. Just one image formed clearly: one weapon meeting one target.
Lennox swung ferociously. Jai didn't try to parry it. Only to get the bloody well out of its way. And he somehow did. There was no time to appreciate the shock that humbled the Blademasters's face before the man pivoted and jumped up behind him. A beam ripped across the top of his back a moment later.
He lay motionless. Hovering on the cusp of deciding whether or not he felt dead yet. He couldn't move. Dead men don't move. It hurt to breathe. Almost too much to keep doing it. There was nothing to analyze. The counting in his head fell to a roaring silence. That was kind of nice. Wasn't there something he was supposed to be doing? Sparring. Yeah. Weird.. Why was he sparring? Who sparred in the middle of the night? Bloody Daryen must have been roaming about again like he owned the place. When the guy slept it was like the dead. Unfortunately, the guy hardly slept. How in the Light his brother managed to function was amazing. Jai reached a long arm out, feeling halfheartedly around for the answer.
“It’s time you put your balls back between your legs. Accept your shame. Learn from it and move on."
His breath caught. His lids slid open. Surprised to find sky overhead.
"Do not get back up again to raise your sword against me or channel, Asha'man Kojima, or I will break you. The M’hael will not save you from me.“
His arm sank where it was. Yeah. Sparring. The dreaminess faded and senses, confused and muddled as they were, returned to near unbearable levels.
Right. Got it.
Jai watched blankly as the watchers parted to let Lennox go by.
What was that Dedicated's name again? Somebody should probably tell him to bring a straw this time.
Steel rang steel. He managed to keep his grip on the fat hilt through the first strike: poorly wrapped with old, fraying leather as it was rather than the tensile strength of silk cords he regularly used. But in follow up, he hadn't expected a fully extended club of an arm to swing for the stars and hit his throat. Jai felt his heels slide through the dirt, carried forward by his own rushing momentum, while his chest plummeted back. The only coherent thought was to avoid skewering himself on his own bloody sword.
He laid there, wind knocked from his chest and throat gasping for air through what felt like sucking on a collapsed straw. Lennox shoved the sword into dirt beside his ear, mimicking a gruesome pike through his opponent's face, and called the spar finished.
"Dead. Luckily you already stink of a corpse. Be about your way."
Jai glared up between gasps. So much for the guy's immense reputation for honor. That was no spar. That was a cheap shot. Luckily, moments before alarm settled, the collapsed throat released its spastic clench and soothing air rushed in freely. He rolled to his side, coughing so hard he expected a lung to spew from his mouth. Or at least vomit. He vaguely remembered vomiting at some point recently. Then collapsing forward afterward hoping his cheek wasn't laying in it, but too apathetic to actually check if that was the case. Unfortunately, no hands snaked under his shoulders to help him up now as those had to get him someplace cleaner before.
Lennox stepped away about the time Jai found his voice again. Hoarse, but driven to call out his opponent for his inadequacies, he yelled after his retreat. "Yeah?"
Lennox turned, "well that's the thing. I don't feel dead yet. So bloody stand and fight, Orander!"
Jai carefully pushed to one knee, grappled the flimsy sword in his strong hand, and managed to get into a defensive stance. Lennox obliged, and somewhere within Jai was grateful. His arms dragged like they were on fire when his offensive lunge was quickly turned into fighting for his life again. Their clash nearly ripped the sword from his hand, too. The death grip on the hilt transferred the energy to his shoulder, and nearly suctioned it from the socket as a result. He stumbled to keep his feet under the flailing shift of momentum while the shock wrenched sounds of surprise from him, but his body followed the arm where it was flung around. Part of him recognized the parry looked far less energetic than it felt, but he couldn't process what to do about it other than avoid falling on his face two seconds into their reignited spar.
Then a second cheap shot. He was open, and deserved it, but still yelled horribly when the part of his face that hinged his jaw to his skull collapsed. The force transferred clear to the other side of his face. His teeth clamped down instinctively, but the stabilizing iron bulge of muscle could not prevent the bone jamming out of place. Jai was only aware of its complete dislocation when he realized his teeth no longer laid atop one another as they should; and the fracture when the lower molars dangled off line from the remaining rigid row. Almost all the molars.
Bleary eyed anger riddled him to his hands and knees though, needing to avoid laying face down in the dirt more than he cared about the dismemberment of his face. He swallowed an acidic bolus of vomit back down his throat, concerned he wouldn't be able to open his mouth wide enough to expel it if cleared his tongue. Something solid went down with it, though. Nausea lurched as blood from a toothless hole filled his mouth, seeping out from between his lips where he managed to part them. And he watched what slid down his chin drip off and congeal when it hit the dirt below. The simple imagery thankfully held any flashbacks at bay, and he barely avoided what threatened to overwhelm him.
"Dead."
Lennox called the spar for a second time.
Strangely, the pain and nausea subsided quickly. Feeling around for the damage felt like boot-prodding an anonymous body on the field to check if it was still alive. He found a sunken in depression on one side of his face, and the bone swung freely back and forth where the other half was immobile. Strength surged enough to bring him to his feet again. What the hell kind of spar was this?!
Once the horizon stopped rocking, he swiped some of the wetness from his chin. It didn't do much good, and he was swallowing more than what leaked out. And it tasted like drinking liquid sickening steel. Then fumbled with hanging onto the hilt with now blood-soaked palms. He cursed the shoddy leather giving him no traction for a grip, and gazed around, trying to decide exactly which black coat was Lennox's honor-whipped, retreating back, but paused on one guy standing with the the rest of the watching circle. He was gesturing rapidly as though wiping his hands on his coat. Another one squat down to grab a fist of dirt and showed it to him. Jai blankly stared a few moments longer, then realized he didn't have to call Lennox back this time. He was learning on his own, apparently.
His feet and arms moved. Blocking out a sequence from near the end of the routine he performed every morning. He knew the deficiencies as they were executed, but was unable to do much about it. Lennox was unlikely to let him start over. Cause the guy was the bannerman for sportsmanship. The substandard move transitioned into a poorer sequence after. The hilt slid through his fingers, and he clamped his other hand down across the first to hold control, but the reach of that monster blade was too long, and Lennox in the peak of his strength turned Jai's sword from its path with such force the hilt slipped from his fingers altogether. Complicated steps carried Lennox out of sight; a circle Jai failed to mimic. His knee collapsed, and he fell forward a second later. He threw his hands in front of his face as a gurgled yell spewed the dirt with more red spray. The open prongs that once glued the long roots of a molar in place was still leaking down his windpipe.
NO! His tongue couldn't form the word, but he threw his elbows under his face to brace the fall; uncaring of how the same move yesterday split bone through flesh like a dry twig on Sunday. He couldn't land in the dirt. Not again! Inches from landing face forward in the dirt, he hastily flinched away from it. He gained some footing and thankfully cleared the ground. A heart already pounding from the exertion barely eased itself back from the brink of panic.
It did him no good. A solid kick to the gut could arch the hardiest of men. The immediate tension stiffening his abdomen diffused very little of Lennox's reinforced boots, and he ended up in the dirt anyway.
"Dead."
Again.
He almost stayed there. A splayed out, dark body forgotten under the wrinkled sheen of silk and wool. But as he said before. He wasn't dead yet.
He clamped his eyes shut, cringing when the attempt to grit unresponsive teeth sent wobbles of pain across his face. Then rolled to one side. He clawed his way back. Found the sharp edge of the sword he'd dropped, and followed the line of it to the hilt. Slicing up his hand as he did. Then used it like an old man's cane to come up enough to kneel. Where he waited, rocked forward with his forehead against the pommel and disheveled coat all pooled in the dirt around his ankles, until the ability to stand to perfused fresh blood through his legs. Letting the pit in his gumline drain from his lips under the flow of gravity for a bit.
Saidin was there. Pounding at the inside of his skull. Tempting him to reach for it, and keel over within its welcoming incineration. He'd not be able to control it. Not now. He was lucid enough to know that. But despite appreciating the destruction it would bring, he thought about it. Every channeler did; a line of temptation traced back through the generations to the Kinslayer himself: the day his pain forged Dragonmount. But today wasn't Jai's turn. He shoved himself up and stumbled forward unaided by the Source. Just one image formed clearly: one weapon meeting one target.
Lennox swung ferociously. Jai didn't try to parry it. Only to get the bloody well out of its way. And he somehow did. There was no time to appreciate the shock that humbled the Blademasters's face before the man pivoted and jumped up behind him. A beam ripped across the top of his back a moment later.
He lay motionless. Hovering on the cusp of deciding whether or not he felt dead yet. He couldn't move. Dead men don't move. It hurt to breathe. Almost too much to keep doing it. There was nothing to analyze. The counting in his head fell to a roaring silence. That was kind of nice. Wasn't there something he was supposed to be doing? Sparring. Yeah. Weird.. Why was he sparring? Who sparred in the middle of the night? Bloody Daryen must have been roaming about again like he owned the place. When the guy slept it was like the dead. Unfortunately, the guy hardly slept. How in the Light his brother managed to function was amazing. Jai reached a long arm out, feeling halfheartedly around for the answer.
“It’s time you put your balls back between your legs. Accept your shame. Learn from it and move on."
His breath caught. His lids slid open. Surprised to find sky overhead.
"Do not get back up again to raise your sword against me or channel, Asha'man Kojima, or I will break you. The M’hael will not save you from me.“
His arm sank where it was. Yeah. Sparring. The dreaminess faded and senses, confused and muddled as they were, returned to near unbearable levels.
Right. Got it.
Jai watched blankly as the watchers parted to let Lennox go by.
What was that Dedicated's name again? Somebody should probably tell him to bring a straw this time.
Only darkness shows you the light.