"Lord Strauss, you have guests." One of the maids entered the dining room from the hall that led to the front door.
"I don't recall inviting anyone over today. Diana didn't mention anything either." Donovan put his tablet down and stood up from his seat. "Who is it?"
"Lord Trebar. He has arrived with the rest of his squad."
"I imagine there is something he wishes to talk about. I take it you invited them to wait in the . . . was it called a foyer?"
The maid nodded. He had been trying to acclimate himself to acting like a higher class individual. This involved learning the 'proper' terminology for rooms from Arc. So long as he made the intent behind his words clear with split there was no need for that, but doing so just didn't feel right. It felt like a violation of the fundamentals of language.
"I would suggest that you not delay greeting him. A few of his troupe appear to be impatient for some reason or another."
Titanyana also stood up at this juncture. She only had a bite or two of her sandwich left, so she could finish it up on the way and be present as a bodyguard.
"Then we best get going. I'm sorry to push this on you so suddenly, but could you please take care of our dishes?"
"Of course."
- - - - -
"It's the same." "Why are they all the same?"
Tabo and Yabo were 'investigating' their surroundings, disappointed to find them to be identical to their own barracks.
"The Sanctum is a neutral institution. This extends to the housing for the academy. In order to guarantee no army is given an advantage in living standard compared to others, every barracks is identical." Kerefel remained silent on the bench after his brief explanation.
"Is that so?" Donovan entered the room just in time to hear Kerefel's explanation. "That makes me ever so slightly less enthusiastic to visit your place."
"You won't have to worry about our place looking the same should you ever decide to come over." Trebar approached him and exchanged a handshake. "These guys aren't exactly the most peaceful."
"I can tell. What brings you all here today?"
"There is some more personal and private business that Montaug and I felt prudent to inform you and Diana of, but I thought it would be an excellent time to discuss a training regimen for these guys."
"I also want to fight you." A man with short, shaggy brown hair interjected from behind Trebar's back.
"You can decline that particular request should you so choose." Trebar quietly took a step back, his heel digging somewhat forcefully into the Vulzen's boot.
"Well, I'm not exactly sure what you mean by a training regimen, but I can probably help you work something out." Donovan felt an incoming headache. "Also, what do you mean by fight? Are we talking swords?"
"Fists! Legs! Body! I want a brawl!" Zulf ignored the weight on his foot, though he did find it difficult to pivot into a position to see Donovan's face. "I can do it without split if you feel like it! I just want a good old fashioned contest of the body!"
Trebar (and a few others) sighed at his comrade's enthusiasm. He was always looking for a fight, however there was a new element of competition here. He wanted to be able to hold one over Cholst in their next argument.
"A brawl . . . are there going to be any rules to this brawl?"
Seeing as Donovan had committed to feeding Zulf's lust for battle, he lifted his foot. At this point there was little use in punishing him.
"Rules? Why would I want rules in a fight?"
"You aren't afraid that you'll break something?"
"Ha! Like you could break a bone without split!"
Donovan looked him up and down for a moment or two, fairly confused as to why he was so confident that was impossible. As if asking for permission, he raised an eyebrow in Trebar's direction. Trebar only shrugged.
"I'll oblige you. Do you have a preference of combat style?"
- - - - -
It took a couple of minutes for Donovan to change into proper workout attire and return to the courtyard. Naturally, Zulf had come prepared for such the occasion and was already standing shirtless in the middle. Donovan wasn't even surprised that there was a circle drawn in the dirt.
"I'm sure you are already aware, but I can't use split. I think you would find our little engagement if you limited your usage to it during our fight."
"Hehe, no problem." Zulf dropped into some sort of stance. Donovan couldn't attach it to any martial art he knew of, so it was probably something his people had developed. "I won't even use my claws!"
". . . claws?"
Zulf tensed his hand out in front of him, sharp bony points extending from each of his no bleeding fingers before quickly retracting. Donovan was only given a moment to question how that might be anatomically effective in any way before the bleeding stopped.
"Sorry for the blood. I haven't unsheathed them in about a day or two, so the membranes that covered them regrew."
"It's not the ground I'm worried about, but your hand. Doesn't doing that," Donovan flexed his hand, "hurt?"
"No more than taking a shit while constipated. Why do you ask?"
"I was just a little curious." Donovan frowned at the crude metaphor. "Anyways, how are we going to decide a winner? Tap-out? Knockout?"
"We go until one of us can't fight anymore."
Donovan nodded. That meant knock-out or injury. "Trebar, mind counting us down?"
"If you insist. Tabo, get off the window sill." Trebar walked to the center of the ring. He was being used as a referee a lot recently. "Are both combatants ready?"
"Ready." Donovan took up a more neutral stance, somewhere between boxing and wrestling, with his left side angled towards Zulf.
"Ready!" Zulf was very low to the ground, set up like an animal ready to strike.
"On the count of three you two can start. One! Two! Three!"
Zulf covered the distance between the two of them in four steps, they were closer than a duel with weapons, and was throwing his right fist forward with full power. All things considered, Zulf was pretty fast. He managed to close the gap in short order and he was definitely going to get the first strike off, but because of that his form was terrible. His punch was just as predictable.
Donovan shifted his body and moved to block the blow from the inside, placing his forearm in the upright position in his elbow pit. The force of the punch was dispersed across his forearm and shoulder now, meaning it barely hurt him at all. Donovan responded with a blow to Zulf's stomach, just below his ribcage. There wasn't any popping, but he could feel the air leaving Zulf's lungs.
Donovan then retreated from the exchange, wary of a follow up attack. That punch seemed too disorganized to not be some sort of trap. Zulf also took a step back, coughing once before recovering his breath. The playful glint in his eyes was gone. Once more he approached, once more throwing a fist wildly in Donovan's direction.
Donovan leaned out of the path of this attack, the angle was a little too awkward to block, and brought his right knee up to intercept his torso as he followed his punch. It wasn't as clean or solid a hit as he would have liked, but Zulf's torso was probably still going to hurt from it. Had he been a little further away, Donovan could have made it a kick.
A few hollow breaths and Zulf was back at it, this time he launched a high kick towards Donovan's upper body. This kick was (dutifully) intercepted, allowed to hit the side of his upper arm before Donovan's hands locked around his leg, just below the knee. For a moment he contemplated whether or not he should really punish such a stupid kick, he could probably bend his leg sideways with a harsh application of downwards force, but he decided against it.
Zulf, despite his lack of technique, was one of his superior's soldiers.
Donovan instead rotated his arms, rolling Zulf's leg to the other side of his body. Unable to counteract the forces acting on his skeletal structure, Zulf found himself involuntarily facing the other direction with his right leg up behind him, still firmly in Donovan's grasp.
Zulf was given no time to try and donkey kick his way out of the situation, Don stepping forward to block his grounded leg from hopping and driving him face first into the dirt. Donovan, recognizing that his opponent was momentarily stunned, let go of the leg and moved to cover his opponent's torso. The ground was wrestling territory.
- - - - -
Zulf found himself with a mouth full of dirt. This, by itself, wasn't too rare an occurrence for him during these brawls. His elders were always willing to knock him flat, and his seniors at the academy had demonstrated a knack for knocking him out before he could approach, but never had he been so thoroughly confused as to how he got here.
He had thrown his first punch a little recklessly, sure, but he honestly wasn't expecting much from Donovan. For some reason he equated 'not being able to use split' with inexperience. Evidently that was not the case, and his burning shoulder was evidence of that.
Right now Donovan was keeping him in an arm bar, a dangerous one, with his hand grabbing Zulf's trapezius instead of resting in a fist close to his spine. All Don needed to do was lift his elbow up and Zulf would be in for a world of hurt, torn tissues and the potential of a dislocated or broken shoulder.
"Do you yield?"
"Don't make fun of me!"
Zulf, insulted by Donovan's suggestion of surrender, thrashed violently in a vain attempt to free himself. Even split was not able to help him, his body pinned to the ground. Out of instinct, his claws emerged. His (barely) free hand crossing over his head and digging into Donovan's hand. There wasn't any blood, he couldn't get a good grip, but Donovan's vise only grew tighter in response.
A blow to the back of the head pushed his face back into the dirt. He could hear more words over the ringing in his ears.
"Do you yield?"
"NEVER!"
Another wave of struggle was stymied when Donovan grabbed his head with his free hand. Palm over Zulf's ear, Donovan began to apply pressure. Zulf still had his claws out though, and the top of his head was closer than his other shoulder. His claws plunged into Donovan's hand, but once again failed to draw blood.
The sensation of sharp points being pressed onto the back of his hands still made Donovan recoil though.
"Have it your way then."
thud
One blow to the back of his head.
thud
Two blows to the back of his head.
thud
Everything went dark.
- - - - -
"He isn't dead, is he?" One of the twins was poking the unconscious Zulf's face from the side.
"He looks dead."
"The idiot still breathes, he isn't dead yet." Anbel rested a hand on his comrade's back, just to make sure his heart was still beating.
Donovan stood off to the side, inspecting the back of his hand. There were scratches, like the tip of some roughly cut metal had been gently brushed over his hand, but the skin didn't break.
"What do you think the damage is?"
"Concussion." Don answered Trebar's inquiry with a hint of dissatisfaction. He would have preferred it if he didn't have to do that, but there wasn't a chance in hell he was going to attempt a chokehold against somebody who might cut his arms up in a panic. "There might be some minor brain trauma as well."
"It can't possibly make him any worse than he already is." Trebar spared a moment to allow the laughs and jeers of the other members of the audience to die down a bit. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. The damage was surface level." He held up his hand for Trebar to see. "Is he going to lash out at me when he wakes up?"
"He might."
"Am I going to have to deal with it again?"
"Probably."
"You aren't going to yank on his leash or anything?"
"I think being knocked out a second time will set him straight. He won't be able to argue that it was a fluke." Trebar didn't exactly like burdening Donovan with the discipline of his unit, but he was probably the only one besides Kerefel who could best Zulf without a weapon, and Kerefel didn't want to fight Zulf out of fear he might injure him. "Feel free to injure him next time around. Trust I won't hold you accountable."
Donovan sighed. With that, his suspicions that he was being used were confirmed.
"I've heard it's impolite to burden your friends with dirty work."
"I am certainly pleased to see you consider me a friend." A slight smirk told Donovan everything he needed to know. Trebar didn't want to put him through this, but there wasn't anybody else he could count on to humble Zulf.
"Yo boss, what should we do with the retard?" Anbel was finished inspecting his friend for outstanding injuries, surprised to find that the back of his head wasn't caved in.
"Just leave him there. It's his fault for breaking the rules of a duel he initiated. If we need him to move we can just toss him to the side.
"Hehe, you got it."
"Anyways, Donovan, what do you say to putting my squad through one of those training regimens today? I noticed that the other three aren't around right now, so it's probably an off day, but I would appreciate it if you just showed them what its like."
"I take it this is in regards to the training regimen you mentioned previously?"
"To a degree. You don't have to do the exercises of course, I would be happy with you just watching over them while they worked."
"So you want me to be their drill sergeant?" Donovan raised an eyebrow. "I can do that, but what do I get out of it?" He wondered if Diana would be proud of him for negotiating like this.
"We can talk about that later. I'm not exactly sure what I should offer."
"Let's just make it a favor then. When I need something I'll call you."
Trebar nodded. He couldn't exactly offer much in the way of materiel, something he knew they needed a lot of, but if his authority or experience could get them out of a bind then it was a fair trade. Of course Donovan would reap a few benefits from training his men, so long as those efforts bore fruit that is. The rewards that the lower rungs received for the overall performance of their army, division, and brigade were nothing to scoff at. Even though he couldn't participate, he would still receive the rewards that Trebar's units earned.
Improving the performance of his elites would improve the chances of victory, therefore improving the reward.
"Alright then, bring them on over."
cakeonfrosting More Titanyana POV coming soon, I know you all love those chapters.
"Lord Strauss, you have guests." One of the maids entered the dining room from the hall that led to the front door.
"I don't recall inviting anyone over today. Diana didn't mention anything either." Donovan put his tablet down and stood up from his seat. "Who is it?"
"Lord Trebar. He has arrived with the rest of his squad."
"I imagine there is something he wishes to talk about. I take it you invited them to wait in the . . . was it called a foyer?"
The maid nodded. He had been trying to acclimate himself to acting like a higher class individual. This involved learning the 'proper' terminology for rooms from Arc. So long as he made the intent behind his words clear with split there was no need for that, but doing so just didn't feel right. It felt like a violation of the fundamentals of language.
"I would suggest that you not delay greeting him. A few of his troupe appear to be impatient for some reason or another."
Titanyana also stood up at this juncture. She only had a bite or two of her sandwich left, so she could finish it up on the way and be present as a bodyguard.
"Then we best get going. I'm sorry to push this on you so suddenly, but could you please take care of our dishes?"
"Of course."
- - - - -
"It's the same." "Why are they all the same?"
Tabo and Yabo were 'investigating' their surroundings, disappointed to find them to be identical to their own barracks.
"The Sanctum is a neutral institution. This extends to the housing for the academy. In order to guarantee no army is given an advantage in living standard compared to others, every barracks is identical." Kerefel remained silent on the bench after his brief explanation.
"Is that so?" Donovan entered the room just in time to hear Kerefel's explanation. "That makes me ever so slightly less enthusiastic to visit your place."
"You won't have to worry about our place looking the same should you ever decide to come over." Trebar approached him and exchanged a handshake. "These guys aren't exactly the most peaceful."
"I can tell. What brings you all here today?"
"There is some more personal and private business that Montaug and I felt prudent to inform you and Diana of, but I thought it would be an excellent time to discuss a training regimen for these guys."
"I also want to fight you." A man with short, shaggy brown hair interjected from behind Trebar's back.
"You can decline that particular request should you so choose." Trebar quietly took a step back, his heel digging somewhat forcefully into the Vulzen's boot.
"Well, I'm not exactly sure what you mean by a training regimen, but I can probably help you work something out." Donovan felt an incoming headache. "Also, what do you mean by fight? Are we talking swords?"
"Fists! Legs! Body! I want a brawl!" Zulf ignored the weight on his foot, though he did find it difficult to pivot into a position to see Donovan's face. "I can do it without split if you feel like it! I just want a good old fashioned contest of the body!"
Trebar (and a few others) sighed at his comrade's enthusiasm. He was always looking for a fight, however there was a new element of competition here. He wanted to be able to hold one over Cholst in their next argument.
"A brawl . . . are there going to be any rules to this brawl?"
Seeing as Donovan had committed to feeding Zulf's lust for battle, he lifted his foot. At this point there was little use in punishing him.
"Rules? Why would I want rules in a fight?"
"You aren't afraid that you'll break something?"
"Ha! Like you could break a bone without split!"
Donovan looked him up and down for a moment or two, fairly confused as to why he was so confident that was impossible. As if asking for permission, he raised an eyebrow in Trebar's direction. Trebar only shrugged.
"I'll oblige you. Do you have a preference of combat style?"
- - - - -
It took a couple of minutes for Donovan to change into proper workout attire and return to the courtyard. Naturally, Zulf had come prepared for such the occasion and was already standing shirtless in the middle. Donovan wasn't even surprised that there was a circle drawn in the dirt.
"I'm sure you are already aware, but I can't use split. I think you would find our little engagement if you limited your usage to it during our fight."
"Hehe, no problem." Zulf dropped into some sort of stance. Donovan couldn't attach it to any martial art he knew of, so it was probably something his people had developed. "I won't even use my claws!"
". . . claws?"
Zulf tensed his hand out in front of him, sharp bony points extending from each of his no bleeding fingers before quickly retracting. Donovan was only given a moment to question how that might be anatomically effective in any way before the bleeding stopped.
"Sorry for the blood. I haven't unsheathed them in about a day or two, so the membranes that covered them regrew."
"It's not the ground I'm worried about, but your hand. Doesn't doing that," Donovan flexed his hand, "hurt?"
"No more than taking a shit while constipated. Why do you ask?"
"I was just a little curious." Donovan frowned at the crude metaphor. "Anyways, how are we going to decide a winner? Tap-out? Knockout?"
"We go until one of us can't fight anymore."
Donovan nodded. That meant knock-out or injury. "Trebar, mind counting us down?"
"If you insist. Tabo, get off the window sill." Trebar walked to the center of the ring. He was being used as a referee a lot recently. "Are both combatants ready?"
"Ready." Donovan took up a more neutral stance, somewhere between boxing and wrestling, with his left side angled towards Zulf.
"Ready!" Zulf was very low to the ground, set up like an animal ready to strike.
"On the count of three you two can start. One! Two! Three!"
Zulf covered the distance between the two of them in four steps, they were closer than a duel with weapons, and was throwing his right fist forward with full power. All things considered, Zulf was pretty fast. He managed to close the gap in short order and he was definitely going to get the first strike off, but because of that his form was terrible. His punch was just as predictable.
Donovan shifted his body and moved to block the blow from the inside, placing his forearm in the upright position in his elbow pit. The force of the punch was dispersed across his forearm and shoulder now, meaning it barely hurt him at all. Donovan responded with a blow to Zulf's stomach, just below his ribcage. There wasn't any popping, but he could feel the air leaving Zulf's lungs.
Donovan then retreated from the exchange, wary of a follow up attack. That punch seemed too disorganized to not be some sort of trap. Zulf also took a step back, coughing once before recovering his breath. The playful glint in his eyes was gone. Once more he approached, once more throwing a fist wildly in Donovan's direction.
Donovan leaned out of the path of this attack, the angle was a little too awkward to block, and brought his right knee up to intercept his torso as he followed his punch. It wasn't as clean or solid a hit as he would have liked, but Zulf's torso was probably still going to hurt from it. Had he been a little further away, Donovan could have made it a kick.
A few hollow breaths and Zulf was back at it, this time he launched a high kick towards Donovan's upper body. This kick was (dutifully) intercepted, allowed to hit the side of his upper arm before Donovan's hands locked around his leg, just below the knee. For a moment he contemplated whether or not he should really punish such a stupid kick, he could probably bend his leg sideways with a harsh application of downwards force, but he decided against it.
Zulf, despite his lack of technique, was one of his superior's soldiers.
Donovan instead rotated his arms, rolling Zulf's leg to the other side of his body. Unable to counteract the forces acting on his skeletal structure, Zulf found himself involuntarily facing the other direction with his right leg up behind him, still firmly in Donovan's grasp.
Zulf was given no time to try and donkey kick his way out of the situation, Don stepping forward to block his grounded leg from hopping and driving him face first into the dirt. Donovan, recognizing that his opponent was momentarily stunned, let go of the leg and moved to cover his opponent's torso. The ground was wrestling territory.
- - - - -
Zulf found himself with a mouth full of dirt. This, by itself, wasn't too rare an occurrence for him during these brawls. His elders were always willing to knock him flat, and his seniors at the academy had demonstrated a knack for knocking him out before he could approach, but never had he been so thoroughly confused as to how he got here.
He had thrown his first punch a little recklessly, sure, but he honestly wasn't expecting much from Donovan. For some reason he equated 'not being able to use split' with inexperience. Evidently that was not the case, and his burning shoulder was evidence of that.
Right now Donovan was keeping him in an arm bar, a dangerous one, with his hand grabbing Zulf's trapezius instead of resting in a fist close to his spine. All Don needed to do was lift his elbow up and Zulf would be in for a world of hurt, torn tissues and the potential of a dislocated or broken shoulder.
"Do you yield?"
"Don't make fun of me!"
Zulf, insulted by Donovan's suggestion of surrender, thrashed violently in a vain attempt to free himself. Even split was not able to help him, his body pinned to the ground. Out of instinct, his claws emerged. His (barely) free hand crossing over his head and digging into Donovan's hand. There wasn't any blood, he couldn't get a good grip, but Donovan's vise only grew tighter in response.
A blow to the back of the head pushed his face back into the dirt. He could hear more words over the ringing in his ears.
"Do you yield?"
"NEVER!"
Another wave of struggle was stymied when Donovan grabbed his head with his free hand. Palm over Zulf's ear, Donovan began to apply pressure. Zulf still had his claws out though, and the top of his head was closer than his other shoulder. His claws plunged into Donovan's hand, but once again failed to draw blood.
The sensation of sharp points being pressed onto the back of his hands still made Donovan recoil though.
"Have it your way then."
thud
One blow to the back of his head.
thud
Two blows to the back of his head.
thud
Everything went dark.
- - - - -
"He isn't dead, is he?" One of the twins was poking the unconscious Zulf's face from the side.
"He looks dead."
"The idiot still breathes, he isn't dead yet." Anbel rested a hand on his comrade's back, just to make sure his heart was still beating.
Donovan stood off to the side, inspecting the back of his hand. There were scratches, like the tip of some roughly cut metal had been gently brushed over his hand, but the skin didn't break.
"What do you think the damage is?"
"Concussion." Don answered Trebar's inquiry with a hint of dissatisfaction. He would have preferred it if he didn't have to do that, but there wasn't a chance in hell he was going to attempt a chokehold against somebody who might cut his arms up in a panic. "There might be some minor brain trauma as well."
"It can't possibly make him any worse than he already is." Trebar spared a moment to allow the laughs and jeers of the other members of the audience to die down a bit. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. The damage was surface level." He held up his hand for Trebar to see. "Is he going to lash out at me when he wakes up?"
"He might."
"Am I going to have to deal with it again?"
"Probably."
"You aren't going to yank on his leash or anything?"
"I think being knocked out a second time will set him straight. He won't be able to argue that it was a fluke." Trebar didn't exactly like burdening Donovan with the discipline of his unit, but he was probably the only one besides Kerefel who could best Zulf without a weapon, and Kerefel didn't want to fight Zulf out of fear he might injure him. "Feel free to injure him next time around. Trust I won't hold you accountable."
Donovan sighed. With that, his suspicions that he was being used were confirmed.
"I've heard it's impolite to burden your friends with dirty work."
"I am certainly pleased to see you consider me a friend." A slight smirk told Donovan everything he needed to know. Trebar didn't want to put him through this, but there wasn't anybody else he could count on to humble Zulf.
"Yo boss, what should we do with the retard?" Anbel was finished inspecting his friend for outstanding injuries, surprised to find that the back of his head wasn't caved in.
"Just leave him there. It's his fault for breaking the rules of a duel he initiated. If we need him to move we can just toss him to the side.
"Hehe, you got it."
"Anyways, Donovan, what do you say to putting my squad through one of those training regimens today? I noticed that the other three aren't around right now, so it's probably an off day, but I would appreciate it if you just showed them what its like."
"I take it this is in regards to the training regimen you mentioned previously?"
"To a degree. You don't have to do the exercises of course, I would be happy with you just watching over them while they worked."
"So you want me to be their drill sergeant?" Donovan raised an eyebrow. "I can do that, but what do I get out of it?" He wondered if Diana would be proud of him for negotiating like this.
"We can talk about that later. I'm not exactly sure what I should offer."
"Let's just make it a favor then. When I need something I'll call you."
Trebar nodded. He couldn't exactly offer much in the way of materiel, something he knew they needed a lot of, but if his authority or experience could get them out of a bind then it was a fair trade. Of course Donovan would reap a few benefits from training his men, so long as those efforts bore fruit that is. The rewards that the lower rungs received for the overall performance of their army, division, and brigade were nothing to scoff at. Even though he couldn't participate, he would still receive the rewards that Trebar's units earned.
Improving the performance of his elites would improve the chances of victory, therefore improving the reward.
"Alright then, bring them on over."
cakeonfrosting More Titanyana POV coming soon, I know you all love those chapters.
