middaeg | Through the woods we ran

Who: Keith

galrad and you!
When: Any time between May 6th and 14th. Boy trains a lot and is building a shack!
Where: Beyond the city walls, past the slums and towards the wilds and the forest
What: Keith's way of working out his thoughts has always been through combat- maybe that's the Galra in him. Come spar with him, learn a little basic swordsmanship, or ask him what the hell he's doing building a shack out in the woods!
Warnings: None for now

I. Sparring

[ Keith's way of working out his thoughts had always been through combat. Maybe that was the Galra in him, but there was something about the focus of having a sword in his hand, the burn of his muscles put through a harsh workout- it all helped him to settle his mind. Back in the desert, on nights he couldn't sleep, thought he was going crazy searching for nothing more than a feeling, he would head out into the dunes, and either speed through them on his hoverbike until the wind bit through skin and bone, cut hard enough, deep enough to forget, or, like now, he'd look to put himself through his paces. It had been the same in the Castle of Lions, even more convenient because of the provided pre-programmed training bot. If it had tried to kill him on one occasion, well- what was an attempted murder between constant companions? Besides, Keith had never exactly gone easy on the poor thing... It had kind of seemed only fair, after the fact.

Now, though, Keith was trying to balance all of the information that had been provided to him since his arrival. Witches. Monsters. The infection spreading across the land, the part that the locals hoped they had to play... Wasn't the task of saving their own universe enough? Was it selfish of Keith to still wish to go home, to let them deal with their own problems?

Could he forgive himself if he did?

No one had tried to stop him when he had passed through the gates. Maybe no one dared, or maybe they hoped he'd do something- die, take out a few shade creatures, he didn't really know. All Keith knew was that he had thinking to do, and the best way to do it was with the steel blade strapped to his back, as far into the woods as he dared where he hoped for silence. For peace.

Cutting at trees weren't the ideal enemies, but they were better than nothing. Keith started with a few warm-up stretches, a few practice swings to get himself accustomed to the blade he had coaxed one of the local blacksmiths into allowing him to borrow. It wasn't anything like his bayard; customized in every way to his body; from the grip of the hilt to the weight to maximize the power of his swing. Nor was it like his Blade of Marmora, heavy with purpose but lithe and deadly sharp.

Keith settled on his target; a rotting stump in the middle of the clearing he had chosen for his practice space. Blowing out a slow, steadying breath, Keith readjusted his hold on the sword. And then, he lunged.

II. Home Sweet... Shack?

[ City living had never been to Keith's tastes. He could tolerate it- he'd had to endure it on more than one planet, on more than one occasion- but if he had a preference? He'd take being alone in the desert any day.

It was kind of the Coven to house them, no matter how temporarily- but that was the thing, Keith wanted to make it as temporary as he could.

He wasn't any stranger to roughing it; to making due with whatever he could. He wasn't even averse to sleeping on the streets i he had to- but beyond the wall was something almost familiar. The wild and untamed landscape beyond the wall, beyond the slums where the presence of people and monsters alike began to thin and the danger of the blight became more apparent. He was looking for a patch of uninfected land. Maybe if he got lucky, the bones of an existing structure that he could build off of.

Apparently it was Keith's lucky day.

He'd hiking through areas around the city for a couple of days, looking for the right spot. Kosmo at his side and sword strapped to his back (just in case). Radiating outwards slowly, not wanting to be too far from the city itself. The signs of population had thinned to almost nothing, only the occasional mossy lump of man made wood or rusted hunk of something poking from the ferns to mark human presence. He was following along a gentle stream when he found it.

It didn't look like much, it didn't look very good at all really, but it had four walls (well, three- but he could work on that!) was next to a water source, far enough away from any cwyld infection that he wouldn't have to worry so much about Kosmo, had enough of a clearing that if Keith put his mind to it he could start tilling the land, plant some fruit trees and vegetables- yeah. This could work.

So Keith began to transfer supplies in and out of the city, bartering labor to borrow tools, salvaging whatever scrap he could find in the rougher parts of the city that might have been able to find a use for.

Maybe you found him dragging a long rusted looking sheet of tin out towards the woods, or perhaps you were drawn by the hammering of an axe against a tree- but Keith wasn't about to say no to an extra pair of hands helping him in his endeavor. Because really, the shack needed some work.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[There was much to explore, both city and the wilds that lay beyond. He left Jasper in her stable and instead traveled by foot, slowly taking it all in his sword a comforting weight on his hip.

Eventually, he made his way out past the gates, only inciting the barest murmur from the guards. Out here, he was sharper, more alert, his hand now idly resting upon the hilt of his sword.

He hears Keith before he sees him, the thunk of steel biting into rotting wood. Coming up to the clearing, he watches a young man pull a sword free from a stump, watches him swing the blade back into a guard stance. Intriguing.]

They don't fight back, do they? [His tone is light, amused.]

[ Despite the fact that the other was right; a stump wasn't a real opponent, and not a very good one to work against in more than motion, Keith had worked up a comfortable sweat all the same, his muscles feeling loose and comfortable in the burn that began at the start of a good workout.

Wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his free hand, Keith pulled the sword from the rotting wood and turned to regard the other properly, pointing the tip of his sword to the ground, a gesture of friendliness. As friendly as one could get holding a weighty steel blade, anyway. ]

It's not the best opponent I've ever had to practice with. [ He admits with a wry smile, a roll of his shoulders in an easy shrug. ] It was all I had to start, but what about you?

[ Don't think he hadn't noticed the sword at your side, Symon. ]

Want to have a go? [ He didn't smirk, just smiled, friendly. Wasn't looking for a real fight, just a better challenge than a stump. ]

Edited 2019-05-16 21:56 (UTC)

Well, one makes due with what one has. [There's a smile now to match his tone, but his eyes are measuring on the other man, watching his firm, easy stance, the way the sword appears to be an extension of his arm.

That small smile deepens, touching his eyes now. Like Keith, all of Symon's sparring partners had been inanimate objects, which in the end of the day were no replacement for the real, living breathing thing. In Korvosa, he had always been kept busy and now here in this strange world, there was no outlet for his restless energy.

He drew his sword with an easy, gesture. Unlike Keith's blade, this one was his, through and through. It wasn't a flashy weapon, no jewel at the pommel, the hilt wrapped in dark leather, supple and faintly sweat stained. But there was no mistaking its quality, the edges keen as winter's bite; simple but perfect.

He flicked the blade up in salute, and then down, into a similar position.]

Why, I would like nothing more. Do we go until someone yields? Or when blood is first drawn?

[ Keith would have loved to have had his own blade- either of them. But they didn't react here in the same way they once had. He had been told that it wasn't impossible for him to find a way to unlock their reactions through magic, but so far Keith hadn't managed anything but a headache when he'd tried. That didn't mean he was going to stop trying, but for now, he'd make do with what the locals were willing to offer him. He had to keep himself in top shape somehow.

Keith's stance became a little less relaxed with the drawing of the other's sword; readying himself for the oncoming exchange. Excitement rippled through him, and he couldn't help but grin. This was what he'd been looking for for a couple of days now. An opponent to match him, to go toe to toe with without anything on the line. To have a fight not to the death but for practice and just a little bit for fun.

He drew his sword up in his hand, preference towards a one-handed style obvious, but far from a weakness. ]

I won't go easy on you. [ Keith warned, though he expected that that was what the other was looking for just as much as he was, squaring his footing to prepare for attack. ] How about we start with first blood, take a pause, and see how we feel after that?

[ Because if Keith had his way he'd go until he couldn't stand any longer, and that probably wasn't the best idea in a forest like this. ]

There would be no point if you did. [Symon's voice is low and soft, and there's a blaze in eyes, a fire kindled in his bright eyes.] And the rules of engagement sound good to me.

[There's a smile across Symon's face, wide and handsome, and there's no warning as he flows into action, leonine and predatory. He wields his longsword one handed, and the weapon seems like an extension of his arms. His steps are firm and sure, and the blade flicks out like chain-lightning, a clashing, brutal attack.]

[ Keith agrees with that assessment. It would have been one thing if he was teaching someone, then sure, there was a place for a lighter hand. But Symon was no amateur; one glance at the other's sword could attest to that.

Keith was ready when Symon struck out, catching the other's blade with his own and twisting to knock it back, raining a blow of his own down, grin turning back to a snarl as he devoted himself to the motions of the fray. Every blow Symon threw, Keith matched, countered with one of his own. The clash of steel on steel exhilarating and calming all at once. This was what Keith had wanted for days, now. And by their current initial exchange?

Neither of them were about to go down easy. ]

[The clash of swords sent vibrations up though Symon's palms and up his arms. There was not denying the strength of the other man, and his skill. Symon braced himself, not budging an inch, returning each blow. The sounds of steel on steel rang through the clearing, both men utterly focused on their fight.

There was a moment's pause, and Symon circled around, his chest barely starting to rise and fall, breath coming harder, his cheeks flushing, sweat beading at his neck. His smile snapped out, quick like wildfire, and he rushed towards Keith, though the move was a lightning quick feint, sword dropping and switching to his left hand, attacking from the side instead.]

[ The first few blows had been measuring; not child's play, but an assessment. Symon was just as skilled as Keith was, and it was thrilling. Keith was quick, his footsteps light and sure and he danced back from the other's onslaught, losing ground, but purposefully so. Sometimes you had to surrender something, to gain it. Symon circled him, and Keith's footwork kept up, giving no quarter, refusing to show the other an opening if he could help it.

When Symon rushed to attack him, Keith dove forward to meet him, elbow drawn back, sword tip pointed viciously forward. He, of course, wouldn't literally skewer the other, but the intention had been to force the other to block, or catch a sword to his shoulder. Instead, he found himself on the defensive, narrowly managing to twist his wrist and point his sword tip down, narrowly catching the other's sword- and not well. It bounced his blade back, and Keith had to take a step back again, giving up more ground. He snarled though, twisting to free his blade, his wrist. Lashing out he delivered a series of quick, heavy blows not intended to win, but to tire, to gain back ground he had lost, push the other back. ]

[The sound of steel shivered through the forest as the men continued to clash, their movement both aggressive and fluid, all at once. Symon pressed his advantage as Keith stepped back, but was forced to pause as the young man responded in kind hard, brutal blows that he had to brace himself to stop, block. There was a fierce light in his eyes, bright, a raw, barely contained energy. Sweat clung to his temples, his pale skin was flushed with exertion, but there was no signs of him stopping.

Indeed, he seemed to quicken, the blade flashing, flickering out like lightning, looking for any opening that would be presented to him. His breath rasped out past his teeth, but he didn't yield a single step.]

Through the woods we ran

Sparring

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