[Training] don't you know i'm not afraid to shed a little blood

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Multitudes of learned proportions, strength, power, and dominion, came through on persistence. Deimos wouldn’t be where he was today with the perseverance laced and laden through his bones, carved amidst the scars across his soul. Nor would many Halovian citizens, Hotaru, Evie, or anyone else alike; because while the world could be kind, it could also be cruel. Often for no reason at all – and it had to be in their nature to not succumb to the pressures of the earth, no matter how heavy or overbearing. Difficult to muster in the wakes of loss, grief, and anguish, but they’d managed by the skin of their teeth. Even now, amid simplicity and arrows, sculpted a building block for the future. Where Alys started, where she’d gone, and what she’d become. His brow arched again as her arrow fired off, with stances adjusted, and it drew along closer and closer. Walking out to snag the weapons, he dislodged them from the target, inspecting the nuances, before returning and handing several back to her. Notching another of his own, he flared it quickly and efficiently, watching as it came along on keener edges, puncturing deeper into the effigy, dead center again. On an air of teasing, but truth lingering along the edges, he grinned. “Let me know when you want a moving target.” master of nothing place; of recoil and grace

and i'm still waiting for a life that never was

Alys had yet to experience the cruelty of the world in any meaningful way, but she was nothing if not practical. She knew that bad things sometimes happened, even to good people, and that the best way to protect herself was through preparation. Now that she had traveled beyond the bounds of the Hollowed Grounds, she knew that she was more vulnerable than ever, and as she continued to travel, she would only expose herself to more potential danger. She didn't intend to be reliant on others to protect her. She intended to protect herself.

While Alys was pleased with her progress, it was still with a modicum of envy that she watched how easily Deimos notched his arrow, drew, and released to find the center of the target. She was preparing her next shot when he teasingly mentioned a moving target, and Alys made a face. "I don't feel ready for a moving target," she admitted. "I'd probably just lose my arrows."

Alys

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Another barking laugh unfurled across the blackened bay at her face, figuring he’d found some niche and nuance somewhere. “Well, I am,” and he placed his bow and arrows amongst the sled as he began to transpire and create, palms gilded and golden, as the makeshift effigy of his own design took shape. A relatively easygoing thing, only round fixtures with Neron’s face emblazoned across it, because even if the Ascended was dead, Deimos could still use his depiction and image as a lifelong mantra for contempt and abhorrence. Spite went a long way with the Sword. So while Alys could adjust her stances, he intended to practice more precision with a maneuvering feature; since none of his adversaries had ever stood still for him. Curling and contorting air magic around it, it rippled and ricocheted through the icy breeze, almost content to mill around while he retrieved his weaponry. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace

and i'm still waiting for a life that never was

As Alys watched Deimos manipulate the forces around them to create a new target, she marveled once more at what magic could do, given half a chance. She could practice for years and never reach Deimos's level with her abilities. In some ways, it was perhaps a bit discouraging to watch him; in others, it lit a fire inside her; she wanted to become the best that she could be, no matter how long it took or how hard she'd have to work.

When Deimos finished, a moving figure was milling about the snow and ice. Alys didn't recognize the likeness, but she assumed that it must be someone that Deimos really disliked. That, or he was secretly an artist and created similar statues in his abundant free time. Either way, Alys returned her attention to her own target, focusing on her stance. That lasted for an arrow or two, which faded away from the center of the target as her attention wandered back to Deimos and shooting a moving target.

Alys

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Never intending to discourage, deter, or dissuade fellow mages, Deimos continued to exist in the mantras of incantations pulsing, pervading, and illuminating the world with their abilities. There was no backing away from the capabilities presiding in his veins; he didn’t shirk, he didn’t hide, he didn’t abandon the qualities of his existence for the sake of anyone else’s lingering shame. It had taken years to be where he was now – through all the multitudes of defeats and losses, triumphs and successes, and everything else gnarled and carved in between. And no one was going to take those modicums away from him. “What happened to your concentration?” He mused, as her arrows and attention seemed to wander and fade as soon as he started his antics. They’d already trained like this before – where he purposefully drew notice and regard from her enchantments; a reminder cast aloft with the slow arch of his brow and a twitch of amusement in the corner of his mouth. From there, he persisted with his own; eyes narrowing, arrow and strand drawn, watching as the armament eventually sailed through the air, landing in false Neron’s overly exaggerated nose. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace

and i'm still waiting for a life that never was

What happened to your concentration? asked Deimos, and Alys fought the urge to stick her tongue out at him like a child. He had turned to his own training now, an arrow sailing through the air to land in the effigy's nose. "I was just wondering how you shoot at a moving target," she said. "Or, well, how you manage to not miss." She didn't quite understand the concept of leading the target as yet.

She turned back to her target, though, determined not to give Deimos the satisfaction of her drifting attention. She nocked an arrow, drew back, released - and this time, her arrow crept closer again to the center - the closest one yet. She nodded in approval, glancing over her shoulder surreptitiously to see if Deimos had seen her success.

Alys

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame “Practice,” he mused at first, presuming it would rankle the edges. “I have trained in combative weapons since I was very young.” Once Isilme children were old enough to hold blades and bows, they sprung into their hands from elders, with sharp, blunt orders coursing through notions. “But you also must watch their movements. Sometimes you can predict which way things will maneuver.” And other moments was luck, fortune, and skill. He waited to escalate another volley as Alys purposefully made hers known; creeping closer and closer to the center. “Good,” came along a slight smile, because it had been, and she should’ve been praised for her efforts, even if they were amid distractions. The latter would come in the heat of moments anyway; especially if there were monsters, enemies, or even the simplistic ventures of hunting. Notching his own, and leaving the other arrow in the floating target because it amused him, he narrowed his sights on Neron’s massive forehead. Muscles and power pulled the strand back, before releasing, watching as it cast its mark and weight directly in the center of the effigy’s brow. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace

and i'm still waiting for a life that never was

Alys wrinkled her nose at the familiar phrase: practice, practice, practice. Despite her belief in exactly that, it was still frustrating to hear as the answer to every question she posed. Fortunately, Deimos gave her a little more to work with, and she nodded as she listened to his instruction, pausing in her own efforts to watch his next volley. "I see." And she thought she could see what he meant, about watching his opponent's movements and making predictions, but she still wasn't confident enough to try it - at least, not with Deimos here to watch her first attempts!

She turned back to her own target with a mental shrug and refocused on her own task. She let loose another arrow, carefully positioning herself for the most benefit, and was pleased when her arrow inched ever closer to the target. But she was running out of arrows, so she watched to make sure she wouldn't be in Deimos's line of fire, then walked out to her target to gather the missiles embedded there.

Alys

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame She could wrinkle her nose at the foundations all she wanted – but there was no special method to any of the madness. Accuracy and precision held particular kinds of weight long after basics were instilled, because while many could pick up a bow or a blade, the notions of muscle memory and comfort in the use of such weaponry had to be instilled. That came with ease, with familiarity, with practice. So when she said hardly anything, he arched his brow, and left it at that. But there were continual patterns of growth as her arrow inched ever so slightly towards the center, and he gave her another nod in approval. Once she was out of the way, he scattered his effigy back into the air around them, assured his incantations took it in multiple directions; not yet retrieving his own armaments out of the effigy. Not yet anyway. It was amusing to see Neron becoming a human pincushion. This interval he aimed for the dead Ascended’s chin, and listened as the weaponry flew, casting his sights dead-on its nuances; though with a gust of wind, it landed primarily along his jaw. Good enough. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace

and i'm still waiting for a life that never was

She could and did wrinkle her nose at the concept of the foundations, but she understood their importance and strove to incorporate them into her life whenever possible. Ever since that first day with Deimos, she'd trained with either her magic or, more recently, her bow - and sometimes with both. She had a difficult time combining the two, however; while she could have summoned false targets to make things more interesting for herself, she had no interest in chasing down the arrows when they sailed through the illusion. Besides, she'd never be able to tell where she hit it.

Returning to her post, Alys rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck this way and that, loosening up muscles that were beginning to tire. She watched as Deimos took another shot, hitting his target squarely in the jaw. She was sure that Deimos was hitting each shot precisely where he wanted, but even if he wasn't, it was close enough that the target would no doubt perish from any one of his shots.

"What all weapons are you familiar with?" Alys asked, suddenly curious. It occurred to her that she didn't know much about his training, having really only seen him work with his magic and, now, with a bow.

Alys

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame The question caused a brief laugh, for there were many. As he eventually meandered out, lowering the target with the same Air incantations to retrieve the arrows (further amused to find Neron’s features full of lethal holes), upon return, he began a steady list, twirling one of the armaments in his hands. “Sword,” hence his title, “Ax, spear, bow, staff,” pausing, his eyes narrowed, reaching back into other experiences and situations. “Knives.” Ending it on that, he then promptly set his target on fire with little to no effort – watching as it crisply burnt to ash and dust and nothingness, before billowing away on the wind. Turning towards Alys once more, he jutted his jaw back towards her own effigy, a cue, perhaps, for her to persist and continue. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace

and i'm still waiting for a life that never was

"So, all of them," Alys summarized wryly after Deimos had named off his skills. She wasn't surprised, but she was impressed; for one person to master so many different styles of attack spoke volumes of his experience. She hadn't really gotten to see Deimos in action, after all, so although she took his expertise as a given, it was an assumption rather than a direct observation.

Deimos obliterated his effigy, then jutted his chin towards Alys's target, as though insisting that she continue. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes - she'd done enough for today, thank you very much - she turned back to her target, raised her bow, sighted, and loosed - and somehow managed to (finally) hit it perfectly in the center. Positively gleeful, she resisted the urge to look back at Deimos proudly, determined not to need his validation.

Pulling another arrow from her quiver, she notched it. "What kind of close range weapon would you recommend to someone like me?" she asked. A bow was great for long range, but until she manifested different types of magic, she was unlikely to last long in a hand-to-hand fight.

Alys

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame The Sword was about to claim that ‘no’, that wasn’t all weapons, but noting it was a joke, he parsed it off with a snort. He’d had multiple lifetimes to gain such skills, and the experience in battle to claim all of them in higher regard. The spear was a newer addition, but the bow, blade, and staff had found multiple uses across hoards of battlefields – and when they weren’t necessary, his incantations suited him just fine. Granting her a smile as her arrow found its centered mark, he presumed that was likely enough for today’s efforts. Success could be measured by stopping points too – knowing when to signify the strengths gained. It was better to end it now, than to obliterate any progress due to exhaustion and fatigue. “Well done.” He hadn’t expected the inquiry thereafter though – for the Warden could still recall her initial hesitation merely being around the Barracks. Or her avoidance of labor. Contorting his Cheshire grin inward, rather than overtly mocking and noting the change in stances, he considered her question. “That depends on your comfort levels and how you would fight. What are your preferences for combat?” Long, serrated edges? Short and blunt precision? Defensive maneuvers to outlast an opponent? He'd only ever seen her presently with a bow, and elsewhere, with illusions. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace

and i'm still waiting for a life that never was

Alys paused in her shooting at Deimos's praise, shooting a grin over her shoulder before she could stop herself. It would get easier with time, the new tweaks to her stance that he'd shown her, and with practice, hitting the target in the center would become as easy as breathing. Then she could begin working in more difficult conditions - wind, snow, and so on - and on moving targets. It was nice, seeing a clear path to improvement, and she reveled in the pride that the physical labor had given her.

It was, perhaps, surprising to hear that Alys might be interested in another type of weapon, given her inclinations away from hard work when they'd first met. But she'd found that strengthening her body and mind, as weapons practice did in spades, had in turn strengthened her illusions, and she liked the way that she was beginning to feel: stronger, more capable, more confident. Still, when Deimos asked her preferences, she tilted her head to one side thoughtfully. "I'm not really sure," she said. "I've never been in a fight."

Alys