knightsoflegend | training ♔ thursday morning

[Riddick stands there watching Buffy and Spike go at it and against his will he's slightly impressed by the speed at which they go. The girl was quite impressive on her own, she seemed pretty tough, but he wondered just what was Spike's problem. He shrugged, looking around and heading towards some heavy bags.

He wasn't good at "mock-fighting" people. If he was in a fight, he was in it to win, that's how it'd always been with him. He centered himself then began taking experimental jabs at the bag, gaining speed and momentum after a few seconds. It sure felt good to get his muscles moving again.]

[Oh. Look who it is. For as much as Riddick may have made himself less intimidating after Myri's little accident with the light bomb, the way he's beating the hell out of that bag is enough to make her eyes widen drastically.]

Stargods... [She mutters from a safe distance. With all those so eager to fight and get their hands on the weapons, Myrilandel is once again wondering what her place is within this group. With each blow, her gift is aching to heal each cut and bruise.]

[Riddick notices her watching him. Even from that far away the tingling of someone training their eyes on him made him aware of her presence. He hit the bag a few more times ~~for a 26 Str check~~ then turned to face her, breathing a bit heavier.

His knuckles were raw, but nothing worse than he'd experienced before, so much so that he didn't notice. He'd heard her mutter something just before he turned and his curiosity was peaked.]

What was that? [His tone wasn't menacing in the least, and on purpose. He was trying to make it so that she wasn't afraid of him, but old habits were hard to break. He sounded curious, but still grumbly.]

[Her spin straightens when he stops and looks at her. Unfortunately, she just can't help but look like a scared rabbit.]

Oh. Nothing. I was just- doesn't that hurt? [She steps closer, a tug in the pit of her stomach urging her to repair the raw skin. Even if he wasn't bothered by it, she could feel herself being drawn to it.]

[Well damnit, there she went looking all scared and jumpy again. He'd tried using his nice voice. He guessed he'd just have to stick with what he knew.

He looks down at his bloodied knuckles, then shrugs as he looks back up at her. He really hadn't noticed, yet she looked about to pass out because of a little blood.]

It's just a scratch. Nothing to get all worked up about. [His eyes narrow as he watches her, hands swinging loose at his sides.]

Did you want some pointers? [He jerks his head back towards the heavy bag.]

[To be fair, she gets scared and jumpy at a lot of things lately- not just Riddick, but she tries to swallow that fear since she's pretty sure they're all friends here... or at least that's what everyone keeps saying.

Her eyes stay trained on his knuckles for a moment before she drags her gaze to his face.]

What? [His offer takes her by surprise.] Oh. I... [She almost refuses, but thinks about the reason that they've been brought here in the first place.]

I'd like that. But you must know that I've never fought unless my life depended on it. [One would be surprised how frequent that happens, though.]

[His eyes, unknown to her, narrow behind his goggles. So she'd fought before, but only when her life depended on it. Survival instincts were something with which Riddick was intimately familiar since they were how he lived his every day life. They were also something he could appreciate in other people, especially those in which the outcome would be surprising.

The surprise on her face made him smirk, knowing he'd thrown her for a loop with that one, but he wouldn't be fighting her, just teaching her how. He walks over to a table and grabs some boxing tape from the top, then comes back over to her, looking her up and down.]

Well, first thing we gotta do is wrap your hands and wrists so you don't break anything. Hold 'em up.

[Surviving is something that Myrilandel is quite good at, actually.

She hesitates for just a moment before lifting her delicate wrists in front of her. ~~Spot check DC 10 to notice her elongated fingers and oddly translucent skin with purple shaded veins lightly showing through~~]

[~~Pah, he defeats your Spot Check with a 19!~~ He notices the fingers, how delicate the wrists are, and the odd-colored veins but says nothing. He'd seen a lot of different types of people and creatures in his life, all aliens of different planets, but he sees no difference between them and Shadow-kind. At least not yet.

He wraps her wrists tightly so that they still have a bit of flexibility, but are much more rigid and re-enforced feeling. He tosses the tape back onto the table and steps up to her again.]

Alright, let me see you take a swing at that, see what I'm working with. [He stands off to the side, arms crossed as he watches her and takes mental notes.]

[Once he's finished, Myrilandel flexes her fingers and rolls her wrists, adjusting to the new feeling of tape covering them.]

You mean, I just... [Her eyes slowly turn to the bag he was striking earlier, with her body following shortly after. With a deep breath, she moves herself to stand centered in front of it. She raises a fist and strikes the bag without much force behind it ~~Str DC 9~~. Disappointed in the result, Myri takes a step back and closes her eyes, calling up the image on Moncriith.

Images of the Blood Mage flicker across her mind's eye, filling her with an interesting combination of fear and rage. When she opens her eyes again, she imagines the bag as the wretched man who has hunted her for her entire life. A small cry escapes her as she more forcefully throws her fist to the bag ~~Str DC 16~~.

More satisfied with the result, Myri looks over her shoulder at Riddick.]

[Riddick watches her first pathetic attempt at a punch, his mouth turning down at the corners. How has this girl survived as long as she had with that for protection?

Her little moment of meditation had Riddick second-guessing his pushing her to try and fight melee style. This was obviously not up her alley. Surprisingly enough, after giving a cry that sounded more like a kitten's meow, she punched the bag much harder than the first time around. He cocked his head to the side, thinking.]

Not too bad on the second one. But, your stance is shit. You left yourself wide open to any number of attacks. Start like this: [He comes up behind her, nudging her legs so they're shoulder width apart, her dominant foot behind the weaker one. He brings her hands up, curls her fingers into proper fists and very slowly jabs her hand into the bag, turning her wrist at the same time so that it connects in a straight line, all while explaining.]

You want to lead with your fist, follow with your leg. Always remember not to strike with your wrist turned to the side, you'll break it. Make sure your knuckles are lined up with your shoulders. More bang for your buck. Try it again.

[Surviving is not all about brute strength, but with his added instruction, Myrilandel can see how the blow is more effective. Strangely, she doesn't shy away from his guiding movements. This man, for all his large frame and gruff voice, perhaps there isn't so much to be afraid of...]

Alright.

[Once he steps away, she takes a breath and lets it out slowly, focusing on what he's said. She throws a punch ~~Str DC 14~~ with better form but less of the raw energy she had behind her last hit. But the blow feels solid and gives her confidence. With the image of Moncriith firmly locked in her mind, she strikes again and again and again, lost in the notion of finally bringing a stop to the terror he's lorded over her for the last 13 years.]

[Riddick gives her enough room to practice on the dummy again, once more crossing his arms over his chest. The first strike she deals is not as hard as her former, but it would do much more damage now that her follow-through was straightened out.

She shocks him by her successive blows, but he still barks out orders for her to keep her feet straight, to lock her wrist, make sure to pivot from the hip and lastly:] make sure you follow each punch through with your shoulder behind it!

[As she comes to a stop he can't help the smirk that crawls across his face. There was a fighter in there somewhere, it just obviously needed the fuel to be drawn out.]

So, who's head were you trying to knock off?

[She's a bit out of breath by the end of it, but after a moment or two, Myri swallows hard and turns to Riddick. Her fingers uncurl and curl again as she tries to think of how best to explain it.]

His name isn't enough to know him. I'm the only one here from Coronnan, after all. The name Moncriith means nothing to you. [Just saying it aloud makes her visibly shudder.]

He's a priest. And a Blood Mage. He spreads word to any village he passes that I am possessed by a demon and will only bring them into some sick darkness he conjures for them with his words. Since I was just a girl, he has hunted me, called for a cleansing fire to rid the world of me. Whatever I did to vex him so, I'll never know.

[Finally, she looks at Riddick.]

Tell me, what could a child of six do to harm a man?

[Her tale was new to him, but the plot was much the same as he'd heard in his travels, especially for himself. Being hunted by one person or another, the Mercs all had different faces though their goals were the same. Find him and bring him in for a reward, dead or alive it didn't matter, though he was worth so much more alive. That didn't make her tale any less tragic, and the pain and fear clearly written across her features made his stomach burn.

This new feeling of wanting to help others fight their battles still felt odd to him, giving him things like feelings and compassion. What the hell was that gonna get him in the end other than killed? Still, he thought he should try to alleviate her mind.]

Nothing worse than I did when I was probably six. Best I can say is you're no longer in his world. I know it doesn't make what you went through with him any better, but you also won't have to worry about him anymore. [Okay, so he is really bad at sounding reassuring.]

What you make of yourself because of your experiences is what will determine the kind of person you become in your new life. Yeah, your past was shit [He says this as gently as he can, trying to convey that he isn't trying to downplay what she went through, but he has no nice words to actually say that] but so was a lot of other peoples that are here now. Some of them have seemed to turn out just fine.

...I dunno what happened to the rest of them.

If I can walk between worlds, who is to say that he cannot as well? [It's something she has thought of so often.] I've run from this man my entire life and he has always found me. I appreciate the sentiment, but you will forgive me if I do not find solace in distance placed between my predator and myself.

[She pushes aside a few stray hairs from her face and brings her gaze to him.] My past is a series of lessons- and ones that I do not take lightly. However, they do not shape my entire being. If my fear ruled me, I would never stop for any wounded man or any woman in need of a midwife. My gifts would go unused for fear of being found.

[She reaches out and nearly touches his hand, which still sings for her.] There is more good in this world than we know. I have never forgotten that.

[Riddick hadn't thought about others from their worlds coming through to this one.Interesting theory.]

Well, can't say as though I blame you for feeling that way. Guess I hadn't thought of that possibility, but the one nice thing is now you have an entire organization of people behind you that won't sit idly by if this shit-head does end up making it here and tries something.

[The mention of her gifts intrigues him. He has no clue that such a thing as a cleric or the like exists, and has never actually seen magic performed since he's gotten here.

When she reaches for his hand he doesn't move it, the motion freezing him in place. Never, in as long as he could remember, had another person reached out to him with anything even approaching kindness, or compassion. He'd never wanted either of those things ~~Or did he, the crusty grump?!~~ and had done everything in his power to ensure neither would be offered.

He had no idea how to respond, appropriately or inappropriately, to her at this moment. His eyes remain fixed on her hand as she continues to speak.]

[She knows it's just a small wound and would heal itself in time. And for all her caution before, she cannot believe that she wishes to fix such a minor injury so much. But with all the blows being thrown around her, all the sparring and the damage being done- her head is swimming with need to right the wrongs these people are doing to their bodies.

But if she can focus on one, then the feeling of being pulled in all directions stops for just a moment. And furthermore, she wishes to show Riddick how much she appreciates his kindness today. Still, she will not touch without permission. She watches as he watches her and with nothing but innocence in her voice, she asks one simple question.]

May I?

[His eyes rise to hers slowly, unsure as to what exactly she was asking him. And even more uncertain what this weird, squishy, uncomfortable feeling in his stomach meant. And why were the hairs on his arm sticking up on end?

Then it hit him. Feelings. The damn things were making him all soft and crap because some girl was being nice to him. How stupid.

...still, he was interested to see what she wanted to do. ~~Yeah, keep making excuses for feelings, Riddick.~~ He said nothing, not trusting his ~~voice to not shake~~ brain to be somewhat nice, but he nods. Just once, though slow and deliberate, giving her permission to touch his hand.]

[With that permission given, Myrilandel reaches out and gathers up his hand in both of hers. She takes in a breath for three counts, holds for three counts, and releases for three counts. And again.

By the third repeat of her breathing, she can see the broken skin with a second sight. The edges glow red, indicating the area needing to be healed. She hums low in the back of her throat, correcting the affliction and knitting the flesh back together with nothing more than her mind and concentration.

When she opens her yes, Myri brushes her fingers across his knuckles, wiping away the blood to show the unbroken skin. She looks up at him and smiles.]

Much better, wouldn't you say?

[Okay, he definitely hadn't expected to like hold hands and stuff. He twitches a bit when she just closes her eyes and starts to breathe in and out. Then she started to hum and he was really starting to worry she was some kind of new (old?) age hippie.

His hands tingle and though he doesn't pay much attention to it at first, there's a sudden warmth in them that wasn't there before. The slight discomfort of the busted skin on his knuckles had disappeared altogether as well. When she brushes her hands across his knuckles he looks down, then does a double take.

What. The. Hell.]

What did you do? How did you do that?

[He is so confused rn. The axis of his already shaky world was just rocked even more, enough that he doesn't immediately draw his hands away from hers. This is totally breaking his brain atm.]

[Her voice is very quiet and she gently releases her hold on her his hand to allow him to draw away from her if he wishes.]

This is my gift. The Stargods blessed me as a child with the talents of a witchwoman. Moncriith spreads lies that these abilities come from demons, but I have never used my gifts to do anything but help others.

[After a moment of silence, she adds.] I can fix the other hand, if you'd like.

[He drops his hand to his side, flexing his fingers. Stargods and Witchwomen were sorely testing the limits of his beliefs. But, as the saying goes, he had seen it with his own eyes, and he trusted those more than anybody else's.

He looks away from her out across the room where the others were still going about their business like nothing out of the ordinary had happened over in their corner of the room. Like one of the nicest people in this castle hadn't just offered a helping hand to someone as terrible as him, murderer and thief that he was, among so many of his other sins.

Defining character arc moment? Pfft, not if Riddick can screw it up.]

Sure. Knock yourself out. [He says this in his deepest, rumbliest voice as he lifts his other hand up, shocking himself. Hadn't he just planned on going back to being an ass, scaring her off? Damn. He needed a distraction.]

What other gifts do you have?

[She doesn't speak as she takes the other hand and works a similar magic. Thankfully, it doesn't take too much out of her, as the wounds are so minor. Once she's finished, she releases his second hand and looks up at him, smiling.]

Is this not enough of a wonder for a man like you? Perhaps you've seen enough miracles for a lifetime. [She's teasing, which is a far cry from the scared little girl that jumped at his voice days ago. She opens her mouth to speak again, but the words are choked off by a strangled noise in the back of her throat. Her body folds as she feels like her whole body has been set on fire with pain.

Her eyes widen and she turns away from him, stumbling a few steps.]

I have to- I must- [She can't say more, as everything in her is screaming to keep moving. Her head is swimming with another's pain.]

[ He'd never seen any miracles in his life. Maybe one thing that had happened to him could be counted as a near miracle, but nothing like the trick Myri had just pulled out of the bag.

He appreciated her humor on the matter, but then she was crying out, doubling over in obvious pain, then running to the other side of the room. It was only then that Riddick noticed the mayhem he had totally missed.

What the hell had happened to his complete awareness of everything around him?]

Here. [He says this in a gruff voice, reaching over and putting an arm around her shoulder to help support her, and he half-dragged her to the other side of the room.]

training ♔ thursday morning

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