The morning sun did little to melt the cold in Femi's bones. Even with his fur, his body could only shiver in protest as Vagra roused him once more from his bed. Victim, a mound of thick fur beside him, whined softly in his sleep before swiftly abandoning its master once more, as it did in the days before.
Unfortunately, for him sword training was calling, and once more he failed to escape its call.
"Stand up and don't try to run. Again." Vagra stated, tossing a sheathed short sword into the snow at his side. "it's shameful, especially last time when you tried to hide under your wolf."
Femi groaned, pushing himself up. His body felt heavy. Maybe he should have made a run for it in the night after all, fleeing into the comforting hands of Arieus back at the camp.
Truly, I must be going mad.
He picked up the sword, felt the leather-wrapped hilt in his grip, and not for the first time felt strange that he was learning how to use a sword. He sat there, staring at its sharp edges where frost crystals had already begun to form, and his arm kept shivering.
Damn this cold.
But, now that he was thinking about it, his eyes stared at his arm. It was covered in dense, brown fur, but beneath it, the lines of muscle were defined. His body had recovered completely from his previous injuries, and gauntness. He could tell he was in good shape, to say the least.
He smiled, at least this mad training was giving him abs.
Or whatever ratmen had for abs. Probably just a less-squishy part of the torso.
The routine they fell into was merciless. Mornings were for his normal chores. Gathering wood, tending the fire, cleaning game, more of his usual routine. But the afternoon belonged to Tarlark's axe training and the evenings belonged to Vagra and her sword abuse.
"Don't overextend. It leaves you open," Vagra criticized sternly, her own blade whipping out to tap his exposed side as she releases a little Kuros at the last moment so the tap rang in his rib.
Femi hissed in frustration, the sound more rodent-like than he intended. He had realized something during these training sessions, as the two of them constantly abused him with their skill. And that was...
He was really, bad with the sword.
He barely managed to block one of her probing blows, his feet slipping slightly as he fought to remember to keep his stance solid and light.
"Good. Now, attack," Vagra yelled.
At her command, Femi's blade swung out, but the female Krag parried it with a minimal effort.
CLANG!
"No. I said, don't overextend. It leaves you open."
Her blade slid past his clumsy parry and smacked painfully against his shoulder with the flat side, the impact jarring his teeth.
"Rubbish. I miss the days when I just smashed skeleton skulls." Femi mumbled to himself while shaking his numb arm.
"Relax. Keep loose and flow through the forms while keeping proper technique," Varga explained to while she began to circle him.
Okay, calm down. Control. I can do it. Just calm down and imagine myself flogging her head. Easy, he thought, forcing calm to his racing heart. He adjusted his stance, trying to keep it solid yet light, as she'd drilled into him.
"Good. Now attack."
This time, Femi lunged, his blade thrusting forward in a clean line. She blocked, but he turned with the contact, letting her deflection fuel his motion, and went low, aiming a cut at her calf. She stepped over it and brought hers down to split him. Their blades clashed once more and began to rapidly increase in their intensity.
CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!
The sound echoed in the silent white forest as Femi cycled through the basic technique as he blocked, parried and stabbed at Varga. Who to his surprise, began to wear a small, fierce smirk on her face as they exchanged blows.
Let's try that. Femi thought taking a deep, burning breath of the cold air, then…
Badam …badam.
He was suddenly upside down above Vagra, the world seemed to slow as the falling snowflakes hung in the air suspended. For a moment, they stared at each other, her green eyes bright and clear with amusement as his blade came slicing down toward her head.
Yet, Vagra parried it effortlessly, her sword meeting his with a solid CRACK that reverberated up his arms. She hadn't moved from her spot; she had simply read the angle of his attack and met it.
The recoil of their blades meeting sent Femi tumbling down. He hit the snow with a grunt and rolled further away before skidding to a stop several feet away.
"What's wrong with you? Can't you just allow me to flog your head once?" Femi shouted, breathless, spitting out snow.
Vagra didn't respond to him. Instead, she stabbed her blade into the snow and walked over, the smirk returning. She squatted in front of him as he sat up, her gaze analytical. "I can see you incorporated your mutant ability into your fighting style, as I asked. Good. Being able to control the weight of your body at will has given you a versatility that, if trained well, can make you even more dangerous and unpredictable." She said while dusting some snow from his head.
The jazz was more than just controlling his body weight, he wanted to say, but with all honesty, he wasn't sure either. What Melin had told him of his mutation was still too complicated for him to grasp. She had said that his mutation allowed him to command the weight of his body and mind. Which he found to be a jumble of nonsense, like how can the mind have weight? What concept governs it in the first place. And another thing he found strange was that the more he used it the more he believed he was not controlling his weight at all, but more like the density of it. Which just left him more confused.
He remembered when he'd first tried to use it offensively in the second week of training, just a week after the skeletons invasion and so he wanted to see the difference from when Melin had added her own mysterious juice to it.
He had tried launching a rapid series of attacks using his ability to decrease his arms' density to make them light. But… it had failed catastrophically. He had lost all feeling in his hand, and Vagra had turned his strike aside easily and followed with a counter had come faster than he could react, the flat of her blade smacking him across the ear, leaving it ringing for hours.
Vagra had noticed his odd movement and had asked him what went wrong. He'd told her about his attempt. It wasn't like he kept his mutation a secret. He had already told her about having it. He just omitted the fact that he'd gotten it from the corpse of a dead ratman his soul had somehow… acquired.
Femi sighed. All this juju nonsense was giving him headache.
Her advice was for him to make a conscious effort to incorporate the ability into his fighting gradually, to learn its limits and timing through failure. Which he had to say was paying off now. Sometimes he forgot how helpful Varga was. Maybe he should get her a gift. Maybe a nice rock or a pointy stick, she might actually like that.
"Relax. Breathe. You did well today," Vagra said, as she grinned. It was a rare expression for her, and it always exposed her small, sharp tusks, giving her a savage, wild look. Combined with her piercing emerald eyes, it made her all the more intimidating, yet strangely…
"Let's see if you can improve again tomorrow as I increase your suffering."
Wickedness, your face is wickedness. Femi groaned forgetting any thought of gifts as he collapsed back into the snow.
---
Days blurred into a cycle of ache, exhaustion, and painful progress. The clearing becoming a world unto itself as tress became the silent witnesses to his struggle. The suffering continued as Varga promised. Sometimes with Tarlak taking over with axe lessons when Vagra had other duties, usually accompanied by Victim whom for some reason has taken the initiative to be useful for once in its life.
The young looking Krag's axe style was more direct and truthfully, Femi preferred the axe to the sword. It was simpler to grasp, and he even began to understand why the first time he'd grabbed one in the dungeon it just felt right.
It didn't help that every time he held a sword now while being beaten green, white, green from every direction, he was reminded of those days in school, when he was forced to cut grass under the hot sun with a blunt cutlass while one foolish teacher flogged his back like one un-breastfeeded goat.
Still, his attacks were getting better. His blocks and parries began to feel more intentional, and less like the grace of heaven. Things were looking up even his village people had not made any attempt on his life lately. But then again, this entire training regimen could very well be their way, of causing him pain. And it wouldn't even shock him.
As the days passed, a weary peace settled over their small camp. Then one morning, he awoke to the sound of activity. Vagra and Tarlak were breaking down the camp, packing supplies into their packs and dousing the fire. Even Victim was "helping," enthusiastically kicking snow over the firepit with his hind legs, his tongue lolling in glee.
"Time to head back," Vagra said, not looking up from rolling her bedroll. "You still have much to learn as a swordsman, but I can say you have the basics down. By Kraggoths' grace, it's helps to keep you alive when it matters."
Femi, still groggy, patted Victim who trotted to his side. The dog looked bigger, or perhaps just fatter and fluffier for the cold maybe? He couldn't really tell, but he was sure this dog needed more movement in its life none the less. "No more training?"
"Yes," Tarlak rumbled, hefting his massive pack onto his shoulders. "Now you go to receive Arieus's judgment."
"Judgment ke? What did I do to offend him this time?" Femi's mind raced. What's wrong with all this mad krags? Is sleeping now an offence, should I have been floating in the air instead.
The memory of his last audience with Arieus and the pole, flooded back. He then mentally prepared himself for more nonsense krag rubbish. Hopefully he won't be tired up again. Hopefully.
"Don't worry he just wishes to speak to you so don't try to run into the forest or I will chase you." Varga said while rummaging for something in her pack.
"Come here, Femi," she said, removing a wrapped bundle of worn cloth. "Remember when I told you to hold off on getting a new axe? Well, that was because I wanted to secure you better quality ones… Consider them a gift. For your effort in training, and… for everything else you did."
"A gift? From you?" he asked, wary but intrigued by the word 'gift.'
"It seems you don't want it," she said while putting it back.
"Calm down, every time you are quick to anger. Remember that anger affects a person's skin complexion." He said, while stretching his hands out like a beggar and beggar junction.
Vagra frowned, her eyes narrowing for a tense moment before sighing. Then she threw the bundle at him. "Just take it, rat."
Inside were a few sets of clothes: his old utility belt from the one-eyed old Krag, now cleaned and oiled; a grey tunic; trousers of durable, brown-dyed leather; a thicker, hooded cloak made of wolf fur, the pelt turned inward for warmth. All in muted browns and greys that blended well with his own fur and the winter forest, clearly mended and expertly adapted for someone of his… distinguished, stature. And beneath the clothes…
"Took these from the latest weapons raid. I think it is time you started looking like a part of the band," she said, and a hint of something flashed in her eyes.
Femi didn't hesitate. He quickly changed out of his tattered, shorts into the new gear. The tunic and trousers fit him surprisingly well, hugging his frame without constriction, allowing for total freedom of movement. The cloak settled on his shoulders with a comforting, heavy warmth.
"Better. You look like a fighter now," Tarlak observed.
"And here's the real prize," Vagra said, pointing to the remaining items in the wrap. "May they help keep you alive." She indicated to a short sword, its handle now wrapped in ornate design, its blade resting in a black leather sheath. Beside it lay a sleek hunter's axe, its head a curved, wicked moon of polished steel, sharp enough to shave the fur from his arm, hafted on smooth, dark wood etched with subtle, swirling patterns.
Femi took both of his new tools, as a strange sense of solemnity washing over him. The axe felt alive in his hand, perfectly balanced, the designs on the wooden handle providing a sure grip. He set it aside and drew the sword a few inches, the steel hissing softly. It caught the morning light, causing the edge to gleam.
He ran a careful finger along the flat, feeling the cool smoothness of quality metal. It was clean, lethal, and frighteningly sharp. The type of thing he never wanted to see hovering near his face when he woke in the morning.
"Thank you," he said, as he sheathed the sword and attached both it and the axe to his belt now on his waist.
"You earned it," Vagra said simply. "Now let's move. We've been gone for weeks. Arieus will want us back soon."
With a nod, Femi pulled the fur hood up over his head and took a last look around the now barren clearing. The memory of pain and exhaustion was etched into every nook and cranny of this place. He may have to remember how to get back here, he thought. For his own personal training.
As they moved into the deep, silent tree line, beginning the journey back to whatever new chaos awaited, Femi let his hand rest on the pommel of his new sword. The leather was cold, but would warm to his touch. Victim fell into step beside him, yawned and then trotted forward, nose to the ground, leading the way as if he'd always known it.
The path ahead was still shrouded in the mist of uncertainty, and the danger and suspicion were thicker than the fog. But he now he had jazz, a sword, an axe, a… loyal if not lazy dog, and a savage partner who he couldn't have survived without. It was more than he'd had before at least.
So, It would have to be enough.
Bring it on, you damned village people, he thought, as a flicker of warmth appeared in his chest as he followed Vagra's and Tarlark's backs into the shadows of the trees