.
Saun 23rd, 718, Early Morning
That morning, William had been overcome with thoughts and desires pertaining to the sword he had purchased the night prior. Caught in his fantasies, Will imagined pinning a certain grave robber beneath his blade, bloody and wounded, forced to take the humiliation of defeat. Sleep was scarce as a result, and by the time the morning bell within the inn chimed, Will felt tired as he awoke, even with Cassion’s blood flowing through his veins. Are you there, Yaal’tiesh?
That I am, William, replied his familiar, a translucent red wolf with many jutting feathers across its form, avian legs plated with scales like those of a crocodile. Are you going to get up soon? It’s morning already.
Sitting up, Will thrust the covers down and tossed his arms out, yawning. Today is going to be important. I think I’m finally on to something.
So you keep saying. Yaal replied as William hopped out of bed to begin his morning routine.
Stretching to get those morning muscles loosened to shrug off the tension from the training he’d done the day before, he prepared for the day to come. Soon his mind turned to the Temple of Raskalarn, where a man invited him to learn the ways of the Zweihander, a large blade with a long reach, that did not fare well in close combat without substantial training. His own blade, of embersteel, was one of such blades. It was called Pallor, and he’d left it with the arsenal of the monks, who awaited his return.
Getting dressed in a cloak and some of his usual clothes that he’d washed the night before, Will set out into the rainy wilderness of Yaralon’s city streets, marching across the muddied stones and deep, boot-sucking swells towards the temple of Raskalarn. It honestly hasn’t stopped raining a single night since Saun’s rains began, William worried, peering at the homes around. At his hip was his mace, on his back his shield, to keep himself protected in this rugged world of mercenaries.
Will’s arrival at the temple was without fanfare. It was a rather chill day, what with the famine, and people focused more on what they were going to do for food - even Will’s belly growled often, but he stuck to eating after his business had concluded. Ascending those steps, he watched the water run down like a seeping river, before arriving at the gates and being allowed in by a pair of Raskalarn’s monks who guarded the door.
Wilhelm was already there, instructing another student when William walked into the private room, the pair too busy to acknowledge him. As he sat off to the side upon a bench, he watched them both, their large blades colliding with a sharp wooden rattle from blow to blow, swinging and dancing around each blade like a frenzied whirlwind that was frightening to behold. Wilhelm is good. Very good. He’ll be able to teach me much, at the cost of mine ever-shrinking wallet that is.
Definitely a cut above the warriors you’ve fought. Maybe I won’t have to worry for your life as often after this... Yaal’tiesh mused.
“Hmh.” The teen grunted and rolled his eyes. I totally had that guy in the graveyard on the ropes! If not for his dog...
Then you are blinded by your human inability to see the truth! the familiar retorted.
Hey, isn’t that racist? Will quipped, mentally scoffing at his closest friend.
No, you’re young. It’s as simple as that.
I can’t deny it. But that’s why I’m here, to grow up. He twiddled his thumbs, waiting for the current session to end. And then it did. Will nodded to the other student, who nodded back, a familiar face. A boy from the Gilding, no doubt.
“Eyyy, William,” Wilhelm called, a grizzle old retired Sober bladesman, thin but sturdy with a certain stoicism under the leathers he always wore. “Ready for more, eh? Grab the training sword Lorket was using. We’re going to go over the basics today. Like always, you know the price.” The man bumbled with laughter. This was such an easy way to extort money from the weak among the Yari, and he couldn’t help himself.
Nodding, Will walked over to the rack, drawing the wooden blade, holding the 84 inches of dead tree-spear in a single palm as he looked it over. It had padding down the striking edges, and the tip was blunted. Even the crossguard had something to keep it cushioned. “So today I get to learn about the sword, huh?” William asked.
“Aye,” he said. “First thing’s first, to the center of the room with ye, dedicate this training to Raskalarn.” He pointed to the spot at his feet. "Kneel."
"Any specific way?" Will asked, dropping to his knees.
"Is up to ye!"
"Very well then. To Raskalarn, I dedicate this bout of training!"
"Good! Up you go, now!" Tapping Will on the cheek with his sword, he began to move as William got to his feet. Wilhelm was brandishing his own blade, adopting a wide stance with his knees bent, sword jutting from his crotch, gripped tight in those wrinkly hands. “Like this, your sword up, and out, about yey down, like an Ox. It’s the Ox Guard.” He eased up and motioned for his student to try.
Remembering clearly how the old man had set his legs apart, Will stepped out and bent his knees, turning his feet and lowering his blade to the ground, gripping it with his other palm to imitate the other, one hand on the hilt, the other above the cross guard. “How’s this?” he asked.
The old veteran peered over his form, lighting his pipe and puffing on it for a spell. “Widen those legs. Your sword is too low. You want it far enough away that your opponent can’t hit you, but not so close that you can’t react - yeah, like that. You’ve got it boy!”
Adjusting his stance to the critique, Will nodded. “So this is a proper guard, huh?”
“Aye,” he said, and stepped forward. Will’s feet locked up as that quick snap of a massive blade sunk into his weapon, pushing it back against him, the wood portion of Wilhelm’s weapon an inch from his face. “Sturdy up that guard, boy!” he growled. “And don’t lock your feet like that, I could feel you falling over, keep easy on the feet - proper footwork, lad!” He stepped back, and rested his sword on the ground as William relaxed and took it all in.
“So do I just, um, ‘keep light’ by staying on my toes a bit?” he asked.
“Yes an no, ya gotta press in at some point with your heel to swing or step out with force. Stay on your toes to turn your foot!” the man said, sucking on his wooden pipe and puffing some of those herbs from his nose, filling the air with the hypnotic smoke it produced. He entered the Ox Stance again, and from there, he took a step, showing how he could move by pushing his sideways foot against the earth and ‘hopping’ across a few feet of arena. “You try it now.”
Will mimicked him, getting into that stance again. Then, like Wilhelm, he pushed himself out with a hop using the side of his foot, landing on his toes. His whole body swayed at the end from inexperience, but he could already feel the potential. “Oh, that’s great. It makes a lot more sense now, how the duelists move so fast!” Maybe this guy’s worth the money! He still felt jipped about the day before, only given some direction on strength training at the time.
Wilhelm lifted a hand, making a gesture at Will, as if sizing him up. “You know, the Zweihander’s not a ninny’s weapon. It’s a cold beast, one for killin, and ya gotta be alright with that. You don’t look like the type to follow through, but that’s important. All these techniques are gonna be going for the head, or the neck. Lethal strikes.” He pointed his sword at William. “Are ye up ter it?”
Still in his Ox guard, Will nodded sternly in affirmation. I don’t want to kill, but I will if they’re trying to kill me. I think that’s the right thing to do! “Yes sir!” He took some more steps, thrilled to be practicing something useful. “So what’s next?”
“What’s next is yer Wrath Guard,” he said. “This one’s more tricky, see?” Stepping back, he placed his rear foot facing the opposite direction behind him for stability, leaning backwards, sword over his shoulder with his eyes looking over it. Overall, it looked like he was about to swing a stick with maximum torque. “This one’s your heavy hitter, here. She’s for blocking strikes to the back if ya got someone back there and eyes in the back of yer head, but the real kicker of this guard is what ya can do with her!” Taking a long step forward, Wilhelm spun and delivered all of the strength of his body into a tight twist, swinging his blade down with such force that Will heard the very air whistle!
“Wow,” he said, impressed. “That does look like it’d knock someone right over, or out, or really just make their day pretty bad.”
“Ya don’t use it unless ya got to, kid, and it’s one of those things, you use it early on and don’t expect to have time to get into that stance - it’s a bad one, with a lotta wind-up. It’s good in a melee with lotsa fighters since they’re busy with others, and you can just walk up and whomp em right on the neck til they be hangin limp!” He smiled a toothless smile, and chuckled darkly, recalling some troubling battle way back in the day.
“Now you try.” Will began to mimic him once more, getting into the proper stance with his foot back, leaning backwards, sword hanging down his back. “Alright, now give me a wide step, turn - aye, that’s it!” he exclaimed as Will turned and brought the full weight of the sword into a spin! “Normally ye would be stopped by another blade or a body, so the spin don’t matter much - but never let yourself turn like that, aye?”
“Aye,” Will said, taking a breather. It was a lot of energy to make that swing, and he found himself panting already with exertion. This thing doesn’t even weigh more than two or three pounds! he mentally growled. Why am I already tired? “I need to exercise more.”
“That ye do, ma boy... that ye do. And what ye say to Raskalarn, boy?”
Will dropped to his knees, leaning upon the wooden core of the blade with his cheek pressed against it. “Thank you, Immortal Raskalarn, for your weapon, this training, and the use of your temple. I dedicate my learning to you, oh Raskalarn the conqueror.” Breathing out one last time, he rose. “Is that all?”
“That be so,” he said. “Money, then come back tomorrow.” Will nodded, and paid the man.
-5 GN for the novice lesson.
That morning, William had been overcome with thoughts and desires pertaining to the sword he had purchased the night prior. Caught in his fantasies, Will imagined pinning a certain grave robber beneath his blade, bloody and wounded, forced to take the humiliation of defeat. Sleep was scarce as a result, and by the time the morning bell within the inn chimed, Will felt tired as he awoke, even with Cassion’s blood flowing through his veins. Are you there, Yaal’tiesh?
That I am, William, replied his familiar, a translucent red wolf with many jutting feathers across its form, avian legs plated with scales like those of a crocodile. Are you going to get up soon? It’s morning already.
Sitting up, Will thrust the covers down and tossed his arms out, yawning. Today is going to be important. I think I’m finally on to something.
So you keep saying. Yaal replied as William hopped out of bed to begin his morning routine.
Stretching to get those morning muscles loosened to shrug off the tension from the training he’d done the day before, he prepared for the day to come. Soon his mind turned to the Temple of Raskalarn, where a man invited him to learn the ways of the Zweihander, a large blade with a long reach, that did not fare well in close combat without substantial training. His own blade, of embersteel, was one of such blades. It was called Pallor, and he’d left it with the arsenal of the monks, who awaited his return.
Getting dressed in a cloak and some of his usual clothes that he’d washed the night before, Will set out into the rainy wilderness of Yaralon’s city streets, marching across the muddied stones and deep, boot-sucking swells towards the temple of Raskalarn. It honestly hasn’t stopped raining a single night since Saun’s rains began, William worried, peering at the homes around. At his hip was his mace, on his back his shield, to keep himself protected in this rugged world of mercenaries.
Will’s arrival at the temple was without fanfare. It was a rather chill day, what with the famine, and people focused more on what they were going to do for food - even Will’s belly growled often, but he stuck to eating after his business had concluded. Ascending those steps, he watched the water run down like a seeping river, before arriving at the gates and being allowed in by a pair of Raskalarn’s monks who guarded the door.
Wilhelm was already there, instructing another student when William walked into the private room, the pair too busy to acknowledge him. As he sat off to the side upon a bench, he watched them both, their large blades colliding with a sharp wooden rattle from blow to blow, swinging and dancing around each blade like a frenzied whirlwind that was frightening to behold. Wilhelm is good. Very good. He’ll be able to teach me much, at the cost of mine ever-shrinking wallet that is.
Definitely a cut above the warriors you’ve fought. Maybe I won’t have to worry for your life as often after this... Yaal’tiesh mused.
“Hmh.” The teen grunted and rolled his eyes. I totally had that guy in the graveyard on the ropes! If not for his dog...
Then you are blinded by your human inability to see the truth! the familiar retorted.
Hey, isn’t that racist? Will quipped, mentally scoffing at his closest friend.
No, you’re young. It’s as simple as that.
I can’t deny it. But that’s why I’m here, to grow up. He twiddled his thumbs, waiting for the current session to end. And then it did. Will nodded to the other student, who nodded back, a familiar face. A boy from the Gilding, no doubt.
“Eyyy, William,” Wilhelm called, a grizzle old retired Sober bladesman, thin but sturdy with a certain stoicism under the leathers he always wore. “Ready for more, eh? Grab the training sword Lorket was using. We’re going to go over the basics today. Like always, you know the price.” The man bumbled with laughter. This was such an easy way to extort money from the weak among the Yari, and he couldn’t help himself.
Nodding, Will walked over to the rack, drawing the wooden blade, holding the 84 inches of dead tree-spear in a single palm as he looked it over. It had padding down the striking edges, and the tip was blunted. Even the crossguard had something to keep it cushioned. “So today I get to learn about the sword, huh?” William asked.
“Aye,” he said. “First thing’s first, to the center of the room with ye, dedicate this training to Raskalarn.” He pointed to the spot at his feet. "Kneel."
"Any specific way?" Will asked, dropping to his knees.
"Is up to ye!"
"Very well then. To Raskalarn, I dedicate this bout of training!"
"Good! Up you go, now!" Tapping Will on the cheek with his sword, he began to move as William got to his feet. Wilhelm was brandishing his own blade, adopting a wide stance with his knees bent, sword jutting from his crotch, gripped tight in those wrinkly hands. “Like this, your sword up, and out, about yey down, like an Ox. It’s the Ox Guard.” He eased up and motioned for his student to try.
Remembering clearly how the old man had set his legs apart, Will stepped out and bent his knees, turning his feet and lowering his blade to the ground, gripping it with his other palm to imitate the other, one hand on the hilt, the other above the cross guard. “How’s this?” he asked.
The old veteran peered over his form, lighting his pipe and puffing on it for a spell. “Widen those legs. Your sword is too low. You want it far enough away that your opponent can’t hit you, but not so close that you can’t react - yeah, like that. You’ve got it boy!”
Adjusting his stance to the critique, Will nodded. “So this is a proper guard, huh?”
“Aye,” he said, and stepped forward. Will’s feet locked up as that quick snap of a massive blade sunk into his weapon, pushing it back against him, the wood portion of Wilhelm’s weapon an inch from his face. “Sturdy up that guard, boy!” he growled. “And don’t lock your feet like that, I could feel you falling over, keep easy on the feet - proper footwork, lad!” He stepped back, and rested his sword on the ground as William relaxed and took it all in.
“So do I just, um, ‘keep light’ by staying on my toes a bit?” he asked.
“Yes an no, ya gotta press in at some point with your heel to swing or step out with force. Stay on your toes to turn your foot!” the man said, sucking on his wooden pipe and puffing some of those herbs from his nose, filling the air with the hypnotic smoke it produced. He entered the Ox Stance again, and from there, he took a step, showing how he could move by pushing his sideways foot against the earth and ‘hopping’ across a few feet of arena. “You try it now.”
Will mimicked him, getting into that stance again. Then, like Wilhelm, he pushed himself out with a hop using the side of his foot, landing on his toes. His whole body swayed at the end from inexperience, but he could already feel the potential. “Oh, that’s great. It makes a lot more sense now, how the duelists move so fast!” Maybe this guy’s worth the money! He still felt jipped about the day before, only given some direction on strength training at the time.
Wilhelm lifted a hand, making a gesture at Will, as if sizing him up. “You know, the Zweihander’s not a ninny’s weapon. It’s a cold beast, one for killin, and ya gotta be alright with that. You don’t look like the type to follow through, but that’s important. All these techniques are gonna be going for the head, or the neck. Lethal strikes.” He pointed his sword at William. “Are ye up ter it?”
Still in his Ox guard, Will nodded sternly in affirmation. I don’t want to kill, but I will if they’re trying to kill me. I think that’s the right thing to do! “Yes sir!” He took some more steps, thrilled to be practicing something useful. “So what’s next?”
“What’s next is yer Wrath Guard,” he said. “This one’s more tricky, see?” Stepping back, he placed his rear foot facing the opposite direction behind him for stability, leaning backwards, sword over his shoulder with his eyes looking over it. Overall, it looked like he was about to swing a stick with maximum torque. “This one’s your heavy hitter, here. She’s for blocking strikes to the back if ya got someone back there and eyes in the back of yer head, but the real kicker of this guard is what ya can do with her!” Taking a long step forward, Wilhelm spun and delivered all of the strength of his body into a tight twist, swinging his blade down with such force that Will heard the very air whistle!
“Wow,” he said, impressed. “That does look like it’d knock someone right over, or out, or really just make their day pretty bad.”
“Ya don’t use it unless ya got to, kid, and it’s one of those things, you use it early on and don’t expect to have time to get into that stance - it’s a bad one, with a lotta wind-up. It’s good in a melee with lotsa fighters since they’re busy with others, and you can just walk up and whomp em right on the neck til they be hangin limp!” He smiled a toothless smile, and chuckled darkly, recalling some troubling battle way back in the day.
“Now you try.” Will began to mimic him once more, getting into the proper stance with his foot back, leaning backwards, sword hanging down his back. “Alright, now give me a wide step, turn - aye, that’s it!” he exclaimed as Will turned and brought the full weight of the sword into a spin! “Normally ye would be stopped by another blade or a body, so the spin don’t matter much - but never let yourself turn like that, aye?”
“Aye,” Will said, taking a breather. It was a lot of energy to make that swing, and he found himself panting already with exertion. This thing doesn’t even weigh more than two or three pounds! he mentally growled. Why am I already tired? “I need to exercise more.”
“That ye do, ma boy... that ye do. And what ye say to Raskalarn, boy?”
Will dropped to his knees, leaning upon the wooden core of the blade with his cheek pressed against it. “Thank you, Immortal Raskalarn, for your weapon, this training, and the use of your temple. I dedicate my learning to you, oh Raskalarn the conqueror.” Breathing out one last time, he rose. “Is that all?”
“That be so,” he said. “Money, then come back tomorrow.” Will nodded, and paid the man.
-5 GN for the novice lesson.