The Grey Tower

It was still early, and the Warder Yards were only scantily occupied at the moment. This was a rare blessing, and the brown headed man took the opportunity to enjoy it. And hour ago the Yards had been dead, and in an hour from now they would be packed, but as the sun rose above the tower there were enough to give it life without crowding it. Garren smiled as he stepped onto the packed earth, soft soled shoes making no sound as he slipped towards a circle marked in the dirt with white sand. Here he stopped and viewed the eval ground he had chosen for the day. He was to meet an Aielman, but other than his name and rank the Gaidin knew little else about the man. He expected a tall man, with light (possibly red) hair and light eyes.

Aiel…. He thought to himself, and he had to force the memories of his wife...Ex-wife... from his mind. He shook his head as he slowly wrapped a bandage around each hand, protecting the young man (he assumed he was a young man) from the hard ridges of his knuckles. The missive he had sent to the man’s room after having been assigned as his teacher had instructed the other to show at sunrise, no later, and it was almost here now. Garren himself had been awake for a few hours, watching Angel sleep, going through his morning routine, and still marveling about the fact that he was here again. He had never thought to see this place again.

“The Wheel of Time turns…” he said beneath his breath in a voice that was deep. He didn’t smile, but the lines around his eyes tensed, tightening the thick scar that traced from hair to chin (avoiding the eye, but only barely) and making it stand out white. He knew the Wheel turned, but he had never expected it to turn so quickly on him…

Herarn had received the missive and knew he would have to go. He didn’t know why he needed to be evaluated on his unarmed skills. While he knew that he was no Master by any stretch, he was Aiel and they all learned the skills of a warrior, even if they chose to take up an occupation that didn’t require them to be a member of a Warrior Society. Only Wise Ones, children, and gaishain did not fight in Aiel society. To attack either was the act of a da’tsang.

He had been up well before the dawn as was his wont. He had spent the hour or so simply relaxing his mind while stretching his body. As a very large man, he had no natural limberness to rely on. He had to maintain it by stretching at least two or three times a day. As the false dawn broke, he took off his coat and wrapped his calloused hands in cloth. He had no doubt that he would be facing one of the Gaidin or Gaidar and he or she would be extremely skilled in unarmed combat, but he was strong, fast, and he considered himself fairly adept at the unarmed ways of his people. He knew had a great deal to learn, for a warrior who felt he had nothing more to learn was a dead one.

He walked out of the wooded glen near the Training Yards and squatted near the edge of one of the sparring rings. It would be a few minutes yet until true dawn. He saw a man, older than himself wrapping his hands and he assumed that this was to be his evaluator. Standing, he approached carefully, “I see you. I am Herarn, Soldier of the Grey Tower. And how am I to address you?”

Garren turned, showing his average features, with three notable exceptions. Two were his scars, one slicing from hairline to jaw, the other slipping across his throat in a failed second smile. But the thing that grabbed the attention first of all were his eyes. Bright yellow, they seemed to gather and toss back the light, the pupils enlarged, a ring of gold inside the yellow, and circling his pupil. He nodded as he saw the man approaching and took him in with a quick glance. He was strong, but he was Aiel. He seemed confident and capable...but he was Aiel. It only made sense that he would be all these things. Then he nodded and spoke.

“I see you, Soldier Herarn.” He said, and the return politeness did not stutter from his lips. It was clear he was used to them. “This morning you may call me Garren Gaidin. But perhaps, when this is over, we might share shade and maybe you will call me Garren?” He smiled as he said this, but it was a strange smile. Not only were the lips open, but so were the teeth, making it look for a moment as if he were snarling at you, but this was not so. He gestured to the circle ring in invitation, glad to see the man had already wrapped his hands. So many missed this first step, or believed they did not need it at all. “This morning I’m going to spar with you so that I know what your skill level is. This will help your teachers when it comes to what you need to learn and what can be skipped over. The goal of this spar is to knock your opponent out of the ring, or make them yield in some way. Feinting yield is not allowed, nor is blows that would incapacitate your opponent. In other words, avoid the eyes and the throat.” He turned that yellow gaze back on the Soldier. “Before we begin, do you have any questions?”

Herarn shook his head. There was nothing more to be said, so he moved towards the center of one of the nearest training rings and assumed a defensive crouch with his hands open and loose. Once Garren Gaidin was in position and indicated he was ready, he swept with one of his legs trying to trip the other man, even as he moved through that motion he prepared to allow the momentum of a potentially dodged leg sweep turn into a heel kick aimed at the other mans midsection.

Herarn moved with a predatory grace indicative of his movements being ingrained from years of practice. Some of which had literally been beaten into him. He just needed a fractal opening to create something more, but he doubted that Garren would give him that opening. And if he did, Herarn would pay for it, painfully. His forms were stable and clean, if unorthodox in that he had adapted them to his considerable size and strength, but anyone watching would see them if they knew what they were looking for.

There was only the Flame and Garren. He would ignore everything else, including the seductive allure of saidin. Too many idiots had come to rely on its use for everyday mundane tasks, but he had resisted that allure as much as possible.

Garren had already limbered up for the sparring session, and so, with a crack of his neck one way and then the other, he stepped back into a defensive position, eyes focusing on Herarn’s. He was loose, lacking the tightening of the shoulders and spine that many newer recruits had, and he seemed calm and collected as his position dropped low, extremely low. In fact, he nearly seemed in a crouch, a stance that most had found quite confusing, especially watching him move about in it as if it were second nature to him. He prepared to circle the trainee for a moment, as almost all sparrings started in the testing of the other’s ability.

But Herarn didn’t start this way, and the moment he saw that sweeping foot he cursed himself for a fool. He was too low to the ground to leap it at such a close distance, and he was honestly surprised that the other had begun in this manner….Had he been on his guard, it would have been rewarded with a grab and twist to the ankle, but he wasn’t on his guard. Not for *that* move. Not for any serious strike this quickly, and as the other’s foot caught and pulled, he felt his balance teeter before breaking. Cursing inwardly, he threw his weight *into* the fall, pushing himself backwards with speed and twisting so his back and shoulders met the ground, allowing him to throw his feet over his head, flip on the packed earth, and land in another crouch as the additional kick from Herarn passed harmlessly over his falling body.. And...he seemed to be grinning, teeth opened, eyes flashing appreciation. He didn’t speak, but swiftly moved to the left, suddenly pivoting on his left foot as he shot the distance between them, twisting, turning, and coming around with a round house hammer fist towards the man’s shoulder, attempting to numb it and take at least one limb out of the equation. Herarn wasn’t a small man, larger than Garren in fact, so Garren felt confident in using a bit more force than he would in most spars. Besides, the man had already proved he at least knew a bit of his way around a hand to hand fight...

Herarn saw the blow coming and could have easily dodged out of the way, but instead tapped the top of Garren’s arm, driving the blow south of where it was intended to strike him in the middle of a hardened pectoral muscle. Herarn didn’t hesitate as he drove two fingers up under Garren’s arm about three fingers up from the elbow joint to stab at the nerve cluster there. As Garren’s eyes widened in realization at what he did, Herarn lashed out a blow at the side of Garren’s head.

Garren dodged it but since Herarn had only been striking for a point a half inch from the side of Garren’s skull, he was able to redirect the flow of the blow and catch the other man in the face. It wasn’t anywhere near as forceful as he’d have liked as there was only what power he could put into it from his shoulder. But again, he struck no further than necessary in the event that the other man ducked out of the way.

Herarn winced though as Garren brought his own legs into play and kicked Herarn right on the kneecap. It served two purposes that Herarn could see. Slow down and hinder his movements while giving Garren a bit of space to regroup. Herarn didn’t stand from his crouch, only shifted his weight so his weight was on the right leg instead of the left. He stretched out the leg causing a pop to resound as Garren jabbed into his arm with two fingers and shook out his arm.

Herarn couldn’t help but give a toothy grin. It was rare for him to find anyone who could challenge him in unarmed combat. Even if he did lose, which he knew he most likely would unless Garren through the fight, which was not likely to happen. So he was going to enjoy the fight and relish it.

Even though he’d tensed the muscles in his chest to absorb most of the blow from Garren’s hammer fist, Herarn could still feel the energy further back in his shoulder. It wasn’t enough to make the arm go numb, but he would feel it for some time if he didn’t see a healer after this.

Herarn ignored some of the early bird trainees who showed up to start setting up for the morning training. They could watch or ignore them as they chose, but he hoped for their sake not to try and get involved. Garren was deceptively fast and only his own training had kept him from losing his arm for several critical seconds.

In hindsight, Herarn realized he should have pushed the arm up and avoided the blow completely. After all an injury avoided is the best kind. But Garren was a wiley opponent who might have turned that missed opportunity into a grapple on the back of Herarn’s neck. He didn’t go after Garren, he waited patiently like a stone for the other man to come to him. He hadn’t seen any weakness to provoke him to try and rush the smaller man to take advantage of, so it was best to wait and see.

Knowing the danger of staying locked in extremely close combat for too long, Garren had retreated a few steps. Staying close for more than a few seconds opened one to attacks you might not see, or perhaps only allowed it to degenerate into a wrestling match on the ground. Such things might save the day in real life, but they went nowhere in determining the man’s abilities. For a moment he kept eye contact with Herarn, watching the set of his body, the speed of his breath, even how much sweat he had accumulated. But the man was Aiel, and every fiber of his being seemed to show it, to Garren’s point of view. Looking for fatigue in most Aiel was useless at best. He closed again.

This time the wolfkin kicked. Starting low, three rapid blows came. First towards the ankle, that weight bearing pillar of the body. Then he went high, snapping his foot up in a half instant towards the head. But it was the last kick that was the most dangerous. Garren dipped his foot towards the midsection, pulled his knee against his chest, and kicked out in a powerful side kick, created to both strike and *push* with great force. Even if blocked, the force behind it could knock one off guard, or out of the ring.. The three kicks were fast, snapped and gone to attempt to escape any grabs made for his ankle or even his thigh. And when his foot finally touched the ground again, barely a few seconds after lifting, he finished the move with a double handed palm strike towards the man’s chest, the butts of his hands held together, fingers of one hand up, fingers of the other down, curled lightly in to provide more control.