[Training] Bury my bones when the glory is gone

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

The autumn morning was crisp and cool, a beneficial alternative to the striking heat of summer, to the pressing toxins no longer invading his chest, to the torn and flayed skin, laid open by insects, by upheaval, and by friendly fire. He hid it all away, buried them beneath a long-sleeved shirt and his reticent mask, carefully orchestrated, confined, meant to look as though there was naught, not a hint of emotion, not a smoking gun, not a vicious upheaval meandering its way through his mind.

Not enough, not enough, not enough a choking rasp down his throat, a bestial, barbaric form brought to life in pits, in pendulums, in nooses created by their own actions, their own machinations. Because if he’d been half the character, the man, the beast, he should’ve been, maybe their failure wouldn’t have been so great. Perhaps they would’ve had a chance. Maybe things would’ve gone differently. But he had the scars, the injuries, and the lacerations to prove he was just as weak as before, mottled and ruined, defeated and useless.

But he also wasn’t the type to merely wallow in it – brooding was his main agenda, however, there were motives and machinations to consider. He could use this opportunity to better himself. To be stronger. To be mightier. To be something other than a shield, a battering ram, or a damned target. The Reaper always had violence and abhorrence to go back to – even if it was for himself, for his failures, for his shame, for his inability to do anything effectual when it mattered the most.

Behind his house, the warrior laid out his favored weapons along the shorn grass, from cutlasses, to broadswords, to daggers, most of them created by his own hands, hilts adorned and decorated with either plain materials, or something significant (snow, mountains, broken, decrepit thrones, jagged crowns, whales, moons, stars, the sun). There were a few wooden swords tossed in too, in case some situation called for it. But while he waited, while the dawn reminded him that he was still alive, still present, still raw and real, he grabbed hold of his favorite blade.

It felt good in his hands again – calloused and comfortable, eager for battle even if the rest of his body painstakingly reminded him he wasn’t. Deimos marched to a flatter area, dropping the sword for a moment, and allowed his hands to create a medium-sized target, a trace of ill humor notched in his design (its facial features eerily reminiscent of a former foe). He stepped back, palm reaching to shake it once or twice to ensure it was steady and sturdy, before grabbing hold of his weapon, and making a silent, hushed swing.

It was bliss – substantial and irreverent while his arms seethed and seared, while his chest scathed and hissed, while the rest of his figure demanded he cease.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

Sascha was far from good at fighting but since this new existence he had found himself in it was kind of needed for him to at least to try and better himself. To be honest though; Everything except the bows he was so terrible at that it almost became humorous. His blade skills was suited for chopping vegetables, not flesh and punching a target was no more useful then when he chopped down a tree and as it were; humans rarely just stood there like a tree if he for some magical reason needed to punch someone. They tended to avoid the punch after all. To say the least; the good hearted Sascha would probably start to cry if he managed to punch someone and that person felt pain. He was utterly useless when it came to violence and in a perfect world that wouldn't matter but the world was not perfect. He needed to at least learn some basic self-defense or he would not live all to long here he feared. No matter how horrible he felt by the mere thought of causing someone else pain.

The chilly air felt nice as the cheerful young Sascha approached the place he had been told to visit for some training. He almost wondered how cold the winters would become here and made a small mental note to be sure to get some proper clothing for it when it approached. He was as per always dressed in black, clean clothing even though they never stayed clean for all that long. At least he started the days off with being clean but mostly in the ends of his days he looked like he had seen way better days. He didn't mind though, filth wasn't something new to him considering his profession so it really didn't bother him if he turned into a filthy mess. At least that was a sign that he actually did something during his days, right?

Soon he could see the man practicing his battle skills a bit in front of him which made that contagious smile lit up Sascha's face as it always in the joy of meeting new people. To say that Sascha wasn't a bit naive would have been a major lie. He always thought the best of everyone he met so even if Deimos was wielding a weapon and practicing fiercely in front of him he was blissfully free from fear. After all; the person who told him to ask for training here should know what they were talking about right? Naive. Sascha slowed down his steps before he stopped with a curious look from the other man's moves. He looked like a real warrior to Sascha which made him in quite the surprising cheerfulness clap his hands together behind the other male before a happy sentence left him. "Oh wow you are really good! Hello there, i'm Sascha! I was told to go here if i wanted some training. You are Deimos correct?" He asked cheerfully while looking at the (in his eyes) powerful male and his weapon with an impressed look on his face.

SASCHA

"The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall."

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

The more he swung, the more fluid it became: the sword hardly whispering through the ether before crashing into the target’s frame; blistering and chaotic, belligerent and vehement, strong and stalwart as he breathed, as he eased into the formation of military man, tyrannical, abhorrent beast. The pattern and repetition was good for his brain, coiled into muscle memory, brought back days of glory and victory billowing beneath his jaw, along the inaudible growls and drumbeats within his chest. What he hadn’t expected was for the hushed decibels to suddenly be broken by applause - caught off guard (which was incredibly foolish, he’d been far too absorbed in his menace) – unaware he had an audience. He turned swiftly, eyes rounded and wide for a few seconds, catching the stranger in his sight, before lowering the blade and narrowing his gaze.

He only briefly recognized the figure: it might’ve been the same poor soul who’d spoken of beneficence and kindness at the latest open forum, only to be brutally chastised by their new monarch. What was he doing here then – amidst weapons and bombardments, amongst munitions and decadence – for the practice, the skills required in this arena likely didn’t align to Sascha’s. The Reaper’s head tilted, quiet, meticulous, machinating over and over again, uncertain about how to proceed with the level of jubilance and cheer serenading the signs of cloak and daggers. “I am,” he acknowledged his name, his existence – pondering over who would have recommended him to the younger, excitable, smaller man – the fathoms of his eyes shifting back over the carpenter’s figure. “What sort of training are you looking for?” Combat – fist to fist, knuckle to knuckle, blow for blow? Swordplay – the method of madness orchestrated and cultivated for barbaric lacerations and unjust scrapes upon the soul? Bow and arrow – the sheer strike from a reputable distance, allowing some safety from higher ground? He stuck the serrated tip of his sword into the grass, twisting the hilt, the pommel, back and forth, awaiting an indicative direction, where they should head – a nod brandished towards his array of weapons laying nearby.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

Sascha noticed as the man spun around that he recognized him from that audience with the new.. queen a short time ago. Sascha almost always liked... well... everyone but that queen of theirs was the only one he had met here in Caido that gave him a bad feeling. He had a feeling that the queen would not hesitate to do anything SHE wanted which perhaps was why Sascha didn't really approve of her. He had a feeling that many people would suffer and this far he had already been right when it came down to it. Though this man had been more respectful to the queen than he himself had been. To be honest he felt a bit bad over it but he couldn't really see her as a proper queen unless she actually made the lives better for her people, not worse.

"Oh it's you! Hello!" He said cheerfully as Deimos had spoken since he didn't really have a bad feeling from this man. As stated; Sascha naively liked most people. He was glowing like a little sunray which perhaps was a bit odd to witness considering the different types of problems there was in Caido but he had nothing to cloud his happiness right now non the less. His eyes fell to the stash of weapons which all looked more dangerous then he had expected. He was no stranger to them since he had been in the chinese army for a short bit but it seamed like they would bring more harm then he himself had intended though.

"Well.." He started as he fought away the feelings of embarrassment that was bubbling inside of him. "..i was kinda wanting to be able to defend myself better.. well a lot better, but without giving out too much harm? I really don't like violence but have been struggling a lot since i got here. If there isn't bandits there is always something else and i would prefer to live a bit before i die and not cause other people grief when they need to defend me.. You know.. thoughen myself up enough to at least get away?" He said striking a pretty weak battle pose while hitting the air with his fist. Kinda made him look more like a harmless, fuzzy bunny than the tiger he had intended though.

SASCHA

"The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall."

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

Deimos had never been one to judge someone based on their preferences to violence. Simply because he’d been entangled and embroiled amongst battlefields and wars, crusades and invasions from a young age didn’t mean others had to follow the same pathways: it was likely far better that they didn’t (lost souls somewhere within those meadows and tents; bombarded with ghosts, with catacombs, with loss and devastation). But he’d always regarded someone’s ability to try, to be willing to defend themselves, their friends, their families, their comrades, their allies, their teammates, so they weren’t a liability, so that someone didn’t find a weakness at the frontlines. The fact that Sascha wanted to better himself, despite the bizarre posing (which had the Reaper’s eyes rounding again, incapable of understanding what that particular presentation had even tried to portray), was enough of a good mark in the warrior’s book. Sascha wouldn’t lose his ability or focus on beneficence, even if Deimos didn’t always concur with the station in life, and should be able to at least buy himself some time to evade, escape, or naturally protect and secure himself.

“That is understandable.” Not a lie, not a condition to appease the other man, but a certainty: the world ahead might not be so brilliant and blinding, not with the Merciless drumming her fingers upon the throne, not with calculations spiraling overhead. Always something else. The warrior made no mention of his latest debacles: between caverns and tentacles, between fires and insects and poison. His gaze meandered to the collection of weapons nearby, placing his blade down, and grabbing hold of two wooden swords used primarily for training, as he’d done with Jigano recently, proffering one to the carpenter. “We can use these,” he nodded towards the timber munitions: blunter edges, not sharpened, not honed, made for bruising, made for the ancient, archaic swing, made for the practice and technique, the skill of impending battle. Sascha likely wasn’t headed in that direction, which was fine, but it could at least give him some experience in handling, in attempting. “You may grab a shield from over there.” He gestured to his pile of metallic bucklers, with various stages of detailing along the sides. “I can teach you some maneuvers for both assault and defense.” Then he gestured for the youth to follow, going further out back, where the fields were more open, the withering grass imploring them to venture into the landscape, to embark into vehement ends. He watched the other man over his shoulder, talking as they moved. “What do you already know?” An inquiry he often started with, simply to see where they could begin, what lines had already been crossed, so as not to waste time.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

Sascha was to say the least a very cheerful man as even though the embarrassment to admit his fighting skills he still didn't lose that honest smile on his face. Even though the weak (to be generous) fighting stance and that contagious smile he was however very serious about this whole thing. He didn't come here to joke around and only doing what he wanted, no, he was here to do his very best and follow then instructions he got to the best of his abilities. How would he be able to learn anything if he didn't try his hardest, right?

He grabbed the wooden sword he got offered and weighed it in his hand. Quite an easy weigh to start with and he already knew that a metallic variation would be harder to wield but this would at least teach him to fend for himself. Besides; He could not imagine himself wielding an iron weapon anyhow. A stick would be more likely and way harder to kill someone with which was perfect in his own head haha. As he got told to grab a shield his eyes wandered towards the heavy shields before he did what he was told, even though it feared him how heavy they would be. He grabbed one of the shields with both surprise and a small huff as he lifted it. Sure it was heavy but looked heavier then it actually were thank the gods.

Soon they headed off towards the field where their training would begin and Deimos asked a question. He was a bit fearful over replying since it wasn't a very impressive list of fighting skills but intended to say it still. "Well.. Fighting wise there is not much to tell sadly. I was forced into the army back home and utterly failed at all i tried in fighting which really annoyed my general. Though as i was the best of us all with the bow i was put on guard duty before .. ehum.. leaving. So my only real skill is with the bow, rest of the time i had no chance." It had actually been a bit unfair. During the time he lived in China almost every male had at least basic fighting skills but since he himself had grown up in a wealthy family he had put all his efforts into studying, instead of fighting. So he had literally been paired of to fight to people already skillfully in it and since they all had to show off instead of teaching him he did not do very well.

SASCHA

"The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall."

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

Sascha followed his orders and directions, capable of taking the commands and requests with ease; it meant he was willing to learn, and for that, Deimos would bestow him with some advice and hopefully prosper the youth with some skills. He listened as he reconfigured a few of his targets, setting them straight and upright, pretending stuffing and cotton wasn’t falling out of a few tattered chests. Forced into an army sounded remarkably like the present, which was unfortunate for Sascha, coming to this realm after escaping the other, falling into the same web, the same trap. “A bow is an admirable weapon,” the beast conveyed, once he’d finished stacking two of the targets on top of one another, swinging his gaze back to the other. “It requires accuracy. So do most of our fighting techniques.” Sometimes it was sheer luck; but determination, perseverance, and practice were much better foundations.

He inclined his head, intending for Sascha to come after him to the wider, open portion of the field, grass shorn either by Zuriel’s handiwork or his sickle; and then turned to face the boy, wooden sword raised before him. He thought about diving into defenses first, especially if Sascha were of the more beneficent descent, not openly encouraged to wage his own wars, but to survive them, escape, run away. “If someone was to come at you with a blade, you could evade.” And he stepped back, as if Sascha’s weapon were coming at him. “But a more effective way could be blocking.” Here, he pretended Sascha’s impending attack was coming towards him, blade for blade, cutlass for cutlass, rapier for rapier, and he threw it upwards, as if to catch it in the middle, stopping it dead in its tracks. He could support it with both hands if he wanted – which could lead to grappling, but it he didn’t want to get overly technical yet. “Give it a try.” Then he drew the training device in an ascent, up and up, before lowering it slowly towards the boy’s right shoulder, so that Sascha would have time to react and defend.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

Sascha listened carefully to all he heard as he carried that heavy shield with him together with the lighter wooden sword. Sheesh at least his muscles would get a good workout as well. Shield became heavier by every step but he kept a stiff upper lip and didn't let it show. Most workout he got was walking and sometimes chopping down a tree after all. He wasn't weak per say but to be honest he wasn't overly strong either, more a healthy mix perhaps? When they arrived to the choose location he carefully listened and watched the moves that Deimos were presenting, even went so far that he made mental notes of how Deimos was moving to try and give himself some more security when it was his own turn. He couldn't help to feel a bit nervous though when it was his turn but as stated he had a stiff upper lip to try and look more fierce than he was.. even though it was quite obviously not his strong suit. He intended a fierce wolf but more looked like a trained dog. Well at least that was better than his bunny posing.

He nodded and went through his own mental notes before he got into action, tried to tell himself to not evade and block at the same time. So instead of evading he stepped back with one leg to get a better center as Deimos slowly attacked him before he thrusted his wooden sword up to catch Deimos attack and actually succeeded. His eyes widened as if he just had done something amazing by blocking an overly slow attack and soon there after he gave out a proud sunshine smile that almost made the real sun lose its strength. It was like Sascha had done something truly amazing blocking the attack and very soon after he almost sang forth a happy and proud; "Did you see that!? I blocked it! I really blocked it!" It was clear that back in the chinese army all the other soldiers had been to busy to be fierce and not really gave Sascha the time or help to block their attacks which perhaps had been one reason to why he had been so bad at it all. Besides all the other soldiers already had done a lifetime of army training that is.

"You did like this and i was like.. pow! And the attack was blocked! I never blocked an attack before! This is great!" As he spoke he showed with his sword what he meant even though it really wasn't ncececcery. After all; Deimos had been there and seen it all. But Sascha was shining in his proudness over himself and it was quite the baffling thing to witness.

SASCHA

"The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall."

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

The Reaper was pleased to find that despite the sunshine disposition, the effervescent platitude, or the beneficence, the youth was able to apply himself. He listened – and even if the assault was drastically slowed – and managed to land the block. What he didn’t expect (and likely should have, based on these interactions in the past five minutes) was the incandescent excitement suddenly exploding out of the field. Sascha was proud and content with his efforts, and the beast didn’t have the heart to tell him that it’d been a means, a measures, to practice the counter alone – the notion that every adversary or enemy would be purposefully slow was laughable. Instead, Deimos let him have his moment, quietly nodding, struggling to hide the smirk threatening to sketch its way along his mouth. He wondered if Sascha would celebrate every single movement or motion that was successful; which would be a very quick and easy way to be mauled, lacerated, and murdered. He tilted his head, studying as the other man continued his exaltation; the warrior had never honored his efforts in such a way, but he’d started young, when triumphant blows to a target were met with snickers and a puff of his chest, and then swiftly knocked away when an instructor thought him too arrogant. Sascha’s production wasn’t in imperiousness; but seemingly a genuine delight in using his sword correctly.

Well – time to up the ante then.

“You did,” the heathen nodded, raising his sword back up in the interim, calm, composed, waiting for when Sascha would be ready for the next. It was an unsung ferocity pulsing and pervading from his form, but an unnecessary thing here – his nefarious interims weren’t the focus, weren’t required. He inhaled, exhaled, then proclaimed their foreshadowed endeavors. “We will try again.” He didn’t follow the same movement – coming from a different angle with his sword, and faster, increasing the speed, the descent and turn of his blade intending to go for Sascha’s left hip this time.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

Sascha had had his moments to say the least with hitting his wooden sword in triumph in the air in front of him and practicing blocks in his triumph moments. He didn't notice how Deimos was forcing himself to not smirk which probably was a good thing since it would make Sascha embarrassed before the time for embarrassment after his severe overreaction would hit him, which it soon would. When Deimos started to talk he froze in a victory block and turned red as a tomato over his own actions all of a sudden. A nervous apologizing laughter left him as he lowered the sword and took a better grip on the heavy shield. Red as a ripe tomato he cleared his throat slightly even though that friendly smile seamed to still be stuck on his face. He was perhaps acting like a kid in these situations, he had to maybe start working on that.

"S-sorry about that, i guess i got a bit overexcited. I'm ready!" He said with the blush starting to fade and he made himself ready for the next attack.. which happened a little too quick for him. The attack came flying, from a NEW DIRECTION!? W-wait! He fumbled quickly with his sword and tried to block this new attack but of course had such an awkward grip in this foreign angle that it really didn't work as well as he had hoped. Sure he managed to block Deimos sword but wasn't strong enough in his grip which made his own sword slap his hip from the force. He couldn't help but to jump over the literal spanking he got and as soon as he could he rubbed his smacked hip a bit. Darn it! He MAY have avoided to be sliced if it had been a real sword but took damage from his own weapon which made him look a little disheartened before he quickly shooed away that emotion. It was training after all. "Okay lets try that again! How do i turn my sword in an awkward manner?" Yep he was here to learn so learn he shall!

SASCHA

"The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall."

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

Inexperience was the only thing that damaged Sascha on these movements – his opponents wouldn’t always allow him the opportunity to defend from the same side time after time. They’d sense his weakness and sink their teeth into it, glorified and brilliant in their machinations no sooner than the lad had lifted his sword again. The fact that he blocked the movement of the Reaper’s blade, but insinuated his own friendly fire, caused the beast to withhold another chuckle. He smothered and suffocated it deep in his chest – because it would’ve been rude, and he didn’t want to openly mock someone who was trying in a world full of fiends and heathens who immediately cracked under pressure or hid in their houses. There was something to be said for individuals who always strived, always got back up, always hastened to endeavor their best; they would grow far quicker, far swifter, far better, than those who never bothered at all.

Deimos studied the motions, replayed them over in his head. Perhaps it had been the youth’s grasp. “The way you grip your sword,” he nodded, head indicating where the problem might be, and lowered his sword for a moment to gently grab hold of Sascha’s hands and reposition the way he held his weapon. “We will try it that way. Concentrate on your fingers staying like this.”

Then he backed away again, resuming his previous stance. His arm inclined, then swept downward, and eager to not do the same thing twice; for war was full of surprises, disaster, and ruin (enemies and opponents could be far more deadly, far more lethal, far more calculating than sunshine and effervescence) – aiming for the right side of Sascha’s ribcage. The assault was the same speed as the previous attack, hoping Sascha would be able to counter it this time.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

Sascha listened closly to what Deimos told him and adjusted his fingers accordingly. He didn't really notice the struggle Deimos had to not burst out in laughter which perhaps was a good thing. Sascha would probably had died of pure embaressment if he let that amusement out after all! He made himself ready for the next attack and surprise surprise he wasn't ready for an attack at yet a new place. Fascinating enough though he moved quickly and actually blocked the hit in quite the impressive manner. Sascha wasn't as stupid as he could seam with his naiveness but still it was clear that this vistory surprised him ALOT. He opened his mouth in pure surprise, almost looked like a fish as he did. Then again; this is the first time he actually had someone teaching him what to do instead of using him as a living striking dummy.. wow!

"Wow.. did you see that!?" He said in chock and almost looked at his own hands in disbelief. What exactly did just happen!?

SASCHA

"The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall."

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

Sascha was a core example of practice amidst precision, of proffering chances instead of forgoing someone’s potential. No sooner had Deimos lunged in for another attack, then Sascha blocked it efficiently, even as it came from another direction. One little change with his grasp had heralded a much better performance, and the Reaper’s arm retreated back to its standard hold with a firm nod, the smallest of smiles. “Good,” he paused, listening to the exclamation of disbelief. “That is what should happen,” and he arched his brow, fighting the reign of laughter struggling, grasping, longing to bellow. The only problem was Sascha wouldn’t be able to do such a thing in the midst of a fight – there wouldn’t be time to shriek or shout or stare in shock or surprise; that’d be the moment his enemy tore him apart. “Now, we will try it one last time.”

He motioned back into the fold, readying his blade. “I want you to concentrate. Think only of your reflexes. Then – what are you going to do after you block?” The beast lifted his chin, the only indication he was coming towards the younger man; a rush of movement and motion, and though still not truly up to any battle speed, it was a test, a trial, to see if the lad could follow a quicker pace. For this interval, he aimed higher, coming for the left side of Sascha’s neck, practice sword slashing through the air. How would he react? Would he be able to counter it? Would he be able to draw his attention long enough to conduct something in the interims laden afterwards?

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

Sascha was a man made out of constant surprises, maybe it was his almost always happy demenour or maybe just his personality but if there was something he truly was good at it was the learning parts of life. Espicially since he for once actually had a person who willingly was helping him to learn of things he never had gotten the chance to learn. Such help made him learn and in an alarming speed so as Deimos showed him that another attack was coming he nodded and prepared himself. A sudden focus could be found in his face and as the attack came he quickly raised the wooden sword and blocked it in this new angle. The help with how he would hold his hands made the block for the first time become solid and soon after the block he used the height of the block to swing down a attack at Deimos nearest hip. Followed his instructions to a T with his own comprehension to what Deimos meant with the statement to what he would do after the block. Used the force of the attack together with his body in a very impressive way to be honest.

SASCHA

"The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall."