put you flat in the dirt, boy

POSTED: Mon Feb 25, 2013 9:28 pm

520 This is a training thread, open to one other person, please! Wayne is with the pNPC Jonas Coblentz and armed with a club.


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It had become obvious to Wayne that his meager hand-to-hand skills weren’t going to cut it, especially with the conflict going on in the north. He itched to be there now, though he knew he wasn’t subtle enough for the mission in Salsola. (God, Seb had better be okay or Wayne’d tear him a new one—probably the wrong euphemism to use with the archer, but whatever.) He also was too doggish, and too human, to be waiting a short distance away in New Dawn. Instead, he was stuck in the fort, and so he decided he might as well make use of the time.

He’d run across the Coblentz brothers on his way to the courthouse to haul out some dummies and take a peek at the weapons. The two blue heeler crosses were bickering, as per usual, and it sounded like they were discussing the new medic and whether or not being absolutely terrifying should be considered “sexy.” The wolfdogs had stopped when Wayne came by, Isaac grinning and starting to ask him his opinion of the mentally unstable but skilled woman, but Jonas—being a sort of grumpy, reticent man himself—noted the furrow in Wayne’s brow and got up to walk with him.

It did not take very long for them to get to the courthouse—or for Wayne to explain his problem. His skills at wrestling and biting were only useful if he was on the ground, but his preferred place to be in the heat of combat was on the back of a warhorse. A western style of riding left one hand free as he drove the animal, a hand that could lasso or hold a kill steady behind the saddle, but he couldn’t exactly punch someone from the horse.

Jonas considered this, and scowled thoughtfully at the cowboy. Ever try bashing someone’s head in with a club?

It was a far cry from the beautiful and elegant swords that Lowry might have dreamed about—but, in that way, it was more to the stablemaster’s style. Jonas explained that it’d give him more reach, so he’d be able to clunk enemies on the head while racing by on his horse, and that once one got used to the awkwardness of handling such a blunt thing, any similar object could be a weapon.

A quick trip to retrieve the necessary objects, and Wayne found himself in a training ring, the short and stocky merle hybrid circling slowly around him and hefting a club. Wayne’s own was a rather misshapen thing, but he took a few blows to get used to the balance, and now went at the baker again. One swing struck Jonas in the hip, just as the other’s club came up to deliver a glancing blow to the back of Wayne’s head—knocking the Labrador’s hat off and causing him to stumble. He whirled around, the blunt weapon smacking Jonas in the jaw, and reached down to grab his hat and dust sand and snow off it before slapping it back on his head.

I reckon this ain’t bad, Wayne allowed, and grinned.

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