A Guided Hand

Mark had spent the last few hours being instructed and practicing first aid. Proper bandaging techniques, field triage, tourniquet tying, and the different signs of shock, blood loss, or concussion. It was quite thorough for only a few hours. His powers had even picked up on it, leveling extremely quickly thanks to a new buff icon.

He'd leveled so quickly that by the time the system had given him the skill, he was level 3 already. Tutoring was a hell of a buff. Part of him was surprised by Tara's skill in both teaching and in first aid, her hands dexterous and practiced. Another part was eager to learn more.

He finished wrapping the dummy's arm for a 5th time, finally drawing a satisfactory nod from Tara. "Good, this is much better. Tight enough to keep pressure but not cut off blood flow below the wound. With how it was fastened, it should hold up to movement well enough."

Mark nodded, appreciative of the praise. "Is first aid what everyone learns first or am I a special case?"

"You are a special case but not because of that. New hires have to go through a first aid course more extensive than this but we wanted to fast track combat related field triage on account of your upcoming part in the Warden's raid."

Mark was shocked for a moment, having forgotten Tara's mention of their other work yesterday. "Slipped my mind you guys are basically a spy network..."

"Call it what you will, we're highly effective." She had a note of pride to her voice as she spoke. Continuing on, she said, "that's about where I can get you in a day for field medicine, you learn quickly. Now we actually need to turn you over to an outsider for some combat training."

That puzzled Mark, working to clean up the work he'd done with Tara so things were nice and organized. "I'm not against learning to defend myself but why an outsider, and, maybe the better question, why learn now when I'll be a porter?"

"Monsters don't care what your role is," she said flatly. "As for the need of an outsider, we don't have anyone proficient with knives. The two people on staff are a firearms expert and a martial artist. He teaches tai chi during lunch breaks but he's trained in, last I heard, fourteen other disciplines."

Mark simply nodded, not having much to add. "Who's the knife expert then?"

A voice came from behind Mark as something cold and thin pressed against his throat, causing him to freeze. "That would be me." The voice was cold and raspy, masculine and leaning towards a baritone. Whoever this was, they had their arm bridging his shoulder blades to keep them pressed forward.

Mark felt the beads of sweat like rain forming all over his body, hands slowly raised in surrender as he tried not to cut himself when swallowing. "A-and you... you are...?"

"You're having a chat with a guy who has a knife to your throat. Get your priorities straight." The knife was removed and Mark was shoved forward, the person Mark realized was a man of average height and lean build continuing on, "time to take the new fish to school. Rule one of the ocean, if someone isn't watching your back, you have to do it yourself. Always. Rule two, make sure whoever does watch your back won't stick a knife in it."

The man tossed Mark a wooden mock up of a knife, about eight inches long. The toss gave him a good look at the man's arms, covered in the white lines of cut scars. What seemed like hundreds of lines criss-crossed his forearms and many disappeared under the sleeves of his tight fitting black shirt. The man had short red hair, and disinterested hazel eyes, the only marks on his visage being a small, straight scar on his right cheek and a break in his ear where the top part had been slashed. Mark held the knife how his skill-stoked instincts said to hold it, stance low with both hands out. That seemed to please the man.

"Good, good, you're not a total novice. What's the first thing everyone should know about fighting with a knife, kiddo?" Mark couldn't place his accent. It felt like the worst parts of Brooklyn and New Jersey got thrown at something wholly new.

"Don't get stabbed?" Mark was unsure what the man wanted to hear but it appeared this was at least not a bad answer.

"A good start. Better would have been 'use a gun' or 'try not to be caught with only a knife.' They're short. If you plan to get up close and personal with someone, knives are best as a back up or for throwing. I'm going to guess you're more about speed than strength based on the fact you look like you'd fall over in a stiff breeze."

"I'm a speed type, yes." Mark grumbled internally but this man could clearly fuck him up without trying. Best to not be indignant.

"Oh, you're one of those... Makes this easier, I guess. You play RPGs? You're a rogue. If a rogue isn't using a dagger for sneaking, what are they using?"

"A bow I guess? Depends." Mark was getting more confused by the man, wary of him striking at any moment.

"You've found the gun part, you're not dumb. Other than that, smart people use longer tools. It doesn't matter how fast you go, always try and tip the scales in your favor. Longer knives have more reach. I'd still say a gun is the way to go for as long as you can make it work. They'll eventually just be paperweights. If not a gun, a longer knife at least."

Mark looked down at the wooden training piece in his hands, thinking about the advice on offer. "If that's the case, why do you fight with knives?"

The man simply grinned like a crocodile, pride in his expression, though not aimed at Mark. Reaching for a short scabbard tied sideways to the small of his back, he pulled out a blade roughly as long as Mark's forearm from tip to guard. "Special metals are expensive. The smaller the weapon, the less you need."

Mark could feel the energy from the purple-tinged grey metal shortsword. Even from the short distance that separated them, Mark had that same phantom sense as what he got from the Horn of H.. It felt like cold steel ran through his veins, leaving short-lived razor cuts in it's wake until his entire body tingled with the sensation. All Mark could manage is a singular word at the impression, "Sharp..."

"Keen. Picked that out from there, did ya? Not bad." The still unnamed man glanced over towards Tara who appeared to be taking notes on the interactions before putting the blade back where it belonged. "Show me what you've got. Try and hit me with that knife, even a little bit."

Mark nodded slowly as his feet shuffled apart slowly, taking a widened stance. He logically knew why he did this. It lowered his center of mass, making him harder to topple and more sure on his feet. How he came to this knowledge, however, eluded him. It seemed to just come to him as his focus zeroed in on the coming fight. It probably came about from watching too many movies. Mark lunged forward with the knife, taking quick swipes at the impromptu opponent. Said opponent dodged with effortless grace, managing to look bored after the first few swings.

"Man, when you slipped down like that, I had hope. Don't disappoint me kid, kick things up." The verbal jab was meant to get under Mark's skin and found a small amount of purchase.

'He wants me to take this seriously and it would be good practice...' Mark's thoughts trailed off as he activated Elemental Tap. Aligning to the winds was feeling more and more like second nature at this point, the only thing really stopping him from leaving it on being his Mana regeneration. It was horrifically low.

The man seemed to notice the increase in speed and dexterity immediately, the dodges becoming slightly more of an effort but still appearing as though he were gliding from opening to opening. Mark could hear the man humming as he slipped slash after slash. Mark was getting closer and closer but the dodges only kept becoming better executed. Akin to watching a leaf dance in the breeze, the scar-armed man looked straight out of a fighting anime.

Mark grit his teeth, attacking head on would get him nowhere fast. He had to be clever if he wanted to land a hit, or at least unexpected. Wish a rush, Mark launched a flurry of swipes at his opponent's face, trying to keep him distracted. After a volley, he went to sweep his legs out, only to be met with a casual hop. With a slightly smug grin, Mark threw his wooden knife and used Projectile Guidance, aiming to hit center mass. He was expecting a quick dodge and he wasn't off the mark, surprise in the man's eyes as the knife seemed to follow him when he dodged backwards. The fake knife flew straight for him and he was forced to bat it away with his hand.

The knife clattered to to the ground a short distance away and Mark just looked at it, surprised and a little defeated until he heard a voice. "A good little surprise at the end. You worked to make me focus on the knife attacking my upper body, went down low to try and get me off balance, then had a backup for when I dodged that too. If you'd had more tools, you'd probably have kept up the offensive. It's a good starting point but maybe don't throw away your last tool."

Mark felt better about that, looking up. With a smile slowly making it's way to his lips, he reached behind himself to hide the appearance of the knife in his hand, drawing it from his inventory before showing it. "Who said it was my last," Mark asked as the broken tip caught his eye. Warm blood. The hollow feeling. He shuddered and put the knife away. He'd had an idea to show off a little with the damaged knife. He'd need to get a new knife for a few reasons now.

Mark was snapped out of his moment of rumination by a slow clapping. "You managed to not disappoint me, congrats. Walsh said you catch on quick but I could see the improvement in real time."

"Oh, uhh... Thanks. Learn fast or die, right?" Mark wasn't quite sure how to respond to the stranger but there was something on his mind. 'Surprised there wasn't a quest tied to this... Maybe Gaia's getting lazy.' No sooner had Mark thought that than a mental equivalent of a forehead flick hit him, followed by a window.

I have important things to do, you're just entertainment. Suck it jabroni.

After dismissing the window and with a quick shake of his head, Mark looked at the stranger, saying, "you never gave me your name. I'm Mark."

"Got a few names but the one you get is Ezekiel." Reaching into a pocket, Ezekiel pulled something out and flicked it towards Mark.

When he caught it, he found a round coin, about the size of a poker chip. It was made of plastic and had some strange symbol on it. "Please don't tell me this is some weird initiation thing to whatever group you work for..."

"You're really into clichés, huh kid? Nah, that's access to an aquatic market for basic weapons. Front is a sandwich shop called Arnold's. They make good food and sell things to stab people with."

Turning the coin, Mark realized he'd been looking at the coin at an odd angle. It was a letter A within a circle, similar to the anarchy symbol but without the A stretching beyond the confines of the circle. "So an Alcoholics Anonymous sandwich shop and armory?"

"I doubt you'd be surprised how often that joke gets made. Go there, get yourself something better than that chipped prick needle. They're paying you for that Warden work, yea? Those little shits at least pay good. Should be able to get something with what they give you. Until then, let's see about making you less shit."

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