[Malice] Not Today

[Demda]

11th of Imperos, In the Season of Autumn,
Era XII Post Fractum, Era III of the Celestine Mandate,
Evening.

The darkness of Malice loomed over Demda as she descended into the fallen city. The sounds of constant, brutal, and sometimes arcanically charged street fighting, the crying of a babe, the angry yowl of a alley cat; all of these things lent themselves toward the frightful ambience that greeted every newcomer to the dark city. Demda hadn’t known of the conditions that existed within the fortress city. From travelers passing her by on the road, she’d gathered that Malice wasn’t a nice place to find oneself in, that it wasn’t even part of the greater Empire yet. She’d caught word of nearly illegal pit fights and over the top gladiatorial events. And that was the rumor that had brought Demda to Malice. She was looking for her sisters in arms, preferably someone who could further her training, and she wouldn’t rest until she found them.

She didn’t have a place to stay, anyway.

She spoke a word into the ear of a passing pedestrian. The recipient regarded her approach cautiously, and his guard didn’t lessen when she gave the reason for the interruption. On reflection, Demda did suppose she struck an imposing figure, standing at a full five feet in height and weighing in at a negligible weight. This pedestrian truly was a pathetic little speck of a man. She wanted to crush him then and there, but that wouldn’t bode well for her purpose. She wanted to encourage people to be helpful, after all. Then again, perhaps a bit of force was called for.

But, as it turned out, force wasn’t needed. The man gave her a lead without a fight, and sent her on her way, deeper into the bowels of the fortress city.

On further inspection, the place struck her as if it were massive catacombs. All around, the city was bedecked in gruesome fashion, with skulls for lampposts in places, dead bodies lying in the street, waiting for rats and maggots to pick their bones. Further description would not be warranted. Malice was a deadly place, in every possible sense of the word. Demda didn’t want to linger here. The simple act of passing the gates had given her pause to consider the wisdom in entering, but she shrugged the feeling of foreboding off. She’d grown up in Orckon, surviving against impossible odds, and had seen the very worst of what Telath had to offer. A few days in Malice wouldn’t kill her. Or so she thought.

Her lead took her to a grand arena. Well, as grand as they came in Malice. Demda wasn’t quite sure if she’d seen a better arena. She’d chanced past the one in Paxia, and had lived in Westgate Arena in Imperia for a time. Malice’s Arena was different, to be sure, but it was great all the same. People seemed to take their games seriously, no matter where Demda went.

She entered the arena, and the first thing that greeted her senses was the sounds. It was always the sounds with arenas. A deafening roar that sometimes threatened to claim your sanity if you weren’t made of the right stuff. As for Demda, she was used to it. But what she wasn’t used to was the peculiarities of Malice’s Arena. But she was sure she’d find out soon enough.

There was no guard to stop her. There were a couple posted by the gates, but they didn’t feel threatened by Demda, and so did nothing to hinder her passage. Apparently if she wanted into the Arena, it was her own business. Nevertheless, she stopped to accost one of them. ”Ju,” She began, sticking her chin out toward the guard on her right. ”Where can I find Mirkis?”

The guard stared at her, stone-faced, and then replied in a deep monotone, ”Down the hall, fourth corridor on your left. First door on the left side of the corridor.”

Demda nodded her head fractionally, and made her way off to find him. Eventually, the directions given to her found her outside a door with the symbol of a broken triangle on it. Demda quirked an eyebrow at the strange symbol, but then merely shrugged. She didn’t know what it meant, but even if she did, it probably wouldn’t deter her. This was her only lead. She knocked on the door, and waited for the voice to beckon her in.

”Enter.” It came, grating and nasal. Demda obeyed.

Once through the door, she shut it behind her, and then turned to fix her eyes on the man who was possibly holding her sisters captive. He was as rat-faced and pathetic as his voice had implied. It shook Demda’s nerves to realize that this weakling held sway over her more skilled and stronger sisters.

Apparently, the look on her face wasn’t lost on him, and he smiled wickedly. It was the smile of a predator. ”Well, what do you want?”

”I’m told dat ju are holding Gicha Hehan fighters. I want to see them.”

Mirkis’ face screwed up into a sort of frown. After a moment, it subsided a bit, but the wrinkles on his forehead remained. ”To what end, Miss?”

”I want training.” She confided.

He seemed to consider this for a moment or two, looking down at his desk, with his fingers forming a steeple. Finally, after what seemed like a minute, he looked up at her. ”And what do you propose to give in exchange for this training?”

Demda sighed. She didn’t have anything of value to offer, really. All she had was what she was. She shrugged, ”I can fight for ju. Free of charge if you’ll let me train.”

Mirkis flashed a half smile at that, ”Oh really? You sure you can handle yourself little girl?”

She fumed at the little girl comment, but managed to control her anger. Otherwise, she might’ve decked the weakling, ”I’ve been trough many battles. I’ll make you a good crown.”

Mirkis pondered this for a few moments. Finally, he stood up from his chair, and extended his hand, as if to seal the deal. ”Very well, you have a deal. I’ll let you train for however many days you can afford to stay. In exchange, you fight who I want, when I want.”

A secret smile came across the man’s face, and Demda couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of foreboding.

[Demda]

It crossed Demda’s mind that posing as a person’s slave in a non-imperial dark city wasn’t the best of prospects if she wanted to continue living free. However, the promise of further training, food, and shelter won out over common sense, and she found herself following Mirkis to the slave warrens of Malice’s Arena. Torches and sconces lit the way to the stairwell that led into the depths of the Arena, casting dual shadows of Demda and Mirkis as they traveled along. She stared intermittently at the back of Mirkis’ head, his long brownish, disheveled and greasy hair. She reflected, not for the first time, nor likely for the last, that he was in a sad state. Not that she was in much of a position to judge, being emaciated, uncouth, and disheveled herself.

They took the stairs when they got to them, which led them downward in a spiral around a stone pillar. The smell was awful, almost as bad as the gargantuan latrine in Orckon. ”The warrens are at a level with the sewers. Most of the time it smells like this, you’ll get used to it, though, in time.”

Demda nodded nonchalantly, but inside the tension was gripping her heart. She wouldn’t be here for long. That’s what she kept telling herself. Seven days at the most. The sooner she got out of here, the better her chances for survival. The challengers that Mirkis would pit her against would likely get progressively worse as she won. If she lost she was dead. There would be no pull out, as in Imperia. Mirkis hadn’t made any sort of investment in Demda, and he lost nothing through her death. In the back of her mind, she was screaming, pleading with herself to leave that place, put it to her back and never return. But Demda’s feet wouldn’t not comply, and she continued her descent.

Eventually, the stairs took them to the lowest level: The slave warrens. The scent of decaying flesh added itself to the smell of raw sewage from before. Say what you will of Orckon. At least Demda got relatively fresh air from time to time. She would not be here for long, she determined. Seven days, if that.

”Let me take you to my stable’s pen.” Mirkis said with that strange smile, as he beckoned her with a finger.

Demda followed, in spite of every reasonable fiber in her being. Was she really this desperate? She could still turn back…

”Now, you’ll want to keep quiet that you’re not actually a slave, and will be getting out soon. My girls might not take so kindly to that, you see.” He rounded a corner, paused for a moment, and then continued, trailed always by Demda. ”It’d also be bad for morale. Don’t want the slaves getting their hopes up, just to see people coming and then going on their free and merry way.”

A short pause. Then she heard him speak. She couldn’t see his face, but it sounded as if he was smiling, ”This is the first time someone has willingly given her self up to the slave pens, very unusual.”

The wretch didn’t doubt that, especially having witnessed the conditions in which her sisters lived day and night.

”Then again, in these troubled times, it might strike me as odd that more people don’t just give themselves up to slavery. You get free food, shelter, fellowship, and protection from the street wars going on out there.”

Demda shrugged, not in the least bit convinced that the life of a slave was preferable to whatever perils lie above, ”Down here slaves fight, and die, same as above. Is no better.”

”Perhaps.” And he lapsed into silence the rest of the way.

A few moments later, they arrived at a largish cell, about twenty-five by twenty-five feet. With her half-elven vision, Demda could just barely make out the forms of the slaves that resided inside the cell. As her eyes adjusted, she noticed one of the forms crutching in the darkness. She was small, almost three feet tall.

Without further delay, Mirkis pushed her into the room, forcefully. Not expecting the push, Demda was thrown onto the floor. Once inside, turned her head toward Mirkis, growling as she pushed herself up. But by the time she turned around he was gone, and she was left in the open cell, with a few other slaves.

”Well Hullo there.” Came the voice from the three-foot figure. It didn’t sound very childlike. ”What’s your name child?”

Demda didn’t immediately answer. She cast a look about the pen, her eyes slowly adjusting to the partial darkness. In time, she could notice a young human woman next to the three-foot figure, and a tall, muscular human man. They were all wearing barely enough to afford themselves a modicum of modesty, while Demda herself was wearing tattered leathers that covered her admirably, but did little to dispel the thought that she was anything but destitute. All the better for her to fool them, she supposed.

”Demda.” She said, and then winced. She’d forgotten to use her alias. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

”Well, Demda, I’m Red Rose. This is my girl Tisha, and the solitary cuss on the other side of the room… well he doesn’t have a name.”

The wretch didn’t know what to say to that. Her heart was still reeling from the fact that she’d given up her real name. What if Mirkis found out? Well, even if he did, what were the chances that he knew Lash…

Demda just stood there, and crossed her arms. Afraid to talk for fear of giving away another valuable tidbit that might land her in trouble.

The halfling sighed. Apparently she wasn’t overly fond of silence. ”Pleasure, toil, or gladiator?”

”What?” Demda quirked an eyebrow, not understanding.

The halfling breathed a little laugh, and smiled primly, ”Well, you see, Demda… there are three sorts of slaves in these warrens. Pleasure slaves, which I’m sure you know the use of, being the seasoned young woman that you seem to be. Toil slaves, which work and do the menial tasks that aren’t fit to be seen to by either pleasure slaves or gladiators. Gladiators are self-explanatory as for what they do. As well, we’re the nobility of these warrens. Only the fights for us, and the pleasure slaves are ours to exploit, for the most part, if you’re of a mind.”

”So I’ll ask you again… pleasure, toil, or gladiator?”

Demda didn’t have to think about it for more than a millisecond. ”Gladiator. Not pleasure.” She said proudly.

The halfling leaned in closer, and smiled crookedly, ”Oh, I hope so. My but you’re ugly. Just look at those scars.”

”Here!” Demda fumed, leaning in close to give her a good look. Demda wasn’t self-conscious about her scars. She wore them proudly.

Red whistled, ”Well you’ve certainly been in your share of fights.” She cocked her head to the side a bit, ”Where do you hail from, do you know?”

”Orckon.”

”Orckon…” Red breathed. Tisha’s eyes widened at that. ”And you a… half-elf is it? You couldn’t have been there long to have survived.”

”Don’t be so sure.” Came Demda’s retort, her mouth twisting slightly in distaste, ”I was dere for twenty pattern.”

Red looked as though she was about to deny it, but then something came across her face, and she stopped herself. Then she merely nodded her head. ”Aye, that’s luck for you.”

Demda exhaled sharply through her nose, turning her head to admire the wall. She was still standing. The wretch wasn’t at a point with her new inmates where she felt comfortable enough to sit.

”As for me, well I’ve spilt more blood than an orc can drink in his lifetime.” Red Rose opened her hands and looked at them. Demda gazed at the halfling’s upturned hands in the periphery. That’s when she noticed the tattoo, three petals on each palm. All at once, the half-elf’s eyes widened, and her expression softened noticeably.

”Sister…” She breathed, moving to kneel at the halfling’s feet, and looking at her hands. She hadn’t been fully trusting of Mirkis’ claims, not until she knew for certain that these women were the ones she was looking for. But now she had no reason to hold back the emotions that were raging on finding a sister in arms. And didn’t hurt that the halfling reminded her of the elder. ”Who taught ju?” She asked, almost daring to hope.

Red just smiled a strange smile, staring at Demda. ”Who taught me? Who indeed.” Her tone was flat, and she didn’t sound pleased.

”What ju mean?” Demda looked up at he halfling, her expression suddenly wary.

”Who indeed.” Red repeated, and then whistled three times sharply. Demda could hear the sounds of footfalls coming from down the hall. ”You see, Demda, what we learn, we learn from the village as a whole. No one of us really claims dominion over another. We all have something to offer.”

There were footsteps at the doorway. Demda turned to look. There stood a tall orcish female, and a grizzled human female. They were both holding something, sticks she realized. Red Rose continued, ”We especially hate it when someone gets it in their head that something is owed to them, or that they’re somehow higher than us. I’ve been watching you and listening, Demda. You could do with a good dose of humility.” At that point, Demda turned her gaze back toward Red Rose. She was standing, and holding a stick of her own.

The three converged around Demda, and then the beating commenced.

[Demda]

The blows fell relentlessly, mercilessly on Demda, and she tried the best she could to just curl up and take it. The thought of fighting them off had entered her mind, briefly. But if she was being rational, she realized that she was outnumbered, outmatched, and just too weak to fight them off. So she curled up on the ground, allowing them to beat her on the back, on the legs, the arms. She did what she could to cover her face, but startlingly enough, some of the initial blows landed even there. Old pain from her previously broken nose was reawakened as one of the sticks grazed it. Demda gasped. She thought that wound had fully healed.

After almost half an hour of this treatment, the sisters began to slow down. A moment later, and Red Rose called a stop to the beating, ”Alright, I think that’s enough.” She said, throwing her stick to the side. Then she nodded to the orc and human., and they departed. Demda rose tentatively to her feet, wincing at the pain that racked nearly every inch of her body. The wretch knew that her pain would get even worse come the next few brightenings.

Demda spent the rest of the day living with the pain, and acclimating herself to her new surroundings. The slave warrens, as wretched as conditions were within them, had just about everything that the slaves needed to survive. A place where food was served, an outlet to the sewers where the toilers could drag their own and the rest of the slaves’ waste, and a bathing room for when the accumulated dirt and filth of their existence grew too heavy.

Despite the beating she’d received earlier that day, during lunchtime, Demda stuck to Red Rose. Something about the halfling woman inspired confidence in her. Demda held her tongue for most of that time.

Eventually, though, she saw fit to disrupt the silence between them with a question. By then, Demda was black and blue from where the sticks had made contact with her flesh, and struck a sight that made one sore to even look upon her. ”Why did ju hit me with sticks?”

Red Rose looked up from her evening meal, ”It was a test.” She said with a smile, ”And it’s part of our daily conditioning. Eventually you’ll get used to it. Your flesh will harden to the point where blunt force from the sticks hardly bothers you anymore. You can probably imagine how useful that’d be, in being able to take kicks and punches. Get used to it, Demda, because you’re going to get it even worse tomorrow.”

Demda’s face screwed up in confusion. A test? What did she mean by that? ”What do ju mean, a test? Testing what?”

Red Rose’s smile remained as she answered the query, ”A test to see if you’d lose your cool, if you’d try and retaliate, or run away. Granted, not many rational people would try such a thing, as you were outnumbered three to one and outmatched into the bargain, but still…”

”What happens if I run or fight back den?” Demda had to ask.

”We don’t teach you. That’s what happens.” Red Rose said immediately, and returned her attention to her meal, a bowl of brown muck that was served to all of the slaves.

So Demda was forced to suffer the silence, and ate her own meal in peace.

Later that night, when the slaves were beginning to sleep, Red Rose finally initiated dialogue with Demda. ”Who taught you, Demda? Tell me how you came to earn that first petal.”

Demda had been lying in her own little haystack in the corner of their cell when Red asked the question. She had to think about it for a moment before the details began flooding back into her mind. It seemed such a long time ago since she was in Orckon even though it’d been only about half an era. It was a different time, and a different Demda. That’s what it seemed like to her, anyway. ”I was a slave in Orckon, during de first month of winter. A battle happened, that claimed de life of my current owner. My new owner, Lash, and his goblin allies took me to deir own pavilion, just outside the goblin village. That’s when I was roomed with de Elder.”

”I didn’t know her name, and never learned it. She had four petals, and she taught me to fight, and gave me this.” Demda showed Red the singular petal on each of her palms. ”I was forced to fight for de next few days in de Angry Pit. I killed tree opponents… one weak, one foolish, and another a child. When the time came for my fourth and final bout, I looked into de ring, and dere stood de Elder. She was bleeding from half a hundred wounds, and as good as dead. At first, she attacked me full force, showing me dat our spars had been noting more dan a play. She downed me within seconds. At the last moment, it looked like she would kill me, but den she whisper into my ear ‘Do you want to live, child?’. Of course, I nod my head. ‘Den kill me. An elbow to the lower rib should do it.’ Says she. So I do it, and get up, wrap my chains around her neck, and… then…”

Demda stopped. Red Rose wasn’t stupid, and could guess what happened from there. For a few moments, silence ruled.

Finally, when it seemed as if no one would speak, Red did, ”Sad story… but a good one. Come here, Demda.”

Demda could see the halfling take something out from beneath her own haystack. It appeared to be a needle, to see it up close. In the other hand, Red held a small jar of what looked like red ink. Demda’s heart skipped a beat on seeing those instruments. Swallowing it down, she approached her new mentor.

”Kneel down, and give me your hand.” Red commanded. Demda complied.

The half-elf winced as the needle pierced her skin. Red Rose smiled on seeing the girl’s reaction, and then went to work applying the ink and working the tattoo. Eventually, she was left with a second petal on her hand. Then Red Rose repeated the process with the other one. Once she was finished with it, Red rose pricked her own finger, and rubbed the blood into each new tattoo, allowing her blood to mix with Demda’s. Once she was finished, Demda smiled.

Yet another master of the art had added her blood to Demda’s. Just like the Elder, she would live on in Demda, and everyone that the half-elf taught.

[Demda]

In her short period as a free woman, Demda had always managed to tread lightly. She avoided the cities, for fear of being taken as a slave. Growing up in Orckon didn’t leave Demda with a good deal of knowledge with regards to the civilized world, and she didn’t know exactly what it took to become a citizen, or indeed, if it was even possible. Freedom, even though she had had some measure of it in the past month or so, was still a bit of a mystery to her. And she suspected it would always remain so, for the rest of her days.

”You’re going to earn that petal.”

Demda nodded.

She rose, groaning slightly in renewed pain from the welts that dotted her body. If Demda hadn’t earned that petal yet, she was in for a cycle’s worth of hell. Well that was well enough with her. Any training worth a damn was going to be difficult. The best of warriors were often put through the worst. And Demda most certainly wanted to be one of the best of warriors.

”Tomorrow, when they let us out to practice in the yard, you’re going to stick with me and mine.” Red Rose said, crossing over to her corner of the cell. ”I’ll show you to the one that’s going to be handling the first portion of your training.”

Demda moved over to her own corner as the halfling made her way to hers, and then sat down. Once Red was done speaking, Demda blinked, ”Ju are not going to train me?”

”Oh, I will.” Red Rose smiled, her eyelids apparently heavy with the sleep that threatened to overcome her. ”But Gryulk has a talent for nerve point fighting. That’ll be the first part of your curriculum. Before we get into the development of specific techniques, we have to identify viable targets on the humanoid body.”\

Demda nodded, although she was slightly disheartened. She could tell by the name Gryulk that it was probably the orcish woman she was talking about. The half-elf didn’t exactly relish the prospect of training under that beast. While a part of Demda couldn’t help but idolize the orcs for their strength and laconic philosophy and way of life (she had grown up in Orckon, after all), her determination to destroy each and every greenskin in vengeance for the Elder’s death didn’t lend itself well toward accepting a greenskin teacher.

”I hate greenskins, orcs and goblins.” Demda confided to Red Rose.

The halfling looked weary when she heard that, and shrugged, ”That’s understandable, seeing as you grew up in Orckon. But you’re going to have to accept her, for the time being anyway, if you want to continue with the art. Eventually, Demda, you have to learn to put your prejudices behind you. They have their place, but if they ever get in the way of what you seek, you have to learn to put them aside.”

Demda snorted, ”What I want is to kill every greenskin.”

Red nodded at that, and smiled some, ”True enough, but you’re not going to do that with next to no skill in the art. You need a lot more training before you can kill so much as one orc. Gryulk can help you get to the point. Use her.”

The half-elf shrugged, and laid down with a slight gasp of pain on her straw pallet. Without another word, she rested her hands beneath her sore face, and tried to sleep. The last thing she heard, was the sound of Red Rose’s voice, ”Sleep now. Come tomorrow, after breakfast, you’ll learn about the different nerve points on the humanoid body.”

The next morning, Demda awoke, in even greater pain than the previous darkening. The soreness that pervaded every inch of her being seemed to go right through to her bones, and the marrow within.

Red Rose wasn’t in the cell when the wretch awoke. Demda looked around, searching for a sign of the halfling, to no avail. She must’ve went off to breakfast without her. Demda rose, and soon made her way down to the eating area, where she was served her breakfast. If the brown muck that they fed her in the morning was any different in content from the brown muck of the evening, the taste did nothing to betray that fact.

Once she was finished, an arcanically charged voice resounded throughout the slave warrens. ”All Gladiators, head for the training grounds.”

And that was it. A few of Demda’s fellows rose from their seats, where they’d been sitting and just talking to each other. Demda quickly finished her meal, and then rose to follow them.

Her walk took her outside, to an open training field that probably lay just outside the arena. There was a wall all around, but no dome. Demda took special note of that fact, in case the eventuality of escape became a necessity. Candlemark by candlemark, Demda was becoming more convinced that she was a prisoner to Mirkis. Call it intuition, or downright rationality. After all, if she proved valuable as a gladiator, what was to stop him from keeping her? She could’ve kicked herself for her stupidity. But now it was too late for regrets to sink in. She had training to attend to.

There were quite a number of slaves in the training yard, about forty or so. It took some time for Demda to pick out Red Rose from the press. After all, she was only three feet tall, and most of the other slaves were either of a height or taller than Demda. The wretch took to the perimeter of the walls, taking note of how the stones were constructed, so as to make use of them in her later escape, in case it became necessary. Eventually, she came to Red Rose, Gryulk, and the grizzled human woman from before.

Red Rose looked up at Demda, a question in her face as she searched the younger woman’s eyes, ”Are you ready to earn that petal?”

”Yes.” Was Demda’s reply.

[Demda]

”Very well.” Came Red’s reply, and she nodded to the orc. ”Gryulk, you take it from here.”

Demda watched Gryulk carefully, not quite sure what to expect with regards to how the training would proceed. Would the orc teach by example by physically dismantling the wretch? It seemed a fitting enough way for an orc to do things. Still, she waited for Gryulk to conduct her lesson. For a few moments, the orc just looked at Demda, with no small amount of distaste evident in her gaze. The wretch returned her distaste two-fold, giving her the stinkiest eye that she could manage. Finally, after what seemed like a minute, the orc spoke in charismean surprisingly lacking in an accent, ”What do you know about the weakest points in the humanoid body?”

Demda had to think about that for a moment. She could name a few, some being dependant on gender, but otherwise applicable to virtually all the humanoid races. ”De groin, de nose, de chin, de stomach, and de shins. Dat’s about all I know.”

The orc grunted, and placed her hands on her hips as she regarded Demda. After sizing the girl up, she spoke once more, ”So you know about as much as the average person.”

The wretch frowned at that, glaring at the orc for a moment. She hated the creature before her, which made it all the more difficult when the orc smiled at her. ”Very well.” The orc nodded to Red Rose and the grizzled human woman, and they departed into the crowd, off to their own devices.

”We’ll start from the top.” The orc said, falling into her stance. Her posture was a bit unorthodox, different from Demda’s own form of Gicha Hehan, especially in the way that she held her arms. Her arms were each a foot and a half apart from each other, with her fists held over her head, as if to ward off any blows. Her legs were much like Demda’s form of Gicha Hehan, akimbo, as if straddling a horse, emphasizing balance and flexibility of movement.

Demda assumed her own stance at that moment, with her arms held close together, and her fists level with her upper chest. It was a good thing that she did, as well, for the orc struck out then, suddenly, and without warning. Gryulk aimed a double strength fist toward Demda’s face. The wretch’s hands were unable to get up for the parry before the fists made contact with her face, just under the forehead. Although the impact hurt, and sent Demda back a few feet, she could tell that the orc was pulling her punches. The pain from the strike was excruciating and disorientating. She looked up at the orc, questioning her with her eyes.

”The facial nerve.” She explained. ”Depending on the force you apply to a strike to this area, unconsciousness or concussion could follow. Impaired vision, paralysis, whiplash, and possibly death could result. It all depends on the force you put behind the blow. Now, moving on.”

Gryulk assumed her stance once more, staying light on the balls of her feet. Demda was slow to get up, but she managed, with some grumbling. She would make certain that the orc’s next demonstration next demonstration would fail to execute.

Once again, there was no warning as the orc stepped into her attack, dropping her arms low, and prompting Demda to do the same. Then, at the lowest point of this movement, she sent both her arms upward in an arcing uppercut toward Demda’s chin. The doubled up fist made it more difficult to dodge than a single fist might’ve been, but Demda managed to shrink backward, at the same time raising her own arms to knock the orc’s arms further up course than they should’ve been. Obviously, the orc had been aiming for Demda’s chin.

The orc smiled viciously, ”Good. You would’ve been knocked out cold if I had hit you there. As you probably know, the chin strike is very painful, and often results in unconsciousness, especially at the angle of attack that I used, with an uppercut.”

Gryulk didn’t wait for Demda to recover this time, as she moved right on to the next maneuver, which was a knuckle strike directed toward Demda’s frontal neck. Demda stepped to the side, and tried to grapple with the oncoming hand, but the orc was too fast and too strong. Once Demda dodged to the side, she brought her fists about in a swing toward her temple, knocking the wretch to the ground.

”What was my target area?” She asked without hesitation.

”De neck?” Demda looked up, her eyes dazed. This physical beating that her head was receiving wouldn’t bode well for her concentration as the day wore on. She held little hope of lasting for later lessons if this kept up.

The orc nodded, ”The muscles there rotate and flex the neck and head. A strike there would be very painful. If my hit had landed between the two muscles, it would’ve threatened to affect your jugular or carotid artery, if the strike was focused enough. Experts can cause death with such a strike, although in our form they tend to use a kick more often than a knuckle strike. But all the same, get up shara.”

Demda did so, reluctantly, hoping that the head strikes were over and done with, for now. She took a step back, and the orc allowed her, both of them falling into their respective stances. As much as she hated the creature before her, Demda couldn’t help but respect the stance that she employed. Obviously, the orc’s particular form of Gicha Hehan put more of an emphasis on the use of the fists. Demda only wished that she had the upper body strength to employ the same methods. As it was, she was better suited to attempting kicks, knee, and elbow strikes.

After a moment, Gryulk moved forward, to attack, her hands raised above her head. Her fingers were halfway extended, in the same shape as when she’d made her knuckle strike. This time Demda didn’t wait around to see what the results would be. She attacked. While holding her hands up high, she stepped into measure of the orc, and attempted to direct an elbow strike toward Gryulk’s chin. Once again, the orc was too quick, and sent both hands arcing downward, each hand striking Demda halfway between her neck and her shoulders. There was no substantial pain from the strike. All that Demda felt was… well nothing. Nothing at all in her arms, they were paralyzed.

She stared wide-eyed at the orc, as she was at her instructor’s mercy. For a moment it appeared as if the orc would take her down, but the greenskin backed down at the last moment, nodding her head. [b]”The target is called the brachial plexus, a collection of nerves that connect to your arms. Striking them with sufficient force will paralyze your opponent’s arms.

As she was explaining this, the feeling came back to Demda’s arms, slowly but surely. She shook them out, trying to return the feeling to them.

”Before we continue, I think it’s best to do our exercises, and physical conditioning.” The orc whistled then, three times sharply. Eventually, Red Rose and her grizzled human companion came running wooden swords in their hands. Demda groaned.

[Demda]

Demda couldn’t help but groan when she saw the swords. She was still as sore as seven Aeternias from yesterday’s beating, and now would come yet another. But it was good for her. That’s what she kept telling herself. A few more brightenings or cycles of that sort of conditioning, and who knew? Maybe her flesh would turn as hard as iron.

So, once again, the beating commenced, in which Red Rose, Gryulk, and their as yet unnamed comrade beat the wind out of Demda. Unlike the last time, Demda stood while she received the beating, with her arms spread out to each side, allowing them a full range of targets to sate their sadistic leanings. Each lash elicited a groan or a cry, which grew especially pained as they attacked old lacerations from the last beating. A half hour that felt like a cycle dragged by, and finally Red Rose called a halt to the beating.

Demda gave in to the pain, and crouched down, gasping. Red Rose put a hand on her shoulder, eliciting a painful cry from Demda. ”The pain will subside. Here, drink this.” Red handed a ceramic flask to the wretch. Demda took a good pull from the draught, it wasn’t that bad. ”That’ll help with the mending process. Now give it here.” The halfling held out her hand, and Demda gave her the flask back.

”Get yourself up.” Red commanded, and then rose an eyebrow, ”Did you stretch this morning?”

”No,” Demda admitted shamefully. It was a rare lapse for one who’d almost never missed a chance to practice her art.

”Well, that’s all for the better then, because we have some stretches to add to your regimen.” Red Rose snapped her fingers, gesturing for the unnamed, grizzled woman to come over. She had pale skin, brown hair and brown eyes, and scars crisscrossed her body. She looked at Demda with no small amount of distaste.

”This is Mira.” Red Rose told Demda, nodding toward the other woman. ”As you might’ve guessed, Gryulk is our teacher of nerve points and such things. Well Mira’s specialty is technique. And she’s a fair bit closer to your sort of physical makeup than I or Gryulk are, so it makes sense for her to teach you the stretches.”

Demda nodded as she looked from Red Rose to Mira. She was still on the ground.

”Get up, half-breed.” Mira said, revealing the source of her distaste. ”And show me the stretches that you already employ.”

Demda complied, rising to her feet with a soft groan. Then she went on to stretch her legs, reaching down to her toes with both hands, and then splitting her legs, and alternating with one arm reaching behind her back, while another reached for the opposite foot. Once that was accomplished a good number of times, she stood up, and began stretching her chest, arms, back and hips. She took special care with her neck, making sure not to strain it as she rolled it around her shoulders. She finished by rolling her neck to the side, and glancing at Mira to check for approval. Approval that was not forthcoming.

Mira began her own series of stretches once Demda was done. She reached out her right foot, and then took hold of it with both hands. Once that was accomplished, she began to elevate her leg, lifting it until it was completely vertical and parallel with her grounded leg. She twisted the leg around, managing to rotate her foot about one hundred and eighty degrees, giving her leg and ankle a thorough stretch. Slowly, she lowered her foot until it touched the ground, and then repeated the process with her other foot.

”You try it now.” Mira commanded.

The wretch did so, with some difficulty. Although she’d learned the rudiments of balancing on one foot, she was far from a master, and she was a bit wobbly as she lifted her right leg. Even more difficult was reaching out to grab the foot. She ended up bending her leg so that she could reach it. Mira clucked her tongue, and walked on over to the half-breed. ”Did you not see me? Straighten out your leg. You’re moving like a pregnant dwarf.”

Demda stretched her leg out, wincing as she did so, and Mira helped her along by pressing on her knee. The wretch held that position for a few moments, allowing her muscles to stretch out sufficiently so she could make the next move. After about a minute of holding that pose, she slowly began to raise her leg, one degree at a time. She smiled in triumph when she finally succeeded in performing the maneuver that Mira had shown her. She lowered her leg a few degrees, and then elevated it, just to stretch out her leg muscles some more. After a few more moments, she managed to lower her leg back to the ground. The next few minutes were spent repeating the process with the other leg.

When she was finally done, Mira nodded, her face a mask of utter dissatisfaction. ”That’ll do.” Mira turned and nodded her head to someone in the distance. Demda followed her gaze to see who she was beckoning. It was Gryulk. Demda suppressed a groan.

”I give you to her now. We’ll see more of each other later, half-breed. Be sure of it.” And then Mira departed.

[Demda]

Gryulk was tossing something up and down in one of her hands. On closer inspection, it appeared to be a sack of rice. Without warning, and quickly, she threw it to Demda. The half-elf managed to get her foot up to kick the thing, and managed to keep it in the air while she adjusted to the new but familiar activity. She hadn’t practiced in this exercise since she was in Orckon, and it was strange, since she’d always enjoyed it. She kept the bag in the air as the orc went on to speak, ”Keep that up for a few more moments. Then we’ll talk about other nerve points.”

And so Demda did. Sometimes she mixed things up by using only one foot. Eventually she stopped this exercise, and tucked the small bag between her feet. She then placed both hands on the ground, and stood herself up on her arms. Once that was accomplished, she began kicking the bag in midair with both legs almost simultaneously. She kept this exercise up as long as she could without passing out from the blood rushing to her head. Then the orc approached her.

”Enough.” She said, calling a halt to the exercise. ”Get on your feet, and listen”

Taking her time, Demda slowly lowered her legs to the ground until her feet were touching it, then she pushed herself up with her legs, and turned her gaze toward Gryulk. The orc nodded. ”Alright, get in guard.” She grinned a toothy smile, ”I’ll teach you first-hand about the points.”

Demda suppressed the murderous glare that was threatening to surface. She’d come to expect this from the orc. She only hoped that her strikes didn’t leave permanent damage. Her arms were still a bit numb from the earlier attack to her brachial plexus. Demda sank into her pose, completely unmodified from the time that she’d started the training. The orc’s was the same as it had been, with both arms raised almost above her head, leaving her stomach slightly open. Her legs, just like Demda’s were spread shoulder length apart and bent at the knees.

The orc moved quickly, she took an inside crossover step toward Demda. Once she was within leg’s reach, she lifted her left knee as if to perform a high kick toward Demda’s neck or head. The wretch rose her arms up and to the outside, in order to block the kick. But it never came. Instead, the orc grounded her left leg forward, and used the extra push to power a punch toward the area just above Demda’s abdomen. The resulting pain brought Demda to her knees.

The orc was merciless. Once the half-elf was on her knees, she sent a light straight punch toward Demda’s face, which landed on the cluster of nerves just below her forehead, unnecessarily reminding the wretch of that nerve point. The pain was blinding, and the onslaught seemingly relentless, prompting to Demda to crawl backward.

”That nerve point that I just attacked is called the solar plexus… As you can tell, it causes great pain when hit with a blow. Depending on the force behind the blow, it could cause temporary paralysis of the diaphragm, making it difficult to breathe.”

Demda grimaced as she curled up into a sitting position, still trying to catch her breath. The orc’s explanation was entirely unnecessary, given the demonstration she’d just received. It took a few minutes for the half-elf to recover from the blow.

When the minutes were up, it was the orc who prompted her to get up. ”On your feet.” And she resumed her stance.

Demda rose warily, not entirely anxious to accept another attack of the sort that she’d just received. After a moment of hesitation, Demda assumed her own stance.

The orc smiled grimly, ”Attack.”

The command came as something of a surprise to Demda, but a welcome one. She’d been itching for the chance to go on the offensive with her teacher since the training began. A smile came reluctantly to her lips, as she envisioned how she’d go about attacking. The orc’s abdomen was the most tempting target, and the one made most accessible by her stance. It was too tempting to pass up, and yet Demda couldn’t help but feel that it was a ruse. Doubtless, if this was the stance that the orc always employed, she was used to attacks that targeted the abdomen. But still, Demda couldn’t think of a better target, as her head and upper body were covered. So the abdomen it was.

She started her advance reluctantly, carefully, taking small steps toward the orc. The last few feet were covered the quickest, and Demda took one step, putting her entire body into a punch directed toward the orc’s solar plexus. The orc moved with a speed and grace that was unheard of for her kind, and grappled with Demda’s wrists with her shackles, pulling her along and off balance. Once she was to the side of Demda’s arm, she dug one of her elbows into the side of her upper arm, about two inches up from the elbow. A shriek of pain erupted from Demda’s lips as her knees nearly buckled beneath her. The point was made. ”Enough, stop!” Demda cried, but the orc wouldn’t listen.

She pulled Demda along, tripping her up and allowing the half-elf to fall on her face. Even so, it was more merciful than she had been in their previous round.

”Don’t ever tell me what to do, Lulgijak. You continue to draw breath by my leave. Be grateful that I’m here to train you, and not to kill you. I could easily do the latter, although the former is proving to be quite difficult.” Demda looked over her shoulder, pushing herself up onto her knees as she did so. The orc was standing with her hands on her hips, adopting a demeanor as if she were scolding a naughty whelp.

”Ashdautas vrasubatlat.” Demda had the nerve to say.

The orc just laughed, and shook her head, ”Nar udautas, Lulgijak. Nar udautas.”

[Demda]

Demda was left alone for the rest of the candlemark, free to train and practice and drill as she saw fit. She repeated every technique she knew, starting with the elbow strikes, then the knees, the low kick, the high kick, the straight punch, and then attempted to add a few that she’d seen her teacher’s use, including the grapple and subsequent elbow to the outside of the opponent’s upper arm. She took special care with that one, as it seemed a very practical and easily utilized maneuver. Even as she practiced, every inch of her being protested with renewed pains from the welts that were forming on her skin, and the nerve strikes she’d received from the orc.

After completing her drills, repeating every technique she knew about twenty times, she took to batting the rice bag around with her feet. This activity burned another quarter of a candlemark, before one of Demda’s instructors saw fit to stop her. It was Red. Demda should’ve smiled to see who it was, (or rather, who it wasn’t) but she wasn’t in the mood. Come to that, she rarely ever was of a mind to smile.

”So you’ve been taught the nerve points. Now it’s time to learn about skeletal structure, and White Crane methodology.” Red, crossed in front of Demda, and stared up at her.

Demda just gave her a blank stare. The halfling didn’t intend to demonstrate, as the orc had, did she? The wretch didn’t think her body could take much more punishment, certainly not if that punishment involved crushing or breaking portions of her skeleton. ”Jour not going to hit me, are ju?”

”Heavens, no.” Red smiled, crossing her arms over her chest. ”It’s an effective way to teach, demonstrating by example, that I won’t deny, but I suspect that you’d be dead if I used any actual maneuvers on you.”

Demda nodded, and stepped in front of the halfling. Red quirked an eyebrow. ”So you’re ready?” She took a step forward, ”Alright, on your knees. I can’t very well reach your head from here without taking a leap, and I’d rather not have to exert myself unnecessarily. As you might’ve guessed, we’ll start with the head. There’s only a few points to cover there, then we’ll move on to other areas.”

The half-elf kneeled, as she was told, and inclined her head slightly, so the halfling might be able to reach the top of it. Red Rose took a step forward, and bopped Demda on the front of her crown. The wretch shot Red a quizzical look, to which the halfling smiled. ”That’s called the coronal suture… the weakest part of the skull. It’s a joint between the frontal and parietal bones of the skull. A strike here, depending of course on impact, could cause concussion, unconsciousness, temporary blindness, or death. The direction of force applied should be at a downward angle, about forty-five degrees.”

Demda nodded, absorbing the information and committing it to her elven memory. It seemed like a useful tool to add to her repertoire, and so she made it a point of remembering. It didn’t hurt that she liked Red Rose, either.

”Next up, the temples.” She pressed both fingers against Demda’s temples, in effect showing her where they were. ”The temples are actually a recessed bone tip of another bone that reaches into the brain. A direct, penetrating blow could jam this bone into the brain, and an artery inside the brain might burst from the impact. Hemorrhage, concussion, shock, and death might result from a blow to the temple, depending on the severity. The temple should be attacked from the side, on a horizontal plane. Imagine that you’re aiming for the person’s opposite temple as you attack it.”

More information, and more targets were committed to memory as Demda just listened. With so many deadly targets, Demda could imagine that she wouldn’t even need a weapon in her upcoming fights.

Red Rose moved her hands from the half-elf’s temples to her ears, covering them with her palms slightly, but not so much that Demda couldn’t hear her. ”The next target is one that is typically used at higher levels of proficiency, as it takes exact technique to get it right. Higher practitioners of our art call such techniques the bleeding orchid. You can cause internal bleeding to such a target just by using a focused strike with the hands or feet… but typically with the hands against the ear. Anyway, air is easily trapped in the ear, and when force is applied quickly, the eardrum will burst, causing extreme pain, loss of hearing, and bleeding from the mouth and ear. As well, disabling the ear affects the inner ear, which effects the foundation of physical combat: balance. This is a very important target, Demda, and you can make use of it even at this level. The direction of the strike should be applied on a horizontal plane, straight into the ear.”

Demda reflected that it was a damn good thing that the orc wasn’t the teacher of these techniques. They sounded incredibly nasty, and she didn’t relish the prospect of having them performed on herself.

”One more target area close to the ear.” Red Rose said, drifting her hands beneath Demda’s earlobes, and then suddenly pressing down. Finally, extreme pain. She’d almost become accustomed to the absence of it. She tried to pull away, but Red Rose’s grip on her head was relentless. Finally, after a moment or two of this treatment, Red Rose let go. ”Hopefully that one was self-explanatory. It causes great pain, and can damage your hearing if enough pressure is applied.”

”Now,” Red Rose began, taking her hands away from Demda’s head, and giving her a good look over. ”Do you have any questions, or am I to assume that you’ve absorbed everything that I’ve told you?” She crossed her arms over her chest, awaiting word from Demda. Then, and only if confirmation was given, she would continue with the lesson.

[Demda]

”Coronal suture,” Demda began, reciting all of the targets that the halfling had imparted to her, ”Temples, ears, and dat area right behind the earlobe.”

Red Rose nodded, ”That’s right. A downward forty-five degree angle of attack for the first one, a horizontal attack aimed straight toward the opposite temple, a horizontal plane of attack directly into the ear, and just pressing down on the area behind the earlobe. Next time you recite the areas of attack, make sure you tell me the angle of attack for each. You can’t very well attack the ear without striking straight into it.”

Demda nodded. Usually it would’ve been her custom to shrug, but she didn’t think that nonchalance would avail her here.

”Next up, another target area that, judging by your face, I’m sure you’re very familiar with. The nose.” Red Rose approached Demda, and faked a punching motion twice. The first one was directed on a horizontal plane toward the nose, and the second was at an upward, forty-five degree angle. ”The former is not so deadly, but can cause much bleeding, and tearing of the eyes. The latter, on the other hand, could easily cause death, as there’s little between the nose and the brain other than the internal nasal process and a thin strip of bone. The bone could break, sending it’s splinters into the brain, with death likely resulting. Can you think of the best attack to use against the nose?”

Demda thought about it for a moment. Not many of the techniques that she was aware of would avail her. She supposed a high kick might be useful, although harder to land accurately than a good punch. She shrugged, ”An uppercut.”

”Right, an uppercut. You’ll learn that technique later, after we’ve covered all of the anatomical targets. As I’ve said, it’s important to learn the valid targets before the techniques used to assault them.”

”Next up is the anterior nasal spine… the area right under your nose.” Red illustrated her point, by moving her finger just under Demda’s crooked nose, along the groove that made it’s way down to her lips. ”It’s a target that’s most sensitive right under the nose, and relates slightly to nerves, but the more devastating effects of a strike to the fragile bone tip relate more to White Crane. Excessive bleeding could result from a break in the gums and teeth, although this would have more of a psychological effect than physiological. The sinus reaction might cause eye tearing and nasal congestion.”

So not as useful a target, Demda reflected. Still, it couldn’t hurt to have a target for the second fist in a straight punch. She couldn’t very well attack the same area with both fists, after all.

Red Rose’s hands drifted to Demda’s jaw and mandible, tracing the line of her jaw with both hands. The halfling woman’s shackles jingled slightly as she moved up and down the mandible. ”The jaw hinge can only dislocate in a forward direction. So you either want to attack it from the back, or with a forty-five degree downward angle of attack directed toward the chin. Perhaps with a hammer strike or just a well executed straight punch. To break the joint, it’s best to do so when the head is fully rotated to one side or the other.”

The halfling’s hands drifted toward the tip of Demda’s mandible… her chin. ”As you might know, a hit here is very painful. But not only that, provided that it’s delivered with sufficient force, it’d usually be enough to knock a person unconscious. An attack delivered at an upward forty-five degree angle here causes shock that automatically transfers to the brain, causing a concussion, or unconsciousness.”

Next, Red’s hands drifted to the front of Demda’s neck, near her windpipe. ”A strike to the throat can prove deadly. Because of the vital functions of the various parts that are gathered near the throat, the internal portions of this region present a series of critical targets. Only a layer of skin protects them. Any swelling that results from a hit will constrict the windpipe, potentially causing asphyxiation. Even blood drowning could happen. The attack should be applied on a horizontal plane going toward the throat.”

The halfling lowered her hands down the wretch’s neck, making it’s way to the top of her breastbone. ”One of my favorite targets now, the chicken breast. Both collar bones meet and join at this spot. A properly executed blow could dislodge both collarbones from the sternum, collapsing the shoulders. However, that is not the greatest of dangers to the opponent that you apply this technique to. The real danger lies in the major bloodlines that run directly underneath this target. A sufficiently forceful blow to this area could cause the bones to puncture the bloodlines, effectively bleeding the opponent to death. Shock and unconsciousness would be the initial reaction to a blow to this target, and death soon to follow. The direction of force should be applied at a downward angle of forty-five degrees.”

Next, Red’s hands drifted from the chicken breast to the collarbones on either side of it. ”The skeletal function of the collarbone, as you might imagine, is to support the shoulders and thorax. Breaking a collarbone would collapse the shoulder on the same side, causing immobility at the least. Other complications might arise if the bone were to puncture a major organ like a lu