Rust Shaker Short

Rough splinters of aged wood exploded inward all over the tailored midsection of Tyr, leaving him in a stinging shower of faded paint chips and oak. He shook off all that was left of his shield from his protecting left wrist to sploosh into the soft sponge of dank underbrush left by centuries of season changes. Strong earthly aromas of mildew and rot spiraling eternally within stagnant forest air had been a dizzying tsunami to the senses, and he tried to push himself through steady hours of exhaustion since sunrise. Zegron had never been one to play easy on whom he had began to think Tyr as his son, and today was no different; he wanted him to follow in his footsteps of life after all, and become the warrior he himself had grown to be through hard work, sweat and blood. Tyr charged a lifetime depleting his lungs to a point of crippling emptiness voicing his desire not to follow in his path as a Ranger; he wanted his own path, his own... life. His pleas always slid off stubborn ears nevertheless. The grizzled old dwarf knew well the strings to pluck and his steely fortitude matched that of Tyr well; plus he quite enjoyed playing the infuriating puppet master, provoking Tyr to explode like a seething fissure.

That last underhanded horizontal slash barreling in from his left flank decimated his shield and bit hard into boiled leather and heated flesh with cold teeth of steel. Tyr nearly hit his knees from the chest-splitting blow, and hardly kept his feet as the quick reflexes of his benefactor sent forth another thundering attack; leaving him nay time to think about the warm slickness he felt rush behind battered tunic on down to the waistband of tattered forest dropped soiled black breeches. His sword rippled a dazzling splay through dappled sunlight, blazing an overhead downswing with all his weight behind it, intense brown eyes focusing sight to take his right arm off clean at the shoulder.

With the little strength left in his reserves, Tyr flipped sopping brown hair away from his eyes, and sent his own sword up to meet the menacing steel seeking out his blood once more with a weak cross-block. The wicked song of steel violently erupted, conducting an ear shattering crescendo to ricochet within the close-knit arena, an ancient array of solemn wooden witnesses surrounding and watching Tyr yet again fall at the hands of his dwarven counterpart from their eternal roots. He always thought if he listened closely enough, a rustling laughter was heard mocking in the substantial weave of branches and leaves.

Tyr fell hard on his back, feeling yet again another hot gush of blood, this one streaming down the side of his forehead from where his own blocking sword caught him, sent back down behind the force of his mirrors steel coming down. He just laid there in his own blood and heaved his chest heavily with each crushing breath, wondering how someone nearly half of his height, and a little over a half of his weight, could so easily destroy him. He moved like liquid smoke... a wraith in myrtle green robes blending in the mysterious forest backdrop. He chuckled painfully at the comparison his mind created, but Zegron truly was incredible, and one with the wood. The hardened dwarf offered a gloved hand to hover before his adoptive son, knowing well the spar was over. "Come, Son. It's near evenfall. We have need to return to camp before the sun rests," he pointed out, all the seriousness of a seasoned scout toasted in his musky masculine voice.

Tyr awoke stiff and groaning, large fingers groping at jagged scaring burned across his wide chest from where his sparring partner closed his wounds with the glowing red blade of the dagger kissed by the fire. Blinding pain and blood loss must have finally stole away consciousness before the scalding blade went to work. He was grateful for that much, anyhow. Tyr's weary obsidian eyes tilted left to right, and feeling whispered confirmation of laying flat on his back atop a bed of damp underbrush near a crackling fire surrounded by chiseled gray stone when he shifted. Licking bolts of flames danced hypnotically, splaying their small clearing in a wash of flickering warm yellow and orange light; impatient renegade shadows chasing close behind their brighter foes against surrounding bark and thick brush hushed by the woven branch drip-lines looming overhead.

Much of his life was spent in this lush secretive clearing deep within Concordia, found by Zegron decades ago during a ranging. This was where training and pain was well known to him, and the place where he also found a tiny shred of solace before he met Sareah as a child. Tyr used to close his eyes, fading himself in silence and meditation. Melting away into a spiritual audience with the archaic beings watching silently through kindred roots. He sometimes brought her here, and they both bathed the trees in the clatter of playing daggers and carefree childhood laughter. Hunger provoking emanation of roasted venison turning on a spit pulled him from memories clutch, nearly lifting Tyr from his wounded stupor. But his battered body betrayed him when attempting to find his feet, wrenching him back helpless into a dreamless sleep; knowing full well a life of servitude was chosen for him, but that wasnt going to be his final curtain call.

Rust shaker short
Participant: Tyr

Rewards:
Tyr receives:
230 exp
15 gold

All rewards added.