The fire that tests a man
[04:27:45] Crow stood at the firepit. His eyes drifted to the candidate. There was something in his gaze that was already a warning. “Some candidates remember me very well … by the blisters upon their hands. Their obsession with fire. He would put some logs into place and lit up the fireplace. “You failed to do as you were told. That …” he held pause. “That will be met with consequences.”
[04:32:40] Dust had only just woken after a lengthy night collecting people’s belongings from the boat and moving almost every bit of furniture around someone’s house 4 times before they were happy with the arrangement. He had slept in the Inn for maybe 5 hours before he had remembered about the fire and was about to sort it…. but then Crow was already there. He made no excuse. No defiance. He just stood. “I will take whatever punishment you have Sir.”
[05:08:58] Crow had the habit to find that one small moment of being late, not tending to the fire. Even his own son had taken it heavy for everytime he had forgot or was too late for adding a log. He would approach slow. As if there was no real sense of direction. It was like this snake, slithering with no real threat in mind and yet at the very moment in which he perhaps became uncomfortable close, his fist seemed to have come out of no where with the intent to strike the man hard across the jaw. If he was able to hit him (below 33 = failed between 34 = 66 = hit but will stand 67 to 100 = hard ) it would hopefully bring his point across. “This is your warning … this fire is your life … you protect it … if it dies you might die too.”
[05:09:05] zCS # [Roll] Melchior Wardell rolled 59 (100).
[05:09:20] zCS # [Roll] ZandarLetts Resident rolled 89 (100).
[05:18:32] Dust had caught the movement a moment too late, The punch hit hard against his face and he took a step backwards. his instinct was to fight back. To defend himself. His right hand balled into a fist. Though that in itself was a shock to the wayfayer. He was used to seeing punches coming. Used to feet trying to slice his feet from below him. This… was something else. His fist came around towards the man without even a thought – forgetting for a moment that he was meant to be impressing the man. Right at the last moment it was like…. a touch rather than a fist. “Understood.” a simple word – a look that crossed the man’s face with the etch of a man that still had anger boiling inside.
[05:24:42] Crow barely moved after the fist stopped short of his face. His eyes remained fixed on Dust, taking in the clenched hand, the tension in his jaw, and the anger the candidate had not quite managed to bury. For several Ihn, he said nothing. Then he gave a small, humorless smile. “There. That was the moment I wanted to see.” He stepped back, allowing Dust room to settle himself rather than pressing the advantage. “Your body reacted before your mind could catch up. You were struck, and every instinct you possess told you to strike back. You nearly did.” His gaze sharpened. “But you stopped. At the last moment, you remembered where you were and why you came here.”Crow tilted his head slightly. “Do not mistake me, Dust. I am not praising you for allowing yourself to be hit. Nor am I asking you to become a man who never fights back. There will be times when hesitation gets you killed, just as there will be times when a drawn fist ruins everything you have spent weeks building. The difference is whether you decide to strike, or whether your anger decides for you.”A faint, dry edge returned to his voice. “And for the record, if you intend to hit me, candidate, I would prefer you do it because you have made a decision not because you forgot yourself halfway through a lesson.” Crow straightened, his expression settling into its usual composure. “Now tell me, Dust. When your fist came around, what made you stop?”
[05:31:27] Dust ‘s eyes flickered to the man for a long moment then back to the fire. The thoughts being processed like he was trying to walk through thick mud. On the boat, he wouldn’t had hesitated. He would have defended himself. Yet there was a small part of the man who he had left a long time ago on the banks of Lara – remembering the words from his father. He quoted them now. “The strike is not the defense you wish. It is the body’s reaction to anger. Know it, feel it, understand that and you will become a better man.” He then looked to the fire “You are right. I forgot myself and the instructions. Whether for a moment or for a long time, it does not matter.” He then placed another log on the fire as it slowly embered
[05:38:39] Crow watched Dust place another log upon the fire, the orange glow catching the hard lines of his face. For a moment, he said nothing. The words the candidate had quoted were not those of a fool. They were the words of a man who had been taught something worth remembering, even if life had buried it beneath years of habit. “Your father sounds like he understood the difference between a reaction and a decision.” Crow stepped closer to the fire, holding his hands behind his back. His gaze settled on the embers, though his attention remained on Dust. “You say you forgot yourself. Perhaps. But you also stopped. That matters.” He glanced toward the candidate. “Do not make the mistake of thinking discipline means never feeling anger. You will feel it. Fear, humiliation, frustration. Sometimes another man will strike you precisely because he wants to see what you do next.” A faint, almost wry smile touched his lips. “Do not make his decision for him by giving him the reaction he came looking for.” He crouched briefly to adjust a shifting log, then straightened. “You have spent your life learning how to survive at sea, Dust. Your father’s words suggest he was trying to teach you how to survive yourself.” His emerald eyes met the candidate’s. “That may prove the more difficult lesson.” Crow let the fire crackle between them for a moment before adding, more quietly, “Tell me something. When you stopped that fist, was it because you remembered my instruction… or because, for one moment, you remembered the man your father wanted you to become?”
[05:47:40] Dust again had to think long and hard about the answer. Not because he was choosing the right words to say but because he simply wasn’t sure exactly what the man wanted to hear. There were things he did not know yet – many things. Even after living 50 years in a place that hadn’t aged him much, a gorean man at heart – he still didn’t feel like he was much of that man that his father had wanted him to be. “My father was a man of steel but knew how to use it in the right way. My mother a woman of words. Long, lengthy, with the touch of a woman who cared for their only son.” He said plainly “I remember them daily as a way to try and shape a life I feel very much like is still to be shaped. I have led men into battle, I have discovered many wakes of life – North and South. When my boots hit ground, I go and make my living for a while. Slaver, Merchant, builder of boats. When the sea calls, I return. I believe that my father wanted more for me. More than just a man that does things because he has to but because he supposed to. So I would say the later. On a ship you have no chance to think for yourself. You are lead by a leader. A captain. You fight because you have to – to defend the very boards you live on. This choice today was not because I didn’t want to punch you back, but because – somewhere – the boards are no longer at risk.”
[05:57:00] Crow listened without interrupting, his expression thoughtful as the firelight moved across his features. There was something in Dust’s answer that interested him more than the candidate might have realized. Not the mention of battles, ships, or the many trades he had pursued, but the distinction he had finally begun to make between necessity and choice. “Somewhere, the boards are no longer at risk,” he repeated quietly. He let the words settle before turning his gaze toward the candidate. “That is worth remembering, Dust. On a ship, the threat is often clear. Someone attacks, you defend. Someone gives an order, you act. The survival of the crew may depend on it.” He paused remembering his own life upon the Stormcrow. A contract that had led him to the role of captain, because the men on board felt Crow, or his alter-ego Silas, the better leader. Their mutiny was not anticipated so he had remained Silas the Captain of the Stormcrow. A story he might one day tell at the campfire. “But here, you will encounter men who want you to believe that every insult is an attack, every challenge a threat, and every moment of discomfort something that must be answered.” Crow moved to the other side of the fire, unhurried. “Your father may have wanted you to become a man who does more than what necessity demands. Perhaps that is what you are beginning to discover for yourself.” A faint smile touched his mouth. “You have spent years being many things, Dust. A sailor. A slaver. A merchant. A builder. You know how to take on a role when circumstances require it.” His gaze held the candidate’s. “But who are you when no captain gives the order? When no enemy stands before you? When there is no ship to defend and no immediate danger to justify your actions?” He glanced toward the embers. “That is the man we are trying to find. Not the man your father wanted, nor the man you think we expect. The man who remains when there is no one left to tell him what he must be.” Crow nudged a settling log into place with his boot. “And for what
it is worth, Dust, I would rather train a man who can admit he wanted to strike me than one who pretends he felt nothing at all.” A dry glimmer returned to his eyes. “Though next time, I would appreciate it if you kept your fists to yourself until you have decided what they are for.”
[06:08:16] Dust listened to Crow – his every word taken in as he digested it – and then – right at the end – he couldn’t help but let out a low hearty laugh at the man’s words. He watched the fire – the flicker of the flame – the change of the flames direction when the wind blew too hard. He remembered another lesson from his youth. Then he nodded to Crow “One i hope will keep alive once danger has passed – one who will achieve what he came here to achieve yet very much feels out of his depth doing. A life is merely one pathway taken where others remain or others could be taken. A choice between them unclear at the beginning, yet once you start to travel down there is no going back. That is what lead me to your gates, and why I continue.” he said simply “And why my actions were stopped. I wanted to punch you simply because I was angry. That is never a reason.”
[06:15:42] Crow regarded Dust for a moment, and the candidate’s laughter drew the faintest hint of a smile from him. It was good to hear it. Too many men, when confronted with their own shortcomings, chose either anger or silence. Dust, at least, was beginning to recognize the difference between being challenged and being diminished. “Then perhaps you are beginning to understand why you came here.” He turned his attention to the fire, watching the flames catch along the fresh log. “You speak of pathways as though choosing one means surrendering all the others. Perhaps it does. But do not confuse commitment with blindness, Dust. You chose to come through our gates. That choice deserves to be taken seriously, but it does not excuse you from questioning the road beneath your feet. And you are correct. Anger is not a reason to strike. Neither is pride, embarrassment, or the need to prove that another man cannot make you feel small. Unfortunately we are often met with the ego’s of warriors. You will learn there is little
love between the Red and Black. There will be times when you must use violence. When that time comes, I expect you to know precisely why you are using it.” A brief pause, then a dry smile. “Preferably before your fist is halfway to my face.”Crow folded his arms, his demeanor settling back into its familiar composure. “You feel out of your depth. Good. That means you have recognized the depth of the water before throwing yourself into it.” He inclined his head slightly. “Now we discover whether you can learn to swim. Keep that thought about your father. Not because you must become the man he wanted you to be, but because you are finally beginning to decide what sort of man you want to be yourself.”
[06:25:47] Dust had never considered that the road that lead him here meant surrendering all others. He had just followed it because he felt like he had to. A desire to be something more than what he was. Being on the sea lead him to different ports and cities and had let him live life’s where there was always something missing. Even here today, he felt like he was drowning under the weight of what he taking on. But the Northern traditions were deep. He would not allow himself to drown. At least not yet. He nodded to Crow now – his eyes more resolved. He himself added another log to the fire processing the whole conversation. It had felt too long that he had remembered the small nuances his father had drilled into him over and over. Too long ago that his Mother had insisted him re-write his letters until they were perfect. But in that time he had learnt a lot about himself and the man he wanted to be – or didn’t want to be. The simple pleasures of a slave on his lap, a drink in his hand, nothing to worry for but the ne meal or the next fight on the open seas. He didn’t miss it – which he thought he would. For the moment it felt right being here. “Aye. The man I want to be myself.” He repeated
[06:43:10] Crow watched Dust add another log to the fire, noting the change in the candidate’s expression. There was still uncertainty there, and no small amount of doubt, but something else had begun to take root beneath it. Resolve, perhaps. Or simply the stubborn Northern refusal to go quietly into deep water. “Good,” he said at last. “Then remember that answer when the work becomes difficult. It is easy to speak of the man you wish to become beside a warm fire. It is considerably harder when you are tired, angry, frightened, or convinced that the men teaching you have lost their minds.” A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. “Which, I assure you, is a conclusion you may reach more than once.” Crow shifted his stance, his gaze settling on the embers. “You have lived enough lives to know what it is to be a sailor, a merchant, a slaver, a builder. You have known the comfort of familiar habits and the freedom of leaving when the sea calls. I won’t pretend those things mean nothing simply because you have come here.” He looked back at Dust, his expression growing more serious. “But you said something worth holding on to. You no longer miss the life you expected to miss. Pay attention to that. Do not dismiss it, and do not assume it means you have already found your answer. You are still learning what this path asks of you.” He gave a small nod toward the fire. “For now, keep it burning. Observe. Listen. Think before you act. And when you make a mistake, do not waste your time pretending you didn’t.” His eyes met Dust’s once more. “You need not become the man your father imagined, candidate. Nor the man I might prefer you to be. Become a man who knows why he makes his choices and is prepared to bear what follows. That will be a better beginning than most ever manage.”
[06:49:45] Dust listened quietly, his gaze shifting between the tents now. A faint chuckle escaped him at the suggestion that he might question his teachers’ sanity. “I think I’ve already reached that conclusion once or twice,” he admitted with a crooked grin. “Though I’m beginning to suspect there’s a method to the madness.” He nudged a stubborn log further into the fire with a stick, considering the Assassin’s words. “My father always knew what he wanted me to become. For a long time, I thought I knew too. But perhaps I’ve spent more of my life trying to prove something to others than deciding what I wanted for myself.” He glanced up at Crow. “I don’t expect this path to be easy. Nor do I expect to get everything right. But I’m still here, and that’s a choice I made myself.” His grin returned briefly. “Though I reserve the right to mutter about your sanity while I’m making it.”
[06:50:15] KeDjA strolls between the tents after returning to camp. A bucket in one hand, the other hanging loosely at her side, she hums as usual. Despite the increasingly changeable weather, her feet remain bare, so she makes hardly any sound… if it weren’t for her humming. With a flourish, she sets the bucket down on one of the tables in the kitchen area and wipes her hand on her kirtle. Then she grabs the kitchen knife lying there and fishes the first object out of the bucket… a fish. It hasn’t been dead long. But it’s dead enough that it’s long since stopped wriggling.
[06:53:42] Crow allowed a quiet, genuine chuckle at Dust’s remark, inclining his head as though conceding the point. “By all means. Mutter away. So long as you learn to do it quietly enough that no one mistakes it for an actual challenge.” His green eyes rested on the candidate a moment longer, the sternness in them tempered by a hint of approval. “You are still here, Dust. Not because someone dragged you through the gate, nor because your father expected it of you. You chose this. Remember that when the days come that you would rather be anywhere else.” He gave a small nod, accepting the end of their conversation without demanding more from the man. “Go tend to what needs tending. Keep your eyes open, your mind sharper than your tongue, and your pride on a shorter leash than your instincts.” As Kedja’s humming drifted through the compound, Crow’s gaze briefly followed her to the kitchen table and the bucket of fish. His expression shifted into faint suspicion. “Though I would advise keeping clear of whatever Kedja is
preparing. I have learned that curiosity is useful in our work, but there are limits to how much a man should investigate his own supper.” A dry smile returned as he turned away, leaving Dust with the fire and the thoughts he had earned. His focus upon the bond.
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