Breaker
03-22-13, 05:40 PM
Lashes of red and gold sunlight blinked through the bleary fog swaddling Concordia's newly blossoming treetops. Despite the damp chill of the mist springtime smells seeped through flattened grasses, toiled over patches of decomposing bushes, and spread through the fields. Upon reaching the town of Underwood those smells - a mixture of clover, pine, spruce, and so many more - mingled with a new array of aromas. Chimneys bellowed smoke from woodfires and stoves cooking the day's bread often as not. Along the main drag the comforting scent of worked leather pervaded a tannery, but a mere two blocks on an alley next to a popular tavern stank strongly enough to throw off the airflow of the entire quarter. The early risers moved about their business briskly as ever, but the fog seemed to have silenced the masses. Even the chickens in wire cages in the market district rarely clucked.
Far to the east, barely within the limits of the town, buildings fell way to beaten earth. Oaken stands laden with practice-weapons surrounded sparring rings of various sizes, encircled in turn by a scatterplot of outbuildings. Only two figures stirred the mist. They flitted like ghosts through the morning glow, save for the footprints forming abstract, circular patterns.
Joshua Cronen felt sweat seep from his scalp, darkening short brown locks and beading down his temples. He smiled through rhythmic breathing and leaned against his opponent as his body warmed to the day. The shorter, slimmer man twisted swiftly for a hip toss, then abandoned the move and rolled smoothly to safety as Josh jammed the throw.
"Add your strikes now," Josh instructed as they circled one another, "use your speed to avoid meeting me head on." The slim youth - Jake Narmolanya, half elf - had spent most of his life relying on weapons, but learned quickly under close instruction.
The sun grew stronger, heating Cronen's black denim kimono and melting the fog as a yawning breeze pushed it about. The ground sprung beneath their boots, no longer frozen but still moist from the thaws. Perfect training ground for those who did not mind getting a bit dirty.
Jake feinted right then floated in with a looping left hook. Green eyes narrowed in determination, dirty-blond hair swept back from acceleration, brown sifan clothing whispering secret intentions.
Josh noted the careful positioning of his student's right arm and anticipated the double-bluff. He raised a forearm as if to block the hook then sliced downwards to stop a sudden upward elbow that would have struck the point of his chin. The haymaker glanced harmlessly off his shoulder as he ducked and neatly flipped Jake boots over brains in a Fireman's Carry. They landed in a muted thud and a woosh of air leaving lungs.
Jake spun his hips away like a cat and got to his knees before his mentor could trap him. He breathed in and out powerfully and shook his shoulders and freed his arms and cartwheeled away.
Josh barely got his forearm up to deflect the exiting kick. Even in retreat, the half elf attacked. Smiling, Cronen brought his hands together in soundless applause, nodding his respect to the younger man. For the first time in their spar Breaker's enchanted metal boots came to rest.
"Alright," he said, still beaming. "now get your weapon." As Jake conjured a doorway from thin air and rummaged through what looked like a walk-in closet, Josh reached beneath his traditional Akashiman gi jacket and drew the old nunchaku from behind his red cotton belt. The steel-chained chucks rattled once as he unfolded them, then hummed about his body like the wings of a dragonfly.
Far to the east, barely within the limits of the town, buildings fell way to beaten earth. Oaken stands laden with practice-weapons surrounded sparring rings of various sizes, encircled in turn by a scatterplot of outbuildings. Only two figures stirred the mist. They flitted like ghosts through the morning glow, save for the footprints forming abstract, circular patterns.
Joshua Cronen felt sweat seep from his scalp, darkening short brown locks and beading down his temples. He smiled through rhythmic breathing and leaned against his opponent as his body warmed to the day. The shorter, slimmer man twisted swiftly for a hip toss, then abandoned the move and rolled smoothly to safety as Josh jammed the throw.
"Add your strikes now," Josh instructed as they circled one another, "use your speed to avoid meeting me head on." The slim youth - Jake Narmolanya, half elf - had spent most of his life relying on weapons, but learned quickly under close instruction.
The sun grew stronger, heating Cronen's black denim kimono and melting the fog as a yawning breeze pushed it about. The ground sprung beneath their boots, no longer frozen but still moist from the thaws. Perfect training ground for those who did not mind getting a bit dirty.
Jake feinted right then floated in with a looping left hook. Green eyes narrowed in determination, dirty-blond hair swept back from acceleration, brown sifan clothing whispering secret intentions.
Josh noted the careful positioning of his student's right arm and anticipated the double-bluff. He raised a forearm as if to block the hook then sliced downwards to stop a sudden upward elbow that would have struck the point of his chin. The haymaker glanced harmlessly off his shoulder as he ducked and neatly flipped Jake boots over brains in a Fireman's Carry. They landed in a muted thud and a woosh of air leaving lungs.
Jake spun his hips away like a cat and got to his knees before his mentor could trap him. He breathed in and out powerfully and shook his shoulders and freed his arms and cartwheeled away.
Josh barely got his forearm up to deflect the exiting kick. Even in retreat, the half elf attacked. Smiling, Cronen brought his hands together in soundless applause, nodding his respect to the younger man. For the first time in their spar Breaker's enchanted metal boots came to rest.
"Alright," he said, still beaming. "now get your weapon." As Jake conjured a doorway from thin air and rummaged through what looked like a walk-in closet, Josh reached beneath his traditional Akashiman gi jacket and drew the old nunchaku from behind his red cotton belt. The steel-chained chucks rattled once as he unfolded them, then hummed about his body like the wings of a dragonfly.