Live Combat [I]

[Faustus]

Chaflin stepped from the waiting room into the combat grounds. The room was simple enough in make and in furnishings. Steel walls with odd little rivets and wave patterns, a floor packed solidly but which felt slightly springy to the step. A voice drifted down over the arena, sonorous and droning where electrical systems tinned and scratched.

"Hey Chaflin! Good to see you. No weapon? Good on you! Or maybe you're hiding it? Veeeeery sneaky Chaflin!"

The presence of Donovan's voice ended all at once, as if it withdrew into itself while he deliberated, and then it appeared again.

"Heeeyyyyy soooooo, we're just going to go ahead and put you up against a level one battle blob. Don't let 'level one' throw you off your game. Treat this exercise as if it were really happening, because the blob doesn't know that you're just training."

Gears whined, a circular slot opened directly ahead and a blob of pink goo plopped shapelessly onto the ground about 20 feet away from Chaflin.

"Aaaand, let's just give you a little bit of atmosphere.

"How about . . . the kingdom of angels?"

The steel box melted away, replaced with sky and clouds and depths that could not be grasped by the naked eye. Chaflin was near the very top, the air thin this high up and sound clarity was just top-notch.

Then the clank of armor. Heavy footfalls, heavy breath. A pungent odor, that of an unwashed animal that knew only barbarism, and the scrape of a weapon against the ground. The bug-bear announced himself with a trumpeting roar, mace raised and poised for downfall, eyes wide with frenzy.

Spoiler:

[Acies ab Vesania]

When Chaflin stepped through the door, his eyes quickly surveyed the room, trying to detect any detail that seemed important. He was used to doing similar things on the farm, watching out for broken/run down equipment and animals whose demeanors were abnormal. The floor itself perplexed him, solid in its appearance but feeling a bit like rubber, or mashed down bark chips. It gave a little under his heavy weight and pushed him back up slightly, something that would likely prove beneficial in absorbing shocks from falls. When the equipment overhead came on and carried Donovan’s voice around the room, Chaflin gave a slight start and looked about the room, slightly bewildered. He was unfamiliar with technology that could produce such results.

Listening as Donovan inquired about his weapons, suggesting humorously that perhaps he had hidden the weapon on himself somewhere, Chaflin waited for Donovan to finish speaking. As his voice receded into the background of the arena, Chaflin spoke up in response, not quite yelling but making sure his voice carried, unsure of whether or not Donovan could hear him through the same equipment or from wherever he stood.

“I hide no arms about me, sir, but I came with the weapon I find most comfortable in use. I may be mistaken, but it is my thought that the ‘weapons’ we carry with us our tools, and the true weapon behind the warrior is the warrior themselves. A truly good fighter will know himself and his limitations better than any piece of wood or metal he could carry, and will keep his mind and body sharper than his sword and give it more weight than any hammer could lend.

The weapon I feel most comfortable in using is my own person, for I must train well to be have much use behind any tool I should decide to carry. There may come a time where no tool will be available. I would have only myself to rely on, so I chose now I chose to start with the only weapons I will always be able to carry about me- my body, my wits and my spirit.”

Chaflin stops then, standing ready for whatever may come his way. Donovan mentioned a level one blob; he was not sure what he should be expecting or by whose standard this creature was rated ‘level one’. All he knew, with certainty, was that he had to be ready for anything.

Spoiler:

I can't see that thing you attached from here (work) so I will have to check it when I get home).

[Faustus]

The bug-bear stepped in to Chaflin's personal radius and swung down. Hard. Muscle rippled across his arm, up his shoulder and across his chest, visible even under the armor her sported, as the spiked mace crashed against the whole of Chaflin's face with savage, unrestrained brutality.

If this situation were played out realistically and to full effect, Chaflin likely wouldn’t survive and if he did, it'd be with a necessity for a great deal of facial reconstruction and dental work. But rather than heavy, spiked metal ball in the face it felt more like a giant fist laid waste to Chaflin's skull. It hurt. Made his mouth smart and filled his ears with tinny ringing. Made his lip bleed, and filled his sense of taste with coppery blood. 'Cuts and puncture wounds' didn't happen until later on. At level one, the blobs were set to bruises, contusions, and stuns.

The bug-bear stills himself, face stretched in a grotesque reproduction of a content smile and eyes trained on their quarry. The creature grunts, shakes its whole body like a wet dog, and then begins its stampede forward. Mace raised up high for the second time, he let its considerable weight come down on Chaflin again.

[Acies ab Vesania]

The connection of the mace was a metaphorical resonance bursting within his skull, a billowing outburst of reality gravely dropping in on him in one felled swoop. The force of the hit sent Chaflin sprawling backward several feet and on his face, situational quirks of fate tempting him with the tantalizing gift of forfeiture. To lie there on the ground, tasting the blood in his mouth and staring deeply in the gleaming lights clouding his vision, how easy it would be to embrace his failure and be relieved of this humiliation. Why had he come, when he was doomed to fall so quickly? Why had he traveled such distances, when he knew in his heart that the best that he could give would never be enough? Who was he, a simple farmer's boy, to dream of something more? What business had he, pursuing a flightless fancy all brought upon him by a flimsy promise given to a dying girl he once knew?

WHO WAS HE?! To dare and dream, to challenge the status quo and strive to be more than he was born to be?

WHO WAS HE?! To put something more in his heart than simple complacency, to hope to rise above his station and be someone he could be proud of being.

Who was he?

Was he, a man, whom faced with adversity, would lie on the floor, filled with regret and hopelessness, ready to cave because things would not come easy? Was he the kind of man who could go back on a word, because he decided the journey was too hard to live follow through? Was he the sort, who quit before trying, who failed before failing, simply because of fear?

Could he be that man and live with the shame? Or could he be something more.

His face hurt, his lip swollen, what little pride he had broken. The man he could be, the man he should be, lay exposed to the surface, nothing left to shield the hidden workings of the man on the floor. Chaflin placed his hand against the floor and rose from his casted place, rose from the fears that engulfed him and rose from the bonds that held him. Rising from the low place, he turned towards his enemy, a level one blob to some, the embodiment of fear and doubt to a lone other. He could hear her voice, her frail and whispery voice begging him to promise that he would not stay behind, would not fail to reach his potential. The whispers in his ears that enliven his dreams to this very day and make him more than a boy; ready to face being a man.

The creature lumbers forward, its weapon poised, its intent well drawn out. Chaflin could surrender to his weight or take the first step, a leap, into being the man worth something more. He waited, watching the creature tear after him like the real thing. Its charge was full of fury, the blow looked to be deadly, but Chaflin now faced his fears. Just as it came upon him, weapon most prepared to induce deadly damage; Chaflin deftly stepped aside and allowed common physics to work as they do. The creature was bounding forward, with a heavy weapon coming crashing down. Leaning into the blow, to optimize the damage with its weight behind it, the creature would start falling forward, the displaced energy still seeking to go where directed.

To help it on its way, Chaflin spins quickly on his heels, to face the same way as the vile monstrosity. With a hard shove, he ensures it goes tumbling down face first, where he comes down, knee into back, right at the center with as much weight and force as he can possibly muster, to knock the wind out the thing. With his off hand, he pulls its head back by its hair, brining his good hand forward in balled fist, striking a heavy blow, capable of cracking bone, to the back of its head, a location that would incapacitate any creature or even kill it.

Should the beast stay down, he simply sits on it, breathing heavily and trying to recollect himself, stunned by the currents of that brief moment.

[Faustus]

Chaflin was gruesome. Was brutal. Thank Gaia that Donovan wasn't close enough to see, and that Sasia never would, because there was something in that boy's eyes that'd shake even the stone hearts of grown men. Something that sparked to life, as wild and vivid as fire that made cracked, charcoal logs out of trees and that same something which left his eyes the split-second after Chaflin delivered his death blow.

Chaflin sits there atop the back of the beast newly slain, chest burning and lungs aching for sweet breath, mind racing as the 'reality of the situation' syndrome kicked in, adrenaline dropped, and he was left to ponder the consequences of his actions. The bug-bear dissolved back into its basic form, the silhouette of its appearance pixelating and fading away block by block, until nothing but a cherry tinted gelatinous goop remained.

The sky blackened as if burned to a crisp by Chaflin's fervor, the clouds turned to dust and settled over the ground in a fine layer that quickly disappeared, and the whole of the room shook and fizzled. With one jarring, lateral movement Chaflin was returned to the steel box of the indoor training grounds, kneeling over nothing but breathing just as hard. Donovan's voice filled the room again.

"That was very good Chaflin, wow! I mean, don't let me puff your ego up too much. It's not like you did the most amazing, complex counter in the world. Or that I've ever seen. But for someone with as much experience as jellyfish have teeth, you did pretty damn good.

"Broad strokes evaluation. When you can go with the flow, just like you did. Turn your enemies force and momentum to your advantage, just like you did. You can also use it to your advantage without continuing the path of motion. Large objects moving forward rapidly can't duck and dodge as quickly, and so you can just place something in their way for them to run into. A sword for example. Or a fist, right to the throat.

"Um. Yeah pretty much. I think that about covers it for that. You kept the fight pretty short, so there's little to say about form. Go ahead and send Sasia in. Very good job Chaflin. You get an A for this exercise."

[Acies ab Vesania]

Blood roared in Chaflin’s ears, he could hardly hear himself think, lest of all anything going on around him. His vision blurred, his eyes streaming silver tears wrought from anger, fear and sheer adrenaline. Chaflin could not see the thing dissolving in front of him and hardly felt it as it melted away into a small pile of gelatinous mush. Chaflin’s thoughts surged through his mind, dancing to some distant tempestuous beat that lifted his feelings into a turbulent storm that refused to slow for anything. The beating and swirling of his emotions and overloaded sensory input organs caused his entire body to drift into a placid state of numbness. Anesthetized and dumb, Chaflin fell into a borderline dull stupor that threatened to allow him to slide into shock, were it not for the continuously booming PA system overhead.

“-Broad strokes evaluation. When you can go with the flow, just like you did. Turn your enemies force and momentum to your advantage, just like you did. You can also use it to your advantage without continuing the path of motion. Large objects moving forward rapidly can't duck and dodge as quickly, and so you can just place something in their way for them to run into. A sword for example. Or a fist, right to the throat.

"Um. Yeah pretty much. I think that about covers it for that. You kept the fight pretty short, so there's little to say about form. Go ahead and send Sasia in. Very good job Chaflin. You get an A for this exercise."

The first words that began to sink in were hardly comprehensible to him, coming across as gibberish that seemed familiar. Bit by bit, the pieces fell together and strings of words began to make sense, conversation and communication fully sinking in. Chaflin caught the final bit about keeping the fight short and not much to say. His spirits sank with it; the evaluation hardly seemed illustrious or worthwhile. His hopes began to dwindle once more, falling away from his grasp and the light of his dreams faded. At best, his performance was mediocre; hardly awe inspiring and he knew it, as the memories of his fight sank in. With those feelings, weighing him down, he rises slowly; shoulders slumped in disappointment and a little shame. He felt embarrassed, a waste of time.

When Donavan spoke the final piece, Chaflin’s jaw nearly dropped. Hope surged inside him, but he tamed it down quickly. Surely, his ears had deceived him. Good job? No facetious tone, no sign of sarcasm, a genuine congratulation? And an A? How could this be?

Chaflin weighs on this as he departs the training room, heading back to the waiting area, hardly aware of the swelling on his face or that amount of pain he should be experiencing now that he was out of the situation. Still, adrenaline coursed through his system, left over from the fight and renewed by the revelation of Donavan’s remarks. He had done well; he had succeeded. He was in fact on his way. Perhaps this was what he was meant for, perhaps, in time, he would be what he dreamed of.

I hope I make you proud…

***
When he returns to the waiting room, a little battered and growing tired, he manages to say:

“Uh, he says it’s your turn now. Good luck.”

[Aromatic]

When Chaflin left the waiting room, Sasia had been quietly perusing the many weapons present. Going nearly one by one she would lean in close, running fingers gently along blades and shapes, her face flaring red without any idea of what sort of tool she might fight well with. She took in frequent breaths, though they were as much to make sure Chaflin wasn't being entertained by her indecision as they were to get an idea of the items she was studying. It was even more embarrassing when, with barely any consideration, the big guy took off empty handed!

Oh man, that was so awesome! There was no way she could top it.

But at least he was gone! Without his quiet gaze potentially judging her, she could get down to the real investigation! Quick, hound-like sniffing and quicker feet took her past weapons at a reckless pace, her mind racing to catch glimpses of shapes and forms and consider how she could use them, only occasionally stopping to actually pick something up and swing it around. It wasn't so long before she caught a whiff of something special, however. Something perfect.

She broke into a short sprint and nearly tore the weapon from its rack, spinning around with it once before breathing it in. A good foot taller than she was, the polished wooden pole was topped with a single-edged blade adding a foot and a half, totaling up to a glaive that towered impressively over her. But it wasn't the glaive that so quickly endeared itself to her.

It was the perfectly red tassel dangling from the back of the blade.

After a couple of test swings and attempts to reason how to properly hold the thing, she brought the blade close with the tassel right under her nose. Many of the weapons present had their fair shares of decorations and accessories, and in many delicious colors, but they all paled in comparison to her prize. Gingerly she chewed at it.

That single, beautiful, lively, absolutely enchanting and tantalizing shade of red was a kind she so sought after that she could scarcely contain herself whenever she happened across it. To this day she could never decide whether it smelled more like cherry candy or apple candy, despite how obvious the difference was. The red aroma was simply too sweet, too lively, to find the distinction.

When Chaflin came back from his fight, he would find her beaming as she clumsily tried to figure out how to stand and thrust and swing. In her excitement she didn't quite pick up on the damage to his face as she ran out and flashed him a smile.

"Oh, um, thank you! I hope you did well!"

And she was off to the training room.

[--Rob]

Sasia sees the same initial sight Chaflin did, at least, to the best of her abilities. She will sense the cold and emptiness of four steel encompassing walls; she will smell a fading scent of sweat and odor that clearly belonged to Chaflin. There is silence for the duration of the scents existence, and when it clears away, the familiar voice of Donovan comes over the intercom, although the boy himself cannot be seen by either student.

"Aaaaaalllllriight. Remember! Act as if you're in a real fight. The battle blob doesn't play pretend."

The sound of shifting gears began and stopped just as quickly, resulting in the cherry-colored battle blob flopping onto the ground, about 20 feet away from Sasia.

"I bet it smelled horrible when you first walked in. Sorry about that! It takes it a few seconds to clean sometimes. I'll make it up to you with a nice change in scenery."

The room would explode with new scents and colors, potentially overwhelming a girl in Sasia's position. Shortly after, the blob would morph into Sasia's adversary. A foul, green smoke emitted from its mouth and snout as it stomped with anger. It's steel-colored skin glimmered slightly in the sun.

"Good luck"

Spoiler:

[Aromatic]

"Okay! Um, I don't play pretend either, I guess, so..."

She leveled the cold blade of her glaive toward the blob, tolerating the metallic odor of her weapon to take in more of that fantastic sugared tassel. The entire room hefted a musty metal glaze against her nostrils, and even her opponent gave off a strange scent like grimy jelly. It was uncomfortable, but not the worst thing in the world, and so she simply pondered the task ahead while Donovan continued to speak. A change of scenery certainly wouldn't be unwelcome!

"Oh, uh, thank you,"

Her body shook.

"I...ah-"

Scintillating knives pierced into her nose, a cascade of sharp, perfumed sensations. Her glaive tumbled softly into the grass and flowers, the shaft lying across her foot.

"Ah...!"

She coughed up noxious air, her knees tried to buckle as she grabbed at her throat and tried desperately to cover her nose and mouth. Her eyes watered, but the soft vanilla bandages on her hand helped mute things a little. She had to force herself to breathe, taking shallow, even intakes to gather only brief glimpses of her surroundings. It was a chore to try and pick out scents, maybe even torture. But she wasn't here to suck and die.

Inhale. Inhale. Inhale. Inhale. Each command was a shard of glass in her brain and another piece of her surroundings revealed. It took her a few moments to realize the blob was no longer a blob, that it had taken on a similar scent to the room's previous form. It stood out like a sore thumb. A few moments more and she realized where her weapon was. Maintaining her breathing, she took her hands from her airways and kicked the glaive up into her hands.

The world was a swirling mass of color, but at least her target stood out. She was getting used to the aromatic assault, but she wasn't so sure of herself as to make the first move. She forced herself into the same stance she had started in, hoping to either stab the blob-beast on a charge or have time enough to get away.

[--Rob]

The front right foot of the beast stomped angrily on the ground; each stomp harmonized with a loud exhale as the creature prepared to charge. After precisely 10 stomps, it charged forward, indifferent to the stinging senses of its intended victim. It's horns are pointed downward, so there is no risk of impaling - or even the illusion of such, given the level one status of the entity - but instead a very painful head-butt with the means to painfully wind the girl.

It's speed is quite impressive, but nothing too extraordinary or difficult to react to.

[Aromatic]

Sasia fought for every quick, agonized breath. Her body was tense from the struggle and every moment wore down the benefit of her stretching. The charging beast, a dab of paint smearing itself against the canvas of her mind, was almost upon her. She couldn't take in enough to actively follow or define it. However, by connecting the dots, she managed to approximate its path and speed. Her blade lowered to intercept it.

She pulled back and thrust the glaive with all the same ferocity of the blob, every muscle straining to pour its strength into her movement. They fought the tension built up in her gut and a stabbing pain tore through her. She was ready to stop everything and clutch at her stomach, but at the same moment she felt the impact of her blade finding its target. Instantly she knew what she was going to do.

It was simple, really. She couldn't fight back the force of the beast and needed a moment to recover, so all she had to do was take advantage of its movement and the length of her weapon to vault over her opponent! She could dig her inflicted wound deeper and get herself clear of danger, while also showing off a bit! It was perfect. Perfect and...too late.

Oops! As she went to push off, the shaft of the glaive had already been forced downward by the charge of the stuck beast, pulling the girl down with it and planting itself against the ground. Maybe the shaft would shatter from the pressure, or maybe it would drive the weapon even deeper into the assaulting form. It had all happened so fast though, any sort of assessment like that was beyond her.

With a shocked gasp, all Sasia knew as she was dashed to the ground was rainbows and that creature's awful face inches from her.

[--Rob]

Her weapon stabs through the beast with extreme ease, almost as if it was nothing but aluminum. It catches something a few inches in and causes a downward force. Her weapon does not shatter, but instead of driving deeper it tears off to the side, ripping the "flesh" of the beast a few inches. A glowing red heart is revealed from this tear, which is easily discernible as the rest of the beast appears hollow, with the exception of a few metal rods that hold the heart in place. Unhindered by the blow it suffered, the beast tears forward, rapidly turning its head from side to side trying to bludgeon Sasia on the ground with its horns.

[Aromatic]

It was going to hit her, there was no avoiding it.

Moments ticked by with the tensest lethargy as she forced the air from her lungs, desperate instinct fighting for one last breath to bring awareness of her fate as it happened. And so, Sasia found she could not even yell or scream at the impact. Her diaphragm heaved in futility and the sting in her abdomen flared. But most of all, a resounding crack like stones colliding echoed through her skull, chaotic branches of cold metallic shock reaching greedily through her nerves. Her mind reeled and her arms flailed.

Her hands found purchase on something, and without her consent or awareness they latched on. Suddenly she was being dragged. The ground tugged at her tunic and bounced her feet wildly in the air, and at long last she managed to force herself to inhale. She couldn't pick out the scent of her weapon, nor that of the damage she had inflicted. However, she could tell that somehow she had managed to grab the bull-beast by the horns...now if only she were on top.

Spoiler:

OOC: Sorry for the awful wait, school has been eating up so much time that fun stuff has been miles from my mind! And then I was really lazy for a few days.

A short one for now, but I'll be posting regularly again!