View source for Staves, Spheres, and How to Break Them

:: ''The Colosseum, midday''

The days are growing shorter, the weather cooler, but the training never stops for those devoted to combat. Even those who do not tend towards melee come here to sharpen up as needed, or to pick up pointers on what might happen.

Such a one is a slim half-elf, clad in a sleeveless tunic, woolen trousers and well-worn boots. The chill doesn't seem to touch him though, as he patiently goes through the paces with a length of ironwood, jabbing at a wooden dummy, aiming for target circles on the head, chest, or groin. He may be more skilled than a rank amateur or acolyte, but it's clear Telamon is no warrior.

Still, the more tools at your disposal, the better, as the heavyset dwarf watching him nods brusquely, before going on to watch a trainee more carefully.

Coming in from one of the side entrances is a scarred mul'neissa woman, her pulling on her verdant buckle jacket to ward against the cool air. Behind her, hot on her heels, is a teen boy of perhaps no more than sixteen. Face red and twisted in frustration and fluster. "Come on!" his voice cracks. "I passed your stupid test and everything!"

The duo stop right behind Telamon, Aryia turning around and giving a calm and cool few brisk gestures. "You need to reign in your angst first. Then I will consider." <Handspeech>

"Fuck you!" he insults, throwing his hands up and walking past her. Attempting to shoulder check the smaller elf. But ends up with him stumbling and almost landing on his rear. He retreats.

The mute sighs, turns, and- blinks. "... what the fuck are you doing here?" she signs to Telamon, surprised. <Handspeech>

Telamon glances up in surprise. His eyebrows rise, and then his gaze becomes hard, as he watches the teenager stomp off. But -- fortunately -- it goes no further than that. Instead, he leans on the ironwood staff, and offers Aryia a winning smile. "It's good to see you too, Aryia. Can't a fellow come down here and get a little workout?" He's grinning as he says it, though. "Well... things are getting a little dicey here and there, and while it's nice to have magic, it's even better to have some extra tricks in your bag. So... I figured I'd come down, knock the rust off on my staff-fighting."

He pauses, looking rueful. "And there was more than a little rust. At least I'm not out of shape."

Aryia smiles back, waving off in the direction of the teen. "Don't worry about him. He needs to learn an important lesson of: life can't hand you everything. Good to see you." She snorts. "Fair, fair. Makes sense considering our recent magic fuck ups."

She glances between her friend, the staff, and the training target. She perks up, looking a bit excited as she bobs on the balls of her feet. "Want some pointers? I'm not much of a fan of using weapons, but I can use a stick pretty well," she offers, stretching her fingers one by one to loosen up. <Handspeech>

Telamon sighs, watching after the boy before his eyes go back to Aryia. "Maybe. But I sure as hell didn't act like that. Then again, father and mother would never tolerate it." He rubs his chin. "But yes. 'Magic fuck ups' is definitely a great way to put it. I felt about as useful as an earring on a snake in that mess."

"Pointers? Probably wouldn't hurt. Try not to bruise me too much, though. Lana gets all persnickety if she picks up on pain through our bond." Tel grins again. "The last thing you need is flocks of ravens chasing you through the city."

Aryia shrugs. "He's some noble snobby boy who's used to getting shit handed to him on a silver platter. He's got spirit. He'll be back."

The mention of the old mess gets a sigh to leave her nose. But she pushes past that and shakes her head, silently chuckling. "I won't hit you. Too hard." She grins. "Let the ravens come. I can take on some birds. A dozen raven sized ravens. Might have some issues with a dragon sized raven. Anyways. Show me what you're doing. Hit me as hard as you can." 

She stands relaxed, arms akimbo on her hips.<Handspeech>

 GAME: Telamon rolls melee: (11)+11: 22

Telamon snorts. "One of these days, someone's going to take you up on those challenges. And you know, I'm one of those 'noble snobby boys' too. Just with different talents."

He hefts the length of ironwood, and quips, "Am I allowed to cheat?" Before suddenly thrusting with the staff, trying to tag Aryia. He doesn't overextend at least, nor does he overbalance, but the jab fails to connect regardless.

"Lest you forget, /I/ was one of those noble snobs too," Aryia smirks. "But let them come. I enjoy a good challenge."

The coach doesn't move, doesn't clench. The jab even lands center mass on her torso. But its almost akin to punching a stone wall that doesn't flinch. "Cheat later. Have to have a good basis to cheat," she snorts before grabbing the staff head and pulling it into her gut. "Your follow through sucks. You're good at hitting the target, but you're not aiming some spell or shooting an arrow. You have to follow through. Aim past where you're wanting to hit," she advises, hovering her hand behind her back a few inches away. <Handspeech>

 GAME: Telamon rolls melee: (17)+11: 28

"It doesn't help that I'm trying to hit a friend," Telamon mock-complains. "But you make a good point." He draws back the staff once Aryia lets go of it. "I guess this is why mages rarely become good swordsmen. Entirely different mindset for landing a hit versus landing a spell."

He uncoils again, this time trying to aim -through- Aryia's chest, his starry eyes focused as he lunges with the staff.

"I can hit back if that helps?" Aryia teases with a grin before she releases the staff to resume signing fully. "Entirely different mindset for certain. And you need to keep at it instead of practicing spells. And more importantly, not get discouraged!"

She holds still once more, and this time, there is a solid /THUNK/ as it hits her square in the sternum. Her brows raise with a proud smile. "There you go! I felt that one that time!" she claps. "Keep that tidbit in mind. Now, the other thing about staffs and shit like it. You got two ends. Both are good at hitting. Both are also good at blocking. But they can do both at the same time. Make sure the end you're not hitting with his blocking something vital." <Handspeech>

Telamon hehs. "Don't mistake being pragmatic for discouragement. I'm not going to throw it all aside just because I'm not as skilled as some. I just think it might be useful just in case." He shrugs lightly, holding the staff in both hands. "Like this? Or am I off?"

He smirks at Aryia offering to hit back. "Tell me, Aryia, is there -anything- you can't punch your way through? I know all about your boulder-breaking, after all. I'm in no rush to experience it firsthand."

"You have a better head about it than most others. At least you don't mind getting your hands dirty and body aching. Some are quite pissy about it." Aryia assesses his stand before stepping forward. She pulls on hand forward, keeping the staff head facing forth, but tugs the other hand up, closer to the half-sil's ribs. "Like that. And then when you do this-" She pulls on the staff, making the defending end come up in an uppercut, but rests the head of the staff beside his neck and head. "-keeps your head, heck, and shoulder safe. Just something to keep in mind."

The question gets her to ponder. Tap her chin. "... the angel was a bit tough to punch. But I think if I really focused, it wouldn't have mattered. Honestly? I think I can break through just about anything, given enough time. I don't mean to sound cocky-" she totally is "-but the only thing I've found that holds me is adamantine. But even that, enough focus and that can break." <Handspeech>

He watches, carefully, as the staff is moved around, then follows the motions. "I think I see. If he's having to block this end, or avoid it, he can only swing where -this- end is, right?" Telamon's eyes dance merrily. "Clever." 

Tel chuckles. "Oh, I hate getting dirty and nasty just like a lot of them. I recognize that sometimes you -have- to do it, though -- and that the gods gave us bathtubs, hot water, and soap for a reason. I hate going into the sewers, but if something needs to be done, well..." He makes a face. "Well, it's why I have those hip-high boots and the canvas tunics I can burn if I can't clean them."

Tel's eyes glint at the mention of the angel, though he nods. "What about force effects? Walls, spheres, that sort of thing? I've seen Sir Seldan confine even fiends with those -- it inspired me to study spells similar to that."

Aryia bobs her head, smirking and glad that Telamon was catching on so quickly. "Exactly. Half a fight isn't just hitting harder. You have to dictate the flow. The timing. Get an opening. Once you get it, you can end it swiftly."

She leans on her back foot, nose scrunching up. "The TarRaCe bathhouse is a must stop after every job. The sewers...-" a shudder runs up her, "-I do pretty much your idea. Burnable set of clothes."

That gets her head to quirk to the side. "I've... seen similar. Never tried punching through one. Been in one before, but that was when I wasn't as good at what I do."

There's a long pause. Her lips twitch, and her glowing gaze briefly glances to the side. "... can I try?" she ends up asking. <Handspeech>

Telamon chuckles. "I may try and get Lana to come down here next. I know she's even less inclined towards this sort of thing than me, but... I would rather have her be able to fight like an angry housecat than not be able to fight at all, if we have more problems with magic."

He can't help but chuckle. "I heard that the Guild at one point was awarding free bathhouse vouchers for the TarRaCe if the job took you into the sewers. And there's a really good laundry not far from there -- but honestly, yes. You may want to dispose of your garments if you can't get them cleaned."

At Aryia's almost child-eager inquiry, Tel grins. "Of course. Besides, it'll be educational for both of us." Deliberately, he begins to chant, making sure no one's standing too close. Suddenly, the air around him shimmers with a hexagonal pattern wrapping around him in a spherical form, before fading save for the faintest distortion in the air.

 GAME: Telamon casts Telekinetic Sphere. Caster Level: 20 DC: 27
 GAME: Aryia rolls crunch: aliased to 2d10+strength+2+1: (11)+6+2+1: 20
 GAME: Aryia rolls crunch: aliased to 2d10+strength+2+1: (10)+6+2+1: 19
 GAME: Aryia rolls crunch: aliased to 2d10+strength+2+1: (10)+6+2+1: 19

"I've coached her a bit with swords for that one fucking crazy sword and suggested she carry a fancy dagger, but she needs more exercise. Just for the situation arises that her fey shit doesn't work, her magic fails, and her words fall on deaf ears," Aryia signs before snickering and nodding. "I cashed those vouchers every time."

Seeing that her suggestion is taken seriously gets her to perk, a stupid smile crossing her face. The coach shakes her hands off, hopping from one foot to the other as the tessellating hexes apparate into place. She pats the invisible barrier, assessing it.

Several fighters cease their training, peering over as the pugilist draws back into a stance, fists raised. A pause. And a breakneck jab flies out and crashes into the barrier! Her face scrunches up in pain, her stepping back and hissing, shaking the hand off. She looks offended by something refusing to bend.

Her stance drops, little lines of moonlight energy tracing their way across her form and around her fists before she goes at it again with a hail of fists. Most crash uselessly against the barrier. But every now and then. There's a dull cracking sound. <Handspeech>

In the middle of the sphere, Telamon can't help but flinch a tiny bit as Aryia strikes the barrier. And then she hits it again. And again. Interestingly, he appears to be assessing the repeated blows, and it's clear something is giving way. Even a powerful spell like this can't hold out forever, not against the pugilist's fists. 

"Good gods, Aryia," he says from inside the force-bubble. "You are actually driving the aether linkages out of sync. Those hits are causing it to slowly break up, like chainmail that's being wedged apart."

 GAME: Aryia rolls crunch+crunch: aliased to 2d10+strength+2+1+2d10+strength+2+1: (11)+6+2+1+(10)+6+2+1: 39
 GAME: Aryia rolls crunch+crunch: aliased to 2d10+strength+2+1+2d10+strength+2+1: (6)+6+2+1+(12)+6+2+1: 36
 GAME: Aryia rolls crunch+crunch: aliased to 2d10+strength+2+1+2d10+strength+2+1: (14)+6+2+1+(8)+6+2+1: 40

Those fists don't let up, even with the slow progress. The effort redoubles at Telamon's assessment, Aryia's head ducked low, a visage of concentration carved into her features. The energies grow brighter, each strike beset with a bright flash of light that exemplifies each dull thud.

The coach's boots have sunk up to her shins in the sand, her hail of strikes driving her deeper. The dull cracking gets louder. Louder.

One bloodied fist draws far back, a leg coming up as her face twists into a snarl.

And blindingly, it drives straight /through/ the singular point she's been focusing on this entire time.

There's a sound like glass shattering, but much more... deep? Resonant? The sphere flares and suddenly unravels, the hexagons glowing before dissipating into mana, back into their magical energies. Telamon, for his part, does keep from flinching again or falling down in surprise. As the spell crumbles, he stands straight, watching, his star-filled eyes glowing.

And then he bows deeply, before beginning to applaud. No irony, no mockery. Respect, earned and paid for with Aryia's blood, sweat, and tears.

Aryia pants, knuckles dripping with blood, yet a broad grin of pride is plastered on her face at the sphere crumbles and unravels. She cannot help but flail blindly at the air, doing a little jump and pumping her fists. "F-ck y-s!" she hisses loudly.

The clapping gets her attention, stopping her little happy dance. She smiles at it. Following with Telamon's clapping is several of those training, as well as a small group of fighters up in the stands above.

Her scarred face colors. Everyone saw that giddy dance. "Thanks," she lamely gestures. <Handspeech>

"When there is an enemy, rage. When there is a victory, rejoice." Telamon sounds like he's quoting something, but he doesn't specify, instead moving over to Aryia. "Do you want me to call the healers?" he inquires, inspecting her bloodied knuckles. "Or will you be all right?" His own hands are deft and long fingered, but there are calluses there -- not the kind of a fighter or swordsman, but from simple manual work.

"Well, now we know that if I make you mad, hiding inside a force-sphere or force-wall is only a -temporary- solution." He grins impishly. "So clearly I shouldn't make you mad!"

Aryia wipes her brow free of sweat with her sleeve. "Smart words. I'll steal those as a motivational quote and plaster it in my office," she quips before pulling out a roll of bandages in her pocket. Aryia shakes her head at the request of aid, starting to wrap up her hands, hiding away thick callouses, the old gouges, the leather like texture. The streaks of energy fade out on their own as she slowly breathes, getting her heart rate down.

She laughs quietly, coughing into a shoulder. Once the bandages were tied off, she signs. "I /can/ teleport, you know. Your solution works only if you piss me off in Alexandria," she grins back. "But, fuck, that is the hardest thing I have ever struck. I felt it in my spine from the impact. I really, /really/ had to focus on punching past it." <Handspeech>

Telamon nods. "There are worse words to hold to your heart." He watches as Aryia binds up her hands, but she does know what she's doing, so he doesn't interfere.

At her mention of teleporting, Telamon chuckles. "Well, true, but so can I -- and I don't think it's a solution at all. More like a delaying tactic as you punch your way through the shield." He nods slowly. "The last time I saw something punching through a force wall was ... well, there was an echo of a powerful fiend in the sewers. I don't know if I discussed this with you or not. When we found it, we came back with some of the heaviest hitters we could find and wiped it out. But initially I'd blocked it with a wall of force to keep it at bay and it was cracking it with its blows."

"I prefer to keep that phrase 'I am me' there instead," Aryia retorts with a chuckle, but her hands were dead serious.

She concedes the point with a flick of a hand, glancing up at the fighters in the stands. A lucht woman, the snobby teen from before, a Nar man with a club, and several others quietly discussing something with several glances towards the one and a half sil duo. She shakes her head at them and focuses on Telamon.

She deeply frowns. "I know what echo you're talking about. That fucker can certainly punch through one of those walls. No way I can hold up that long against something like that. I'm sure glad you all managed to be rid of it." <Handspeech>

"Well, that fucker," Telamon seems perfectly at ease with the profanity, "is dead, dead, not coming back to annoy us again, dead. One less problem to worry about." His eyes flick over at the fighters as well, seeing Aryia's glance.

"Time to go back to work?" he inquires. "I know you're doing coaching here now, I don't like to bump anyone's elbow when they're working. Gods know, I hate it when people do it to me." His eyes soften a bit. "I'm glad you're doing well."

"Very much dead, as I'm aware of the method of their demise," Aryia signs with a relief in her eyes. Still finding peace with it to this day.

She glances back up. A bemused look crossing her face. "They've been patient enough. I don't mind if friends come find me. I sort of work my own schedule. Benefits of being the coach." She grins. But her expression softens to a peaceful smile to match his countenance. "I am very happy with life at present. And I can say the same for you, friend."

There's a moment of contemplation, almost an internal debate, but she ends up subtly shrugging and walking towards Telamon. Arms reach out- oh gods. Here comes the vice like grip!

Oh. It's just a brief hug given. No spine snapping. It's pulled back just as briefly as it was given. "You get back to training with that stick. And keep the other end up!" <Handspeech>

Other people might be afraid. Other people might flinch. But not Telamon. His arms go around Aryia in turn, although he keeps it short as well. There's trust there, as well as respect. "Been a lot of water under the Tornmawr bridges, since you saw me walking into Alexandria," he says with a grin. "I'm glad you've been there for it."

And when she steps back, he doesn't try to hold her, instead holding up the staff in a salute. "Yes ma'am," he replies with a grin, before getting back to the training. This time, keeping aware of where both ends of the stick are. Learning a little more and happy to do so.

 -End Scene-

[[Category:Logs]]