[Training] more than the catastrophes too

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

The other soldiers, for now, left him alone. He could hear their muttering, their whispers, their mumbles, the hushed ranges that still echoed and bounded over stone – the change and alteration too alive and well when he came in. When he didn’t instruct. When he didn’t teach. When he simply grabbed a target, something nondescript, and hastened out into the opened proportions, beneath the sky and immersed in snow.

It was easier that way, he told himself. To start out into the roots of isolation again. To try and pierce through the stupidity of his actions and simmer in the corner. So he withdrew his sword, and let it do the talking for him.

Movements in monstrous grace, harnessed from warrior prowess and hellish anguish and the constant need for survival possessed him: the slash of a sword, the archaic motions of maneuvering around the immobile form, of rendering it to nothing in the shape of his self-loathing and stupidity. At least those proportions had never ceased; old friends, in and amongst the grief, the death, the rampages.

Deimos rolled his sleeves up past his forearms, glanced at the supposed enemy, and attacked it again. Not a man possessed, but indulgent, loosening the walls of his anger and antics into something fueled, something menacing, something disastrous. Wasn’t that what he’d always been? The blade did his bidding, and it was glorious for a few seconds, stepping back, breathing, and glancing over the ribbons of mutilated fabric, stuffing, and wood.

DEIMOS

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

AINO

A low whistle preceded the appearance of another into the more secluded part of the training yard. "That is one very dead dummy." Aino paused to look at it properly, as a crooked smile of appreciation teased dimples into her cheeks. "Whatever it did to offend ye, I'd say it got what it deserved."

With a sword slung over her shoulder rather than belted to her waist, the woman both did and did not look the part of the born soldier. The posture was there, the bearing and the purposeful stride, but that was also it. Her clothes were wrong, more reminiscing of a hunter's garb and there were details that suggested too long time spent away from a superiors keen eyes. The lush braid of blonde hair was coming undone from its confines and there were buttons missing in the coat. Boot laces slapped untied against her heels as she turned to saunter off a bit, unwilling to encroach too much on the space of one with so much pent up potential for destruction.

"If you still have steam to blow off and would like a spar, I will be over there." Pointing to a corner where she promptly deposited herself, the woman discarded her burdens and began to warm up. Politely unobtrusive - easy to ignore, if company was not desired.

For the good times that we share,
and the bad times that we'll have

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

He probably should’ve anticipated an audience; but had simply chosen seclusion and hoped for the best. At the low whistle as puffs of air streamed from his nares, his eyes quickly darted to the woman – completely unknown and foreign to him. Which was odd, given his existence here for a year or so, believing he’d run into quite a few amongst and amidst the community. Perhaps she was new, or had been burrowed into the snow, into the peaks, and driven back amidst the summer.

The Sword gave nothing to her but an inscrutable expression for half a moment – eyes narrowing, ignoring the way the rest of the target falling to the floor in a dull, muted, slow expanse. He commanded a brief examination and scrutiny, mostly over the posture, and the garb, unmatched and disjointed in their stance and accord.

Bizarre, but it peeled into his curiosity. Making no other maneuver or agreement, save for resting his blade over his shoulder, Deimos tilted his head a fraction as she chose another corner. “What is your experience?”

DEIMOS

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

AINO

Twisting this way and that, rolling shoulders and flexing each joint in turn to ensure no stiffness lingered, the woman kept focus on what she was doing even as she spoke up. "Basic weapons training and serving as a guard for ten years or so," she replied. "For the past year and a half I've been on extended leave to care for family. Practice happens when there is a moment to spare... which is not nearly often enough."

Pausing to peel off the coat, she exchanged it for the sword and turned to gaze a bit closer on the man. "You were the general," she noted calmly. If Aino thought anything at all about the sudden demotion, it didn't show on her face. Rank was not interesting on the training field, though the same could not be said for the skill that must have earned him that title. "I'm Aino Jandar. It's a pleasure to meet me, I know." The quick smile was dry and ironic. "Are we doing this?"

For the good times that we share,
and the bad times that we'll have

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

The explanations were curt and satisfactory, and constituted why he hadn’t been able to place her. Gone; caring for family, the leave palpable but the skills likely not truly diminished. If her next round of words (you were the General) stung, he didn’t show it. The notions peeled away on the inside though, conforming to the rancor, the bitterness, and the weight of decisions bathed in unholy fire. So he nodded, clenching his jaw, not glancing back at those who mulled around the braziers, whose eyes were fixated on them regardless. Even if his role had been significantly altered, his abilities, his experiences, and his tactics had not.

He could pretend for a moment that it was nothing more than a title once attached to his name.

“Deimos Ignatius,” he offered in return – though only an arch of a brow and a sliver of a worn smile tucked its way along his mouth at her response. Thereafter, the monolith resumed a stance, taking his blade back into the confines of his calloused palms, where it sang of home. A call to arms and legions – even without the confirmation resuming from his low rumble. “Your move.”

DEIMOS

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

AINO

That her head was not bitten off for the smartness of her mouth was a good sign; Aino would take it. With a grin she stepped up to meet the former general and tapped her sword lightly to his in greeting; "Charmed," she smirked, and started forward in a quick riposte meant to stab Deimos' left shoulder. She was left-handed and a shield bearer - though without one at the moment - and used to the slight advantage it gave her before opponents got used to the relative rarity of her quirk.

"So, what lost you your job? No, don't say anything; let me guess. Hm... Sleeping with your boss? Acting without orders?" Not above hitting below the belt if it gave her any kind of advantage, the sharp eyes of the woman kept watching for danger signs. From sword, or rage, or unexpected hurt - this was a spar, after all, and not a match to the death. Aiming low and striking for the heart were different things entirely.

For the good times that we share,
and the bad times that we'll have

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

Deimos? Feeling or showing emotions during any figment of battle? Oh no, that wouldn’t be happening.

Too much experience in encasing, shelling, and warding himself off – stone and stone and stone, a marble countenance betraying nothing underneath the interlaced fixtures of absolute reticence – ensured there was no outward betrayal. No zeal of anger. No rise of vehemence. It lingered in his bones, in his flesh, in his mind, but not in the movements or motions. Practice in undermining techniques had long since been instilled, layered and lacquered upon him since he was a youth holding his wooden blade.

So Deimos gave her naught but executed movement. His sword caught hers on its wayward trip towards his left shoulder, and then he cut downward, intending to push and shove her armament away on strength and might, and then slash towards her hips.

DEIMOS

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

AINO

No reaction; well, that was boring. There was a tendency towards a pout on her lips, but the moment his sword connected with hers, Aino was given other things to think about. This man was strong. The clang of steel on steel traveled up into her arm and the attempt to force her way through was swept away like a twing in an avalanche.

Aino had to make a quick leap backwards to keep from being slashed. Sweeping eyebrows rose high in surprise and dawning respect; and while she did come back immediately for another attempt, it was with a lot more caution this time.

Taking the blade in both hands, she moved around to the left and angled the next cut to the side and attempted a diagonal slash, meant to catch Deimos in the side. Not as direct a move, it still spoke of bold determination over cunning or speed.

For the good times that we share,
and the bad times that we'll have

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

The silence, at this iteration, was telling; she’d taken the hint. No other baiting rise to motion or unfurling, and the monolith was allowed to solidify straight into his techniques, rather than raise hackles and brandish hatred. Besides, she seemed to be acquiring the weight of his measure, the strength behind his movements, as she leapt back.

He gave her a singular arch of his brow again, before everything else rounded back together.

She adjusted her stance, her motions, and he watched, waiting for another opportunity. Deimos matched her movement, maneuvering to catch, to snag, to take, to brandish, to absorb, rather than be slashed apart. He’d had enough of that in the passing days. Once more, his blade took the hit aimed for his side, listening to the clash of steel, iron forged and forged again. Only this time, he intended to drop the armament slightly, to slide the sword beneath hers, and towards her navel. A challenge, simply to see what she would do.

DEIMOS

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

AINO

In the absence of words, the lack of menace behind her venom stood out. It had been a means to an end, the riling, like clever fingers searching for a tender pressure point. When it did not work, the weapon was discarded, and different skills utilized.

In response to Deimos' sword attempting to curl beneath hers, Aino dipped the tip of her own blade ever so slightly, to mirror the movement. Twisting aside - to avoid the tip bearing down on her gut - and stepping forward at the same time, there was a hiss of metal grinding against metal and a clang when hilts met with force. It was a technical move meant to send an unskilled or unprepared opponent's sword flying, but whether it worked as intended here was yet to be seen.

For the good times that we share,
and the bad times that we'll have

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

The slightest smirk lingered, curling very subtly in the corners of his mouth, as she responded in kind. Perhaps it was respect for the wielder, who knew how to match such a maneuver. Perhaps it was notions of acceptance, for a warrior who’d been absent but clearly not lacking. Perhaps it was pure amusement, and his mind had hankered for a challenge for some time – rather than continually demonstrating the same techniques over and over again.

If any of the remaining soldiers were still watching, they were apt to be gaining knowledge on the foundations of this spar.

Because Deimos wasn’t about to surrender any weapon.

He sidestepped too, a great length of stride given his presence. Strong, balanced, and enduring, there were no sacrificial alms to be had; he maintained prowess in the grinding and ferocity of metal upon metal, muscles content to be utilized. Thereafter though, through that determination, might, and mettle, he lifted his blade upwards, intending to make her step back once more as it went volleying towards her shoulders.

DEIMOS

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

AINO

The general - oops, former general - was not disarmed. And in one blow Aino found herself much too close to a far stronger opponent, with very few options left. She could back away, admit defeat and beg for mercy, but... that wasn't really her style.

Deimos' sword disentangled from her own and rose up, a reaper's scythe posed to strike. If this was not a spar, she would be seeing her life flash before her eyes by now. But even then, Aino might have done what she did now. Without a shield to defend with, she had only the sword to rely on. Raising it high, she braced the blade against her open palm and received the blow head on.

Gods, but this man was strong. The sheer force was enough to make her legs buckle and bend, and with a groan Aino found herself pushed down onto her knees. All of her strength was not enough to keep the blade from pressing down towards her shoulder, despite all her effort to stave it off - and the window for evasive maneouvers was long past. With resignation, as metal met leather-clad shoulder, she realized that she was beat. Yet the grin on her lips was far from defeated; eager and hungry, she looked raring to go all over again.

For the good times that we share,
and the bad times that we'll have

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

Perhaps it was lucky for Aino, and the rest of his constituents, that Deimos didn’t ever press too hard in spars. Enough for challenges, for thoughts, for processes, for reels upon reels of techniques, machinations, calculations, where the practice could dissolve and resound into one’s head – and then no more. What would be the point? To unwind and unfurl until another was demoralized? Until they no longer yearned or craved the knowledge? No; the monolith, General or not, granted clemency in these maneuvers and motions. This was not a real battle. No one was being tormented. A test, a weight, a balance, where an individual could reflect. These moments were the ones that built into campaigns and crusades.

Once she was driven towards the floor, might and might and might infused and nowhere else to go, he relented. The beast backed up and away, and he could hear the flurry of whispers, then the sound of feet maneuvering: their attention dissipated and gone for another set of circumstances. His eyes went to hers, the reticent arch of his brow giving away nothing, and then the nod of his head. “Good.” His blade went to one hand then, and then his belt, giving her space as he wound his hair back. “Again, or have you had enough?” The glint of a challenge invoked, and the slightest of grins.

DEIMOS

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

AINO

The pressure dissipated, and Aino was allowed to return to her feet. Humbled, reminded of what it meant to be a master of a craft and shown how much further she had yet to climb and eager to resume the journey. The praise was accepted for what it was, but it was the offer for another round that made her leap. "I can do this all day!" she grinned - then amended, somewhat deflated, "is what I'd like to say. But one more round I can manage."

Any lingering observers might as well not exist to her. Her friends and former collegues knew why she was there, and why she was not going to stay. If there was curiosity about her spar with the demoted outlander, any questions would no doubt be saved for the next night off at the Kraai.

Rolling the ache from her shoulders, Aino resumed her stance, limber and ready. "Your turn to start," she offered; it was the winner's prerogative to get the first blow, after all.

For the good times that we share,
and the bad times that we'll have