Sachihiro

A rug is the type of challenge only recently established amongst the Awakened in the Arena as a way to fight multiple times until warriors are truly and thoroughly wrung-out or dead.

Historically a formal challenge was almost always to the death or crippling, a fate worse than death and cruel in a way much worse than giving your opponent a clean death. But with Awakening, with the healings the fae and magic came with many Tribesmen have found themselves fighting to near death only to be ready to fight again a dozen minutes later with their anger and hunger for blood far from quenched even after losing a challenge; thus the rug is born.

Fire sticks stand tall with blue flames billowing to give illumination, scattered here and there around the property we have found ourselves on, the light they give unnecessary with Luna gracing us with her luminous presence tonight as though summoned for the very occasion. Still, tradition dictates fire be present in a night challenge regardless of their moon.

Gaia finishes drawing the fighting circle roughly 20m in diameter, the pattern and tradition of the meaning behind the circle previously lost until in recent years when someone though to infuse it with mana and rediscovered the usefulness of the old fighting ritual in these modern times of Awakenings.

Both Rigs and I step forward in our half naked states and meet in the middle where Gaia now stand ceremonial dagger already in hand. There is no need for words as he cuts a shallow wound on my outstretched forearm, rinses the dagger with liquid from his gourd and does the same to Rigs. Our blood drips onto the grass and we step away from each other, assessing each other seriously such that the atmosphere of seriousness and threat is palpable to the sombre bystanders. He is fit, big round deltoids as though he swings a hammer on a daily basis are the pivot points of his arms, wide thick leads preventing his inner arms from resting at his sides form into rippling oblique muscular armour that will may make breaking his bones difficult. Yet he is almost as ‘lean’ as I am, rectangular instead of the more solid square structure of many Barbarians of Norse heritage.

Usually you can tell a person’s style by studying their most well developed muscle groups, the way they walk, the way they carry themselves. With Awakening though that’s not always the case though if you know what to look for its almost all written on a person’s body regardless of how deceptively big or slim they are. I know Rig’s basics because I know where and how he was train since I’ve had similar training myself, but I also know how unique every Awakening in the Tundra is and I really have been preoccupied in the kids and my own shit to pay attention to Rigdis’ recent training methods.

I stop right before the edge of the line and he does the same on the other side of the fighting circle, Gaia, in a breastplate with a shield on his back steps out completely before infusing the circle with mana to a dim blue glow and we are alone and unarmed in the circle. Challenges have a long and rich history in my culture from ‘friendly’ sparing matches where use of the Rage is seen as a sign of weakness and shame, challenges for honour where a dispute is being settled, challenges for possessions where you want something someone else has, challenges for blood where you just need to fuck shit up and let the world know you’re a badass. Happy ceremonies, funerals, mating ceremonies, forging alliances it doesn’t really matter we have a challenge for it.

This is something ingrained in our blood and to refuse a challenge is worthy of shame, a sign of incompetence and weakness, I’ve refused many challenges in recent years in Paradisum. I am in my heavy kilt made of leptide hide sewn by Kuyoki in the style of the Hito but with the patterns on the Norse. Heavy in that if there was a blowing wind it would hardly ruffle it, nor would a glancing blow from a mundane dagger penetrate it but otherwise I am completely naked, my hair not even tied as it hangs heavy on my shoulders. Rigs is in reinforced heavy boots of rhino leather, tight but flexible suede bull leather pants and a charm bracelet of mental protection on his left wrist.

The tattoo identical to mine he sports on his chest a family rune we devised for protection against spiritual possession, the one on his right shoulder protection against the debilitating effects of miasma, a leather belt with an iron buckle around his waist. The rune secrets of Gaia’s and Cicilia’s family lay open for everyone we’ve accepted into our family to enjoy, and a single scroll given to the Council of Chief’s after years of ma’s urging of course. But those accessories are not the weapons that will be in use now in the first stage of the rug.

We watch each other, my awareness narrowing down to focus on only one person almost gratefully. I’m scanning him with everything I have as I move diagonally towards him in a low guard stance. I know he is stronger by virtue of his Awakening and I don’t want to get into a grappling contest with him but I’m wilier and I have full confidence in my hand to hand abilities even as rusty as they are. He move straight towards bobbing his entire upper torso in a weird stance I have never seen before and I almost laugh but I quickly realise I don’t know which side of his body he is leading with.

We are on each other second later, me blocking blows by the merest margins in the first volley of exchanges. My forearms blocking his strikes cold but he adopts quickly instead of using his superior strength, my foreleg blocking a rising kick as our the sounds of our flesh smacking again each other is all the sound that I hear. We circle as we fight, me mostly defending with an opportunistic punch thrown here and there to be defended by him as he counters quickly.

[Smack], [smack], [smack]!

The sounds of naked flesh hitting naked flesh is heard and felt three times as I get in open handed body shots one after the other after using my foot to push his shin back unbalancing him and slapping into him as I sway around him.

We disengage retreating from each other mutually. My mind slowly seeming to be waking up to the seriousness and potential consequences of this challenge, which mean I’m getting calmer and I’m thinking less. The grass under our feet is level, the circle wide and ritually enchanted so no outsider influences the outcome. The man before is also calm, to calm for a Barbarian warrior that has been taunted with open handed strikes but yet again I know Rigs to be calmer than most of my people. He relaxes his stance, loosening his shoulders and stepping lightly on his feet as he cracks his neck, eyes never leaving me.

That was a less than 5 second engagement and neither of us has yet to get serious in terms of ability, not even close. But there is a psychic struggle of wills going on that would have me sweating right now had my body not been as attuned to mana and fighting as it is.

We both step forward and again engage. I take the initiate duck back from a punch to the face countering with a knee a jab to the nose, knee blocked but my jab makes him blink though it does little else damage wise. I duck again, block a leg coming up, weave past a punch and deliver two solid hits to the face one after the other.

I weave again but he blocks this counter as he takes a step back, blocking his sight with another punch he blocks I deliver a front kick to the sternum that has him flying back several metres before he gets himself under control. You wanted this, you challenged me and I’m not about to let you off easy. This is only the first rug and neither of us has used a single ability yet but its on, I’m ready to give a beat-down and so is he I gather by the way he comes back towards me seemingly unruffled by my speed and clear superior technique in hand to hand.

We again attack each other on some unspoken signal, my left leg comes up in a perfectly executed roundhouse kick that is blocked with effort before a kick of his comes at me, with ease I step past it but a shoulder charge has me losing some balance. Before I know it the bastard has me in a lock I can’t immediately get out of with resorting to skill, the world re-orientates itself as he heaves me over himself and I land on my head and shoulders behind him as he finishes the suplex.

____ .....

My ears ring but luckily I clad my head and neck in aura right before impact, shit I got careless. He doesn’t let go, the veins on his arms popping as he strains to hold me in the lock as he twists himself on top of me. I buck, trying to get the bastard off before he gets proper leverage and does something sinister to my joints.

We struggle on the ground a while, me wiggling out of his lock only the have my hair pulled and thrust into a head lock where the fucker tries to break my neck. I knee in the gut several times as he tries to unscrew my head from my shoulders, we shifting position constantly adjusting our body positioning as we wrestle for dominance standing and grappling on the ground ceaselessly. We are both breathing hard now, me wiggling and twisting out of hold that would have likely dislocated the joints of any other Barbarian I know while he tries to ke his hands on me at all times.

It’s a struggle, a hot struggle but neither of us uses any abilities besides a minor flare of aura here and there when shit starts to get real. Nothing actually stopping us of course, this is a formal challenge and anything goes but I have some fucken’ pride and I will not resort to magic before he does even if his form of fighting clearly favours his warrior Awakening.

I take a knee to the top of the head that has me bite my tongue as my brain rattles around my head, fuck, and I thought this was gonna be easy. He grapples me to the floor, I let him, he twists my arm hard, my shoulder pops out of its socket with a tearing of my shoulder muscle. His legs circle around my neck while my dislocated arm remains firmly in his grasp, my fingers in a lock that has my hand feeling like it’s being ripped apart. I’m getting calmer, I’m getting angrier, I’m getting quieter.

I’ve realised something as the fight replays in my mind and it has my intent shifting gears. How did he get a hold of me, I’m not so careless nor do I underestimate my opponents to the extent that I’d let an Awakened Warrior get his hands on me without having a two counter moves planed. The moment he grabbed me for that suplex replays in my mind and it only adds up if he used a skill. I’m angry, I was going to kick his ass sure but there was an unspoken agreement wasn’t there? There etiquette in fighting and really we are still on the first rug, unarmed, yet the fucker used a skill on me. I’m being childish, a pouting Kira when she found out her brother was playing a different set of rules comes to me.

I take a breath, my right arm is ruined, veins are bulking on my pink face as I struggle to take another with the vice of his thighs squeezing me. My eyes water as my anger boils and I empathise with what I’m gonna do to this guy. I feel sorry for him, really I do, but should I really go all out here in this foreign land, what will be if I kill one of my own out of my own miscalculations? Had I known it was a dog fight I wouldn’t be this angry at being ‘tricked’ cause I would expect it, I sigh firming my resolve. I hope he survives.

*

Ava

Sachihiro is in trouble, I like Rigs I really do but I’m disappointed in Sachi more than I realised I could ever be as I watch his ears redden as he strains in the hold Rigs has him in. I look at the anxious faces of everyone around me, we stand hazardly around the circle watching the fight, I’m in the shadows a bit to the back so I can clearly see the conflict on many a face, almost all were hoping or expecting Sachi to win this. I understand why Rigs felt the need to do this as only Mira seems to be in his corner though she herself looks like she’s swallowed something sour as she watches Sachi about to pop.

The cracks in this little fantasy Sachi has been weaving are forming into fissures as I watch, and if Sachi really losses these rugs Rigs may actually find himself alienated from his ‘family’.

[Pop].

[Zwwee]

Sachihiro unleashes a chakra release that sparkles orange and blue hitting Rigs square in the face pushing his head back with bone bending force.

[Pop].

His arm is wretched further as he disengages himself from the hold defying gravity as he seems to floats in the air to land on his feet with a useless right arm hanging on his size. He shakes it as though it were a minor nuisance, a cold fire in his eyes I haven’t seen from him in years. Rigs gets up, sensing the change in the fight he clads himself in an orange gold aura changing stance, Sachi just looks at him as though he pities him for some reason, I grin. Oh Sachi, so dramatic...