Final Training and Tasks

Gurashi and Valensandr had been in communication for a few IG months, but kept missing each other like ships in the night! I pardoned myself a little early from a City Quiz to go see if the goodest krokani was ready for Gurashi, and lo' and behold...

At the bottom of a watchtower.
Rings of stone fit together to form the walls of this watchtower, which ascends several stories before stopping at a distant, topmost floor; to reach this height, a wooden staircase crawls the perimeter of the tower, the treads held in place by a lattice of rails and balusters with no riser in sight. But here, at this lower level, the circular room is nothing too impressive. It is a storage room, and it is filled with boxes nailed shut; boxes empty and awaiting stores; racks of shields, weapons, and wine bottles; and anything else that an army might need tucked away for safe-keeping. Ensconced candles illuminate the space, some burning against the stone of the walls and while others along the stair posts. Red-hued dust covers the hardwood floors, blown in from the doorway and in need of being swept.
You see exits leading southwest and up.

Bright and clear, you say to Bizirik, the leothin, "O-K, listen up, young lady."

Bizirik, the leothin stops as Gurashi turns to face it, staring up blandly at the human. "I need you to be on goodly behavior, O-K? No stealing snackies. No eating birds." Gurashi pleads gently. The leothin's attention starts to drift but the human reaches out to gently grasp it by the chin and make it focus its attention once again. "No being intentionally stinky. O-K? Be polite in front of nicely peoples, please."

Bizirik, the leothin glances askance.

You look at Bizirik, the leothin hopefully.
Perking up, Bizirik, the leothin begins to chitter and thrum, its tail sweeping back and forth across the ground. It cranes its neck to gently headbutt your side contentedly.

Bright and clear, you say, "...mmm, will see how longly last, you."

An open-air rookery.
Long, paneless windows expose the top floor of the watchtower to the outdoors, bringing the humid, green scent of the valley beyond as well as its sounds. Yet, whatever noise that would echo through the raftered ceiling is overwhelmed by an altogether different chorus of squawks, caws, and chirps from birds encaged in golden cages. These wiry contraptions stand about freely on tables, chests, and chairs, and each harbours a feathered friend or two: from the dark-plumed crow and severe peregrine, to the gentle mourning dove and cruel-looking ossifrage. Attendants gather around these birds, feeding them, tending to them, and often attaching small notes to their legs before releasing them into the skies; some return quickly, while others take hours to wing their way back. Central to the room is a large, wooden table, its surface papered over with battle plans, intelligence reports, and all manner of hastily scrawled notes. Claymore slung across his back, Captain Valensandr Paavik thoughtfully observes the communication table with his hazel-gold eye. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. You notice a variety of WARES for sale here. You may MAIL letters from here.
You see a single exit leading down.

LOOKIT HE
Not bulky or particularly muscular, Valensandr Paavik is a lanky krokani man of tawny-pale skin and messy dark hair. His handsome face is youthful and eager, though it is marred by a pinkish scar that splits down his cheek to the corner of his mouth. Just above his aquiline nose rests his singular, hazel-gold eye that frequently narrows in consternation as he thoughtfully chews upon his lower lip. Instead of a breastplate or cuirass, his core is protected by chainmail that is covered by a white-spun tabard; this surcoat sports both the arms of the Even Bladed and House Paavik alike, and it drips with ornate medals of valour, many historical in design and clearly passed down and gifted for him to wear. Slung across his back in an elaborate sharkskin scabbard is his claymore that is half his size.
Valensandr Paavik has an air of extreme strength.
Your eye catches upon one of the medals pinned to Valensandr's tabard: a shining, bright medal of yellow coral signaling honours from the Cavaliers of the Light.

You have emoted: Gurashi pokes their head in atop the steps, the leothin hot on their heels.

Gently knocking on the banister, you say to Valensandr Paavik, "Good evening, Mister Valensandr!" They rise to their tiptoes. "Hopefully, am not too early again. Or late."

You have emoted: Gurashi looks back down the steps as the leothin creeps up along behind them, eventually settling in and occupying the top of the stairwell entirely, blocking Gurashi from leaving again. "You are being a fire hazards," They whisper, giving their creature companion a stern look.

Bizirik, the leothin chirps happily.

Pulling his gaze up from the table, Valensandr Paavik smiles and raised a hand in greeting. "Gurashi," he rumbles, nodding at you. "Good evening."

You hands fly to your mouth as you give a short gasp of elation.

You have emoted: Gurashi bows at the waist, then shuffles forward to stand before the desk, flashing the krokani a broad toothy grin. "Is goodly to see you! How are you, how are you?" They ask, bouncing up and down as their hands find the front edge of the desk, gently resting upon it. "Did you get my last message?"

You bounce up and down.

Bizirik, the leothin remains near the stairwell, considering its posture before shuffling, and proceeding to take up even more stairwell space, living up to its most recent cautionary title. Its tail slaps the stairs once loudly.

LOOK ME
The being standing before you exudes friendly energy, standing several inches shy of six feet tall with an athletic build. They are an ordinary human kindly demigod changeling. Their arms and legs are sinewy, the muscles in their upper body evidence of recent training efforts. Their calloused hands are constantly in motion, either loosely balled into fists at their side or resting on their instrument. Their most prominent three knuckles of their right hand are faintly scarred, pale star-shapes etched across their flesh. Their sandy skin has been tanned from repeated exposure to the sun, causing an array of tawny-colored freckles to appear upon their round cheeks and thin, upturned nose. A hint of discolored flesh can be seen near the center of their sternum, mostly obscured by their clothing. A moderately-sized, crescent-shaped scar mars their right cheek. Perhaps the most noteworthy thing about them is their untamed mop of fiery red hair, complete with a few strands at their part that fail to obey the natural laws of gravity. A shock of bone-white hair has grown in along their temple. A pair of kind gray-blue eyes gaze out from below red bangs, their color striking against all the surrounding warm hues. A shifting pearlescence graces their skin as they walk with the truefavour of Carakhan, Sculptor of Waves.
They are wearing:
a starry wreath of celestial light set atop their head like a halo
the Boots of Astral Jumping
a circlet of crystal thorns resting loosely atop their head
a vivid red-orange poppy tucked lovingly behind their left ear
the Mantle of Starlight which flows dreamily about their shoulders and back
a sleeveless black tunic which clings to their upper body flatteringly
mercurial Mysraian prayer beads pulled taut against their right wrist
a Glomdoring friendship bracelet which jingles softly on their left wrist
minty citrus incense beads pulled taut against their right wrist
a shifting, living poppy of copper petals worn delicately upon their left wrist
a driftwood ring of sea breezes fitted tightly to their left middle finger
simple white linen trousers which swish around their legs freely
a bright red poppy tucked behind their left ear.

(Celest): Alarin (from the Prime Material Plane) says, "All right... anyone getting this one wrong gets locked in a room with Thaldorn for a month!"
(Celest): You say, "Oh dear."

"That I did," Valensandr Paavik answers, his hand shuffling through stacks of papers throughout the table. He frees one--your sketch of the Seat--and he waves it about gently, the parchment rustling softly. "I hope to send this to Falaine in due time. I imagine it would be quite helpful for her report. I am otherwise fine, simply attending to missives, as per usual." He sets the sketch down, and then asks, brow raised, "How are you?"

(Celest): Alarin (from the Prime Material Plane) says, "Name the five current Great Houses of New Celest! Each correct answer is worth a point!"

You have emoted: Gurashi smiles and shrugs. "If it is any easier, I can make another copy of the sketch and send it to her, so she can submits it, herself. Then you could have your own copy to study." They smile a little wider, bobbing their head side to side. "I am..O-K! I am O-K. I am happy to be here! It is very goodly to see you again. Ah!" Suddenly they lift their arms, flexing. "I kept up with my trainings, even when did not come here! I have a home-dummy now! Bwaaaah."

Your melodic voice sings into Alarin Stormcrow's mind, "Dekoven, La'Saet, Ladyn, Luminare and D'Varden!"

Bizirik's head begins to droop. It opens its great maw and curls back its lips to allow its forked tongue to unfurl as it yawns before snapping its mouth shut.

(Celest): Alarin (from the Prime Material Plane) says, "And time is up!"

Orange-red torchlight creeps in from the paneless windows as the evening guards cautiously patrol the curtain wall.

(Celest): Alarin (from the Prime Material Plane) says, "That was also our final question!"

"Mmm, that might be useful for her report, honestly," Valensandr Paavik agrees, considering the thought. At your indication of wellness, he smiles again: a crescent of pale, white teeth. "That is good to hear! Having something to train at home will keep you sharp, and whenever you are frustrated, of course, you can always give it a good, few whacks." He chuckles, a deep sound.

You nod your head sagely.

Bright and clear, you say, "I mean, that is usually what baking bread is for, just the sames."

(Celest): Alarin (from the Prime Material Plane) says, "Give me a few moments to tally these scores!"
(Celest): Aeldra (from the Prime Material Plane) says, "Thank you for holding this. Am sure I'll return the favour sometime soon."

You have emoted: Gurashi makes a gently punching gesture, as if they were kneading the bread on an imaginary counter before themselves. "But, yeah. I will send that sketch to her, to help!" They stop their motions, turning to face the desk. "Am so sorry we kept missing each other!"

Bright and clear, you say, "It was my fault. I took so long. I think I have a whole new gray hair since last time you saw me even." They scratch at their temple. "But appreciates your patience a whole lot."

Another chuckle escapes Valensandr Paavik's lips. "Fair enough, fair enough." As you apologise, he waves his hands dismissively. "It is no problem at all, my friend. Scheduling is the bane of my existence, which is quite unfortunate for me, as I have to run most of the show." He grins, at you, his eye flicking to your head briefly before settling elsewhere.

You have emoted: Gurashi follows Valensandr Paavik's gaze, bobbing their head side to side. "You are doing O-K? Not too stressed right with all of the things? Know is a newly forts to the north, you mentioned, and now all this stuff with the Seat..." They trail off and shrug. "Your origami folding is -very- impressive. Yes. Goodly works."

You nod your head sagely.

Golden shades radiate from your chest and your heart beats faster with newly-appeared determination.

(Celest): Alarin (from the Prime Material Plane) says, "Ahem... Gurashi wins third place with a total of twenty points!"
(OOC Clan): You say, "I feel pretty good about that, having not actually run anywhere to check the answers :')"
(Celest): Alarin (from the Prime Material Plane) says, "It was a close race for first between the Holy Prior and Lady Aeldra. Indeed, only three points separated them in the end!"
(Celest): Alarin (from the Prime Material Plane) says, "Our first place winner is..."
(Celest): Alarin (from the Prime Material Plane) says, "Qoivhae!"
(Celest): Aeldra (from the Prime Material Plane) says, "Congratulations, Qoivhae."
(Celest): You say, "Congratulations Aeldra and Qoivhae! Was a really fun time!!!"
(Celest): Alarin (from the Prime Material Plane) says, "Gurashi, meet me on the Upper Deck to collect your prize please."
(OOC Clan): You say, "I CAN'T."

A gentle weariness takes over the krokani's features as he nods his head. "Aye," he shares, "I am well as can be. Our efforts north are not too troubling, but the Seat... now that is something more dangerous. I wouldn't tell this to the Even Bladed myself, but I would worry what might happen to Her if She ever drew near to that thing." Valensandr Paavik frowns, the weariness turning to something more troubling. He shakes off the feeling. "I've been practicing more. Perhaps one day I will venture into making my own origami." He winks. Or rather, simply blinks.

Your melodic voice sings into Alarin Stormcrow's mind, "Can I meet you another time? I am currently disposed! Undisposed? Busy, with a pre-determined meetings!"
The cold voice of Alarin sends chills down your spine, "Aha! Remind me later!"
Your melodic voice sings into Alarin Stormcrow's mind, "O-K! Thank you so muchly for your times and patiences!"

You blink.

Curiously, Valensandr Paavik says, "Something the matter?"

The Mantle of Starlight flows gently against your form, twinkling stars shifting across its surface as the starry infinity continues its eternal motion.

You have emoted: Gurashi considers the krokani's expression, looking as if they are about to say something concerning the Seat, but the topic quickly changes, and they smile, and nod. "Making your own designs, mean? Ohhhh, that would be wonderful! I would like to see that." They let out a chuckle of their own.

You shake your head.

Bright and clear, you say, "No no, no, there was something winding down on the city aethers - a quiz! Peoples were talking to me, but is over now! I am," They salute, "focused."

Grinning with their hand still saluted to their forehead, you say, "I won third prize somehow, someway! Exciting."

Valensandr Paavik nods his head vigorously. "Aye. I believe that would be a sign of a true origami master, yes? Making your own?" When you explain, he makes a face: an 'ah' exhaled in understanding. "Good for you then," he adds, chuckling again.

You hands fly to your mouth as you give a short gasp of elation.

Bright and clear, you ask, "...does that mean I am an origami master?"

You stare blankly into space.

Grinning, Valensandr Paavik exclaims, "If you have designed your own, I would imagine so!"

You have emoted: Gurashi stares off towards one of the birds in the rookery, dazed before producing some vellum from their rift, tongue sticking out of the corner of their mouth as they concentrate and fold.

With especially precise folds, you assemble an adorable munchkin kitten origami from four sheets of vellum. <-- my origami, my design >:3!

"Ahah!" you exclaim triumphantly.

With great reverence, you give an adorable munchkin kitten origami to Valensandr Paavik.

Bright and clear, you say, "Behold, my contributions to this worlds."

"A fine addition, most certainly," Valensandr Paavik comments, still grinning.

You have emoted: Gurashi bursts into laughter, shaking their head. "I look forward to what you make!" They cackle, shaking their head.

Bending below the table, Valensandr Paavik reaches and procures his training sword--the wooden longsword you are well-acquainted with--as he steps forward, closing the distance between you and him, and then you and the stairs. "Let us get to training, eh?" He begins to stomp down the stairs, his footsteps heavy.

Moving with a brisk, measured pace, Captain Valensandr Paavik marches off to the down.

Bizirik, the leothin gives the krokani a look as the man completely ignores its stairwell blocking self, snorting.

Bright and clear, you say to Bizirik, the leothin, "Naughty."

Sparring against the training dummies. (road).
This location is flooded with shallow, crystal clear water. Stuffed to the brim with dried grasses, a company of testing dummies stand in line upon tall, yet sturdy posts. The ersatz combatants are made from simple burlap that has been painted with cruel eyes and funny-looking horns or slithering, tentacle hair and snarling maws upon their chests; while it is clear they are meant to provoke an image of fouler beings, they are far more comical in nature. Re-stitched or patched here in there, they appear to be still in good use, capable of withstanding the jab of a blade or the smack of some bludgeon. Footprints litter the rust-hued ground underfoot, marking the presence of many warriors who use this corner of the courtyard to practice and refine their footwork, forms, or follow-throughs. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. Clad in coarse burlap with straw poking through, a dummy grimaces here where it stands. Standing at his full height, Captain Valensandr Paavik assesses his surroundings with his singular, hazel-gold eye.
You see exits leading east, southeast, and south.

Pale gold in hue, the wreath about your brow shimmers in a steady pattern, like unto a heartbeat in its gentle pulsation, crowning you in a flickering halo before settling still once more.

An errant breeze brings sweet reprieve to the stale, humid air, kicking up spirals of red dust in the process.

Posing, you say, "She was not letting me leave."

Bizirik, the leothin strikes a pose.

Valensandr Paavik says to Bizirik, the leothin, "That's the benefit of being big. You can just step over people, even if you are blocking the way."

Valensandr Paavik winks (or blinks) again.

Bizirik, the leothin snorts pointedly, giving Valensandr Paavik a look as its tail rises, then slaps the ground. It chatters, making its way over to the safety of the seating.

You throw back your head as you let loose a delighted laugh.

Pointing his sword toward the dummy, Valensandr Paavik calls out to you. "Now, Gurashi, let me see what you have mastered so far?" He pulls himself to the side, giving you enough space to swing and act.

You have emoted: Gurashi watches the krokani step aside, bringing a wooden training katana from its hilt and into their hands. "Ah, right right," They whisper, stepping up to the dummy and settling down before it. They inhale slowly, then exhale, squeezing the hilt of the weapon.

You think to yourself: *familiarity, a calm quiet, little ripples of sepia and gray rising to the forefront of their mind - the dummy stares back at them, smiling*.

BEHOLD THE DUMMY
Held upright by a sturdy oaken pole, this burlap practice dummy is a monstrous feat of practical artistry and engineering. Without a helmet for protection, its horned head is exposed to whatever beatings might come its way, and the black-tinted grimace painted onto its face shows both its readiness for them and its suffering from them. A sack for a chest puffs out into haphazard armour stitched from the same rough material, the sides of which are half undone, the pauldrons on either shoulder sitting askew. Wooden limbs with creaking joints allow it to flail when struck, though it is not wholly defenceless: one balled hand grips a false mace, while the other arm carries a chipped, worn shield whose symbol is flecked far beyond recognition.
A grimacing burlap dummy looks weak and feeble.

You have emoted: With the blink of an eye, Gurashi steps towards the dummy, closing the distance between themselves and the equipment without so much as a sigh. With a single sweeping fluid motion their blade cuts the air, sinking solidly into the side of dummy's torso, a solid hit that THWACKS against the burlap.

<-- terrible IRL nonsense so I was distracted for a few minutes :')

You have emoted: Gurashi is quick to withdraw their weapon, forcibly withdrawing it and turning, the blade swinging again, striking the dummy from the other side now, as if to fend off another attack. They cant their head and demonstrate a few more strikes, glancing towards Valensandr Paavik only after a few concentrated efforts, ending with one final KICK to the dummy, scurrying backwards but staying upright.

The dummy wobbles back and forth from your kick, its sturdy--and surprisingly springy--post creaking for a while until it finally settles. "That is very good, Gurashi," Valensandr Paavik offers with a smile, his hand tightening around his longsword's grip. "I believe I have very few techniques to to show you to equip you with the basics. Further training would mean you specializing in particular sword styles, which, if I remember you goal was to learn how to protect the ones you love, you need not pursue."

You nod your head emphatically.

Catching their breath, you say, "Yeah, I do not need to know how to be ... a specialized warrior," They smile and brush their hair from their face, waving their sword behind them in a sweeping gesture, "Just keeps my dearly ones safe!"

Face scrunching in concern, you ask, "And maybe ... fight ...evil pirates?"

You shake your head.

You face lights up as you smile brightly at Valensandr Paavik.

"Pirates?" Valensandr Paavik questions, as he moves closer to you, his legs spreading into a stance. "What about pirates?" He brings his wooden sword close to his chest, in a familiar position you have seen him in before. The blade is straight and true. "I am going to strike, and then you are going to move into the position of blocking my strike and moving into a counter thrust. We will go slow, so we can break it down."

Valensandr Paavik says, "Let me know when you are ready."

You have emoted: Gurashi nods as they turn to face the krokani, gripping a wooden training katana tightly, a smile still on their face. "Like the ones we practiced, or this is a newly ones?" They ask, readying their weapon before answering: "Yeah, pirates. You know, like, ship-stealing ones. Some are not so bad, but some blow up ships and steal elephants like Tavi."

You nod your head sagely at Valensandr Paavik.

"This will be a new technique, but it builds off what we already know," Valensandr Paavik he says, watching as you ready yourself. "Mmm, yes. The pirates. Do you believe them to be evil?" As he asks, he goes through with the motion: bringing his practice blade down in a deliberate strike, smooth and effortlessly.

You think to yourself: *tightening their hands around the hilt of the weapon, leather hot with sweat and friction - the smell of dust, the cool relief of night - remembering Captain Teyitha's tormented expression there at the bottom of the trench when she realized her treasure was nowhere to be found*.

You have emoted: Gurashi brings up their blade to meet Valensandr Paavik's unflinchingly, expression oddly placid as they take a step and twist their wrists, preparing to move their blade back against the krokani's own. "No," They answer confidently. "I mean - think is hard to be REALLY evil - most peoples just thinks evils is when someone else wants something differently from you."

With the force of your blade hits his, Valensandr Paavik Valesandr nods approvingly. You feel a quiver race up your arm as the krokani begins to push more, as if he were trying to push away your own strike. "Now here, what I want you to do is to move your head to the left--side-step if you can. I am trying to push away your thrust so you cannot hit me. Twist the position of your hands again so they are more comfortable." He breathes in deeply, perhaps surprised at the strength you have gained since you began. "And what do you think these pirates want?"

A shifting, living poppy of copper petals shudders as a ripple of aetheric energy passes over its petals, staining it black and gold.

You have emoted: Gurashi grimaces the slightest amount at this, their muscles visibly clenching as they feel the much taller, much stronger krokani resist. They let out an even breath, sliding a leg to the left, their fingers visibly working at the hilt to try and find a comfortable, confident hold on their weapon. "Don't know what they ALL want, but know that one of thems wanted only," They seem to find their grasp, foot digging into the ground as they ready for Valensandr Paavik's retaliation. "To see her son again. And to me - that does not seem evil."

Their smile waning slightly, you say, "But is a big crew. Lots of Wills."

"Mmm," Valensandr Paavik grunts as he watches you move. "In a situation like this, you will swiftly bring your sword up and over mine, and then bring it back down onto me in a strike." He keeps up the pressure, allowing you to feel the the strain in your grip. "Realise, this would be happening a lot faster, so don't think it would happen this instructionally." He gives a quick grin.

Waiting for you to act, Valensandr Paavik says, "No, that does not seem evil to me either."

You think to yourself: *an empathetic thrum, thinking again about the captain disappearing within the reeds of the Fulcrux - the same, but, reversed ... for a moment, their face grows hot, their cheeks flushing as their eyes water at the recollection - ah! a snap back to reality! yes! sword in hand, listening to the krokani's deep rumbling voice and confident instruction - a goodly mans, yes*.

The corners of your mouth turn up as you grin mischievously.

Bright and clear, you ask, "Up and OVER?" They clarify, sounding a bit incredulous, their sword in the same position. "After push you away? After side steppies?"

You have emoted: Gurashi blinks hard several times over, huffing once instead of sighing as they scrunch their face in concentration, looking very hard up at the krokani to follow his slow-but-steadily paced instruction.

Another flash of teeth and Valensandr Paavik answers, "Aye. Slide your blade along the edge of mine until it clears the tip, and then bring it down."

You have emoted: Gurashi nods once, and with an effort-filled push they tighten their grip, allowing their katana to slide up the opposing blade. The two weapons finally break free of one another, the human's briefly wobbling in the air as they straighten their stance and do as they were told, bringing their blade down with a semi-reserved strike.

As they catch their breath, you say, "Do not like the pirates that took Tavi, though - the Lady Empyreal's dearly elephants - do not know the names of the ones did it."

Valensandr Paavik does not move as you bring down your blade, allowing the strike to hit him freely. Semi-reserved, perhaps not as forceful as he would have liked, it nonetheless would leave a red welt where it struck--hidden by his tabard and other clothing. "Good, good. But be sure not to be too gentle next time," he corrects. He withdraws, setting himself up for another attack. "Now we go again with a different technique."

As they gently strike the krokani's arm with their weapon, you whisper, "OOoOooooo-K..."

You tilt your head and listen intently to Valensandr Paavik.

You have emoted: Gurashi too settles into place, their gray eyes widening as they ready their weapon and smile back.

Instructing, Valensandr Paavik says, "I am going to strike again, then you are going to move into a thrust once more. I am going to attempt to displace again this time, but I am going to push your blade down."

Golden shades radiate from your chest and your heart beats faster with newly-appeared determination.

Bright and clear, you whisper, "Displace again..." They gently make a motion towards the side, "like push me away? But, no, down?"

You tilt your head and listen intently.

You have emoted: Gurashi listens closely, scrunching their face in understanding, their weapon poised and ready.

Again, the krokani swiftly brings down his weapon: the wooden blade not exactly whistling like a metal one would, but nonetheless eliciting a whipping sound as it comes forward to you. Valensandr Paavik's brow creases. "Yes, whereas before, I was trying to fight back your thrust for a potential counter, this is me simply displacing you away."

An errant breeze brings sweet reprieve to the stale, humid air, kicking up spirals of red dust in the process.

You have emoted: Gurashi grits their teeth and brings up their weapon, the two wooden blades CRACKING together as they meet in the air between them. "Ah!" They grunt, straining as they hold their stance, muscles visibly straining. "O-KIyamready!" They blurt out with anxious enthusiasm, katana trembling the barest amount.

You feel it. The immediate pressure of Valensandr Paavik's weight going downward, attempting to push your blade down. You hear the sizzle and glide of the wooden blades. "Now, when you start to feel me apply pressure, I want you to let your blade's tip drown, almost like you were going underneath mine. Then, bring your hands to your right ear. You would then be able to thrust freely into my stomach."

You have emoted: "Going underneath," Gurashi repeats, straining further as they concentrate on maintaining their resistance against the krokani's blade, gritting their teeth. "My right--" There is a breathless moment where they seem to be doing some sort of internal math on the fly. A struggle, and then - their blade dips, eyes wide as they bring their still-sword-clenched hands towards their ear, a swift motion as they strike out with a far less reserved swing of a wooden training katana towards Valensandr Paavik's gut.

You think to yourself: *as they concentrate on their actions - left? right? they picture their hands and determine which is which before taking action - yes! right is not L-hand*.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! The rhythmic sound of a forging hammer striking its anvil reverberates throughout the courtyard.

Again, Valensandr Paavik lets your strike go through, though this one, it seems, would not leave any welt or bruise at all. "That was a bit confusing?" the krokani asks, uncertain about your actions in this scenario as he withdraws to prepare for a third technique.

Bright and clear, you whisper, "Left..."

You have emoted: Gurashi's face is puzzled as they wobble and step back. "Are you O-K?" Quickly they add, "Did do that wrong? That one was awkward, my arms were shaking lots." They shake out their left arm thoroughly.

A smile crosses Valensandr Paavik's face as he shakes his head. "I am fine, do not worry about me." He considers for a moment, looking you over. "Perhaps we should take a quick break for our last techinque?"

You have emoted: Gurashi flexes and relaxes their right hand now. "I-I mean, I feel bad already having shaky arms after so short. I trained for days with Miss Yanath ... although," They look at Valensandr Paavik, shrugging, "please do not tattle but you are having much bigger muscles than Miss Yanath and," They lean forward, glancing towards a grimacing burlap dummy and whispering so as not to offend: "muchly MUCHLY muchly more muscles than hims." They stand upright, clearing their throat.

Taking a moment to stretch their arms, you say, "Have you met Tavi? The Empyreals's elephants? She is super cute."

Valensandr Paavik chuckles. "It is quite all right. We can break for a moment. Wiggle your arms out a bit so they don't get stiff." You watch as he crosses his arms across his chest, almost as if he were hugging the air.

Shaking his head, Valensandr Paavik says, "I have not met her, no. Unfortunately, my station affords me little leave time."

"And what time I do have, I go to Paavik to visit relatives," Valensandr Paavik adds.

You have emoted: Gurashi watches Valensandr Paavik as they hug the air, mimicking the motion with a wonderous expression, bobbing this way and that. "I am, wiggling," They enthuse, arms now overhead, waving in the air in their best interpretive impression of seaweed. "Ah? Oh, I guess that makes sense. Do you have many relatives?" They ask, arms now wind-milling at their sides, sword tucked between their knees.

The krokani cannot help but snort out a laugh, watching you as your arms sail about wildly. "A few," Valensandr Paavik shares, "As you may know, the more truer bloodline of the Paaviks are long gone, most of us from the village are descendants of descendants. I have two sisters who live there, as well as an assortment of aunts and uncles. My parents have since passed." He says the last of these briskly, as if the grief of that loss has not plagued him in a long while. "Do you have any relatives?"

You think to yourself: *the question swirls, threatening to draw forth an ache from the pit of their chest - but, ... no, quiet, a ripple of sepia, gray, then a tiny bloom of saffron, sunset hues*.

You have emoted: Gurashi at last lowers their arms, rolling their shoulders. "Two sisters? I will have to keep my eyeballs out for thems if ever am there myselfs to say hi," They offer the krokani a friendly smile, brow furrowing momentarily with sympathy before growing placid. "Ah... tech-ni-cally? I have some cousinlings, a sibling who does not wake." They hesitate, seeming to want to add more before smiling and folding their hands together. "And of course my mine-child and dear one. And consider lots of New Celest to be my family, too. Found families, in additions to," They wave their hand apologetically and laugh, "paper ones!"

You think to yourself: *a great big internal sigh momentarily grips at their chest, rattles the quiet and calm and again makes their face feel hot and eyes burn with the treat of tears - a shake of the head and feeling the weight of the sword tucked between their knees - right, right*.

You watch as a regiment of warriors, clad in sterling armour, take a knee in prayer before rising and marching out to do battle.

You have emoted: Gurashi fumbles for a wooden training katana, wiping their hands off on their tunic and flexing and relaxing their hands. "That is better."

He laughs: a low rumble of a sound. Valensandr Paavik does not push with further questions, allowing your answer to suffice. He nods at you, and as you take hold of your katana once more, he tilts his head to one side. "Are we ready for our last technique?"

You face lights up as you smile brightly at Valensandr Paavik.

You have emoted: Gurashi nods several times, bangs bouncing as they do. "Am."

Valensandr Paavik nods his head emphatically.

"So this one is the pommel strike," Valensandr Paavik explains. He positions himself once more in the manner you have seen him before. "Now, we have practiced in such a way that when I strike and you counter, or vice versa, we stay relatively arm's length from one another. For this technique, I will be closing the gap between us."

Continuing, Valensandr Paavik says, "I will strike, then you will bring your blade down and attempt to thrust."

You have emoted: Gurashi puffs their cheeks at this, watching, their tone nothing short but serious. "O-K? O-K."

Bright and clear, you say, "A ...pommel strikes."

Again, Valensandr Paavik brings his blade down, the motion fluid and forceful.

You have emoted: Gurashi goes from considering the makeup of their weapon to raising it defensively to catch Valensandr Paavik's with a deafening CRACK. The human starts but does not loosen their grip on their katana, nose crinkling the slightest amount as they resist. They inhale deeply, then tighten their grip, pushing back against the krokani, thrusting their weapon against his to follow his instruction, to push him back.

As soon as your katana strikes Valensandr Paavik's longsword, he pushes forward: not by his arms, but by his legs. Indeed, the space between you, usually, as he said, an arm's length, is shrunk. As the krokani pushes, you feel your arms stretch as his sword slides up, pushing your blade upward too. His hilt catches onto your blade. You are a forearm's distance apart. "Now," he explains, "This will be a bit trickier for you because I am taller, but I have your sword up. What I want you to do is to step forward and hook your sort's hilt underneath my hands." His eye flicks up to his hands and grip, as he continues. "When you have done that, push forward again so that your pommel would push forward into my face. Or my throat, in our case."

You have emoted: Gurashi's eyes wide as their sword tilted up, giving the much taller trainer a boggled look as they listen. "Under your HANDS?" They study the way the krokani holds his weapon, mouth forming a perfect 'o' of disbelief, seeming hesitant.

"Aye," Valensandr Paavik grunts, as he keeps your and his sword upward. "Your crossguard should be able to press against the heel of my palm, and that should leverage you to push my sword up more and to pendulum your pommel forward."

You think to yourself: *marveling at the instruction, how that would work, trying to envision the move in their mind, the twist of their blade, a pull? a push? instruction is given but they seem to intake the information slowly - the pommel is the bottoms of the sword, right? - all this new information made slightly more confounding by this close proximity - resignation, ah, forever ~ awkward*.

You have emoted: Gurashi closes their mouth again, nodding thrice in understanding. They shimmy their stance, feet digging into the dirt as they flex and press back against Valensandr Paavik's weapon, sliding until they strike the base of the krokani's meaty hands with the narrow cross-guard of their katana. They scrunch their face, cheeks flushing with effort or embarrassment as they PUSH upwards with all their might--.

Torchlight travels across the curtain wall, illuminating patrollers who keep their keen eyes upon the darkness of the valley beyond.

You think to yourself: *as soon as they push, they are - clueless? pendulum, to swing? how does it work, how hands do is this right*.

With your push upward, Valensandr Paavik's arms go higher, or at least, a bit higher. You notice that there is a small window between the krokani's arms where your pommel hangs, and if you just flicked it forward rather than upward, it would slam into the hollow of his throat.

You have emoted: Gurashi's gray eyes widen with understanding, recognition brightening their face.

You think to yourself: *passing acknowledgement - would be much easier, if was taller, yes*.

You have emoted: Gurashi's expression immediately steels itself again in the fleeting moments between when they thrust Valensandr Paavik's weapon up and realized their target. There is a forceful albeit slightly awkward push where they bring their katana towards the krokani's throat - but, in some moment of hesitation, or perhaps due to the awkwardness of the angle or differences in height, the pommel of the katana stops just as it taps against the flesh of Valensandr Paavik's throat, a short, still-painful jab they cut short willfully.

You wince in pain.

A rolling cough forces itself out from Valensandr Paavik's mouth as your pommel presses into his throat, and he quickly unhooks himself from the situation. One, two, three hacks as he tries to get himself back into breathing order. "See," he wheezes, "Now imagine... *cough* ... if you would do that harder? If that was my nose if I was shorter?" He coughs again, the breath finally finding itself going down the correct tubes and into his lungs. He gives a weak smile, but a smile nonetheless.

You flail about helplessly.

You have emoted: Gurashi quickly drops their arms, nearly dropping their sword in the process. "Or if I was taller!" They blurt out. "Are you O-K? Are you O-K?" They ask several times, flitting about anxiously at Valensandr Paavik's feet.

Valensandr Paavik grunts loudly as to clear his throat. "It's fine, it's fine," he claims, as if to assuage your distress.

You have emoted: Gurashi stops their flailing but their distress is still quite plain to see on their face. "Do want a drink?" They ask, pointing at their pack over near the leothin. "I brought water."

Running a hand along where your pommel struck, Valensandr Paavik gives a better smile now. "It is fine. These are the hazards of practicing, my friend." At the mention of water, he assents with a sharp nod. "That would be good."

You have emoted: Gurashi holds up both hands as a gesture to "Waitjustasec", rushing away towards the edge of the training area. They effortlessly unhook their waterskin from their pack, offering the leothin a quick ruffle on its head as it lounges there, then jog back over to the krokani, holding out the container as soon as they uncork the top. "Here! We can have another break," They declare as Valensandr Paavik had before, sounding sure of themselves. "Stay hydrated, yes. 'Drink your aquameld', Queen Azula would yell if she was here." They hesitate before quickly adding: "But this waterskin water is just regular water I promise."

Valensandr Paavik chokes a laugh as he brings the waterskin to his lips. Gulpgulpgulpgulp. You watch as he sucks down the water with long, deep intakes, and after a good moment, he lowers the container, wipes his mouth clean, and hands it back to you. It is nearly empty. "Thank you," he gasps. "Well, we could have a break, but there is not much else to break for."

Adding, Valensandr Paavik says, "Those are the last of the techniques I was hoping to share. You will need to practice them, of course..."

You have emoted: Gurashi takes the waterskin back, clutching it within their left hand. They tuck their blade between their knees again, and with a magical little twirl of their right hand water suddenly appears from a rift in the air beside the human, pouring back into the waterskin until it spills over, splashing onto the dusty ground. That is when Gurashi grimaces and cuts off the flow with a snap, taking a tentative sip of their own before re-corking the container and flashing Valensandr Paavik a little smile.

Bright and clear, you say, "I mean... I do have the dummy..." They shrug. "But the dummy does not like to hit me back. I do not know that magic." They wink, quirking their mouth to the side, then looking at the krokani hopefully. "You said, Miss Yanath was busy, though."

Eye sparkling with amusement, Valensandr Paavik says, "Quite a neat trick."

Nodding, Valensandr Paavik says, "Aye. Unfortunately, I am not clear when she will be back. Her reports say that the fields are thicker and there are more dangers afoot to the north." He pauses to consider things. "Might you know someone who is an illusionist? At least, you can practice that way."

You nod your head slowly in understanding.

Bright and clear, you say, "Uhmmm....."

You have emoted: Gurashi puffs their cheeks, then considers this question. They look to their side and begin to move their hands, waterskin waving in the air.

You weave an impossibly complex glamour of light, producing an unerring replica of yourself that floats eerily around you and prevents your precise location from being easily determined.

Valensandr Paavik's eyes bug out as he boggles in amazement.

You have emoted: Gurashi gestures towards their strangely mirrored-self. "Tadaaaaaaa," They say, waving their hands jazzily, though the illusion does not do the same, standing there placidly.

Laughing, Valensandr Paavik says, "Well, perhaps you could attempt to create some sort of illusory opponent to help you train."

Waving their hands in front of themselves, you say, "Well, it KIND of works... I have not gotten beyond THIS parts..." They lean in, examining their illusory self closely in the face before blowing, not so much as ruffling the air. "Such weirdly magics. Ah!"

The corners of Valensandr Paavik's mouth turn up as he grins mischievously.

You think to yourself: *suddenly a familiar gleam of green-blue-violet chitin, golden antennae - Miss Khepqet is a warrior... she was not willing to train before, but maybe...*.

You have emoted: Gurashi giggles to themselves, turning back to face Valensandr Paavik, untucking their sword from their legs. "Mister Valensandr I do not know how to thank you, really..."

"If not this, then perhaps someone else you know? You only need someone who has a good swordarm, and since you know the techniques, they are more or less there to provide pressure," Valensandr Paavik shares, his singular eye still admiring your illusoryself.

You huff, puffing your cheeks.

Valensandr Paavik flashes you a joyous smile.

Valensandr Paavik says to you, "Our training may be done, but you have one last task to truly call yourself a practiced swordsperson."

You have emoted: Gurashi reaches out to pat their illusory self on the head, though the illusion doesn't so much as flinch in response. "Do not worry, we will figure it out."

You blink.

You boggle at Valensandr Paavik.

Bright and clear, you whisper, "Is not as easy as becoming an origami masters, huh."

You have emoted: Gurashi leans in close, studying the krokani thoughtfully. "What's it?"

Gesturing for you to stay put, Valensandr Paavik he snorts a laugh and shakes his head. "Not at all."

Moving with a brisk, measured pace, Captain Valensandr Paavik marches off to the east.

You blink.

Bright and clear, you say, "Ah, Mist...er...."

Staring off to the east, you say, ".... .... MisterValensandrrrrr."

You huff, puffing your cheeks.

With smooth, military precision in his steps, Captain Valensandr Paavik marches in from the east.

You look at Valensandr Paavik hopefully.

Valensandr Paavik returns, his big arms cradling something delicately. "This is standard practice for Paladins, Gurashi. While learning how to use a sword is important, it is actually secondary to adapting to situations. And the best situations are caused by forces both external and wild." He steps closer to you. "Sheathe your weapon, my friend."

You blink.

You have emoted: Gurashi blinks hard, looking up at Valensandr Paavik with wide eyes. They take their a wooden training katana, making sure it is properly stowed away. Their arms drop to their sides, expression twisting in confusion.

You cease to wield a wooden training katana.

With a simple gesture, you dispel an illusory self on Gurashi.
Your illusory glamour you have woven of yourself melts away.
You have emoted: Gurashi reaches out to snap their finger without taking their eyes off of Valensandr Paavik, making their strangely immobile self vanish.

Valensandr Paavik smiles--a big, wide grin--as he grabs hold of other, unsnapping hand and then pushes something into your possession. The smell of old tabards fill your nose. Something is wriggling in your grasp.

Valensandr Paavik gives a mastiff pup swaddled in old tabards to you.

You blink.
You blink.

Still smiling, Valensandr Paavik says, "I do not want to see you back here until you have properly trained this mastiff. Then, and only then, will I call you a practiced swordsperson. Someone who is ready to defend others when it is needed."

You have emoted: Gurashi blinks a THIRD time as they accept the wriggling mass, confusion clearly writing itself across their face. "...wh," They trail off, carefully moving some of the tabards away to reveal the puppy's sweet face. "...this is..."

Just born and still slightly damp of fur, this newborn mastiff pup whimpers with tiny squeaks as it desperately seeks its mother or some other caring soul. Unable to open its eyes, its small, round muzzle snuffles about with a hint of uncertainty, squirming as it does as it tries to free itself from a thick cocoon of torn tabards that work to keep the pitiful creature warm.
It weighs about 1 pounds and 4 ounce(s).
It bears the distinctive mark of Gurashi, The Heart's Friend.
It has the following aliases: pup, mastiff.

Agreeing, Valensandr Paavik says, "A last and most difficult test, aye."

Dazed, you say, "T-this is a PUPPY."

Bright and clear, you exclaim, "This is a PUPPY of," They look up at Valensandr, jaw dropping. "I have seens these!! These are BIG doggies when they are big!"

Bizirik, the leothin sits up nearby, its tufted ears rising, twitching as it stares in the direction of the now-trio. Its glowing eyes narrow suspiciously, and slowly it rises, standing there with nostrils flaring.

Valensandr Paavik gives a simple nod. "Aye, the Nyalian mastiff are quite large when fully grown. They have been reared to defend Vesucian hogs and protect or at least antagonize any gorgog that gets too close."

Bizirik, the leothin gives Valensandr Paavik a look, tail slapping the ground.

Valensandr Paavik's hazel-gold gaze moves from you to Bizirik. "I am sure this wouldn't be any trouble for you? If anything, perhaps some competition might be fun."

Bizirik, the leothin sits up in its spot, a secondary paw rising to its throat as if it were clutching at imaginary pearls, no doubt mimicking the gesture it's witnessed many times over. "They fight gorgogs," Gurashi marvels aloud, clutching the puppy close to their chest, cradling it endearingly before a smile splits their face. "What are goodly things to teach ..." They pause, giving the puppy an awkward look over, "...him, her..."

An enormous poppy of black and gold dissolves in a torrent of dark black sand that flows about your hand before reforming into a darker, abyssal form.

"That is for you to determine, my friend," Valensandr Paavik offers. "You need not necessarily train them in the beastmasterily way, but at least, make sure that they grow up enough and can handle themselves. Perhaps teach them basic commands. Maybe even train them in agility." He thinks about this for a moment. "You get to decide."

Valensandr Paavik appears to pay no mind to the leothin, though he does offer a quick, cursory side-eye to the creature.

Bizirik, the leothin snorts pointedly, tail slapping the dirty ground behind it, kicking up a little cloud of sand and dust. It does it again, slappy slap slapping the ground, clearly less-than-impressed. Gurashi lovingly returns to holding the mastiff close and warm, their expression softening as they quirk their mouth thoughtfully to the side. "Did you get to train a mastiffs?" They ask the krokani, rocking slightly where they stand, half-enraptured with the animal and half-listening to Valensandr Paavik.

Pale gold in hue, the wreath about your brow shimmers in a steady pattern, like unto a heartbeat in its gentle pulsation, crowning you in a flickering halo before settling still once more.

You tilt your head and listen intently to Valensandr Paavik.

You pet a mastiff pup swaddled in old tabards ingratiatingly.

Valensandr Paavik's eye peers toward the leothin, unsure what to make of its actions. "Not a mastiff..." he shares, pulling his attention back to you. "As a Paladin, I raised one of the retrievers--that is, until everything happened with the guilds..."

You have emoted: Gurashi cants their head as they look back up at the krokani. At this, they nod slowly, glancing back down at the puppy they swaddle close. "Ah, that must have been nice." They look up and smile again, a little gentler. "Did you have a goodly name for them?" They let out a little gasp. "Oh, do you have a goodly name for this new friend?" They boggle.

"I called her 'Sila' after the Tahtetso term." Valensandr Paavik smiles, as if recalling this memory. "I liked it, it has a very pretty sound. I think it is Kepheran too, but I am not entirely sure." To your second question, he shakes his head. "I do not. That is your job as well to decide."

Repeating the name back softly, you say, "Sila... what a sweetly name. It is a nice sound, pretty - like a tune." They hum, flashing the krokani a smile. "I will come up with something, I promise. I will take the BESTEST cares of them, /swears/ with all my hearts, yes..."

Another smile crosses Valensandr Paavik's face. "I am sure you will, Gurashi." He folds his arms behind his back. "I shall see you, then, when our newest friend has grown up and you feel properly trained."

You think to yourself: * a sense of fondness and sudden near-parental instinct, a desire to protect, yes, keep this wily beast-to-be safe and sound*.

Golden shades radiate from your chest and your heart beats faster with newly-appeared determination.

You have emoted: Gurashi swallows hard, then looks up again, heaving a great sigh. "Thank you! Just you wait," They laugh, "they will be all grown up before you know it! Ah!" They bow, bending awkwardly at the waist so as not to dip the puppy too deeply. "Thank you, again, for all you have dones, and all your times." As they rise they add, "Come visit me some times, at my shops, yeah! When you are, not so busy? Or if are too busy, feel free to send me origamis, yeah!" They gesture with an elbow. "I cannot wait to see what sort of origami designs you come up with, yes!"

You beam broadly at Valensandr Paavik.

Bizirik, the leothin finally slinks over, chattering softly as it sniffs at the hanging tabards, lips curling into an ugly little sneer.

You pet Bizirik, the leothin ingratiatingly.

"I will certainly try, and absolutely, I will send origami," Valensandr Paavik nods his head vigorously. "Until then." With that, the krokani spins on his heels and marches back to the watchtower.

Moving with a brisk, measured pace, Captain Valensandr Paavik marches off to the east.

Bizirik, the leothin gives the tabards a look, then snuffles, huffing up at Gurashi indignantly once more.

You wave goodbye.

You have emoted: Gurashi sways in their spot, then looks down at the puppy again. "Sila... that's a cute name." They hum thoughtfully, looking up at the training dummy. "What will I call you, then?"

You hum softly to yourself.

To the pup, you say, "Something brave, I think."

Bizirik, the leothin snorts. "Your name is brave, too, yeah," The human response to the snort with a ruffle atop the leothin's head, moving towards the gate with a bounce in their step.