[Training] [se] running in place

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

It was clear that the skills Tal harbored were of his own – any formality might have gone by the wayside due to the climate, terrain, necessities, or simply a lack of training. While his means and strategies were effective, for the fake Sunjata laid in a variety of pieces, there were other things to work upon, to smooth over, and to make far more efficient.

Striding over, the soldier made use of his air incantations by whipping the ax back out of the embedded surface, making note with a light grin, before orchestrating the portions and rubble into the surroundings themselves – a few feet away. There, they seemingly maneuvered on invisible strings and intangible lines, waiting to escalate the newfound game. “You have some good movements,” he started, “but you can tighten them, and be less predictable.” For an animal, this may not have been an issue, but battling an adversary? An opponent who could read the lines of muscle memory? “You can also protect yourself more.”

Snagging at an axe of his own, parting a makeshift crowd that had gathered again by the armory, he strode over to where the floating ruins remained. Demonstrating a satisfactory stance, he grabbed hold of the hilt, holding the armament in front of his frame. “Think of it like a punch, and then a chop at the last moment. You do not want them to know where you intend to go.” He unfurled the motion several times, striking forward with his arm, and then a very quick, sudden, rapid descent, cutting into the bulk of Sunjata’s nose. “You can defend your center as well,” since his limb would be there, blocking his chest, ribs, heart, and lungs.

Then he stepped back after several demonstrations, permitting Tal to try once again.

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

The axe came free with a sudden leap that almost had Tal overbalancing at the unexpected magical assist, and he bit back the undignified yelp of surprise. Even as he recovered, the target began to shiver and dance and Tal drew in a slower, deeper breath of envious admiration at the casual display of magic that Deimos made look so effortless.

Tal was too reticent to beam with pride, even when the legendary General praised him, but the young man did stand a little taller and raise his chin with a flush of confidence. It didn't fade when Deimos continued with his suggestions, either. The courier simply nodded, watching his instructor intently with pale eyes to see how he could make those improvements.

"Punch, and then chop," he repeated slowly, setting the words in his mind as he followed Deimos's movements with his gaze. He watched the repetitions several times, trying to take note of stance as well as grip as well as the motion of the hips and the unfurling of the arm. It was too much to hold in his mind all at once, but he did his best to set himself in an echo of how Deimos had stood, directly in front of 'Sunjata's' battered countenance. "Punch, and then chop," he murmured again, under his breath, and then tried to copy what he'd seen. The motion was choppy and disjointed on his first try, the axe barely sinking into wood as his momentum was disrupted, but he stubbornly pulled it out and tried again.

And again.

On the sixth try it finally started to smooth out a little, though his speed was nowhere near what Deimos's had been. He scowled at the target and gave it another solid whack for good measure.

Sunjata's face had certainly seen better days...

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

He waited. Sometimes there were rebuttals, wrinkled noses, a sort of defiance that came with youth and the yearning to never make mistakes. When they weren’t immersed into the void, and the courier seemed grateful for the platitudes, he nodded, intending to watch the persistence. Angles were corrected, chopping motions maintained, and though not in quick succession, the target was pummeled and whacked over and over again – to some satisfying degree.

He wouldn’t tell Talyson why he found it so amusing, but nevertheless, striding forward again. “Well done.” Some of the pieces had fallen and looked well beyond repair – which was also smugly pleasing – so he raised them once more, permitting the shards to flicker and twist, turning a little over in the air, as if blown by a gentle breeze. “Do not be afraid to use more torque in your movements, when you are comfortable.” It would likely come in more experience and practice; Deimos certainly didn’t expect it in the here and now.

Gripping his ax once more, he turned his frame back into its residual stance. “You can also commit to a backhand strike.” He raised the ax differently about shoulder level, with his opposite hand becoming a check and balance proportion – ensuring the weapon wouldn’t return with such a blunt force back into his own figure. It doubled as a defensive posture too. The Sword turned the armament so the blade seemed sideways, before maneuvering it outward, hitting a broken portion of the Flood’s skull. Another repeat of the gesture followed several more times, sometimes purposefully slowed down.

Then he stepped back and away, intending for the pattern of performance.

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

Some would certainly get the whining, defiant scowls, and proud reluctance to absorb their teachings, but Tal had heard the stories about the Sword and his respect for the folk hero kept him on his best behavior.

Besides, he'd watched Deimos working out when he'd first arrived at the Barracks, and knew better than to challenge the warrior at his current pitiful skill level.

Tal's brow furrowed at the suggestion of torque, nodding slowly in understanding but turning over in his head how best to apply it the next time. More from the hip...? Or from the heel...? It was a line of thinking that cut off as Deimos spoke again, setting up for another demonstration. The courier's grin made another brief appearance as he watched this display more confidently. When it was his turn, he stepped up and again echoed his teacher's stance. He knew the basics of the backhand, it was clear as he stepped into it, aiming for the shoulder since the head was becoming a challengingly small target at this point.

His aim was good, and his technique was passable; he'd done it before, though seemed a little out of practice. What was missing from Tal's backhand was the strength to really carry it home. The blade bit into the target with a satisfying thunk, but failed to penetrate very far and Tal scowled at it before trying again -- to similar results.

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

The fundamentals were there; plain to see as the courier moved through the cycle of repetition. The serrated edges found their marks, but the strength, force, brawn, and power were lacking. It could’ve been any number of reasons why: his stance didn’t ground him enough to utilize all the aspects of his capability, his frame had been built for lean travel, and he didn’t have the defined bulk like some of the other soldiers had, or his endurance had been made for longer instances, and less precise, intricate motions. Striding forward again, the Sword tilted his head a fraction, clearly immersed in thought. “Your precision is well-executed.” He pointed out the marks chiseled along the effigy. “But you need more power to truly make your opponent feel the weight of that accuracy.”

He paused, placing his own ax upon his belt, alongside his blade. “We can take a break. Practicing those two techniques should be enough for now.” He moved onward, motioning Tal to follow him towards one of the braziers with an incline of his skull, leaving the floating pieces there, still cast in the air, for now. He had a plan to up the ante later anyway.

Gone for a moment, threading his way through the halls, he returned with a cup of water for the courier, glancing back towards the climbing wall in the distance. “Do you do any strength training?”

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

At least the axe was easier to pull out of the target when it didn't bite as deeply, and Tal pulled it free without the struggle of some of his previous blows. He wasn't breathing hard, but there was a sheen of sweat on his brow from the work he'd been doing, and he didn't argue when Deimos paused the lessons to give him more feedback. "Yeah... raw muscle, that's more my sister's specialty," he admitted with a faint scowl of wounded pride and embarrassment at being outdone by his sibling. "But you've given me a lot to think about so... thanks, sir." It was almost as awkward as the sloppy salute he barely stopped himself from trying to give, instead busying himself checking the axe head for nicks.

When Deimos went for water, Tal went back to practicing, slow and steady, and trying to find more of that torque his teacher had mentioned. It was enough to keep him busy until the General's return, and he perked up at the cup, taking it with a grateful nod. He'd barely managed his first sip when the question caught him off guard and he had a bad moment sputtering as the water went down the wrong pipe.

"Uh... like, lifting weights for fun? Don't really have time for that, when I'm out on the trail. But my sisters make me help them with the store during Deepfrost and I have to lift heavy stuff then. I guess it's not really training, though." And he definitely wasn't going to mention that he had to let them lift the heaviest boxes onto the higher shelves.

Deimos, on the other hand, looked like he bench-pressed ursurs for fun, and Tal shot an envious glance at the warrior's physique.

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

He nodded his head, content with the gratitude. “You are welcome.” Thereafter though, Deimos quirked a brow and managed to restrain himself from laughing at the courier’s sudden choking, presuming some surprise over the inquiry. Folding his lips inward and looking away for a moment, he managed a very brief snort and collected himself into half a grin. The question hadn’t meant to goad the younger man, but there were clearly some lines drawn. “Lifting weights is not fun,” he countered with a wrinkle to his nose. Very dull. Very boring. He’d know, based on how often he’d applied it in initial training, and then throughout residual notions. The Sword jutted his jaw towards the climbing wall – towards the open proportions of the elements, out of the cover of roofs.

Made of ice, rock, and anything else he could’ve utilized upon assembling it, it remained contorted in snow, with obvious angles and surfaces extended outward; meant to resemble portions of the Fangs, or perhaps the Draig. “You can always use the climbing wall. Much more amusing, and applicable to Halo itself.” By his remarks, several other soldiers seemed to skitter and meander in that direction, and he fought off an eye roll. “But strength would help you out on the trail, in any circumstance.”

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

Tal did his best to pretend that he hadn't seen Deimos's amusement at his momentary trouble, though he did give the warrior a reproachful look that wasn't terribly effective at the best of times. He just didn't have the face for it. But when his teacher collected himself and moved on without any mention of it, Tal relaxed and nodded fervent agreement. "I don't mind hard work when it feels like I'm getting something done," he agreed. "But lifting weights just feels like running in deep snow. Y'work real hard, but you don't get anywhere."

The climbing wall was a far more interesting prospect, and one that had the courier perking up visibly as he studied it. Now that he knew what he was looking at beneath the snow he could see the contours and handholds that he'd missed on first glance. He was still looking it over when Deimos's point slid home, and he sighed and nodded. "Yeah... you're right, there. I've been lucky so far. I haven't gotten into anything that Boreal and the dogs couldn't help me sort out. All I have to do is rig the right harness and we can shift things as a team I could never budge on my own." He perked up talking about his dogs, even if it meant admitting to a weakness on his part.

"Y'ever been on a dogsled before?" Pale eyes twinkled with a brightness and spark previously absent from the young man, even as his spine subtly straightened and his tapping fingers stilled on his cup.

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

“Agreed,” he snickered – not quite the analogy his friends and himself had when they’d first started, but it certainly carried the same affect. The Sword’s gaze pinpointed on one of the guards readying himself to begin climbing, narrowing his eyes slightly at the recruit started off well initially, then began to slip by the third tier – waiting to see how he’d catch himself or start the modest tumble downwards. He managed it, and his buddies down below gave a few claps – Deimos scoffed with a mild snort, before returning his attention back to Tal.

Head tilting in that vaguely feline or canine way, he caught a name he didn’t recall as anything familiar. “Boreal? Is that a companion?” Or perhaps a coworker, depending on the state of things. That he managed sled dogs made sense, given the area they traversed; and he permitted a light laugh at the excitement, the pride, seeming to buoy and emanate.

The question made his eyes widen for a moment, before another chuckle roared through – this one quite a bit louder, exuding and echoing off the frames of the barracks. “No. I have not.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But I often travel across the tundra as a hellhound.” Which, probably didn’t count.

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

The recruit was doing pretty good, and Tal chewed his lip fiercely as he watched how it was done. It certainly looked more fun than lifting boxes of metal piping or heavy sacks of grain for his sisters. Maybe he could try it later... when there weren't so many witnesses around.

"Yeah! She's my dragon," Tal said, pride and fondness warring for primacy in his voice. "She and Bell - Bell's my lead dog - stayed out front when I came in..." He trailed off, grin starting to spread in earnest now as Deimos laughed openly and the sound bounced around. "D'you want to meet them? Bell's never met a hellhound before." Neither had he or Boreal, for that matter, but he didn't say that bit out loud. "Runnin' the White yourself is a whole different game than workin' with a team. But I always kinda wondered what'd be like..." The wistful twist to his voice was quickly shaken away as he looked up at Deimos with bright, curious eyes.

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

When the soldier managed to claim his portion at the top, the next seemed braver, intending to follow suit. He traced the lines of their work with honest scrutiny, forming notes in his mind for future endeavors, before relaying and pondering over the information suddenly reeling. He muffled another snort, but didn’t check his grin, when the discussion turned to companions. “A dragon…,” he murmured first, his natural inclination and experience with them not being very high – presuming this one was far smaller than the imposing figures and cousins in the Fangs and Draig. “They are welcome to come in. Mine do frequently.” Gods knew how many times the peryton annoyed everyone in the closest vicinity.

Pondering over the offer, his gaze took on a sharp, mischievous contortion. “Perhaps after. Your break is almost up.” And he nodded towards the remaining targets, still floating in the whims of his enchantments. As for running across the tundra, his smile became a Cheshire grin. “Freedom.”

Then he inclined back towards the makeshift effigy, walking over, and beginning to move them in sporadic designations – all with the same smile on his face.

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

Tal cheered up at the invitation for his friends to join him, eyes full of mischief as he started to draw in a deep breath for a piercing whistle--

The reminder that they weren't done for the day, that this conversation was only a break to regather strength and breath and resources, deflated the young man's enthusiasm a little, and the breath whooshed out of him in a disappointed gust. It was hard to be too regretful, however, when the one training him was a legendary warrior, and Tal's eyes grew shiny at Deimos's cat-like grin. "Yeah. You get it," he said quietly, relief at finding a kindred spirit buoying him up again so he followed eagerly in Deimos's wake, unlimbering his axe once more.

While Deimos prepared the next lesson, Tal carefully stretched out his arms, watching the Sword like a hawk to try and puzzle out what the tall warrior was setting into place this time.

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

It was effortless for the Sword to understand freedom, liberation, deliverance, and providence on the slate of ice and snow. He’d had it before. He’d have it again. A promise in the wake of his bones and the steel of his mettle, his grit, his determination, all fueled to reach those mountains again. So he gave no comment, other than the remaining grin, before wielding the incantations with juvenile insistence.

While the soldiers in the background occupied themselves, it would leave Tal free from judgment and more roaming eyes – coinciding with the way the broken shards of fabric, wood, and stuffing maneuvered. “It is easy to hit an opponent who is still,” referring to their last attempts, where they’d simply been working on technique. “But most will be moving.” Not wanting to be hit, maimed, or torn apart by the serrated edge of an axe.

There were no predictable patterns to the way the targets maneuvered. Some, like most animals, paused momentarily, then flickered in opposing directions. Others were rapid and swift, buzzing around the other proportions like annoying gnats or ningos. Deimos stepped back again, providing Tal an opportunity to select his own prey and adversary, and to deal the necessary damage.

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

Some of Tal's nervousness had fallen away while they talked, and he had stopped worrying so much about the recruits and soldiers in the rest of the yard. Pale eyes were drawn to the Sword like magnets to iron, as eager as a pup to prove himself to the seasoned warrior, blessed by the gods and rich in magic. Tal lapped up each word, but at the lesson's point he wrinkled his nose, nodding reluctant agreement. "Yeah... that's usually the problem..."

And it was one he was going to have to solve, as the debris danced and shifted on Deimos's magical strings. Tal swallowed hard and hefted the axe, eyes darting to the different options. He knew his limitations, and the speedy ones were beyond them. There was a large chunk of canvas and wooden frame that paused and then jerked unpredictably, but Tal's gaze lit on it and he grinned suddenly, stepping forward with twisting shot that whirled around his head once to gather momentum as his feet charged ahead, closing the distance with determination to get so close that the target couldn't move far enough out of the way fast enough no matter which way it dodged before the axe sank deep into its structure with a satisfying crack of wood and tearing of fabric.

It wasn't a tactic that would work on the smaller bits of flotsam and jetsam in the air, but it had worked on the largest one available, and Tal turned to grin proudly at Deimos, waiting for the praise and improvements that had come from each lesson before.