14th of Zi’da
It was midday when Paplo finally decided to try his new toy. Tatania, the woman that had promised him she’d marry him, had gifted him a bullwhip in hopes of him pleasing her fantasies in the bedroom. That had sparked his interest; not the sexual fantasies of the female, but the whip. The teacher had seen the whip in action in the past, mostly against cattle, but it intrigued him. Humans were his cattle. As such, he managed to ask around and find himself a more deadlier version of a bullwhip; a barbed whip. The metal spikes promised to bring pain.The seller, one of the Cattleshtack, had looked at him funny, especially since Paplo was to be the owner and director of the Etzori Orphanage. “Do you plan on hitting the kids or what?” he had asked, surely then spreading the news to all town.
Paplo had not made any comment about it, and he had refused to purchase the weapon for the sake of keeping appearances. He already had his bullwhip. Instead, the teacher had faked a laugh and had quickly moved out of the premises of the town, looking for a proper location in which to test his new weapon. The fields were deserted now that the cold was here. Most men either picked up an axe and headed to the woods for wood, or they stayed within Middlecleft. Some helped the building of the orphanage, to which Paplo was grateful. Even if they hated him, they supported his cause. For now. After some walking, Paplo slipped within the forest, and found a clearing soon enough. The terrain was bare, but it was firm, and the trees were far away from the center of said clearing. He undressed his cloak and his jacket, his shirt and even his shoes, now completely bare save for the pants.At last, he found himself ready to familiarize himself with this new weapon.
Paplo unrolled the whip, and felt its weight. The whip itself was made by a series of braided leather strips, growing thicker the closer it was to the solid handle. Said handle was solid, indeed, and upon pressing down upon it, he felt it was not merely leather. Whatever it was, it was there. Most of the weight was upon said handle, which was large enough to have plenty of space for the palm of his hand. At the end was a loop, which he imagined was to wrap around one’s wrist and avoid the whip from slipping out. The length of the whip was plain, beautiful in its braiding but lacking any eye-drawing detail. At the end of the length was what professionals called the fall, nothing but a thin strip that caused most of the damage, as far as he could tell.
The first motion he did was that of tugging back the handle in a circular, outward motion. The whip obeyed far more than expected; the tug had sent the fall way back, overactive in its movement. It was… peculiar. It was time to crack it. With the length of the whip stretched behind him, in a straight line, Paplo’s arm stretched out and drew a semicircle in the air, doing so with the most speed he could. The whip followed, but there was no crack at all. In fact, it was like trying to strike someone with a rope; an inferior rope due to the lost width the further away the length was from the handle. Disappointment. Paplo tugged at the handle and returned the length behind him. This time, he pretended he was to throwing a rock rather than using a flail, his arm tracing the straightest trajectory forth it could manage. The result was much better, the length of the whip following suit and slashing the air before him. There was a semblance of a crack. Weak, but more or less acceptable.
The male did the motion again and again, faster and slower, but there was little improvement. What was wrong? Only when the motion was done with half-interest and a lighthearted approach there was any improvement. As such, Paplo tried once again, not paying too much attention to his action, but it was, once again, disappointing. He tried and tried, and were he able to grow frustrated, he would. At last, when he tried for perhaps the twentieth time, that a crack came. It wasn’t too loud, but it was definitely a crack, and Paplo knew how he had done it. It was the wrist what had done most of the motion. He tried again, now helping the motion with said wrist, flicking it, and the crack was heard once again, louder. A few more attempts, and it was clear to him that the arm only helped with the weight, the shoulder helped with the motion, and the wrist what helped the whip crack.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The overhand flick came over and over again, louder and louder as the male gained experience. What a peculiar tool, he thought.
