5th of Ymiden 720
Woe had combed through the lesser of the tomes that bequeathed to him by Stoll for days. By the third day, he'd come to the conclusion that Stoll's early thoughts on Hone had taught him all he needed to know. Doubtless, there was some hidden wisdom, or else a secret note hidden somewhere therein. Yet Woe felt he'd exhausted the value of his earlier writings. It was time to turn his book learning to real life practice. So he set aside the tome, in his borrowed storage of the hostel. Then, he left his quarters, and out into the dirty square on the outskirts of the Gleam.
The architecture of this section of the Gleam was in a state of neglectful disrepair. Like another form of Creep, the Shanty encroached everyday on the nicer districts ruled by the Guilds. And as more refugees from the Baronies filled the ranks of the Heaps, the Shanty seemed to pulse with new life and discontent. Trash filled the street, and the smell of human filth mingling with those blood lights the Gleam was so well known for, lent a cloying unpleasance.
Fleaface was waiting in the middle of this abandoned street square. He held the item that Woe had told him to retrieve. It was a hand and a half sword. Far from the quality one would expect of the more famed swordsmiths of the city, this one was a basic example of workmanship. It was probably made from scrap steel, a plowshear or scythe beaten flat and sharpened, then fixed to a handle. It would do for his purposes. He could always get a masterpiece later if the weapon suited him.
"Yer ready master?" Fleaface stared at his boss with a evil glint in his eye. Woe could tell he had been looking forward to this.
Woe shook his head, and stood to the sidewall of the hostel. Slowly, he reached out with the ether to trace the runes on his arms. Each of his arms. That took nearly a couple bits. Then the final rune, the one placed on his core, beneath his solar plexus. That took another couple of bits for him to establish. Once it was done, and the ether was dedicated to the empowerment, then he was ready. Or so he felt.
"Yes, give me the blade, would you?" Woe asked, then took the sword from Fleaface. With a few motions of his off hand, he released the sword from its sheath. Then, he took the blade in both hands, trying a new way of handling a blade. Fleaface broke a crooked grin at Woe, as he held his slender cane in a low guard.
Woe quirked an eyebrow at his servant's choice of sparring weapon. He tilted his head, "Are you sure you wouldn't rather use a more... er durable or effective weapon?"
Fleaface, far from discouraged by the critique, broke a wider smile at that, then cackled. "Oh aye master, I'd love to chop you inter bits with an axe. But yer too good a source of nel fer me to dispose of yet."
Shrugging, Woe's lips persed in a stern frown as his eyes followed the line of his bastard sword, "It's good to be so needed, then..." Woe muttered.
Fleaface's eyes shone in glee and malice, as he awaited the first of his master's attacks. "Whenever yer ready, Master."
Woe felt the ether running through the triplicate runes on his abdomen and arms, yet didn't think to use them yet. They could last several bits, maybe even ten. He'd yet to learn the limits of their duration. And so he thought to conserve their efficacy for when he could use them.
Without waiting another moment, Woe moved the blade in a two-handed grip, a simple vertical cut toward Fleaface's shoulder. Fleaface batted the blade aside in an easy swipe of his cane. Too slow, too weak in the arm. Fleaface couldn't suppress what sounded like a mix between a chuckle and a whimper. Woe could have enhanced his amusement, had he the inclination, but he wanted to test his ability with the blade. The fact that his Empathy magics were being held hostage by his Abrogative spark was an impediment he had no wish to reckon with, however.
Woe recovered his guard, and as swift as that happened, he stepped forward, trying a feint and then a true cut diagonal toward Fleaface's arm. The feint was poor conceived, and ignored by Fleaface. The servant instead made a slow adjustment with his footwork, and then batted the blade of Woe's sword into his own guard position. It flew far short of anywhere it might've offended Fleaface.
Now the Etzori couldn't resist letting his amusement show. "Yer sure yer don't wanner take out yer whip and flog me, Master?" Fleaface's smile twisted as he sidestepped another cut. The Etzori rogue ignored the cut with his cane entirely, and instead used the opening to whack Woe on the back of his left knee. The old man was spry for his age, that couldn't be denied, and he danced out and around Woe as he winced from the pain of the strike.
Woe used the space between his blade and Fleaface, as the bum voided him by a wide margin, to lend momentum to his next strike. It was an unfortunate tactic, as this gave Fleaface all the more time to adjust to the strike, ducking under. As the blade sailed over the servant's head, he thrust the butt of his cane into Woe's abdomen. The placement of the strike was precise and designed to take the wind out of his master. Woe buckled beneath the force of the blade, and dropped his bastard sword to the ground.
He knelt on the ground, and tried to regain his breath. Fleaface took the opportunity to strike him several ways around the head, to demonstrate that Woe was as good as dead. "Master.
Woe waited a few bits, during which the ether began running through his core, empowering his midsection. He was ready to spring to action, but he wanted to try and distract Fleaface. He was tiring of not getting a hit in, and wanted to instill a sense of respect in his servant, who appeared to be losing it swiftly.
"Fargis... How is it you..."
"Outmaneuver you like yer a drunken, three-legged bull? Easy."
The flippant answer wasn't one that Woe had wanted, but it was likely the best he could expect.
As if taking pity, Fleaface ventured to elaborate, "Yer thinkin' being taller is a boon aye? Well yer wrong. Every inch yer have on me is another way I can push you back onter yer arse."
Fleaface snickered at that piece of wisdom. He wasn't quite prepared for the vigor with which Woe grabbed the bastard sword off the ground, and swung it one handed at the servant's knee. Yet, Fleaface's advanced skill at handling a cane saw him through, and he stomped the cane down on the ground, blocking the blow. To Woe's surprise, the wood withstood the strike from the blade. The torturer wasn't used to using bladed weapons, but given its sharpness he'd expected it to slice through wood like butter. Lesson learned. Perhaps swords weren't the best idea if he was to fight the Creep alongside the rest of Quacia.
Fleaface nudged the blade aside, and with a swift motion, tapped both of Woe's arms, leaving bruises on each of the runes he'd carved out with ether. This had the effect of activating the touch-triggers, and so his hone spark roared to life, strength restored to his core and arms.
He pressed the advantage this gave him, as much as Fleaface was dancing circles around him. Yet Woe found himself overextending himself, time after time. He came forward with the blade, over-striking, letting the momentum take his sword far off from the mark, and then carrying through. Fleaface tsked with each failure, and rewarded Woe with a bruise and a tap each time.
Woe was becoming enraged with the inefficacy of his attacks, but maintained his calm, and decided to adjust his tactics with the two-handed strikes. He used his enhanced strength, this time to shorten his strikes. The weight of the blade did much of the striking, while his own muscles were occupied with stopping it well short.
Fleaface continued to tsk, and shake his head with every attempt, however, and parried every single attack. "Yer learning, but yer nowhere near ready to fight anything other than an washer woman with a broom." Fleaface sighed.
Woe shook his head, losing his energy swiftly with every offensive. Yet they carried on with their practice, well into the night.
