Determination to Win is the Better Part of Winning

Honrin/Jace

POSTED: Sun Jun 09, 2019 7:42 pm

[[Forward date a day.]]

He was, least to say, hellbent on perfecting himself and his craft.

Quinn had tossed him around like a chew-toy, as far as he was concerned, and she hadn't even been trying to kill him. What kind of warrior was he that a Cavalier could mop the floor with him? Determined gaze burns holes in the ground as he marched to the Wolf-Denahlii camp, sword in hand and a wrinkle in his nose. He knew he couldn't be mad at Quinn. He did the very same things when he was younger, the only difference was, people could pick him up and carry him back. It was a mirror of the future, in his opinion. What if he wanted to sneak out? Anyone and everyone could stop him if they wanted to. It was the idea of being trapped before he had any reason to be trapped.

Pushok hadn't brought his bow today. Some good it would have done him then, and honestly, Dawn and Darkness were far better at the craft than he was. He liked the sword, and knew it was his purpose to be a warrior with it, so he wasn't going to let that bow get in the way of that today.

“Ronkyha.... Terokla?” His voice called out through he camp, ringing with a determination that wasn't laced with the pure and unadulterated joy that he'd had just last training session. There was a much different look in his eye today, that he was sure that Jace would pick up, if Honrin didn't,” Cahn I spahr vieth yeu teuday?” The question was innocent enough, thrown out into the camp just in case someone was in earshot but he couldn't see them. It was a rough night when he lost to Quinn, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to work himself until he couldn't move.

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POSTED: Wed Jul 17, 2019 7:57 pm

Honrin
Word Count → 000 ::

He tried not to see just how old she was getting -- how old the pair of them were becoming. Grey hairs peppered his father's face and his mother's muzzle, sifting through her once tan mane. She despised it when she caught him looking at her worriedly and frequently snapped at him to cease his hovering.

Pushok came whirling into their camp and his mother was on her feet before he could even open his mouth, limping towards the young boy, staff in hand.

<"Get your sword."> She was barking at him, without thought for any of his prior plans. Of course, the training of the youngster was important, but right this second? Her expression brokered no argument however, so with a sigh Honrin ducked into his own Wetu to search through the things he still kept here.

Honrin was not as skilled with the sword as his quarterstaff, but he could certainly teach the young buck a thing or two.

Meanwhile, Jace was now clearing away the things in the way, making a space for the two to practice in. Honrin could hear her moving and talking to Pushok in low tones.

When he emerged, they were both ready, his mother leaning against her staff and the weight taken off of her bad leg.

Some drink to remember, some drink to forget

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Honrin Wolfe-Denahlii

Casa di Cavalieri
Labor Head
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Jace
Luperci Herdsman, Ambassador (MV) Mate to Guinevere
·AM I DREAMING·

POSTED: Thu Aug 01, 2019 6:36 pm

Jace offered no hesitation, and Pushok was grateful into his soul for it. No talking about the look on his face, or why he was so determined today. The darkening bruise on his stomach and the raised welt on his back were proof enough that he'd have a rough day among other injuries, and perhaps Jace had seen it. Maybe that was why she was so quick to her hobbled feet.

Pushok, as well, didn't waste any time. Aside Jace, he started for the heavier items when she saw her moving things, with no need for prompting. He was just as used to their methods of adjusting the camp for training as they were at this point, and he wasn't going to have Terokla doing all the work on her own while Honrin prepared.

While they worked, Jace made a point to make sure Pushok was up to date on his knowledge of the blade he wielded. How to hold it at rest for safety, where to store it, how to care for it, the difference between the wooden sword and a metal blade, and the usual notions of watching, being prepared, and not getting distracted during anything be it spar, fight or daily chores. Jace was an absolute inspiration when it came to her knowledge and how she gave it to him, and his brain was a sponge for soaking it up. He'd do just about anything Terokla asked of him, and he would do it willingly.

The area was clear and Pushok was stretching, per Jace's recommendation, though it might have been strange how quiet he seemed today. Though his maw wasn't speaking, his mind was riddled and filled with questions, doubts, his shortcomings from the day before and should have, could have moments that might have changed the outcome. Truth be told, even Pushok knew there wasn't anything he could have done. That's why he was here. Time to get good.

Eyes found Honrin as he moved into the area and Pushok took up his sword. He didn't ask any questions, and he didn't offer any insight as to why he'd so suddenly come, but he did take up stance. His focus was unwavering today, despite the virbrant colors of the world, the sauntering clouds or the shining sun. Foot paws spread beneath him for balance, and arms twist as the side of his head, holding the great sword above his shoulder and aiming it at his Mentor. He'd take no cheap shots, and he'd try to make Honrin realize that this was going to be no ordinary training spar.


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POSTED: Sat Aug 10, 2019 1:03 pm

Honrin
Word Count → 000 ::

Jace was confident something was remiss, and her innate knowing picked away at her. She did not force him to reveal his distress, there were some secrets she would not poke into and trusted that if something were truly amiss he would speak out and reveal it.

Honrin had to grin at the tutor tone in his mother's voice, the sounds of the various pieces of camp being moved asides reached him. Honrin was nodding along as Pushok responded to her questioning prompts, and was validated as the young boy rattled off without hesitation all the things Honrin had taught him over the last few months.

There had to be some pride, the First Blood was coming upon them swiftly and he wanted to be sure his charge would pass, in part to make up for Alaric's failure. He grimaced, and tried to shove it from his mind, he was still trying to make it up to Veri's son.

For all of her grumblings about wanting a quiet life, Jace always managed to pick up the lost and the homeless and give them a place to return to. He knew without a doubt that the two Hushhowl sons would do anything for her and at least one of them was usually hovering close ever since they were young children.

The sword that had driven Pushok to such a fervent desire to use a similar weapon was plucked.

A young man squared off against him, the seriousness in his youthful face giving it an implacable quality. For fragile seconds the two remained locked in the ready stances, until the Elder woman barked out an order.

This would be their first, no holds barred spar, if Pushok thought he was ready to attempt this then their true combat training could begin. Then came forth Honrin's sword, punch pulled enough that if he should hit the young boy he would not receive fatal injury.

Some drink to remember, some drink to forget

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Honrin Wolfe-Denahlii

Casa di Cavalieri
Labor Head
User avatar
Jace
Luperci Herdsman, Ambassador (MV) Mate to Guinevere
·AM I DREAMING·

POSTED: Fri Aug 16, 2019 3:57 am

His mentor stood before him, taking up the stance in more than just instruction. Pushok breathed deeply through his chest, his nares taking in ever ounce of the campsites scent, with the smell of all the Wolf-Denahli's he new muddled in, dominated by the strong scent of Jace and Honrin before him. He'd run into Quinn too headstrong. Too brave. Too stupid. It took that night to learn to use his head more and to measure actions better than being brash. Saying, however, was easier than doing.

Gripping his blade tightly, he remembered to keep light on his toes if he needed to move, despite the weight of the weapon. It did him well to remember, as Honrin lunged forward to deliver the first strike between them. Light feet, sharp eye. He felt his body move before the thought even came to his mind and for a fleeting moment, he could feel intuition working for him. His enamored embrace of the growing innate skill came to be his first fall. His mind took over as instinct was dropped short, and he fell just shy of missing the mentor's blade completely.

Metal took a bite out of Pushok's arm and for a fleeting moment, the hot searing of split skin reached into his core. His heart rose, his mind raced, his temper rose. Footing loosened as he spun around with a heavy, ill carried swing of the wooden blade. It sailed wildly, his reach overshot.

The image of his failure replayed in his mind. His temper. He'd lost it before.

Biting his lip, he stepped back as Honrin took up his ground, changing his motive. Curling his arms, he brought the sword upward and outward to draw against Honrin if the blade could reach the Mentor.

At this point, Jace was spitting out sharp worded instructions, unforgiving and demanding, but necessary. The weight was on his shoulders of her words and his short comings, his poor footing corrected only to distract him enough to fall victim to another strike from his Mentor. Teetering forward on the tips of his paws, he arched backward just enough for the blade to bound off of his shoulder and splinter the hairs on his tail.

Brows furrowed. He couldn't make mistakes like this. What if his Отец needed him? What if his sister needed him? What if Temnota needed him?

A blaze lighted in his eye as he spun around again and took two steps away from Honrin's position, raking the sword in a controlled sweep around him. If he didn't hit his Mentor, he'd at least make up lost space, and that would be a start.


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POSTED: Wed Aug 21, 2019 1:32 pm

Honrin
Word Count → 000 ::

The most important lesson was control, those who fought angry or distracted were sure to fail barring an act of extreme luck. Honrin had seen this with his own eyes, and had fallen prey to it too, even his mother was not immune to this pitfall. Honrin's eyes briefly rested on those scars that ran across her torso.

Those lost children weighed heavily on the both of them.

Successes and failures were given in equal measure, and through that Honrin saw the inkling of the fighter Pushok would one day be. This was not enough however, and Honrin's blade cut skin and fur, leading red to well and overflow.

Before, such an occurrence would have had them stop and tend the injury -- not now. Fighting injured was a guarentee for all of those who picked up a weapon, pain would be carried like a second skin.

In the realness of a serious fight, Pushok would have lost the complete use of his arm -- Honrin pulled the strike, and the boy was left with only a gash. The return blow was clumsily overreached and born of anger. Honrin's brows drew down and his face pressed into a line of severity.

The sharp sound as swords clashed together rung in his ears, and soared in his blood. Though not as martially minded as his mother, Honrin had been born to fight, it was an ancient taste in his veins. Pushok needed to understand, that his mentor was not always the jovial man he knew and loved, that Honrin had taken part in real battles and had killed real enemies.

This was not boys playing with sticks.

For a real example, when Pushok lunged out next, and Honrin knew there was no danger of this unfettered strike hitting a body part, he drew down his sword with all of his might, letting the two clash together with every last ounce of strength he possessed so that the Hushhowl son might see just how far he had to go.

Jace's words were aimed at both males, and she snapped corrections at Pushok and Honrin alike. The white man winced as she verbally dissected his current footwork, correcting it automatically. Too, this was part of the lesson, one was never done training, there was always a room for improvement.

Inspite of Jace's words, Pushok was doing better than Honrin would expect from him, even with strikes pulled and speed dulled.

In sudden switching of Honrin's ever advancing attacks, Pushok jumped back and attempted to clear the space about himself. Honrin did not move backwards, and brought his sword up to deflect with the flat of the blade stopping Pushok's swing in its tracks.

Honrin stepped forwards again, twisting his sword in and around Pushok's, and if the boy did not move, and quickly, his sword would be ripped from his hand and sent sailing off into the trees.

Some drink to remember, some drink to forget

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Honrin Wolfe-Denahlii

Casa di Cavalieri
Labor Head
User avatar
Jace
Luperci Herdsman, Ambassador (MV) Mate to Guinevere
·AM I DREAMING·

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