• Memory • [Warrick] Conquer Thyself

Rat learns an important lesson about combat and his adoptive Father.

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• Memory • [Warrick] Conquer Thyself

Postby Rat » Tue Jan 02, 2018 3:57 pm

52nd of Ashan, Arc 710

A light wind wandered through the open field, gently whipping around the tall grasses which tickled Rattigan. He absentmindedly pulled at the long tubes of green which poked out of the earth, carefully running his hands over the soft strands as he waited. His father was clearing a section of the grass with a long blade, and the rhythmic sounds of steel slipping through grass filled the otherwise quiet air. It was a rare day that his father took him anywhere outside of the Monastery, so Rattigan was determined to memorize every moment he spent amidst the sun and sky. The scent the wind left on his skin as it kissed his face, the bright yellow glare of the sun as it peeked behind the clouds, the rough texture of the dirt beneath his claws as he stretched out on the ground beneath him; the eight arc old wanted to remember it all.

"Rattigan," came the stern voice of his adoptive father, Farrix. Rattigan sat at attention almost immediately. He knew the consequence for delay, his father made sure he had constant reminders of his failures. The boy winced as he remembered feeling of his father's fists, how his skin broke and how blood pooled around his feet, and how Farrix kept going until he was sure Rattigan would not forget that lesson. He could feel the newly formed scars burn as the memory flared in his mind, and it took a few deep breaths until the feeling went away. He deserved that beating, otherwise why would his father give him one? His father was wiser and stronger than him. Rat knew that he couldn't be wrong, so it was obvious to him that he deserved the scars for speaking out of turn.

He saw the stiff stride of the man who raised him step into the clearing, motioning for Rattigan to stand. The boy nearly leaped to his feet, wanting to show his father that he had taken his punishments to heart. Turning, Farrix walked into the portion of the field that he had taken a blade to, cutting the long billowing grass short. Rattigan saw a rough circle take shape, and couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness that the grass had been cut down. It had looked so pretty, the way the shoots waved and danced in the wind. Still, the Lotharro boy followed diligently, standing in the center of the circle and facing his father.

"You remember the stance I showed you?" Farrix asked, his voice low and rough. Rattigan quickly dropped into fighting position, his little hands held open. One lay about waist height, and the other was pointed at his father. He kept his feet wide and his knees bent, making sure to keep on the balls of his feet as his father had previously instructed. When he had learned it, his father had mentioned that it was a 'defensive stance', but Rattigan still wasn't sure exactly what that meant. All he knew is that following instructions made Farrix happy, and all Rattigan wanted to do was make the monk happy.

His father walked by, appraising the stance the boy was in. He put his rough hands on the boy's back, pushing his back a little straighter. Then, he pushed down on the boy's shoulder's, making him drop his stance a little lower. Satisfied with his adjustments, Farrix moved back to stand opposite to Rattigan. "Good," he began, and the boy beamed at the praised. At his father's glare, he dropped his smile quickly. "You've learned how to stand, that is no great feat. Do not feel impressed with yourself, you've earned nothing yet."

Rattigan's eyes dropped slightly, the words feeling like wounds against his ego. His father had a way of making him feel so small, of tearing down any confidence he had built for himself. Still, the boy figured his father was right. He had to be. Regardless of his feelings, his father was always right.

"Today, however, that will change. Today I will teach you to conquer yourself, as all Warrick monks do," Farrix paused, dropping into a stance similar to the one Rattigan was in. His face twisted into a snarl, and Rattigan felt the small pricking of fear spike through his tiny frame. Farrix glared at the boy, his steely gaze tearing through him. "Today, I will teach you to fight."
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[Warrick] Conquer Thyself

Postby Rat » Thu Jan 04, 2018 5:34 pm

"Hit me,"Farrix commanded, his a voice a dry growl in Rattigan's ears. The Lotharro boy stood surprised, his guard dropping slightly as he processed what the man was asking. He didn't want to hit his father. He didn't really want to hit anything. The idea of making someone else feel pain wasn't an attractive thought to the child, and he'd rather just taken in the field than be sparring with the monk.

"Father I don't-" Rattigan's words, shy and slight, were cut off by the feeling fingers over his mouth. He blinked, unsure what had just happened. In the moments between his speaking and his silence, Farrix found his advantage The fingers pressed harder, finding stable purchase against the bone of the boy's face. The man's hand was large enough to fully grip the Lotharro's small skill, and one swift movement, the boy was sent flying just with the force behind those fingers.

Rolling roughly into the high grass of the field, Rattigan spat out stray dirt which had found its way into his mouth. Kneeling while he collected himself, he rubbed the sore spot on his jaw where his father's hand had pressed the hardest. His eyes were wide with shock and hurt at the sudden attack. Whatever the monk was trying to teach him, Rattigan was sure he didn't want to learn that lesson. All he wanted to do was enjoy the day outside the constricting walls of his room at the monastery; where he was forced hide among the shadows of that religious fortress. He just wanted a day in the light, and instead he found himself staring down at the dirt.

Rattigan barely had a moment to collect himself before he felt his adoptive father's hands on the back of his shirt. With a tug, he was hoisted off his feet and thrown back into the clearing Farrix had recently made. Again, Rattigan hadn't been expecting such aggressive actions from the man who had taken to raising him, and as such, couldn't himself for another rough landing. He felt his body roll against the hard-packed earth of the cleared meadow, hands covering his face so wayward gravel wouldn't find itself in his eyes or mouth again. As his momentum slowed, Rattigan tried to right his orientation. Digging his claws into the ground, the Lotharro stopped his rolling quick enough to see his father bearing down him again. Diving to his right, Rattigan remained on all fours as faced him down.

"First lesson: control the flow of the fight. If you don't start the attack, someone else will,"
Farrix barked, barely slowing his attack to order the boy around. He lunged forward, hands open and grasping for a grip on Rattigan. This time, however, Rattigan saw it coming. He darted backward from his father's lunge, hands and feet scrambling against ground beneath him. He remained on all fours, his body moving before his thoughts could command it. The Lotharro's lips pulled backward, revealing a rows of pointed teeth to ward off his attacker. He could feel a growl rumble in the back of his throat, animal instinct clawing its way to life as it felt the threat that Farrix brought with him. His father paused, shaking his head with disappointment. "Look at yourself, belly to the ground like an animal. I thought you better than your instincts, than your heritage. Fine then, behave like a beast, and you will be treated as such."

Again, Farrix rushed towards Rattigan, but this time there was a sharpness to his movements. Rattigan tried to roll away, his reflex turning to flight rather than fight, but his father wasn't holding back anymore. He was trying to prove a point now. His ward had acted in defiance, and therefore needed to be punished. To be reminded of who held the reigns of the Lotharro's life.

A fist cracked against Rattigan's jaw, splitting his lip and sending him into the ground. The boy's mind reeled as it caught up with Farrix's blow. He felt a trickle of blood slip down his chin, pearls of red liquid dripping down into the earth. His eyes welled with stinging tears as the pain flared from his injury, and he raised a small, trembling hand to his mouth. Pulling it away, he saw his fingertips stained scarlet. He lifted his head, seeing his father drop back down into a fighting stance. His father was strict, overly so at times, but he had never drawn blood before.

Standing now, Rattigan breathed deep before mirroring Farrix's stance. His father wanted him to fight, and it was apparent to the eight arc old that he didn't have a choice in the matter.
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[Warrick] Conquer Thyself

Postby Rat » Sun Jan 07, 2018 12:05 pm

Image

The two circled each other, forms near perfect mirrors of the man they faced. Their steps were slow, measured, and whisper-soft as they shifted through the cut grass of the clearing. Neither combatant let their gaze wander from the other, eyes searching for the slightest sign of weakness. Rattigan could feel his heart hammer in his chest, fear and anxiety burning down his back. His breath was shallow, chest tight as the boy fought against his urge to run. His father wanted this fight, wanted to teach him some sort of lesson, and Rattigan had no way of resisting. If he ran, Farrix would catch him. If he refused, Farrix would beat him. No matter what he did, unless the Lothar fought, his father would find a way to punish him.

A breeze, quiet and cold, wandered lazily in the tense air between the two. Rattigan could feel the corpses of grass beneath his feat shift slightly, floating gently away in that thieving gust. He could see the monk's hair move in response to the wind, long tresses of a matted grey mane pushed backwards against his face. He saw his father's eyes, as cold as the morning air surrounding them, stare through his being. That glare hurt more than his bleeding lip and bruised jaw. It cut through the boy, shredding his love for the man, and filling him with the hurt that only a betrayed child could know.

With snarling fangs and grasping claws, Rattigan launched himself at the man. He abandoned the martial form that the monk had been trying to teach him, instead relying on the thundering instinct to strike at the person who was causing him such pain. His strikes were wild, untamed, and unrefined. Even as Farrix deftly moved away from the strike, Rattigan found himself swiftly on the man. He felt an aggression, raw and primal, rise from the pit of his stomach. Anger burned his blood his blood as he moved, and the Lotharro felt a fierceness that he had never known. Clawing towards Farrix, Rattigan found his movements sharper, faster, and stronger as he dipped into his anger. For the first time, the Lotharro felt rage against the man who had raised him.

He had never felt such hate. He had never felt so great.

Farrix ended that feeling with another powerful blow to his back. Rattigan could feel flesh ripple across this jaw as the monk now struck the opposite side of his face. Skin split underneath the blow, revealing blood red and raw. The monk was by means holding back, and in Rattigan's childish anger,
he couldn't realize that fighting Farrix wouldn't be enough. He would have to fight the way his father wanted; refined and precise not raging and wild.

"Hmph," the man grunted as he shook the blood from his fist. "At least you're trying to control the fight. But you'll never hit me like that. Just because you look like monster doesn't mean you have to fight like one." If it was Farrix's attempt to calm his adoptive son down, he was sorely failing. His words dug in like knives, needling the underneath Rattigan's skin. The boy launched himself at Farrix, again and again trying to work his way through the man's defenses. Each pounce he tried to slash, and at each slash Farrix had managed to evade. Frustration only made the boy try harder though, and soon the two found themselves in a chase; with Rattigan continually pushing the attack and Farrix easily diverting his advances. Rattigan would try to land a slash, and Farrix would simply guide the strike away from his body. It was like trying to grasp air. He could force his hands at it as much as he wanted, but every time he would pull away with nothing.

Exhaustion began to weigh down his limbs, his strikes coming slower and slower. Rattigan panted, his breath heavy and his small lungs heaving from effort. His young body wasn't built to do anything this long, much less try to fight someone twice his size and years his elder. His claws knifed lazily through the air as Farrix once again guided the blow away from himself. His frustration began to dimmer as his limbs began to lower, and it wasn't long before the boy was sitting on the ground.

Farrix hose to move then, his gnarled hands wrapping around Rattigan's throats, pressing only hard enough to give the threat of something dark. Rattigan felt himself lifted by the man, how tears welling in his eyes as he felt frustration and betrayal and exhaustion and adrenaline all whirlwind throughout his small frame. Farrix's glare had never left his eyes throughout the whole fight, and even now his hard eyes stared through Rattigan. The boy was lifted until he hung at eye level with the man.

"Lesson 2: Your body is a tool. A weapon to be wielded, not animal to let loose. Rage is the way of a Lotharro. You are better than those monsters-made-men. If you wish to hit me, you need to control coupled with aggression. Anything else will leave you in this position," Farrix growled, dropping the child and letting him land with a thud on the ground. The monk marched away from Rattigan, stopping at the pack he had brought and rifling through the bag. A bundle of white cloth hit Rattigan's face, and the boy looked down with surprise.

"Rest for now. In half a break we go again."


Bandages. For the wounds Farrix had inflicted upon him. And rest, for the burning soreness his muscles felt. It was not much, but the boy knew it was all the reprieve he was going to get.
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[Warrick] Conquer Thyself

Postby Rat » Sun Jan 28, 2018 8:18 pm

Image

Sucking air in sharply, Rattigan breathed through pain as he pressed his bandage harder against his wound. Glaring eyes bored towards the older man who sat quietly opposite to him on the far side of the field. The Lotharro wondered what the man was thinking. He wondered how he was feeling, having hurt the boy so. He wondered how was he going to beat him.

His father's greatest asset was his defense. He was a walking wall. No matter how hard Rattigan pressed, he would never break through. Even at his age, the small Lotharro was distinctly aware of the disadvantages he brought to the battlefield. He was weaker, inexperienced, and put against an opponent he had no chance of winning against. His father's willingness to use full force didn't help the matter. Rattigan had only just stopped the seeping blood from where his father's fist had landed, and the boy could feel bruises take swift shape on his soft skin. Attacking the way that felt natural wasn't going to help him. Instinct was his enemy in this. Farrix was prepared for wild claws and gnashing teeth.

No, if Rattigan wanted to strike his father and end this exercise, he knew what he had to do. He had to match the man in style and technique. Meet him in the middle, and show that he was teachable. That he wasn't what his adoptive father had called his race. Rattigan knew he was better than them, why else would his father take him in? He wouldn't be like them, he wouldn't be an animal. He would fight in a way that made the man who raised him proud.

Though, Rattigan wasn't sure he wanted what his father did anymore. Waves of anger still rolled down the boy's back, and the feeling of betrayal had not yet abated from the Lotharro's mind. Being that angry, and taking it out on Farrix, it had made him feel great. Whole, almost; in a way that he only felt in the rare, quiet moments where his father had praised him. This exercise, whatever it's point, had shown Farrix to be crueler than Rattigan knew. He had always known his father to be a hard man and a strict teacher, but the bloody gashes on his body spoke to a darker side of his master. Worse, the man had seemed to be enjoying hurt Rattigan.

A spark of anger burned in the pit of Rattigan's stomach, and his gaze turned from Farrix to the wide expanse of wilderness before him. The echoes of adrenaline still ran cold through his small body, all while his blood boiled at his adoptive father's cruel games. His claws pawed the ground with idle anticipation, tearing through dirt as if in preparation to move. Looking down at his hands, and then back to wide expanse before him, a shadow of an idea took root in his mind.

He could run. Right now. His father wasn't looking, and even if he was Rattigan wasn't sure he would care. He could run and be free, like the animals that Farrix compared him to. He could show his adoptive father and run farther than the man could even dream of. He could run until he found others of his kind, other Lotharro that knew what it was like to have the wild raging within them begging for release. His whole body tensed as the idea took hold, the thought itself urging him into action.

He took a step towards the woods, tall pine pillars calling him deeper towards freedom, and then felt a familiar hand land lightly on his shoulder.

"I'm not an easy man, I know that better than most," Farrix's gruff voice cascaded down from above. He was crouched, eyes now level with the boy's height. His hard features had softened as he spoke, and the calloused hands which had struck the boy now felt soft on his skin. "I demand much of people. I ask them to meet standards that some other monks might claim impossible. I'm stubborn and unyielding, but you know that already. Perhaps I have asked to much of you. Asked you to meet standards that no person, boy or man, should ever have to. But know this, I never act out of cruelty. I set these standards because I believe, I know, you have greatness in you. And I know it doesn't make sense to you now, and I know those woods call to you in a way I'll never understand, but if you trust me, I can take you to that greatness. If you trust in me, trust in your father, then you can become a greater tool for the Seven than I ever could be. So, I know it hurts, and I know a part of you might not like me very much right now, but I'm asking you to trust that I know what I'm doing. Can you do that? Can you trust your old man to carry out the Seven's plan?"

Maybe Rattigan should have just run. Maybe he should have trusted his instincts and taken off into those woods. Embraced wild that roared within him, and become a true Lotharro that day. Perhaps it would have saved him so much heartache in his future if he just tore off towards the unknown, and abandoned that old man in battleground he had made.

But he was young, and his father was his hero. He loved the Seven, and trusted in their guiding hand. So he ignored his instincts, and he shoved his anger deep down within himself. The little boy turned and, with hot tears stinging in his eyes, embraced his father. He was ashamed that he thought to run away. His father raised him better than that, Rattigan knew that to be true. He had been raised to face challenges, not run like rat caught in the kitchen.

"What's our next lesson?" he asked, his small arms still wrapped around Farric's neck. His voice was small and shaking, overwhelmed with the events of the day.

"That was the lesson boy," Farrix replied with a smile. "You learned the first lesson to winning any battle, and what every Warrick monk knows in their heart of hearts. Conquer yourself. In everything, every fight and every obstacle, the first enemy you need to defeat is yourself. Conquer yourself, Rattigan. Your fears, your doubts, your instincts. Promise me. Conquer everything."
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[Warrick] Conquer Thyself

Postby Neronin » Wed Jan 31, 2018 11:52 pm

Review


Rat


Knowledges:
Unarmed Combat (Warrick Style) - Basic stance
Unarmed Combat - Control the flow of combat
Unarmed Combat - Controlled rage
Unarmed Combat - Using claws
Unarmed Combat - Pounce
Acrobatics - Leaping from all fours

Non-skill Knowledge:
Rynlism: Conquer Thyself
Farrix: Guided by the Fates
Farrix: Always has a purpose
Farrix: Believes that Rat will serve the Sacred Seven
Farrix: Defensive fighter

Loot: Nada
Injuries/Overstepping: Gashes on face, bruised
Fame: No
Points: 10
Comments: Absolutely loved this. From the first sentence your descriptors drew me in and had me wondering what was Rat’s deal? Why was he out here with his asshole father? It’s great writing and I’ll be sure to be looking out for more from you. I like Rat’s tenacity and his quiet resolve.
Please remember to edit your review request post with my lovely button featured below ;)

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“That is not dead which can eternal lie, And with strange aeons even death may die.” - Lovecraft
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