Secrets of the Monastery (Heartbreaker)

[Nimavel Mynendil]

continued from here.

Returning the following brightening, the elf lord was garbed in the usual attire that he wore to tend to his daily business. A flowing black cloak was draped across his slender shoulders, and a matching outfit strewn of the finest silk rested loosely over his torso and legs. His long raven hair fell freely against his backside, contrasting with the piercing lavender orbs set into his handsome elfin face.

Periodically nodding to those that he passed, the elf continued down the same corridors of the Temple of the Blessed Hands, a route that would eventually take him to the resplendent gardens frequented by the human monk, Kerwel. Although their relationship had only been forged recently, the pair had already come to harbor an utmost respect for one another.

And it was this respect for Kerwel’s abilities that brought the elf lord to see him this brightening –and for however many more brightenings it would take to learn the monk’s secrets.

Unclasping his cloak so that the folds parted to reveal the elf lord’s black attire, he closed his eyes meditatively and awaited the arrival of the monk.

[Heartbreaker]

Appreciating the manner in which the elf waited for him…that is in quiet contemplation and meditating, Kerwel approached quietly. He knew that Nimavel could “hear” his footfalls but as a matter of professional curtsey, he simply placed his hand on the young elf’s shoulder to indicate he had arrival. As Nimavel turned, he was met with a bow…traditional in the martial arts.

"Now, before we begin, tell me what type of training your legs have gone through prior to this. The reason I ask is because not all conditioning is created equal. You may indeed have strong legs, but they are not conditioned specifically to do the feats asked in this particular sphere of Zinn’ka. Does that make sense?"


A question without context was sometimes useful, but the monk had reasoned that for –that- particular question, telling Nimavel why he was asking was the best course of action.

[Nimavel Mynendil]

Turning to face the monk, Nimavel mimicked Kerwel’s kindly gesture, though the elf purposely dipped a hair lower than the monk to indicate his utmost respect for the man whom had agreed to take him on as a student. It was not often that the Heru Mynendil awarded ‘lesser’ creatures with such deference, but Kerwel had demonstrated through use of hands and feet that he was the superior fighter.

Power was something that every Mynendil admired.

“Yes, Master Kerwel. As a long time practitioner of the shadow arts, I understand that much of my physical conditioning was tailored specifically for many of K’Tesh’s techniques alone.”

Pausing momentarily, the elf nodded to convey his tacit understanding of what was to come. Because Nimavel’s training had not specifically been organized around Shaasskah’s techniques, he would probably have to undergo more rigorous and difficult preparation to reach his aspired-for level.

“Prior to this, I have done an exceptional amount of running, both long distance and short distance, as well as climbing. Much of my leg training revolved around sprinting for exceptional periods of time. Also, for the first several eras of my tutelage under my uncle, I wore weights around my ankles to increase the power of my kicks and the strength in my legs.”

[Heartbreaker]

Kerwel nodded, thinking about what the elven Lord was conveying to him. Certainly, he had been trained well to have come this far but as already stated, the two spheres of the art were somewhat different…meaning different techniques needed to be employed to get the desire result.

And Kerwel was prepared to give him those secrets.

“The jumps in this particular sphere have one goal and objective…to jump high. Jumping one's highest requires an ignorance of all caution….a desperate, reckless explosion upward, without regard for possible muscle or tendon strain or any other aspect of technique.”

“Such controlled recklessness is possible only when a person has achieved a toughness of muscle and tendon, as well as of attitude, through months and eras of hard training. When done properly, such training develops muscle-tendon elasticity and durability, but at the same time it helps one to lose the inhibitions against effort that are such a hindrance to all-out performance. Gradually, through many repetitions these inhibitions are dropped, awareness of one's potential for effort is sharpened, an awareness that muscles trained gradually, carefully, but maximally, are free from injury. Does that make sense?”

[Nimavel Mynendil]

Lavender-flecked eyes displayed the Lord Mynendil’s growing excitement, the likes of which stemmed from the prospect of a new facet of combative enlightenment. Far from a master of every aspect of the unarmed arts, the promise of Kerwel’s instruction was something to be candidly regarded. It was not often that innovation scraped at the forefront of the assassin’s voluminous knowledge, and thus to be greeted with such an opportunity was highly stimulating.

“Yes, it does, Master Kerwel.”

Layered beneath the elf’s words was a latent promise to exert every ounce of effort into mastering the training techniques that Kerwel indirectly suggested. Nimavel had, prior to this brightening, already fixated his mind upon accomplishing the tasks that would be required of him if he was to tap into the vital secrets of Shaasskah, a form of unarmed combat that he had immediately been enamored with upon exposure to.

Power, above all else, fascinated the Lord of Silrosia’s twenty-fifth house.

Inclining his head forward enough to be noticed, the assassin exuded an air of readiness as exclaimed by the subtle shift of his feet and the breeding moisture in his heavily callused palms. Blessed with the inherent stubbornness of his people, there could be no doubt that the elf intended to present the monk with more effort and determination than could be expected of anyone less than perfect.

[Heartbreaker]

Kerwel could see the anxiousness in his new student. It was readily apparent upon his features. Turning, he slowly led him to a small training area around the back of the building.

If Nimavel was expecting fancy training equipment, he would be disappointed.

Three walls stood at the corner of the small courtyard…or more aptly, -pieces- of wall. The shortest stood about two feet high. The middle one, about three feet. Finally, the tallest one stood at four feet tall.

The first of the elven Heru’s challenges: Defeating all three walls.

The trainer’s voice was soft and mellow as he instructed his new student.

“You will –not- master all three of these walls this brightening. Know this now. To begin your training, you should take running leaps at the walls and try to land on the flat tops. After you’ve mastered that, then begin trying with standing jumps. You need to train your muscle memory to jump high. All the strength training you’ve done in the past will play into the new training, so don’t worry.”

[Nimavel Mynendil]

The scene was all too familiar in the elf lord’s mind: that is, three walls to overcome. When he had last trained with his sister, Vasha Mynendil, the Heru Mynendil had been similarly challenged to scale several walls of greater overall magnitude and dimension. He had, after brightenings of attempts, managed to overcome his sister’s challenge and not without finishing stronger and wiser than he had been before being presented with the obstacles.

He expected no less in this case as well.

Glancing at each of the three walls respectively, the assassin appraised the ascending complicacy of the three, beginning with the two-footer and finally the four-footer. He was confident that he could already mount each of the walls with running leaps, but standing leaps would be far more difficult to accomplish unless he was at his full energetic capacity.

Nevertheless, the purpose was to attain muscle memory.

Following Kerwel’s instructions, the elf lord dashed at the two-foot wall, leaping when a short distance away to ascend the top of the platform. Upon completion, he moved to attempt the three-foot wall and finally the fourth which he probably would have no difficultly accomplishing as Kerwel’s initial task was not an incredibly trying one.

The standing leaps, however, would truly test the vitality of his leg muscles.

Beginning at the two-foot wall, Nimavel distanced himself such that he could make the proper hop onto the flat platform. Bending at the knees and pushing off the balls of his feet to propel himself into the air, he would hopefully land solidly and with balance. He would next attempt the three-foot and four-foot platforms, which, admittedly, daunted him more than Kerwel probably believed. Standing leaps were not something that Nimavel practiced very often.

Nevertheless, applying the same methodology as he had with his previous attempt, he would continue to exercise the same motions to hopefully overcome the last two obstacles.

OOC: hey, made some assumptions here ~.~ but just in case tell me and i'll edit right away!

[Heartbreaker]

Kerwel noted, amusingly enough, that Nimavel was having trouble with the standing jumps. He had expected that. Many warriors trained their legs for endurance while running or fighting, but not the taxing exercises that brought one height in their jumps.

However, he was doing well…although he would note the next day that there was a lot of soreness in his knees and muscles. –That- was a good thing.

He had managed to tackle the first two walls but not the last one. Expected as well. The Master laid a hand on his student’s shoulder, handing him a cup of cold water.

"As well as could have been expected, young one. That third wall has yet to be defeated on the first try and rarely is the second…but I know something that will help you."

Arching his finger, he took Nimavel over to an area nearby where a very sturdy branch lay. Upon closer examination, he would note that there were two buckets attached to each end, filled with rocks. For the time being, the buckets were only filled halfway.

"If you place the branch upon your shoulders and practice on the smallest wall, the weight of the rocks will do two things. One, since each side is balanced perfectly, it will force you to jump straight up. Second, it will continue to work your legs with greater force being exerted down on you so that when you go to attempt the higher walls again, the effort will be easier. Strange concept but it works. "

Nodding his head, he left the elven lord to his training, keeping a close eye on him from afar.

[Nimavel Mynendil]

Lifting the branch upon his shoulders, the elf lord winced as the two buckets containing the rocks began to drift back and forth subsequent of the sudden motion. Although he had anticipated the difficulties of keeping his balance under such circumstances, the proud assassin refused to convey any indications that the training routine was harder than he believed it would be.

To acquire power was to sacrifice…

Pausing momentarily to find some equilibrium as he stood, Nimavel nodded to Kerwel and followed him back to the training field. The mere prospect of leaping onto one of the platforms with the burden of the rocks seemed daunting at first, particularly as it would be incredibly difficult to do so without inadvertently causing the rocks to spill from either bucket –or both.

Arriving in front of the lowest platform, the assassin exhaled deeply as he concentrated upon the task at hand. The purpose of the added weight on his shoulders was to force him to jump vertically and also to bolster the strength of his legs. In other words, he was priming his muscles so that at the end of his training he would be able to jump higher than he ever had before.

It would be a long process, he knew, but one that would ultimately be fulfilling and extremely useful later on.

Pushing off the balls of his feet, the assassin vaulted himself off of the earthen floor, doing his best to keep his body straight and his shoulders even as to not accidentally tilt the buckets to the point of spilling. He was more conscious about his landing as well this time, intuitively realizing that if he alighted firmly upon the base of the platform then the repercussions of the contact could involve the unbalancing of the branch and hence the loss of more rocks.

Whether or not he succeeded, Nimavel eagerly continued to practice without bidding or command. He was determined to find a solution to this challenge, modifying his jump or tweaking his form occasionally depending upon each particular instance’s success or failure.

[Heartbreaker]

Nimavel’s first few attempts were met with a lot of wobbling and tumbling rock. No one had said it would be easy and he was finding that fact out first hand. Everything involved with the jump affected the result and whether or not it would be successful. The more he thought about it, the more he would realize that the trick was in remaining completely upright and not tilting to either side so much as an inch.

Once he figured that out, the mental process was much easier….but harder on the body. Instead of just jumping, he had to physically straighten himself out and clench his muscles to make sure he could tilt at all. It took several times before he could jump up on the smallest wall without falling back off or losing rocks…but he eventually managed it…not consistently, but he did.

The monk came back over, nodding his head gently and helping the elf remove the branch and buckets for a rest.

“You’ve accomplished much today…but you would overwork yourself and I can’t allow that. Please, join me for a meal by the fire and we can talk a bit before resting.”

Walking back over to the fire, he indicated for Nimavel to have a seat, handing him a bowl of what looked to be a hearty stew of sorts and a hunk of bread. Sitting down himself, he poured two cups of water, handing one to the elven lord.

“So, tell me about your travels, young one.”

[Nimavel Mynendil]

After candlemarks of exhaustive repetition, the stoic elf began to feel burning sensations within his thighs and calves. Sheer pride enabled him to shrug away the pain; however, he was ultimately unable to prevent it from hindering his progress in the jump training. Whether he liked it or not, fatigue was gradually tearing away at his energy reserves and inevitably hindering his advancement.

He needed a break.

Wiping away many drops of sweat from his brow, the assassin exhaled deeply and accepted the bowl of stew that Kerwel had prepared during Nimavel’s training. Seating himself near the fire, the elf lord dignifiedly scooped the porridge into his mouth, consuming the morsels of food silently and hungrily. So preoccupied was he with the platform routines that he had forgotten how famished he had become.

By all accounts the Lord of House Mynendil would have been perfectly content with his bowl of food and his only conversation being with the crackling fire. It seemed that Kerwel had different intentions, though, and as the human had proven far too generous already, Nimavel was not reluctant to indulge in simple discourse with the charitable monk.

“This is the first time that I have been to Natura.”

Nimavel began, pausing to consume another spoonful of his meal.

“My wife and I generally reside in Silrosia but on occasion we venture outwards. Admittedly I prefer the forests.”

Shrugging apathetically, the elf breathed out again as his eyes fixed upon the dancing flames in front of him. After a second or two he looked back to Kerwel.

“What of you? For how long have you called the Temple of the Blessed Hands your home? And how is it that you came to be here?”

[Heartbreaker]

Kerwel himself was not of a man of many words, but he had always felt that it was important to know where his students came from….to learn about their experiences. Nimavel was no different although…the monk couldn’t quite help being surprised that the elven Heru had a wife. Obviously, there was nothing wrong with him having a wife…but on outward appearance and surface impression, he just didn’t seem the type.

But, the monk knew that surface impressions didn’t make a man..or elf in this case.

Nimavel fired back with his own questions. Sometimes the questions one asked we more telling then anything else. Nodding gently, he proceeded to answer them.

“So long ago that a barely remember that brightening. I was like so many others…lost and confused…looking for my place. I had gotten lost and stopped here to ask directions. The monks took me in and gave me food and shelter…I never left. Soon after, they started teaching me philosophy and Shaasskah. Strange set of events, I suppose…but in a way, poetic. I’ve been told that sometimes finding exactly what you need in life means standing still and letting it come to you. I certainly couldn’t have predicted the events. Have you ever had a situation like that?”

[Nimavel Mynendil]

Although the assassin’s expression remained blank, it was evident from the flicker in his violet eyes that he was unimpressed by the monk’s tale. He had developed a general conception that most people went into the monastery as penance for past wrongs, but this was not the case for Kerwel. Was it really possible that the man had gone into seclusion because of coincidence?

Nimavel had every reason to believe so.

Folding his hands around his knees as he stared into the dancing flames, the alabaster-hued elf considered Kerwel’s question for a silent moment. It was unlike the elf lord to share about instances of his past, but there was something about Kerwel that inclined the assassin to reciprocate with genuineness.

Perhaps it was the fact that Kerwel had taken him as a student despite knowing so little about him.

“My wife…”

The Heru Mynendil began, and he purposely refrained from meeting Kerwel’s gaze as he believed that doing so would discourage him from proceeding any further in the conversation.

“We met under unlikely circumstances. Our families were enemies.”

Shrugging to himself, Nimavel briefly reflected upon the first time that he and Calairiel had ever met in Imperia.

“But she gave me purpose, more purpose than I’ve ever experienced before.”

[Heartbreaker]

Kerwel nodded, understanding what Nimavel was saying. It was actually a very common occurrence, to believe one was on the right path…only to have everything turned upside to show you yet another path. The elven lord was learning that lesson the hard way….

…or perhaps not so much.

“ You learned perhaps a sweeter lesson then most. The lesson and paths of love can be the most educational and telling of all. Not everyone is so lucky, however. Consider yourself blessed to have found such a life. Such a path helps drive beings…becoming more then they ever thought they could be. Of course, as with anything, there are challenges…but they can always be overcome. “

Smiling a small smile for Nimavel, he continued on.

“ I had a love once…at least I thought she was. Of course, I was young and foolish. I would have handed her the world if she had asked. There were walls in the way and I found through the course of fighting them that she wasn’t as willing as I to fight. Love can overcome anything…-anything-….which is how I found out that she didn’t love me. See, it’s easy to love someone when the circumstances make it easy…but the true test is if you love with circumstances make it near impossible. –That- is a love worth having.”

He wasn’t blind. He knew that his words probably weren’t having much of an effect on the elf but he felt they needed to be said. Nimavel didn’t seem to be the type that could open up to anyone about love of its effects…but he would be that person. He would say the things that never had been said to the elf…if only just to say them. He didn’t expect Nimavel to respond…but sometimes, the passage of advice and wisdom needed to be passed regardless.

[Nimavel Mynendil]

Had Kerwel been anyone else, the Heru Mynendil would have discarded his words entirely. Advice was not something that Nimavel Mynendil ordinarily sought, and thus for the elfin lord to have actually heeded the theme of Kerwel’s tale was remarkable indeed. Perhaps it was because of the grudging respect that the assassin held for Kerwel that he listened to the human’s words –perhaps not.

The fact was, though, that he would not walk away from this conversation without having gained a small amount of wisdom.

Staring vacantly into the dancing fire, the assassin was unresponsive despite the deep consideration glimmering within his lavender eyes. He and Calairiel had undergone many adversities together, from the first time that they had coincidentally met in the House of Wax up until they had confronted Siaren Luviel together. Had those tribulations been easy?

What struck the elf lord most about Kerwel’s story was the fact that the woman who he had loved had not been of likewise commitment to him. She had failed where he had triumphed, and thus they had parted as a result. Nimavel had and would never question Calairiel’s love for him; if anything, hers was the one constant in his highly polar and haphazard lifestyle.

But what if all that they had accomplished, all that they had endured, was nothing in comparison of what was to come? What if the trials were only just beginning?

Would their love last?

He was certain of it. He and Calairiel shared something beyond the explicable, beyond anything extricable.

Glancing back at Kerwel, the elfin lord nodded faintly. He was grateful to have had this conversation.

“I’m rested and ready to return if you are.”