Thundershift #3

 Zarkonis Dovahrax: Hey Abram.
Abram Falco: Hello.
Zarkonis Dovahrax whispers: Hey. Quick question. How strong are you?
Abram Falco whispers: Why does it matter?
Zarkonis Dovahrax whispers: Uh. 'Cause then I'll need ya help wit something.
Abram Falco whispers: With what?
Zarkonis Dovahrax whispers: Oh, just helping me get stronger. Nothing major. It'd be training for me, and...you getting out pent up frustrations?
Zarkonis Dovahrax whispers: I think that's the right word. Frustration.
Abram Falco whispers: Let's go, then.
Zarkonis Dovahrax: <*Runs off!*>
Zarkonis Dovahrax: Here's a good spot.
Abram Falco: Right.

Abram was led down into the mines of Frostvale, away from not only public view, but to give them more 'space' so to speak. Sure, the mines possessed narrow corridors and the like, created by the Drakanite miners that were busy earning their keep, but it was spacious enough to give them breathing room for a fight.

Zarkonis distanced himself from the boy and nodded his head once. Yes, this was indeed a good spot to tussle. He honestly still lacked a weapon of sorts, as well as a proper shield to defend against attacks, but the boy has spirit! He wishes to better himself, and from his past experiences, the best way to do this is...

Combat. Real live combat.

"Okay! Bring it on!" he shouted with the utmost enthusiasm, fists raised and at the ready, scarf flowing every so often when a breeze blew through. "Oh. Wait. I forgot something," he mumbles, scratching the back of his head. Nigh instantly, horns, a tail, and wings appear from the boy's body; he shifted, activated what the average Drakanite magi possessed---half shift. "Now I'm ready."
(Zarkonis Dovahrax)

The mines were accomodating for what they were planning to do. He had always been prone to combat and he had come to know it well, familiar with fighting and what not. His magic was powerful but unrefined--it was a raw, prevalent power that he had, something that he had been born with.

He calmly let the darkness seep out of him and whip around his form. He looked upon the shifted boy and wondered what power drakanites possesed. Vareline was wholly unimpressive and he hoped that Zarkonis was superior to her. It was a faint hope, but he held onto it nonetheless.

"I hope you really are ready," he said. "I've fought in a real battle before, you know."

Abram was always calm and quiet, collected, thinking about something that was going to happen--he was steady, and that didn't change. He stood amidst his occultic flame and waited, his face unmoving and almost devoid of emotion. There was a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes, but it was nothing more than that.
(Abram Falco)

Abram Falco: Are you kidding me?
Abram Falco: Shockwave!
Abram Falco: SHOCKWAVE!

It became apparent very quickly that the boy was utterly useless in combat. Abram was taken aback by how incredibly weak and ineffective he was. It was impressive, that anyone could maintain such a level of impotency in a world where even the weakest were strong enough to wipe out a town of average men. Zarkonis was not skilled and it showed.

"You're really, really bad, you know that?" he asked the question quietly but he wasn't nice about it. He didn't make it soft--it was a quiet and sharp criticism, simply framed as a question.

He wiped the dirt off of his clothes, where his shirt had been stained by the boy's fists.

"I hope that you can do better than that, or you'll die. Someone will kill you just because they can."

He expected that there would be more fight in his fellow child. There was always more, especially when it came to dragons and their pride. He waited, expecting that something good would come of this eventually.
(Abram Falco)

Just as he presumed. Abram was strong, much stronger than he was. He was blown back and away by the young magi's use of a wide array of magic; from water, to wind, and then...lightning. His efforts were valiant, but the boy was unable to come out of it with the victory.

"You know...lightning magic?" he managed to utter while slowly rising to his feet. It had taken him by surprise, truthfully, that the boy had access to such magic. The same magic that he so desperately wished to learn. "Can you sho---"

Zarkonis is cut off by Abram's insults. Everything he was being told, he already knew. There was no dispute about it. Instead of attempting to defend himself, the boy erupts in a hearty laughter. "Yeah, I know! I can do better. Sort of. Maybe." He wasn't so sure himself, but... If there's anything he learned, it's that he couldn't back down nor give up. He asked for this after all.

"Round two, let's go!" Forward, the Dovahrax charged.
(Zarkonis Dovahrax)


He attacked the boy again and the same result prevailed. He conquered him easily and there wasn't much fighting to be done. Abram was bored with the whole ordeal. He wanted to find something redeemable in the encounter, and perhaps an opportunity was emerging.

"I could teach you, sure," he said. "But you'll have to give me something, or maybe I'll just take it anyways."

He liked the Drakanite. He was fierce and not weak--he was weak, but he didn't act that way. There was something good about that and it disarmed Abram, else he would have done something horrible.

"But we'll talk about that after," he said, stretching his arms out, waiting for an opportunity to attack.

The fight was not a fight. It was more of a one-sided stomp. He wasn't sure what the dragon was thinking when he invited him to this encounter, but now it had already began.
(Abram Falco)

It wasn't enough. He was facing the same blockade, just like when he fought Arcelia a few months prior to this encounter. His flames...they needed to be hotter. Much hotter. He required more fire power than he currently possessed. Sure, he may be able to endure a bit, if he played his cards right, but the fact of the matter is...

Zarkonis currently had no offense whatsoever and it was blatantly obvious. Still, the kid has heart, and it's not long until he's standing on two feet again. Injured, he may be, but his soul is still in-tact!

"Hu---Okay?"

He's not sure how to answer what Abram said sometimes, the boy went off on random tangents that were confusing to anyone but himself. Still, this time around, he doesn't charge forward. Instead, he inhales deeply, chest swelling with the oxygen, as well as magic, being gathered. Then once it reaches a certain point, the pent up energy expelled all at once, shooting an average wave of fire at the boy!

Still not enough. Not big enough. Not hot enough.
(Zarkonis Dovahrax)

It was just him going through the motions now. He didn't have to dedicate any real attention to the battle. He made the proper steps and dodged when he needed to, and that was all that he needed to do in order to prevail. His mind was focused on something else, another aspect of the confrontation that he was beginning to cherish. There was a chance that he wasn't completely wasting his time, but even that was small.

"Your form is horrible," he said. "I can tell that you've never been in a real fight. You'll get better, but you're going to lose a whole lot, too."

Abram had never been asked to do anything for anyone else, but he felt some sympathy for his opponent--it was a small germ of sympathy, a fleeting emotion. He didn't pity the dragon's weakness but he did recognize it.

"You'll have to find someone better than me to teach you," he said. "Because there's nothing that I can do for you."

He was being honest. He was no teacher. Maybe he could show him some of the basics of lightning and what not, but that was not guaranteed. But if nothing else, Zarkonis was tough and that counted for something.
(Abram Falco)

'Your form is horrible.'

There was no denying that. He was all over the place, and truth be told, he's unable to do much of anything on his own. Well, against Abram that is. He gave it his best shot, and even attempted to channel the wellspring of mana in his gut, and yet, it harbored no fruit. It was futile.

Or was it?

During the battle, the boy's able to pick up on a few things. The sparking of a flame, almost. Before he fell to one of Abram's more potent, devastating spells, Zarkonis's right hand thrusted forward. A blast of arcane electricity erupted from his hand, crashing into the blast of condensed energy magic shot in his direction.

And it was promptly swallowed by it. Shit. Well so much for that. It was a literal shot in the dark, something that manifested by what he presumed was pure luck than skill, but it was 'something' nonetheless. A seed has been sown. Once more, Zarkonis rises to his feet, adamant about continuing the one-sided affair. He was weary now; one couldn't keep getting blasted in such a manner without repercussions, could they?

But the fire in his eyes said another story. That even if he fell again, he'd still stand back up. He was tenacious, this Drakanite, but in battle that could not land one the victory. Only defeat.
(Zarkonis Dovahrax)

He set his feet against the soil and threw his hand forward, and from his hand there came a powerful whip. It swirled forward, rushing ahead of itself, before forming into a hard tip and slamming directly into the dragon's chest. It would knock him back and it would knock him down. It was not weak and it would hurt.

He approached the downed boy with a smile on his face. He reached into his shirt and pulled out a pocket knife. Another finger would've been nice. Abram would've taken one if he didn't know the boy so well, that and Zarkonis had been a good sport.

Instead, he took some of his hair into his hand, and sliced it off. He clutched the white strands in his right fist, admiring them before placing them into his pocket. Abram had a trophy, though it wasn't much of one. It wouldn't make a good gift, not like a finger would have.

"Get up, then," he said. "Let's go back. There's no point in staying down here."
(Abram Falco)

Ahhh...

The bitter taste of defeat. His body couldn't hold out, in the end. Zarkonis had grown sluggish, and Abram's magical prowess proved far too much for him to handle. The whip constructed out of water slammed into his torso, and he's thrown a couple of feet back, slamming into the stone wall.

Then, forward he slumped. His half-shift transformation receded back into his body, disappearing from sight. He was too out of it to notice Abram had cut his hair; he'd taken a lot of shots after all. It's not until he heard the faint whisper of a 'get up' that the young Drakanite snapped back to reality.

"Hu---What happe---Oh. I lost. Right," he realized, coming to. Gradually, he manages to stand on his own two feet again. "Yeah, come on," he said with a nod. The young boy limped forward, heading towards the exit of the mines.
(Zarkonis Dovahrax)