Mandrake: Through the Motions

 Even the water from the river flowing out of Ravengro seemed to be cleaner somehow. There was something dark and tainted hanging like a fog over the small suburb.

Mandrake stood at the bank of the river, an hours walk southward from town. The sun was down, and the moon seemed to be struggling to shine light through it's cloud oppressors. It didn't matter. Mandrake had always seen fine in the dark. The sound of the running water helped calm him, and focus his mind as he moved through his stances.

Slowly crouching and sliding one foot behind him he entered Rolling Tortoise. Palms down and fingers curled he struck out swiftly at invisible targets, shuffling back and forth quickly on his bend legs. He then rolled forward and came up in a full stand on one foot, one arm high over his head poised like an executioner axe. The other wrapped in front of his body like folded wing. The Striking Axebeak appeared to leave him off balance, but in an instant he shifted feet and brought down his right hand with great force, pushing forward and finishing in a wide crouch, arms bent with elbows almost meeting behind his back. When he was still a warrior in The Pit, this technique, The Dragon's Furnace was his greatest crowd pleaser. Focusing half his energy into each palm of his hand, he snapped them both forward in mirrored time, halting them with open palms facing away from himself, as if they were hitting an unseen wall. The moment of impact, gritting his teeth with determination, a tiny cloud of black smoke hissed from an empty pocket of energy before him. He was still too weak.

Many of the other unarmed warriors had been trained by masters to battle with foot and hand. Their styles and techniques came from old texts passed down for generations. Mandrake had no master, and no texts. His life was spent developing his own way of fighting. His style was a dance, to the beat of a great drum at the center of the earth. He could hear it when battle broke out. His moves reflected the dangers of nature. He could snap from a solid stance making him as resilient as a tree, to a deadly stance that let him strike with wicked fingers as fast as a cobra. In his prime though, he had truly been able to harness the powers of the earth gods. Too many deaths, and too many poor resurrections had left him a shadow of his former self. But he was not giving up. He would find that power once again.

Looking at the moon he decided it was time to get back to the Mansion. Soon they would be leaving for Harrowstone. Only the Gods knew what would await them there.