i can be the man that she deserves
#1
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Thread Information
Date: 5 April

Setting: Just outside D'Neville

Time: Early afternoon

Character Form: Optime

Word Count → 374 :: Let the training begin! Big Grin

The snow was nowhere near being completely melted, for Mother Earth had decided to dump a little bit more onto the northern coast encompassing Nova Scotia. Silas supposed he didn’t truly mind, so long as the weather didn’t turn into that furious storm they had seen only two months prior. It had inflicted quite an amount of damage on the area, the coyotes of Inferni falling victim to its will as they waited for the snowfall to stop. In the end, he supposed that he had to thank the storm. Though he of course felt bad for what had happened to Halo’s bedroom, it had brought them closer. He couldn’t ask for much more than that.

And yet the Russian was still discontent. He had not left Nova Scotia and gone home like his sister and father had merely because he could not bring himself to leave Halo behind. He realized now that he needed to step up to the plate and be the person that the Inferni princess needed him to be. She was a strong, independent warrior and he was nothing more than an apathetic foreigner. Silas needed to hone his skills and finally prove his worth to the clan. Despite the prejudices that a few of his fellow clansman held against him, Silas had the motivation he needed to rise in the ranks so long as he honed his skills.

His beloved had wielded her twin blades, but Silas hadn’t really used his father's gift much more than when he was scavenging. It came in handy for odd jobs here and there, but the boy didn’t really know of to properly wield it to defend himself. Often it would hang in a small leather throng that hung from his belt loop, and the Russian had missed its potential. Removing it from its safety at his side now, icy blue ran the length of the steal and decided it was time to maximize its potential.

With a quick step and a flick of his wrist, the combat knife sailed through the air before colliding with the bark of a nearby tree. Though he somewhat expected it to embed into the wood, the knife fell uselessly to the ground beneath it. "Черт возьми."


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#2
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If he hadn’t known better, Ezekiel would have thought that Gabriel’s appointment of his new rank was to keep him from traveling to see Alaine. As head warrior, he was expected not only to defend the borders and work with his crabby uncle and the other old man, but train the Hastati and find more potential warriors. It was not an excessive amount of work, but having begun border patrols as well sucked up more time than he would have liked. Still, duty was duty and he met it head-on. Such a duty called today, leaving Ezekiel to ride the borders endlessly.

Viggo’s heavy hooves kicked up dirt as they went, and his body moved at the easy trot that the pair so often used. The horse slowed only at the raised voice from nearby, which Ezekiel did not recognize. Curious, for there was no foreign scent, the coyote turned his horse towards the source. They closed the distance and broke through the trees, revealing the hybrid that Ezekiel now recognized by sight, but not by name.

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#3
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Word Count → 304 :: --

Stooping beneath almost entirely bare branches, the Russian reclaimed the combat knife and twirled the steel blade in his palm, admiration easily visible in the icy blue as they watched the sunlight glint along its sharpened edge. It was the sound of heavy footfall that alerted Silas he was no longer isolated here, and the Hastati watched as Gabriel’s son neared him on the back of a sturdy Clydesdale. Though Silas did not have much equestrian knowledge, he was no stranger to many Luperci keeping them. Inferni alone had quite a collection, and Silas had seen them outside of the claimed lands as well. So even as the stocky beast advanced, there was no fear in the young Russian, only slight curiosity.

"Hey zhere," he called to the other man. Though he had seen him before and knew that he was Gabriel’s son, the name had escaped him for the moment. Silas hadn’t really gotten to know many of the members within the clan personally, but most of their identities had been revealed to him at some point or another. "Know anyzhing about veilding a blade?" He waved the knife to indicate what he was speaking about, while ice found amber and a unique feeling of envy blossomed within his chest.

Ezekiel was of de le Poer and Lykoi blood – the two lines that essentially defined Inferni. Many of those who lived in the clan had some percentage of one of those two families in their blood. Those who did not, such as Silas, never quite fit in. The Russian had concluded that this was the reason that most of Inferni’s ranks were filled with those carrying the surname Lykoi or de le Poer. In some ways, Silas yearned for that blood – yearned for anything that would make him more desirable in her eyes.



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#4
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It had never occurred to Ezekiel the full use of a horse. He had seen them before, living with the tribe, and he had always admired their strength, but until Alaine thrust Viggo into his hands he had been mostly ignorant of them. Riding had become second nature, as it was so similar to the physical tasks he knew so well. Without tack, he was easier able to control the horse—and this cut down on the amount of work he needed to do outside of taking care of the animal itself.

The stranger spoke with a thick accent and met him with striking eyes. Ezekiel was wary of blue eyes, but the man looked relatively harmless. This was echoed by the way he held the blade, which while sturdy, was far too locked up for the Triarii’s liking. He slid from the back of his mount and sent him off with a gesture. “Some,” he admitted, one hand dropping into his bag to produce a sheathed combat knife. He had stolen it from the same place he had found the bag itself. “I don’t really like fighting with knives,” he admitted, shrugging off the bow, bag, and quiver as he neared the halfbreed. “What are you trying to do, anyway?”

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#5
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Word Count → 220 :: --

The young Russian watched as Gabriel’s son dismounted from the Clydesdale, dismissing it with a gesture before closing the distance between the two men. He had produced a combat knife himself, and Silas could not help but let a slight grin find his muzzle. It seemed as if he had lucked out today. Even if it wasn’t knife fighting Ezekiel could teach him, perhaps Silas would leave their encounter with some sort of warrior’s insight. Simply, he just didn’t want to seem weak in comparison to the princess. After all, she was a fearless warrior.

"I dunno," he shrugged then, while eyes averted to the blade he turned in one hand. "Eet vas a geeft from mine fazher. I vas just hoping to put eet to good use." The blade had come in handy during his excursions to Halifax, and even around D’Neville. However, Silas had not really taken to fighting. He had the sturdy build to be solider, if he was shown how to develop the skills. "I figured eet could be used as a veapon, ya?" However, Ezekiel mentioned that he didn’t prefer to use his own knife in fighting. The Russian’s gaze traveled to the possessions the Triarii had parted with moments ago, and he nodded to indicate what he was referring to, "Are zhose used for combat?"


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#6
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The blade was not often used for its intended purpose. Ezekiel had used his knife to skin animals and work with their hides far more than he ever used it to fight. Still, the coyote was meticulous with his weapons and the edge of the knife was still sharp. He held it lightly, as he always did, and observed the man before him. Despite his obvious lack of training, the Russian showed the drive and the potential that Ezekiel had learned to look for.

“Knives can be weapons,” the coyote explained, lifting his own. “But they really aren’t all that different from your teeth or claws, which is why I don’t use them. Still, if you get someone in a vital spot—“ he illustrated, pointing at the side of his body directly below his ribcage. “A knife will kill. They go a lot deeper. Same with those,” Ezekiel added, looking over to the bow and arrows. “But those are for ranged attacks, not close combat.”

Despite his often jovial appearance, he was nothing but serious for the moment. “How much do you know about anatomy?” Hawkish eyes focused on the darker man, unsure of how much he could expect.

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#7
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Word Count → 321 :: --

The Russian supposed he had never really thought of his knife as being similar to his own claws or teeth, but it seemed rather obvious now. He looked to the weapon in his hand, twisting his wrist so that the blade glinted along its edge in the sunlight. It made sense now to him that Ezekiel did not often use knives for fighting, and blue eyes traveled to the other discarded weapons as Gabriel’s son spoke of them.

The bow and arrows were intended for a range attack, but that was not something that instantly intrigued the boy. He had been taught at a young age to put his own body to work for him, and somehow the arrows seemed like a way out – like a half hearted attack. He did not look down on Ezekiel at all, but he could tell right away that they were not the weapon for him. Perhaps he’d learn to wield a much larger blade, like the twin katanas Halo was most obviously known for. Looking back to his own blade, it seemed much more insignificant now, though he supposed he was still curious how to use it as an extension of his own god-given weapons.

"Ehh," the Russian started, knowing he would probably disappoint. "Not much, I suppose." It wasn’t as if he had been given anatomy lessons as a child, and so he only knew the basics of what he had learned in life. Of course he was aware of the space his heart occupied in his chest, but the boy could hardly tell anyone a thing or two about his liver sitting contently in his abdomen. "Vhy do you ask?" He wondered if Ezekiel aimed to teach him the most useful ways to wield his knife, and where it would most successfully inflict damage. The thought of the blade plunging into flesh was both sickening and exciting all at the same time.



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#8
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There's slight powerplay with him poking Silas, let me know if you want it changed. ^^


“Because it will make killing easier,” Ezekiel said flatly. He had begun to learn from Alaine, but twisted her knowledge for his own gain. If a wound could kill, he would seek to strike it. The combat knife was best suited for these things, but Ezekiel knew his strength came from the distance of the arrows. He was large for a coyote, but vastly outweighed by most wolves. Males in this part, especially, seemed to lean towards being of stockier blood. Perhaps Nova Scotia boasted the capabilities for such mass that the rest of the land did not.

Regardless, his focus was now on teaching, as his duty demanded. Twisting the knife up, he advanced on his clansmen. However he used his free hand, prodding with one sharp claw into the Russian’s thick pelt. “Kill,” he said, touching the Russian’s side just above the belly. “Kill,” he repeated, this time jabbing his finger into the high point of the ribs, where the lungs would certainly fill with blood. “Kill,” he continued, this time pointing to the heart. “A throat is a kill,” he went on, eyes glimmering with some distant thirst for blood. “A knife to the back of a neck is a kill. You’re capable of being quite deadly with it, if you want.”

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