[Training] got lost in the game

ISAR

Arm yourself

The cane hit its intended target and sent the fyrhund sprawling for a second time. There was a resounding crack of splintering bone, and for a second it looked like Isar wouldn't be rising again. Pain flared through his right foreleg and in the ribs that had been tasting the cane, but while ribs were flexible enough to take a good whooping, his leg was definitely broken.

With a groan the hound shimmered and returned to the shape of a scrawny man. His arm hung limp and useless by his side as he staggered up on his feet; reaching into his jacket, he unsheathed the dagger hidden there and crouched low as he assessed the taller man all over again.
"Seem's you're not just big," he conceded, voice a low, strained rumble - then lunged fast as a rattlesnake, meaning to cut the hand that held the cane so that he'd have no choice but to drop it.

Because no one else here will save you

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

Well he hadn’t expected to hit that hard, but he’d be lying if the idea of the crack that echoes in the cavern they’re in isn’t satisfying. Grinning with a touch more of his feral side, Astaroth steps back and reorients himself, hand lifting to rake back the dark hair that’s come loose from where it had been sitting otherwise as he prepares for the retaliation.

Fyrhund turns back to hound and Astaroth lifts a dark brow at the comment, a bright chuckle slipping from him at the idea of it even as Isar lunges, the knife scraping just barely against the knuckle as he dodges, gritting his sharp teeth to utilize the cane for a bit of balance, lifting his leg to aim right for Isar’s shoulder and chest to push him back down from where he’d lunged from.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

ISAR

Arm yourself

The dagger drew blood, but only a little. That was an improvement though, which pleased him to realize. This time he was able to dodge the kick, by ducking low under the sweeping leg.

Again the dagger flashed in the dim light. Isar aimed for the man's inner thigh as it passed over his head, savagely aiming for the vein. He'd never learned to fight for sport, only for survival, and that meant never pulling any punches. Not ever. If you messed up, you died - that was the iron rule of Whitebrim as he had learned it.

Because no one else here will save you

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

Oh, he expects it, but that doesn’t mean he can dodge it quite as nimbly as the thinner, shorter man. The second Asta starts to step down from his missed kick and Isar begins to move, sliding under the leg with the knife aimed up, there’s the sound of torn fabric and the hitch of breath followed by the cut sliced into his thigh. It’s a hitch of breath paired with a dark laugh, half unfeeling, half manic as he feels the blood start to drip from the wound.

His leg plants on the ground and he grins a too sharp grin at Isar, before abandoning the cane and giving into more of the fighting style that his Whitebrim had, choosing to utilize the fact that Isar was on the ground already to try to tackle him down and pin him down, sharp teeth ready to take a bite.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

ISAR

Arm yourself

So conventional methods worked better than the shifted ones. Duly noted - he'd have to practice. That was as much reflection as Isar had time for before the cane rattled to the floor and Astaroth tried to tackle him to the ground. Purely on instinct he dropped fully to the floor and rolled out of the way, knowing that if the larger man got hold of him he probably wouldn't be getting up again.

On the ground as he was, all he could manage in retaliation was an elbow launched in the general direction of the ancient's face. If he could accomplish a nose bleed it would make up for the agony of his broken arm, Isar told himself; but the cold sweat beading on his brow and the way his vision was darkening at the edges told the truth - he wouldn't be able to keep up with this much longer.

Because no one else here will save you

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

Seeing Isar move quickly, Asta ends up landing on the floor right beside the other Ancient, arms braced in an easy scrabble to turn. The elbow launches toward his face, misses by a wide berth with which Astaroth anticipates, as he moves out of the way to give some space, aiming to distract Isar with the whipcrack of his tail against the other man’s leg. “You move well for someone who’s broken their leg.” He drawls in his accent, surveying him momentarily.

It's enough of a moment to track Isar’s movements and potentially the thoughts – though the scuffle between them does scream Whitebrim through and through, only with Isar’s having less teeth involved. Either way, he reaches for the arm that had swung out at him with the quickness of a snake, aiming to latch on and twist.

Torchline had a healing fountain, it would be fine.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

ISAR

Arm yourself

The reprive, no matter how brief, was a welcome thing. It allowed Isar a chance to at least get up on one knee, though the yank of a lashing tail made it a wobbly affair.
"Arm," he grunted, feeling a bit nauseous. "Dog leg, front arm - " It only mattered insofar as the vicious tail lashing not doing much damage.

But he'd barely gotten the words out before his uninjured arm was sucked into a tight grip. The twist had him groaning in pain; he endured it for a moment, but when he felt bones groaning and tendons tearing, that became his sign to call it quits.
"Give - Give! I surrender," he panted, unashamed - he had no quarrel with this man, after all.

Because no one else here will save you

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

“Ah.” Is all the butcher offers before he’s scrapping with the younger man again, latching onto his arm to twist until bones groaned but not before truly breaking Isar’s arm. He could, but he won’t. The second that the word give leaves the other man, Astaroth releases him, draws back and utilizes the table to stand (his bones are old and he sometimes needs the extra help), he takes a few seconds to try to dust himself off and put himself back into a semblance of being put together.

Gesturing to the remnants of the kill, aside from the hand, Astaroth inclines his head to Isar. “To a good fight.” There’s a tear in his pants where its bleeding, but he pretends not to notice. “Take your fill, leave me the hand.” Comes the instruction as he continues to work to put himself back together.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

ISAR

Arm yourself

The relief was instantaneous, and the moment he was released Isar scrambled back and up on his feet, to catch his breath well out of reach. He cradled the broken arm in a light grip, gently prodding to check how bad it was. Fortunately it wasn't a clean break - probably just a crack - but damn if it didn't hurt like a bitch all the same.

"That was fun," he agreed, baring his teeth in a grin that wasn't quite as sharp as Astaroth's but no less capable of setting aside the pain for the fun in cutting loose. He didn't have to be offered the food twice; leaving the hand where it lay Isar set upon the carcass of the ramphire like he hadn't eaten in years.
It was true, more or less. Certainly he'd never eaten his fill in that long - as made evident by his emaciated figure.

"I appreciate this," he said, between mouthfuls of raw meat. "Is there food around that place - Ground or whatever?" He could do anything for a chance to end the day with a full belly. "Need anything done no others will do? I'd do it."

Because no one else here will save you

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

“It was, indeed.” Astaroth responds, flashing an even sharper grin back toward Isar as he regains his own breath. Dust finally shed from his shoulders and his hair finally put back into place, the Butcher sets back to cleaning his tools while the other man feasts, content to share given he’d gathered far too much for himself. And the idle chatter was welcome.

Gratitude between bites is met with a low chuckle, a nod from the Butcher as he starts packing his blades. “Oh certainly. Not quite of the human variety – I tend to be cautious with that these days.” It goes back to the whole not drawing suspicion. “However, there are plenty of deer herds and packs of wolves, amongst other things.” All that in terms of just food, before his dark gaze scans Isar with a curiosity unlike any other.

Humming a bit under his breath, he takes in the other man’s figure, cocking his head slightly. “What is your opinion on becoming a guard of some variety?” He asks, dark eyes glittering in pure curiosity over his answer, mind calculating his thoughts and churning the wheels.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

ISAR

Arm yourself

The meat was disappearing at alarming speeds. Barely chewing before swallowing, it was as if he kept expecting someone to appear that would take the food away. He grunted at the answer, pleased to hear that it was more fertile than Halo had been. As for the suggestion, that gave him pause. Isar had considered soldiering, but never guarding.

Wiping at his mouth with the back of a hand, Isar considered for a moment, then shrugged. "Sure. Why not. What am I guarding?" A place, a person, a thing? It didn't make much of a difference, though he guessed standing around in the same place day in and day out would grow tedious pretty quickly.

Because no one else here will save you

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

The butcher pays little mind to how much Isar eats or how quickly, so long as he keeps to his silent promise about leaving the hand alone. So as the rest of the Ramphire begins to vanish into the emaciated man, Astaroth continues to pack up his haul, feathers and the hand itself tucked away into a bag, before the rest of it in yet another, rolled up prim and proper like it was just another day at the office and he was getting ready to head home.

“It would be similar to a soldier, but, there is a prison there. Perhaps if someone were more on the inside for any reoccurring troublemakers, it may not be surprising to see the occasional one go missing..?” Raising a brow back toward the other man with the suggestion laid out, knowing that he’ll catch the drift and wondering what his opinion on such an idea might be.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

ISAR

Arm yourself

It wasn't long before only bones remained of the meal. Isar kept it, fully intending to crack it for the marrow at some point - nothing would ever be wasted if it could be eaten - but saved that noisy, messy project for later.

What Asta suggested sounded a lot like a dirty job, indeed. Licking his fingers and wiping gore from his beard, the vagabond considered. It would mean killing people, probably. Locking them up and then making sure any deaths looked natural - at least that would make more sense than letting them 'disappear', because fuck that would mean he was a lousy guard.

"I get to put them away, too," he bartered, "and they get a chance to fight back. Make that happen, and you have a deal." He was no executioner - because if he were, he would be doing his job in public. And clearly this involved more than just watching a door and looking the other way when Asta came to break his promises. So it only made sense to make sure he had the kind of authority that would let him arrange things without anyone being able to ask questions.

Raising a brow, he watched the man for a response. It sounded like a final condition, but Isar was nothing if not flexible - he could haggle until he got an offer that was acceptable.

Because no one else here will save you

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

Leaving Isar to the meal, Astaroth is content calculating and deciding things, utilizing what he can to try and figure out a means for Isar to have a hand in helping out the more darker temptations in the Grounds. And as such, he’s finished packing, settling with a hip against the edge of the table as he scans the bones left behind.

Dark brows lift as Isar begins to bargain, a sharp toothed grin shot to the other Ancient. “I will need to speak with the leader, of course.” He pauses, head tilting as he considers it. “I don’t see how that would be a problem, though, personally.” A guard was a guard, at the end of the day.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine