63rd of Vhalar 720
The winds whistled just outside Woe's window as the arctic weather struck Viden with all its might, shy of the terror of the coming Zi'da and Cylus seasons. Snow fell in twisting flurries behind the glass window, and Woe was glad for the warmth of a nearby stove which was kept well stocked with fuel.
As he readied himself for the day's exercises, Woe looked at his reflection in the mirror that sat in his quarters in the Suite he had from Aota. His upper body was wrapped in a forest green great cloak, mantled at the shoulders by gray, black, and white magpie feathers. Beneath it, he wore a vested doublet of dark brown, quilted velvet. Around his legs a pair of quilted trousers of charcoal gray. His feet were covered by a pair of simple, dark brown travel boots. Around his wrists and hands, a pair of thick, dark brown leather gloves. He fastened a leather strap, a frog for a sword to his belt. As he half-expected the woman he had lessons with to lecture him about the appropriate dueling attire.
Breen was reticent, unusually so on the way to the fitness center. While Woe was wearing the ring of paradigm, he found the canine's company very necessary, if only to keep dark thoughts and emotions at bay. That was something his spark normally helped him with. Yet wearing the ring, and in their absence, the darkness crept upon him like the assassin's poison needle. Breen was there to catch the negative emotions and lap them up as if they were gravy.
As sadness effused from Woe's every movement, Breen reveled in the cold emotions. He gathered strength from every moment that he trotted in the paradigmed mage's wake, his steps steadier than usual. For this purpose, the Diri of Sorrow made the perfect companion to Woe. Theirs was truly a symbiotic cooperative. Yet, it couldn't be denied that Woe was addicted to magic, with his sparks holding a steely grasp over his soul.
Still, he desired to be free of their influence if only for a while, to brush up on other avenues of improvement. Today he'd scheduled a lesson in fencing in the Fitness center. The instructor, Bella Tollan, was a spritely little woman, about the same age as Woe if he was any judge. She didn't look like much, but her students sang her praises, while others spat and cursed at the twisted mind games she was said to engage in with certain students.
Woe had no illusions that he'd be any better suited to defend against any attempts to get under his skin. While he wasn't exactly prone to outbursts or emotional instability while paradigmed, there was a certain vulnerability that could be exploited. His damaged tangle sometimes promoted a skewed sense of emotional balance and was something that even his ring couldn't help him with, much to his regret.
Before long he arrived at the threshold of the Gymnasium where the private lesson was to occur. Bella stood by a set of practice blades while performing her forms and stances by way of warming up. When she spotted Woe, she waved him over.
He walked ahead of Breen, the canine's tongue lolling out of its mouth as he trotted behind, wagging its tail. Woe nodded at Bella, "Miss Tollan, you're to be my instructor, correct?" He noted the rapier at her side, as well as the relaxed ease with which she handled her posture. She was either an expert in the martial arts, or else a dancer, he surmised.
Bella quirked a brow at the bland introduction, but shrugged and sighed, "First go for a run around the perimeter. You'll want to warm up some before we ge to it, and I find a good run can chase the nerves out of your body before a fight." She gestured with her hand, making a circle in the air to indicate that he should get moving.
Woe paused, then nodded, and went off to do laps around the fitness center. First stretching his legs and ankles, making sure they were loose and warmed up for a vigorous exercise. Breen meanwhile, was sitting next to Tollan. The spirit dog sniffed at her but didn't seem to find much of what nourished him. Nonetheless, he stood by her, seemingly pleased to stand in her company. After a quick session of stretching, Woe ran around the gymnasium about a half dozen times, at least until he was getting winded.
After a few minutes of warm-up exercises, he was off, running around the edges of the center. He continued this exercise for a good dozen bits. Breen watched wearily as his master did circles around the center, moving to avoid sparring partners and other obstacles as he went around. He came to a stop near Bella once more and started to catch his breath.
Breen began pacing off toward the side and kept watch as Woe and Bella fenced with each other. A thin coat of sweat was forming on Woe’s brow as he attempted to get a through-line inside her guard. Yet the more he tried. The more resistant she came to that tactic. Many times he found himself at the tip of her practice blade, tapped here or there, or even given a false cut where he’d overextended himself. Woe was meeting his match tonight. Not that his skill gave him any other expectation.
They panted and exhaled as they went back and forth, clacking their swords against each other. Woe took on a more apprehensive tact. He maintained a distance from Bella, waiting for her to overextend and try some of her own moves out on the woman. Finally, he thought he had his chance. Her sword came forward, presenting the top of her wrist, but as he slowed his retreat long enough to strike it with his own blade, her wrist swiftly turned upward, smacking him against the cheek with the tip of her practice blade.
But Woe had already committed fully to the attack and got his own blade caught up on the hilt of her sword, which she used a pretty deft twist to disarm him. She even caught the sword before it fell to the floor, and held its handle first back to him.
Woe really thought he needed to learn that trick, but doubted if Bella could teach as hopeless a swordsman as himself. Woe took the blade handed back and resumed a guard, where he could bring his weapon to bear in defense or offense as soon as she tried him again.
Her blade rose high, and struck low at times, making for an exquisite geometry of form that would’ve been a beauty to watch if not for the consequences and bruises it would earn Woe. She struck at his hands more often than not. Yet also she managed strikes against his more tender areas, like the gut, the gaps in the ribs, the neck arteries. He would’ve been dead a dozen times over by the time she was through with him, had this been a real duel. But then, Woe didn’t go in search of fights. More often, fights seemed to find him.
Despite it all, Woe tried his damndest to try and emulate her methods. He employed deception of his body, to try and trick her, juking his head shuffling his feet, and holding his blade in such ways that defied the direction it would eventually go. All he really ended up accomplishing, however, was to make himself more exhausted. It dawned on him that this was a decent strategy for the woman to take, given their great size difference.
Woe, having become exasperated, tried her again. He came forward wiht the blade angled downward, and then lifted his wrist to parry a false thrust over his guard. He lowered his sword only in time to guard against another flip of her blade and under his guard, to try his stomach again.
So it continued, well into the night, as Woe was schooled in the art of fencing. Eventually, like all good things, it had to end, however. They stopped clackering their blades together and called an uneven truce. Bella was the clear winner of their many clashes.
They were both tired, Woe more than Bella, but she clapped him on the shoulder all the same, and smiled at him. ”Quite the workout, eh?’{/b] Woe couldn’t disagree, it had to be said.
”Yet, let’s wait a while before we reprise our ‘rivalry.’” Woe said with a shrug and a weary smile. So he handed over the practice sword to its rack, and exited the fitness center with Breen trailing behind him. He’d get the hang of swordplay, sooner or later, he was sure of it.
