Open Smackback!

[Dal]

The shoulders swayed with a timing required to survive, dip with guile as power was supplied by fist and barge of mass. To weave against the brute force sent out and harnessed, bounding in the device, the orb of brawn that burly blasted away and back, smacking against the terrain that did contain. Dal did ply the pummelling orb with pummelings his own to drive the training on. The leather ball a bundle of kinetics, mass of potentials powered by the punches.

The crack of stone as the orb was knuckle sent back with growling bark. A pivot of feet and rolling of the body, coursing and tunnelling the orb did smash against the oak and splintered and smattered. The bark smashed like teeth set crooked in bar brawl. Trembling muchly, potential energies hammered in by brutal Dal's fist and knee, the ball launched in quick return. Returning back to keep the training session from finishing, from Dal becoming rust in his might and mettle.

Backhand with brayed hot mouth, sweat on brow sweeping away from him as his hands bundled tight to jaw. The orkin Squire was about his tasks to survive what he had rendered so animated. Like a will o wisp that was did illuminate by it's pugilisms. Like a hornet that tunneled and wheeled and chased.

Dal at the center of the wood, smashed trees and stones giving sign of his struggles. His knuckles near splitting to bloodiness, yet his knees did not give way, breathing hard but measured. Acceptance of what he had sent in motion. Knuckles ready to crack back the whirling device designed to maim, but for him, it was his way. The clearing in the woods growing louder for the training and violence. The clearing in the woods gaining more of itself for the damage. His presence made more obvious by the cracking sounds of things attacked.

Crack, smack, whoosh and whir, Dal with louder exertion forced his frame to inflict more strength into the whirling orb. One missed punch, one failed dodge and weave, one buckle of his knees or stumble of his feet, and the orb so sent by his tenacity would knock one clean out.

For now it simply rebounded off tree, and stone, scattered off the floor in great rising tuffs of blades of grass, hissing high and low as it reoriented, wheeled, turned and bounded back.

Dal levied his knuckles, spat a word as his eyes tracked, arm swung back and timed to speak the word and crack the orb back as one.

"Fie!"

 

[Aknoby]

Dal hears footsteps and when he looks in that direction, he sees a wolf, which is actually bigger than a normal wolf, measuring 106.68 cm or 3.5 feet. He looks at the ground and sees what is left of stones and wood, then looks back at the orkin, assessing whether there is any danger or whether he can stay there. Obviously, there was human intelligence or something like that there.

 

[Dal]

Dal in full tilt saw hint of eyes from sly pad paw estimating, full heaving full bore breath in chest rising, expelling heat. His tusks jutting, arms outstretched to meet the crackback ball in it's doubtless return. From the corners of Dal's affixed eyes did the presence mark him.

The centre of his perception and frame of violence the training dervish. The corners, fur and thinking fang.

Quick exhale as if the air was useless, rejected as such. Drank deep of the air, as if he was to submerge forever below it. Arms outstretched, palms ready in their callous grooves. Shoulders shuddered, not in exhaustion. But in adrenaline ready to dull the pain to come, to boost the feat to be in the standing firm.

Tusks raised as an inverted portcullis, barring attacker's ease with flare of gate raised. Shoulders rolling and now snapped affixed, barrier of one in all he was. Dal did stand and stood. Coarse skin of hand scraped by manual labours and martial means anticipating. Flexing. Barriers of extension.

Crackback ball did return. In all the power stored in one rebound of all that was before. In all vigour to smash broad squire wall that hinged upon himself. Arc, low dip and slingshot curve ball upwards, into with all intent to go through Dal.

No time to peer if those fangs that looked at him did lick lips. To do so would invite a knockout blow, and his bones to chew upon no doubt, Dal knew. From raven and wolf friendships seen visiting old friends as pairs, he knew.

The collision experienced as lurching senses reeled, vision blackened blurred as bones became as stakes to the frame. Numbed in the hands, the arms thundered, eyes now shielded by the eyelids as the heart fought to keep it's command of the percussion in spite of that hammer wracking the gong that was him. Resonating.

Fingers unfelt but known as being still there by faith gripped. Vibration to steal away fought against blindly, fervently.

Eyes shot open to confirm the faith. And seeing the bundle held, wrestling to get away, momentum fighting and trembling and almost biting, did his voice bray.

Slammed Dal did the ball to ground.

Panting.

Sweating.

Stillness.

Not upon his knees, yet seeming for now as if he were a gate to a castle, still held within the frame, having resisted battering ram sent out by men with thrice the size of him.

A low growl of satisfaction, a turn of the head, slow, turning hint of fur into full peering view. Locked eyes with the wolf. Shoulders in curved freeze frame as if he had been rendered a statue by his success instantly. Sweat did mark his presence as much as his shadow did.

A brutal grin of tusk from Dal, the bested thing within Dal's own paw of a hand shuddered still, done, muffled.

A low nod, in time with how his heart should be in times of calm, as if he agreed with the wolf in all things. The cherished lesson of the might requiring no explanation to understand as it did ache and remind him of the way of strength. The adrenaline feeding his memory.

Rasp and low, factual and deadpan, belying the thrill within, breath drawn deep and certain, words issued within the spaces staunchly.

"None of me, to feed you, today."

A small cock of head, as if trying to hint an understanding the wry language of the beast. An animal that had fed on people who had come before him in fields deep in past but staring back at him again.

The grin remained.

@Aknoby

 

[Aknoby]

The big wolf lets out a low laugh, walks away from Dal, lies down in a spot where a little sunlight still shines, and lets out a sigh as if he has found a great place to rest.

And he had. Artemisios had been walking for hours, exploring the new region, and had given himself over to the pleasure of doing so in his non-human form. He had already lost track of how far or close he was to civilisation, but finding someone training there showed him that he was close, or that he had just found another traveller.

He sensed that the orkin would not attack him for no reason, but his instincts were alert even with his eyes closed. Any strange movement from the warrior, or from any corner for that matter, would wake him from his lazy rest to recover his tired legs.

@Dal