Re: (IC) 1: The Rescue
Finally, Thorn’s evening was improving. Aisling cried out in confusion and alarm as Darcassan’s knife met her half-drawn chakram. Strong, she realized, tucking into a roll to avoid his off-hand strike and gain a little distance.
“Aisling, hold,” she ordered, drawing her second chakram with one hand and unfastening the clasp of her cloak with the other, letting it fall in a manner likely to trip her opponent. She felt naked without it, but no sense inviting him to grab or strangle her.
Darcassan lunged forward – somewhat awkwardly due to the low ceiling and cape. Skipping the cautious testing phase then. Excellent.
Though he obeyed her command, Aisling continued to call and click, choosing this moment to seek an explanation. She didn’t appreciate the distraction, but Thorn realized the stimfay had never seen her draw weapons and not kill.
“Sparring,” she clarified, “Practice fight.” And punctuated her point by leveling a controlled kick at the side of the male’s knee as it cleared her cloak. A painful impairment to movement, she was certain, but in real combat, she would have crippled him.
She needed the advantage. She wasn’t accustomed to melee with an opponent whose reach so exceeded her own. In this small space, he could attack her almost anywhere. And his daggers better suited the environment. She couldn’t effectively swing her kopis here and using her only knife would significantly disadvantage her against an opponent wielding two.
But her primary weapons weren’t designed for extended use in melee. For reasons he quickly discovered by using his superior might to press his daggers – and the chakrams blocking his attack – toward her face. "I'm not quite sure how you knew about my damaged knee,” he remarked, “but I applaud your attention to detail. Where did you learn to use such exotic weapons and so effectively?"
Persistent, she would grant him that, Thorn thought as the pressure from his ongoing strike caused the chakrams to cut into her fingers. The pain wasn’t problematic, but even presuming she could prevent the sort of serious damage to the muscles and tendons which would impair her attacks, the blood could make her weapons slippery enough to fly out of her hands if he hit them with sufficient force at the proper angle.
A risk worth taking. Thorn pitted her own strength against his. "Far from here," she replied, her voice slightly strained under his onslaught. But not far enough. As expected, she failed to move his arms, but did force him to shift his weight forward.
Then she suddenly leapt aside, overbalancing the male and causing him to stagger. "As to effectiveness," she continued evenly, "I have found pain to be the best teacher, do you not agree?" She struck lightly but precisely with her chakrams; one across the nape of his neck and the other on his back, over his heart. Either a potentially lethal blow.
The combined force of her attacks and the sudden pressure on his wounded leg drove Darcassan to his knees. In less than a minute.
Thorn waited to see how the male would react. She rather hoped he’d be willing to continue – she still had considerable tension to release and frankly could use more melee practice. But, despite being gentler than usual, had she still played too roughly?
"Yes,” he acknowledged, rising carefully and testing his injured knee, “sometimes pain is effective in ensuring you don't make the same mistake twice. However, if you're not taught the proper way to fix it, that is nothing less than torture from an incompetent teacher. It sounds like this far-away mentor of yours had his or her priorities a bit muddled."
She shook her head. "No. Then you determine how to fix your error. Do you not know yourself best - might your solution not prove more useful than any an instructor could impart? Do you not gain knowledge more completely and value it more highly when it is earned rather than given?”
"I beg to differ,” he argued, “Being trained at effective countermeasures allows you survive long enough to discover what works best for you. Teaching doesn't give the knowledge freely, it merely offers a path to learn and master. Granted, maybe at first students should try everything they think might work, but in the end, the trainer provides the guidance you require to flourish."
"If your coddling is superior, then prove it," she challenged.
Without so much as a twitch projecting his intention, Darcassan darted forward, hooking his dagger on the inside of her chakram and ripping it aside with sufficient force to embed both weapons deeply into the cave wall. "It sounds like you come from a much harsher place than I. Where did you say that was? I may have been distracted by all the coddling." Spinning, he swiped his second knife across the back of Thorn’s knee, opening a bloody gash. “Time to even the odds a bit,” he commented, jabbing his hilt into the throbbing wound, even as another knife materialized in his empty hand. Smiling, he redoubled his assault.
Good – more interested in combat now. But still with the questions. Thorn allowed him to press her back toward the cave mouth, taking the opportunity to analyze his fighting style and skill level. She was fairly certain she could beat him here, even despite her suboptimal weapons, but perhaps not without dealing serious injury. Besides, it had been too long since she wielded kopis and buckler. Which meant relocating this little contest.
“You seem rather concerned about where I’m from,” she remarked, darting under the arm he had raised to attack and using his unbound, golden hair to jerk his head back, “for someone whose settlement is unlikely to last a human generation.” With his neck exposed, she could have swiped at his throat with her remaining chakram, but that risked ending the match prematurely, so instead she hit the pressure point on his wrist sharply, causing one dagger to go spinning into the predawn sky.
He recovered quickly, grabbing her arm and flinging her down the embankment. His words drifted down after her: "Far from concerned, though your refusal to answer what most would think such a simple question, is slowly changing that."
Experience prevented Thorn from tensing as the ground rushed up at her and she managed to turn the fall into a sort of half-controlled tumble, coming up on her feet at the bottom of the ridge. He was charging down after her quickly, though, so to buy herself some time to grab her shortsword and shield, she whirled her remaining chakram at him, purposely throwing incorrectly so it wouldn’t return.
"I don't recall promising you an answer," she observed as he dodged out of the way of a severe chest wound.
"I'm not looking for that anymore,” he confessed as he closed with her, wielding another of his seemingly endless supply of daggers, “Just confirmation.” He pressed hard, testing her defenses, but the balance between them had shifted; her longer blade mitigating his advantage in reach. “As you've said, the way a person fights is enlightening. Your blend of martial traditions is both familiar and revealing. I’ve fought many creatures of the Underdark; your style implies you have as well."
Thorn deliberately lowered her weapon and studied Darcassan’s face carefully as she spoke. “If so, then you must know this,” she gestured between them, “to be a dangerous waste of valuable time. When the Drow appeared in the inn, the people there panicked: virtually no resistance, not even a controlled retreat. It wasn’t a slave raid, but now that the passage is known – sealed or not – it’s only a question of when. And whether it will be dark elves, duergar or something worse coming up from the depths. If you truly know the Underdark, perhaps they have a chance. Some of them, anyway. But not as matters lie now.”
Darcassan paused. "I know that, Thorn, as do Thorin and Sebastian. Hopefully repelling the attack gave them sufficient pause that we have time to figure out a plan."
Her shoulders relaxed infinitesimally. "Good. That you understand, at least." Then she glanced away slightly, not quite certain what else to do.
His daggers vanished. Hands open and empty, Darcassan stepped toward her. "Why do you fight so hard to be alone? There's enough of that going around, Thorn. Maybe it's time you finally trust in someone – anyone – even if it's not me. Just know that it can be. I will never judge you. What I'm offering isn't easy to accept, but if anyone is strong enough, it's you," he cajoled, reaching out to touch her shoulder.
Her only comfort later was that she fought as hard as she possibly could. Attempted with every fiber of her being to force down the overwhelming rage that erupted within her when he pushed that final time.
Her discipline was adamant; in over a century of cruelty, pain, abuse, murder and betrayal, it had never shattered. Even during the past week – perhaps the most difficult of her life – she had tried. To learn. To adapt. To make amends. To help. And even not to unduly harm Darcassan, who attempted to force her into revealing vulnerabilities that could be used to destroy her.
She snapped. But Thorn did not break; she broke others. For once in her life not caring what it would reveal or what the consequences might be, she exploded in a burst of motion faster than she had ever thought possible and struck him in the jaw with a force she did not know she possessed. He sailed backward, blood and teeth flying from his mouth. She towered over him, the metallic gold flecks in her eyes burning like cold fire and vowed in an icy, imperious tone she didn’t recognize, “Speak to me again, male, and I will remove your tongue.” Then she turned on her heel and glided away. Through the glacial calm of her wrath, one thought rang in her mind, clarion clear and blade sharp: Blood will out.