Recovering Bladeaholics [Don/Duma Finished]

[Donovan]

It had been 2 weeks since Michael and his band of murders had attempted to kidnap the children and murder their guard. Donovan’s wounds had recovered quickly, thanks to Remus’s healing, and they had continued on through Bern and on toward their ultimate destination of Laus. The silver tongued mercenary and his fencing master had resumed their training, at Don’s insistence, the moment he was able to grip a sword again. At first, they took it slow, each needing to test their abilities and their limits after such a brutal fight. But after 3 days of easy sparring, Donovan and Duma had decided to resume the level of combat training that they had been maintaining before their lapse.

A determined look stole over Don’s face as they took to the field. He began to stretch out his back, doubling over and putting his palms to the floor. He stood straight, slowly, then twisted his back in either direction to cause a loud crack. He took the Saracen’s steel sword in his hand and rotated his shoulder. “Are you sure you are feeling up to the task today, Duma?” The silver tongued mercenary couldn’t help but poke at his teacher’s ego every time that they fought. The battle with Michael had taught them each substantially. Duma had always been a superb swordsman, but as far as Donovan was concerned, he’d never seen the wandering warrior in better form. The raven haired mercenary was, himself, exponentially more sure in his abilities. He was still not as fast as Duma, nor anywhere near the strength of Perun, but his ability with a blade was now unrecognizable from when he’d first joined this party. He was steadfast in his need to continue to grow. To become strong enough to ensure no one would die saving him again.

[Duma]

Duma stared out into the field for a bit before turning to face Donny. The swordsman hadn’t fully recovered from his encounter with Michael and his assassins. Physically the swordsman was fine. But mentally he was still a bit shaken. The swordsman’s faith in the priest had been broken. And he now spent most of his free time ensuring that no other assassins would sneak up on them. This had disrupted some of his sleep and made him a bit more irritable then usual. But he would not let his inner doubts disrupt him from Donny’s training.

“Yes. I’m up for it.” He muttered as he rotated his shoulder and moved his neck in order to get rid of the kinks.

“You have improved greatly since we first started these training sessions. I am.. impressed with your progress.” He gave a soft smile then looked a bit to Donny’s side. Out towards the empty space where Carter usually sat. Though the mercenary was with them for a short time, Duma would not forget him. The scrawny young man seemed to enjoy watching these little duels. I.. guess he’s still watching.. but from another place. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, tilted his head up, then let out his breath. Calm. Find your center Duma. Banish your thoughts.. focus..

He opened his eyes again and took a few paces back. He pulled out his steel sword and scabbard from it’s belt holster and tossed it aside. He then drew out the brave sword and flipped it onto it’s blunt edge. The brave sword was a sword made of slightly weaker metal alloy. It was lightweight and meant to help blade user's swing multiple times with less energy. This gave swordsmen the advantage of pulling multiple swings at once, usually before their opponents had a chance to react. He readied himself and took a stance.

“Time to test exactly how much you’ve improved since then. Whenever you are ready.”

[Donovan]

“Really, Duma? You are so intimidated by my progress that you feel the need to use your brave sword in a sparring match? My dear mulleted comrade, I think you may overestimate me.” Duma had been off lately, not in technique, but in his mind, he’d grown more distant from his companions, and Don was starting to get worried. He had not realized how close Duma had been with Carter, though he supposed they must have had more of a connection than Donovan had previously believed. But still, this was something else entirely. Duma had never used his brave sword against Don in training. Hell, he hadn’t even used the brave sword against Sev, and that man, may he rest in peace, was definitively more capable in combat than the silver tongued mercenary.

Donovan took his shield from his back and prepared himself for the fight. If his teacher was going to go all out, then so would the student. Duma might be more skilled and faster, but Donovan was getting better everyday - and he had a much more unorthodox sense of honor when it cam etc someone swinging a brave sword at you during training. He was not opposed to playing dirty, if need be.

With two quick and sudden steps forward, the mercenary swung low, a feint, before pulling back into a defensive stance. He’d have to fight carefully with Duma’s superior weapon. The shield would help complete his defenses, but attacking too boldly could leave Don open for a slew of unblock able attacks.

[Duma]

There was a light smirk on Duma's tired face at Donny's comment. He closed his eyes softly before sighing, opening then, and then explaining.

"You've grown stronger and faster then the last time we had a proper sparring match. My usual tricks and movements have become predictable and so I must do something to keep it interesting. To keep us both on our toes. And this will serve as a practice lesson for me as well. This sword is relatively new. If.. this becomes... too much to handle.. due to our recovery.. during our lesson then I will put it away and use the steel sword you are more familiar with." He spoke only as Donny was busy preparing himself for the fight. Duma noticed he was using his standard shield and sword. The shield was tricky to deal with due to the fact that it did a good job and blocking and deflecting the swordsman's blows. Which would leave him open for a counter attack. This only meant that Duma had to work harder to work around his students defenses.

Duma was impressed with Donny's growth and happy that he had him as a student. The stage player turned mercenary had did his best to keep things entertaining through out this journey. And Duma had no doubt that one day the mercenary would surpass the swordsman in terms of skill and craft. Donny had an advantage that Duma lost when he choose to specialize exclusively on swords. Donna came forward and strcuk low Duma quickly shifted his sword over to defend the attack but Donny pulled back and returned into a defensive stance. I should have seen that coming. I knew it was a feint. The swordsman shook his head. Snap out of it man. Focus. Test the waters..

Duma stepped forward and attempted to strike at Donny with a simple horizontal slash.

[Donovan]

Don was surprised that his feint had managed to catch Duma off guard, though he’d lost the momentum he would have gained had he continued his assault. Perhaps Duma was even more shaken by what had happened two weeks ago than Don had thought. The silver tongued merc knew Duma had been foregoing sleep and rest in the weeks since the attack. He only hoped his teacher would take a moment to relax and recover. Don had been much more comfortable getting rest than he probably should have been after the battle with Michael. He knew that Michael would show his face again, but Don had the feeling it would not be for a while. After seeing what the priest’s guard could do, Donovan had a feeling that the Reaper would need time to rebuild his team and think of an actual plan before trying to power his way through again.

Duma swung horizontally at the actor turned mercenary. It didn’t seem like a very aggressive attack. More of just a probe than anything resembling a real attack, but Donovan easily batted it away his shield. The Brave sword’s lighter weight barely having a enough of a heft to cause Donovan’s shield arm much discomfort. There were pluses and minuses to using specialty weapons. Rather than swinging in an arc and opening himself up to rebuttal by Duma, Don brought his shield back into a defensive stance and stated toward Duma’s sword arm, pulling his blade back quickly. He might not be able to beat Duma in a straightforward aggressive fight, but if he could maintain a strong defense, he could work on tiring the sword master down to get them on a more level playing field.

[Duma]

Duma's horizontal slashed was easily blocked by Donny's shield. The mercenary raised his shield back to it's defensive position before attempting to slash at Duma. Duma quickly slashed upwards in order to intercept it. The strike was strong and with intention to try and disarm Donny. The attack was swift too due to the fact that the brave sword was very light. Out of instinct he struck a second time, a quick diagonal slash back down. This strike could be easily blocked with Don's shield provided the mercenary raised it up in time. The blade was on it's reverse end so the swordsman wouldn't cut Donny.

His mind felt blank. He wasn't thinking of his actions and was simply letting his body move on instinct. His body felt heavy and tired. To compensate his body found itself using more force in his blows then usual. His mind tuned out the voices of people. It tuned out the shouts and cheers of the children who were watching in the distance. It tuned out the sound of the rustling grass beneath their feet. He was only focused on Donny's movements and the noises the sounds of the armor made. Armor. His mind flashed briefly to the Illian reaper. A strange force seemed to grasp Duma, it felt like his stomach and guts were forcefully being shoved upwards into his chest. The reaper was covered in hard but flexible armor that made it difficult for Duma to pierce through. When he composed himself once more he looked back at Donny. And saw only the Illian reaper in front of him.

[Donovan]

Don felt his thrust batted aside, had he tried to hack at the wandering warrior he could have been entirely disarmed. He noticed the sword returning for a second, diagonal blow, and lifted his shield to protect his head, feeling a shock down his arm as it struck harder than he thought Duma would intend. Don could hear the kids watching the fight, they were cheering and applauding like spectators in a gladiator's arena. Don took a couple of steps back and began to circle his opponent, being drawn to the theatrical nature of having an audience but when the silver tongued mercenary looked into the eyes of his sword master, he was taken aback by the blank stare that met his gaze. Duma looked almost hollow, until a spark of anger seemed to flare in his eye.

“Duma, are you alright?” Donovan questioned. Though he trusted the green haired sword master, he felt his body drop instinctually into a defensive position. If Duma truly wished to hurt him he would not be able to do much in retaliation, but he could defend himself well enough. His leather armor would do nothing against the sharp brave sword Duma yielded, so he would have to rely on his sword and shield, trying to ensure that he didn't leave too many openings.

The green clad mercenary stepped forward and bashed at the sword master with his shield. If he connected it would daze Duma with the blow, but if he missed, Duma wouldn't have as much opportunity to land a lethal attack.

[Duma]

He wasn't sure what it was, the lack of sleep, the constant vigilance, the thought of the reaper returning, or a combination of all of three. Duma wasn't in the right mindset for this. He wasn't in the right mindset for any battle. He needed to rest. His body knew this and yet his mind refused. He wasn't right. And now he was hallucinating. Donny wasn't in front of him any more instead it was the figure of the Ilian reaper in Donny poses.

The blade in his hand was light, ideal for multiple hits. Multiple.. weak hits. Weak. He was weak. Too weak. He had failed in his duty as a guard. A man died. He nearly died. The "Ilian reaper" raised his shield as if to defend himself. No. I.. will not.. let you take any more lives! The "reaper" attempted to hit him with his shield. Duma saw the movement, he quickly side stepped, he stepped forward and swung his blade. The lightness of the blade allowed him to do two quick hits. These hits had some strength to them, since Duma still saw Donny as the Ilian Reaper. It was very fortunate for Donny that Duma fought with a reversed blade style whenever he did training sessions. Other wise he probably would have ended up killing the young mercenary. And that act would scar Duma forever. He was fighting as if he was in a life or death situation. His breathing was hard and ragged. This.. time.. it will be different.

He pressed forward with intention to continue the assault.

[Donovan]

In a moment, Donovan saw how much further he still had to go. His shield didn’t make contact with Duma, the elder fighter being far too quick. He managed to deflect the sword master’s first attack, but the preternaturally light weight of the brave sword allowed him to strike again before Donovan could react. He was lucky that the brave sword was turned so the blade wasn’t being used. The blow crashed into his ribs and Donovan felt all the air escape his lungs. Surely there would be a dark bruise there the next day, unless Remus healed him after training. While the single strike wouldn’t have been fatal, with the close proximity of the healer, Donovan was genuinely unsure of whether the sword master would stop after one blow. He had never seen him behave in such an unprecedented manner. He’d lost control.

He knew he wouldn’t survive a true attack from Duma, but if he could demobilize him for long enough to get through to him, maybe he could get the Sword Master back to being sane again. Having spent so long with Perun, Donovan had become proficient in grappling and wrestling - no where near as proficient as the Giant himself, but he did have a height advantage on Duma and hopefully that’d be enough. Still leaning over in pain, Don acted in one fluid motion, dropping his sword and grabbing for Duma’s wrist. He attempted to turn the Sword master into a hold where he wouldn’t be able to use his sword arm without breaking it.

“Duma, listen to me. What’s gotten into you? It’s me! It’s Donovan!”

[Duma]

He felt the clang of the two hits. It was a strange mix of satisfaction and fear. His blade made contact with metal first then with flesh. He had hit the opposing swordsman. He hit the Ilian reaper. He was panting now. The adrenaline was pumping in his veins. He wanted to hit the “reaper” more. He raised his arms up only to be met with a grasp. The “reaper” had him in some sort of grapple hold.

He couldn't move. He couldn't move the way he wanted. He was restrained, useless, vulnerable. The reaper spoke, but it was unintelligible. Except for his name. His name. How the hell did the reaper know his name? Oh right cause Donny screamed it out loud! The reaper knew their names their faces. Duma struggled some more. No.. no. I can't.. let him live. Can't let him kill our families.. I can't..

The “reaper” had a firm hold and wasn't letting go. Duma couldn't swing his sword. He couldn't.. do anything.

“Let… let me go!” The green clad swordsman tried to speak. But, his words felt like they were muddled in his mouth. He was groaning in between his repetition.

“Can't..” He felt his body go heavy. His body was exhausted from the lack of sleep, the vigilance, and now the struggle of trying to get out of the grip.

“Let.. him.. escape.” Slowly his breathing steadied. Something in him was nagging at him. A professional assassin like the reaper wouldn't have her him live this long. He figured he'd be a roasted shishkabob by now. No, no, something was wrong. What was he doing before this? Something with Donny right? Donny... Donny..

[Donovan]

Pain radiated from Donovan’s chest but he pushed through, knowing losing his grip would end in his death. Duma struggled against the grip vehemently, but as the sword master tried to speak, Donovan realized how exhausted Duma must be. Don thought that he demanded he be released, but the Sword Master’s tongue sounded heavy in his mouth and the words word difficult to decipher. Suddenly, Duma’s body seemed to sink down, Don having to hold up his teacher and attacker as the man’s body seemed to grow heavier. The extra weight proved too much for Don’s injured ribs, and after a moment, he released the hold he’d tried so hard to maintain.

Don coughed and tasted blood. Internal bleeding. Guess I’m lucky Remus is here. Donovan knew enough about healing from his mother to know that an internal injury was nearly impossible to cure without some powerful healing magic. The mercenary attempted to pick up his sword and pointed it at his deranged friend as best he could. He hoped that Duma had either tired himself out enough to not continue to fight, or had come to his senses enough to know who Donovan actually was.

“Duma. I’m hurt, but you’re exhausted. Nearly unconscious. I could keep going all day, so why don’t you just admit I finally beat you and let us both get back to Remus so he can patch us up, eh?” The mercenary coughed into his sleeve again. There was more blood than the first time and it felt like his insides were being torn apart. How hard Duma had actually hit him to cause that much blunt trauma was beyond his understanding.

[Duma]

The swordsman shook his head. His head. It hurt. It felt like it was spinning. Like he had too much rum or as if he had been kicked in by a mule. But the person he was fighting was talking. He could make out the words, but they sounded fuddled. It was strange... but the voice. He knew he recognized that voice. What was he doing? He was supposed to be training Donny right? Donny. His friend. His student. That's right. He.. they.. were sparring. And then what happened. He saw the Ilian reaper.

He shook his head again. Another pulsating vein of pain surged into his forehead. Something was wrong with all this. No.. the Ilian reaper wasn't here. He left... left to parts unknown. Duma's body let out a groan. He could feel the constant lub dub of his heart. It shouldn't be beating this hard. This was supposed to be a training session. Training. Training. He felt his feet touch the ground. He struggled out of Donny's grip and fell to the floor on his knees. Duma tossed his sword aside so he wouldn't hurt Donny with it any more. His vision focused on the grass beneath him. The blurry green blades that swayed with the panting of his breath. Another shake of his head. He could feel the sweat of his body on his clothes. He felt hot but the moisture made him cold.

"Donny?" He spoke with a sense of panic in his voice. He turned his head to see him. And he did see him. He saw him as him and not as the Ilian reaper. He saw Donny in his green splendor and pepper corn hair. The color in Duma's face drained when he saw the red all over Donny's clothes. He knew he did this. He shouldn't have done this.

"I.. don't know what happened." The cold feeling of his clothes was starting to get to him. He could feel a light shiver creeping up.

"Go. To. Remus." He ordered. If Donny didn't the swordsman would muster what energy he had and drag him there himself.

[Donovan]

Donovan watched, pain from the fight leeching through his body. He shook as he held the Sacaen blade that had been a gift from Flynn. He was not sure how Duma was going to move next. The Silver Tongue felt as if a gust of wind would push him to the floor, and if Duma still saw him as the Ilian Reaper, there wasn’t any chance he’d survive to tell another tale.

You can imagine how grateful our broken and beaten green clad mercenary was when Duma actually seemed to recover his sense of self, with a scared and feeble muttering of “Donny?”

Don managed a short chuckle before a sharp pain hit him as punishment. “Yeah, that’s me, mullet man. I should hope you didn’t know what you were doing. Not generally very friend like to try and kill each other, you know.” Donovan didn’t wait long to leave once Duma had told him to go see Remus. In fact, he may have taken a couple of steps away before the sword master had even finished his sentence. He shook as he walked, the adrenaline that had kept him going during the fight was seeping from his body. Some quite rational part of him heard an echo of his mother’s voice telling him he was going into shock. Shock is bad.

When he saw the blue haired priest, Donovan had one last great coughing fit, blood flew from his mouth, and he collapsed, unconscious on the floor by the healer’s feet. And thus ended the greatest lesson the Wanderer ever taught the Silver Tongue: If they were ever to meet on the battlefield, choose another foe.

[Duma]

Duma watched as Donny made his way towards the priest. He should have walked with him. Instead he stood up and waved Remus down. The blue haired priest would have to heal him. He stopped moving and fixed his eyes back on his student. The poor man was swaying. His body was probably going into shock. He really should have walked with him. But, he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to move. He nearly killed Donny. His student. Friend. Companion. What in the world got into him?

He raised his hand over his face. He covered his eyes his head felt like was spinning in a world of regret. What made him see Donny as the Ilian reaper? He was feeling ill now. Dizzy. Nauseous. He felt as if something had punched him in the gut and was twisting away at his insides. He felt like a kid whom was getting scolded by his parents. He felt like he had disappointed someone important.. He hadn't felt like that in quite some time. Now, he needed to know how to make this right. No. I don't think anything will ever make this right.

"I nearly killed him." He pulled his hand away from his now pale face. He said it as if to solidify what he had done. He still couldn't believe that he did that. He stared at his hands. They did not have his blood. He supposed he should be grateful for that. But his clothes were splattered with bits of it due to the grappling maneuvers. He glanced at his sword. The discarded peice of metal that had cut through Donny's flesh. His facial features morphed to one of disgust.

"I nearly.." He shook his head again. This.. should not have happened. He grabbed the blade and sheathed it. He didn't bother to wipe the blood off. He would leave it as a reminder of his shame, at least for a few hours. We.. have to check on him. He gritted his teeth. We have to apologize. And so he began his march back to the group.

Thread end.