Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

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Over the arcs, they'd gotten used to the human's strange behavior. It wasn't that the frantic, noisy efforts of humanity were alien to them: being denizens of the same city, they knew that most such endeavors of that primitive primate species were best described that way. But this one... he was unusual. He would carry himself, quiet and contemplative, much like them... and then explode into furious, unnecessary movement, within a handful of trills. In the early trials, they'd scattered when that moment came, primal instincts sure that it was but a prelude to an attack and devouring.

But they learned, as halfway intelligent creatures always did. They adapted. Nowadays they draped across the wall and watched him with lidded eyes, too hot and laden with fur to care about moving unless absolutely necessary.

Kasoria didn't mind his audience, though. Whenever he did make one of them twitch or jump up to its feet, he took it as a good sign. If you were fast enough to catch a cat napping, you were doing pretty fucking good.

He shook his head quickly, spraying sweat from his tangle of wet hair. Then he moved again, heedless to how many bits had passed, how his arms ached, how his lungs burned. There was only the target in front of him, clad in clothes ripped to shreds but not enough and he moved-

Carotid.

-karambit slashing out up and then to the side, slicing through wood and cloth and Kasoria saw blood and flesh, spraying and spurting as the blade carried on-

Jugular.

-and he backhanded across the throat, adding yet another notch to the dozens he'd already made, karambit coming back down as his arm shuddered from the impact-

Stomach. Three.

-disemboweling, gutting, eviscerating, nostrils flaring in memory at the stink of such an act, the whole industrial smelter of innards assailing him at once as his blade opened them up-

Femoral. Four!

Then ending the combination with a stab-punch into the inner thigh, then ripping it back out, spinning as he went-

-left arm coming up as an afterthought, cocked in the middle, barely even consciously thinking about it-

CRACK!

-slamming a spinning back elbow into the face of the dummy as he span, imagining the sliced, spewing, gutted, doomed enemy falling back with a broken nose to add to the list. Then he winced, because wood still hurt a fuck-sight more...

Above him, there was movement. Someone new, getting up and stretching briefly, before padding across the bricks to a safer, shaded spot. Kasoria smirked and ran a hand through his hair, front to back. Pushing the straggly locks out of his eyes and then rolling his head on his shoulders. Faster, he was definitely getting faster. But-

MROW!

No, they didn't like that. Not when he interrupted his own thought and launched himself at the dummy-

Four!

-coming in low to start, stabbing into the thigh and then ripping up instead, wood screaming, arms aching, blinking and seeing a an's leg laid open from thigh to balls as he yanked it back out-

Three!

-slamming a steel-capped punch into the stomach and doing much the same, ripping up until he hit where he knew the breastbone would be, yanking out the karambit and jerking it to the side-

Two!

-backhanding across the throat, severing the jugular, arm moving so fast it was hard to see when the movement reversed-

ONE!

"RAAAAH!"

-as he smashed the cruelly-curved blade into the carotid artery, sending a fat chip flying from the hanging oak carcass. The moment the blade was out of the wood he stopped counting. Stood there for long trills, just breathing heavy and deep, sweat trickling and falling around him like a Saun shower. Until he started to straighten up... and smiled.

"Three trills... four at the most," he looked up at his audience. "Better?"

But they were cats, of course. Praise was not in their nature.

"Yeah, well, fuck yuh, then..."

Don't get ahead of yourself.

Whatever satisfaction he felt didn't last much longer than the bits it took for him to get his breath back. Steady his hands. Wait out the tremble in his fingers and wipe the sweat from his face. Training wasn't just about the objective; it was about improvement, no matter what gains you made. His words to his audience were still echoing when a voice that sounded too much like Old Tantos whispered in his ear, chiding him in its gruff way.

The map ain't the land, boy, and the training ain't the scrap. One, two, three, four, all very neat and fucking tidy. But a brawl? A real brawl?

His hand tightened around the karambit... then loosened, as he slid it to his other hand. Because he had two of them, after all.

That's chaos. That's madness. That's where every move, every blow, every parry, everything, can change what happens next.

Kasoria bared his teeth at the dummy, hair framing his face like the mane of a lion, and he lunged-

-opening with a tiger claw blow at the dummy's throat, fingers folded in at the first knuckle, hard line of bone slamming into the wooden voice box of his target, following it up with-

Three!

-a blow across the dummy's stomach, now so eviscerated that flaps of cloth were hanging off it, exposing the wood underneath it. The moment the blade had finished its work he-

CRACK

-pounded a straight punch into the dummy's breastbone, bursting forward a step as he did. Physics wasn't something he knew too well, but he knew from bloody experience how forward motion could enhance a blow. The dummy rattled and shook and smacked back into the wall behind it. A normal man would have had that bone broken, most likely, but Kasoria wasn't finished-

-karambit slashing up and diagonal again, tearing through the throat-

-then a backhanded blow flush across the dummy's face. Popping an eye, slicing lips in half, tongue, nose, horrific damage that would cripple and disfigure and drain any bastard's desire to continue a fight. The dummy heaved again, now exposing more wood than it did clothes, but Kasoria was still crackling with the energies of destruction and ended-
-hammering his left elbow into the side of the dummy's head, a left hook that landed halfway down his arm instead of his fist, cracking bone as much as it splintered wood, obliterating what sense and defense this dying, mutilating man would have left and finally-

-launching an uppercut into the jaw of the target... only for the karambit to get their first. Blade stabbing into the throat of the oak head, burying itself deep enough to crave through muscle and fat and, were it a man, probably stop somewhere in his breathing tube. Kasoria twisted the blade, sweat pouring down his face again, hand straining and tightening as he tore a hole an inch thick in the dummy as he withdrew his blade.

He stepped back and saw the man he killed. The men he'd killed. The men he would kill. Dismantled and overcome, just like the challenge of this dummy. He looked down and was almost surprised to see the blade free of blood and effluence. Then he smiled and remembered himself. Such were the tricks he played on himself, to train properly. Sparring was not something he could oft engage in, since his... nature, was meant to be hidden. He couldn't just waltz into The Roost or some other venue, attracting attention.

So he build his sparring partners. And he plastered the faces of dead men on them. So he could kill them again, and in new, creative ways. So he would always improve, day by day.

And you're not done yet.

He learned a final lesson, as the morning wound on and died to be reborn as afternoon. By the time the bells rang out across Etzos, announcing the twelfth break and lunch (Depending on your business), he'd a new nugget of useful information tucked away, to be applied in the future. And nearly tore his thumb out of its socket in the learning.

"Bugger!"

Over and over he repeated his moves, and so he became complacent. He'd nearly sawed the head off the dummy, slashes and backhands to the carotid and jugular chopping away through the wood, like he was trying to bring down a tree. But he knew the benefit of repetition. How his body would learn the movements, his muscles the speed and angles, so thoroughly his mind would barely need to waste time sending the message. The moment would come and he'd already be moving. But before that?

Practice. Repetition. Over and over and over. One and two, one and two-

Carotid, jugular. Slash, backhand.

Arm powering forward and out, carving through the side of the neck, then backhanding across the front. Laying open two mortal arteries within the space of two trills. Over and over and over until-

CREAK

The karambit's tip dug too deep into the wood and Kasoria's body didn't know that. It kept swinging away, arm and hand first, but the karambit was stuck and the ring yanked back hard on his thumb-

-enough for him to almost lose his balance, right after he barked out that curse into the yard. There was a ripple of unease from his feline audience. Movement was one thing, but curses... no, they really didn't like those. Other humans used them too much. Usually directed at them and followed by hurled refuse. Then they realized their hairy human had no interest in them, and was focused on that shiny thing he was holding.

Kasoria scowled at the karambit, stuck fast in the dummy, and had to yank it out with both hands. He massaged his sore thumb as he studied the blade. That was the problem with the karambit: the forward-curving blade was a fucking demon when it came to ripping up flesh, and his was big enough that even organs and arteries were not safe. But once you hit something hard, like wood... or ribs, or sternum, or spine... all that momentum was trapped and stymied.

He flipped the blade over. The curved edge, though... that was better suited to slashing. Hence why his backhand to the jugular never gave him a problem. Nothing for it to get stuck on. The little man tossed the blade from hand to hand, then slid it back on the one that had not almost had a digit sodding ripped from it. His fingers flexed on the hilt... and he relaxed. Hands at his side. Looking up at the dummy.

Eyes placid. Mouth a touch open. Looking simple and safe and-

-his left arm was a blur. A break or two of practice was a good start, especially when he knew exactly the movements he wanted. His arm whirled up and out, elbow cocked out so it could tear through the side of the neck-

KRRRRK

But not too deep. Not wanting to repeat that mistake. Deep enough to gouge and cleave and sever, spewing blood across the cobble and shadows they'd doubtless find themselves upon, but not get stuck. Ripping out back into the air and-

SSHHHKK

-his backhand slashed the jugular open on the reverse. He was right. No give on that one. A shudder through the blade but nothing more than any other would give him. The little man smirked at his cleverness and spun the blade around his thumb-

-just as something clattered to the ground behind him. He sighed and closed his eyes, not bothering to turn around. He'd left the food out, after all. He knew they'd be swarming all over it, the fluffy little vultures. They bode their time, though. Enjoyed their meal. Made it last for his full session before tossing it down to tell him victory was theirs, and a second course would be appreciated.

Kasoria turned around and saw, of course, no suspects in sight at the table. There never were. He snorted and made his way back to his gloomy living room, grabbing his pitcher of water as he went. They had that in common, at least. When the deed was done and the light came on, they were nowhere to be found. Aside from the slow, furry creature that rubbed against his leg as he bent down to retrieve his plate. Bella purred underneath him and the killer gave her a quick rub in the head.

"No, never you, of course," he said, sheathing the karambit for the moment, his training done for the morning. "Yeah, like fuck it wasn't..."

Continued here