[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 Reaper, the mountain, the blade, the soldier frequently dabbled in the art of patience. He waited, he watched, he tended to musings and sentiments, to thoughts in the quiet calamity, always striving a way to concoct a better means to an end, a better measure for a snare, for a trap, or for achievement and success. Stoicism and restraint towards Sascha, not reacting to the flare for the dramatic, to the sunshine and effervescence, and concentrating solely on the manners, on the practice, on the rituals, had ensured a boundary of success. The beast could only hazard a guess that many instructors had simply tossed Sascha aside; sundry dispositions unwanted in the modicum of battlefields and the paradigms of skirmishes. But that didn’t mean Sascha couldn’t try, couldn’t learn, or couldn’t adapt.

He’d taken a chance for himself, and the warrior was pleased.

The youth blocked it, and Deimos allowed a small smile to peek through the actions and motives. Then, thereafter, when he’d told him to think about what to do on a successful dodge, to muse past mere evasion and go into something more, the man had managed. He swung towards Deimos’ left hip, to which the soldier, diving straight into muscle memory, into honed reflexes, into years upon years of swordplay, invasions, and a world borne into vitriol, lowered his weapon to take the attack.

Then he stepped back, a respectable nod of his head towards Sascha. “Well done,” he extended, the smile still there, tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I think we can end here today.” He lowered his blade, the sharpened knob of wood sticking into the ground. “Do you have any questions?”

DEIMOS

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

Sascha was as chocked as before over what he had managed to do and mixed with that shock was also a bit of a worry. Sure Deimos had blocked but was he alright still? He probably were but it didnt hurt to ask still, right? So Sascha looked down at Deimos hand that grasped around the sword and then a bit worried up on his face. "You are okay right? I mean.. you know.." He glanced down to Deimos hand again. For all the naive Sascha knew he could have gotten hurt by the vibration right? He cleared his throat suddenly though and got a nervous little laugh while scratching the back of his head. His brain had caught up with him a bit and told him that OFCOURSE Deimos was alright! FRor one he was used to fighting and for second Saschas hit hadn't been all to hard... right? "Sorry.. ofcourse you are alright right? I mean my hit was not very strong and you have done this many times before.. Im sorry! And all of a sudden the old asian within him came to life as he bowed his head in that sincere apology.

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, the embodiment of warrior archetypes and cold-blooded sedition, had expected inquiries about assaults, sieges, where to hit, where to defend, where to assault so searing pain was longer lasting, so an enemy toppled and stayed down, so worlds were fraught with terror and treachery. Instead, Sascha surprised him again, lending questions about his health and welfare, instead of anything else. He should’ve known better, based on who the younger man was, what he represented – and instead of calling to arms or munitions, the beast allowed a slow smile, raising his hand to show it was no worse for wear. “I have had worse,” he intoned, light laughter, a chuckle, following – truth and veracity sprung from his lips, the scars, blemishes, and etched lines along his form telling a myriad of stories, reflections of battles and survival. “You have nothing to apologize for,” and he moved forward, patting Sascha on the shoulder as he maneuvered past, placing his sword back along and amongst the others.

A consideration meandered through his mind, calculating measures, scrupulous, pondering, mulling, moments of a king lost in his ice, in his rime, in his glacial sanction, meant to direct others to chosen paths for the good of the terrain. “I wonder, Sascha,” and he turned back to the youth, face no longer so nonchalant, but intrigued, curious. “If you have ever considered going into healing?” It wasn’t an insult to his fighting capability – he’d easily slip into the role given enough practice, tutelage, and instruction – but with his concern over another’s welfare after everything was completed, perhaps he would be better suited to ensuring soothing, assuaging rites (one couldn’t march up to an adversary to ensure their good health, after all – that was when a sword stabbed into a chest to finish them off). It was a rank always necessary and needed, required given the amount of danger and ridiculous events they all involved themselves in. He had no intention of funneling him into a notion Sascha didn't enjoy; but it was an option, an alternative, if he found he didn't enjoy spilling blood and ichor.

DEIMOS

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

Sascha litterala gave out a sigh of relief when Deimos told him that it was all fine. Good thing as well since Sascha probably would have gotten a panic attack if he actually heard he had accidentally hurt someone, especially; a good someone. He actually even got so relived that he wouldn't soar off like a bubble over the heavy weight that got removed from his shoulders. "Oh good! I really felt bad.. I shouldn't since we were training but i did." He ALMOST mumbled with his eyes tearing at the ground under him. Then the hand connected with his shoulder which made him look up and soon after brightened the day with a genuine, happy smile. Okay this was good, Deimos was okay so no need to worry whatsoever! He soon followed Deimos to return the sword and that heavy shield which had started to form tiredness in the arm Sascha was wielding it on. made him consider if he perhaps should start doing some pushups in the mornings..

He dismounted the shield from his tired chicken arm to put it down while Deimos spoke which made him look back on him after the shield was placed back in the pile. "Hm?" He said to show he was listening to his words. As the question came flying Sascha looked a little bewildered over the whole thing, even to the degree that he had his mouth slightly open in surprise. While rubbing his tired arm a bit he had to collect his thoughts a bit before he replied to the question. "Well.. I do have healing magic.. But i need to vanquish the shame for my family it created back in my world. You see.. Were i come from you can easily get killed when it comes to magical abilities." He said as he sat down on the grass underneath him, mostly because the embarrassment that he needed some rest after the training. "I almost got caught multiple times which would easily have gotten me tortured to death." He looked up at Deimos as he spoke. "But i need to start feeling more comfortable with it here in Caido since it seams like magic is quite common here." He paused for a second with his eyes peering up on the white, fluffy clouds. So identical to those back on earth. After a bit of silence he looked back at Deimos with one of his friendly, natural smiles. "You really think i should make a go of it here? Where do i turn if so?"

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

How many times had he fought off a round of laughter during this training session? It was mostly unheard of – to impart any sort of sentiment back along the Basin would’ve sent his inhabitants into stunned, bewildered shock. It wasn’t that these moments were absurd, but genuine – Sascha and his lack of violence despite his need, his necessity, towards the battlefield, honorable intentions not to harm even during a skirmish skimming over the air. He withheld the chuckle again, and simply responded with a wry grin, etched along the corner of his lips.

The interesting turn of events surrounded the notion of healing – something Sascha already embodied and carried through his veins. The Reaper, the Sword, tilted his head a fraction, perusals and studies again, as the other man informed him of the world he’d come from – one dangerous and treacherous for those who held invocations and enchantments. It was intriguing: amidst all the sovereignties he’d managed to wage war upon, magic had been accepted, utilized, and honed, sometimes even expected. It was a stranger custom to not be amidst the Abandoned, most born to the intricate lines in their entities, the patterns fixated on their blood – he’d known what he was, what he had, as a child, learning to unleash the skill the more he practiced, the more he grew. Whether or not he implemented them while trumpets resounded was another thing altogether: sword first, demise if required – Helovian bonds ensuring his warnings and ultimatums held steadfast and true.

“You would not be harmed here for your magic,” he agreed, nodding at the commonality. No one had broached him up in arms for the layers and lacquer corded off in his soul – and he didn’t expect it. Especially with the number of different species and alterations here: Fae, with wings, Attuned, shifting into animals, Accepted calling down their gods, and Ascended, corresponding to the Voice’s whims, advanced in their prowess.

At the inquiry though, his smile broadened. “I do. You can start at the Infirmary. We always have need of someone to heal.” And depending on the number of trials and tribulations they got into? Sascha would always be busy.

DEIMOS

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

He rubbed the forearm containing to the arm that had lifted the shield but instead of complaining about how that weak arm of his was sore he just smiled happily, paying not anymore attention to his arm then slightly rubbing it. He got a surprised look upon his face as Deimos grinned towards him for a second before he lit up in an amazingly, happy smile towards Deimos that almost could make the colors of the world fade in comparison. Sascha loved to make others happy and when he could make Deimos grin so honestly it did indeed make him very happy. As stated he had not noticed all the times Deimos almost laughed in amusement over his actions and wordings but now when the grin came out he DID notice it and it filled him up with happiness. True; It wasn't too hard to make Sascha happy. He got happy to help people, when people willingly helped him but the thing that made this little puppy most happy was when others were happy. It was obvious that a fair amount of naiveness laid over Sascha but also true kindness which wasn't always so easy to run in to.

Sascha stretched out his muscles were he stood to make sure he wouldn't get sore tomorrow while he in surprise listened to what Deimos said, still with that smile upon his face. It shouldn't really surprise him since he had noticed magic was acceptable here but yet it did in a way. Maybe it was to hear someone else tell him this fact that calmed him and surprised him all at once. It was a HUGE difference if you asked him to witness something and to hear that what they witnessed actually was true, right? "Yeah i have started to realize that and i would lie if i didn't say that it feels a bit weird. You have heard one thing all your life and then pop magically into another world where many things are the opposite. It makes your head spinning a bit to be honest." He said with a warm smile while he finished his stretching routine and let his arm fall back down next to him. He had met a lot of different species here already but still had some to run into. There was the abandoned like himself and then there was the fairies (fae) and the ones that could turn into animals but he had learnt that there was still more species to meet up with. How many? He had no idea.

As Deimos told him were to go he remembered that Jigano had told him the very same thing; the infirmary. It made him for a second look like he had been hit in the face of pure surprise. How had he lost track of that information? True.. he had just come to this world when it got told to him and had ALOT to memorize but still! He would absolutely go to the infirmary then! "I am not very good yet though, i can mostly only heal minor wounds but i don't doubt that this will help me to get better at my magic!" He said honestly. Yes it could indeed come in handy to learn some more in his magic genre.

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

For all the treacherous efforts of both Helovia and Isilme, none of the inhabitants were persecuted for their enchantments – most of them were embodied, embedded, and infused with those properties; it would’ve been hypocritical to hiss at one and not the other. They were utilized for war efforts, for invasions, for dedication to desecration, to sneak, to crawl, to serpentine their way around furtive measures. There’d been a hoard of other vehement, contemptuous acrimonies split over them instead. “Understandable,” he nodded, listening to Sascha’s explanation; Deimos had been amongst those clustered as refugees when they’d been hastened and bludgeoned out of their home, amidst the bestial, barbaric intervals attempting to gain something out of nothing – they’d been loathed, and they’d been abhorrent in return. He wasn’t certain if Sascha had the notion to be hostile or acerbic.

As far and for the minimal healing, it was better than nothing at all. Deimos had utterly no skill, and never would, with the aspects of soothing, curing inclinations; born to bludgeon, born to ruin, born to scathe, rip, tear, and lacerate. “We all start somewhere. The more you practice and hone your skill, the better you can become.” Just like training with swords, defending with shields: the notions the same, the instruction or practice adjusted. Perhaps the same could be said for the crafting incantations he'd had mustered in his fingertips - starting small, and the items had grown larger, in number, in size, in strength.

After he’d put everything away, ensuring blades and guards were stored appropriately, the beast turned, the small grin still there. “I can show you to the Infirmary, if you want.” He wasn’t a frequent visitor, had only gone once before when Flinthopper burns had ravaged and savaged his shoulder; nothing to be done for a being with death strung and stung amidst his veins.

DEIMOS

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