.
Pallor, The Pale Blade: Crossing Swords
There were few warriors at the temple, save for Wilhelm and his earliest trainee. William awoke earlier that day, perhaps too early. It didn’t bother him. He saw it as, perhaps, a chance to connect with Raskalarn, or Cassion, or maybe even Ashan. Would Raskalarn be cross with him, praying to another God in her temple? That worry hung in his mind as he approached one of the warrior priests clad in ceremonial garb, striking them up for conversation. “Can I see my blade, Pallor? I left it here, within the Arsenal.”
“Your name issss..?” the Ithecal rasped, towering over William by at least two feet. It was intimidating beyond words for the smaller boy.
“William Dovecraft,” he replied.
“Ah. I have ssseen you here,” the male lizard-man growled throatily. William calmed himself with a breath, trying to think about nothing to push those rampant thoughts of difference in strength and size away. The Ithecal were a truly awesome race of men, and Will envied their size, their strength. Turning, it walked softly through the halls, to a large door in the same room as the Pits. “Wait here...”
And so William waited. And waited. Eventually, the Ithecal brought him the blade, holding it within a soft cloth in two hands. The warriors had polished it for him, or someone did. “There is more to this blade than simple Embersteel,” the Ithecal told him, looking over it. “It is almost as if it sings in a way that cannot be heard, but rather felt.” He handed it off to William, who rubbed over the oiled edge with a finger, marveling over it.
“I am training to wield this sword. Perhaps it is as you described. Maybe that is why I was drawn to it.” He pulled the cloth away, holding it upright in one hand - it was still heavy, but less so than when he’d started training many Trials before. Even though his muscles ached, he held it up and entered an Ox Guard stance. “I think I can feel it too, but I’m not sure what it means...” he confessed. “Maybe in time, I will learn.”
He turned, and wound up tension in his body to take a mighty swing that made the air within the temple flutter, a breeze rolling across the wound. It was by no magic that this happened, simply the result of such a strong swing with such a heavy weapon. After all, Pallor weighed fifteen pounds, at least. With a sharp breath, William stood up straight, letting the tip of his blade rest against the ground. Ahh, just one swing and I feel like I’ve been winded? I’ve got a ways to go, don’t I Cassion?
With a hollow tink, he kicked the tip of his blade up, causing it to arc around into a proper stance rather quickly. He allowed it to fall against his other palm, nestling it in the kind, soft embrace of that cloth and handing it back to the Ithecal, who nodded and left once more with the blade. William thanked him when he returned. “I have lessons to attend to. Thank you, and thank Raskalarn.”
The priest nodded to him, and Will went to check on his mentor, who was already waiting patiently for his next student. “Ah, William,” the man said in a tone that was far more welcoming than usual. “You are coming along well enough. It’s time to step up the training. Are you ready for that?”
William drew a wooden sword from the rack, and slowly turned his head. “Aye.” He entered the ring and knelt there in the middle, praying to Raskalarn and dedicating the training to her, while, as always, paying homage to Cassion. His mind even wandered to Ashan, but there were few words to be said there. Rising to his feet, he lifted his sword. “What will we be learning today?”
Wilhelm cocked his head, looking him over. “I’ll be teaching you some defensive strikes and counters. I might rough you up a bit, so be ready for that.” He nodded, seeming to iron out a course of training in his mind over a few moments. “Now, lift your blade up. Like this.” He lifted his elbow, the hilt close to his head, the tip of that padded weapon angled at his face. “This is the High Guard. It’s similar to the Spear Guard, but your arms are crossed. Uncross them by turning, or uncross in the direction to strike an opponent at your flank.” He demonstrated by whipping back and striking behind him with a quickness, and then returned to the guard, swinging at Will who lifted his own weapon in the same guard to block it. “Good. It’s a simple enough form, aye?”
“Aye,” Will said, nodding. “It’s like you said. Very similar. Mind if I strike you a bit?” Wilhelm nodded, and entered a High Guard. Will did the same, and began to mimic the strikes from before, first swinging behind him, and then entering the guard again, this time turning through his body and noting how it made a very close distance slash that didn’t reach very far. “It seems sturdy,” he commented, swinging more slowly to study it. “It’s something that I’d want to block and hit with at the same time, right?”
“You’ve got it. That’s what we’re going over today. Now, the next couple are a bit trickier. Go ahead and strike out at me, lad.” He entered an Ox Guard with his blade center-line. William took a breath to regulate himself, and then twisted back, stepping forward with a heavy slash at Wilhelm’s head. The man blocked it with his blade, lifting up with his arms and stepping around, his weapon over Will’s. Then, in that same moment, he turned and began to swing. It smacked into the boy’s chest, and his whole body shook from the force, so he took a step back and winced.
“Mmmnnh. That smarts.”
“Aye, it does. That’s a crooked strike. One of a few counters. You saw how I had your blade above yours, right? Let’s do it again.” He brought up his guard, and Will did the same, a little more winded this time.
He’s not going to go easy on me. Not at all. He took a deep breath, and stepped in for another swing. Wilhelm did the same thing, except this time, his sword remained perpendicular to the ground as he stepped out, like a wooden wing. In that flash of a moment, Will saw the blade-edge angle towards his neck, starting to move in his direction as Wilhelm took another step and hopped forward at him and turned, dragging the wood against his neck with such force that he was sure he would have gotten splinters if not for the padding. “I’d be dead if that were a real weapon,” Will scoffed, pushing the weapon away with a finger.
“It’s a head lopper. The Sunset strike,” Wilhelm clarified. “It’s tricky to get right. There’s a lot of components, but it’s something to practice.”
Lifting his guard, William took the challenge to heart. “Now?”
“Just take some swings. Let’s see what you’ve got now. An assessment.” Drawing his blade up again, William stepped forward to strike. Clack! “Again!” ”Clack!” “Good!” Wilhelm pressed in, wooden blade grinding against William’s, who took a step back but reclaimed ground with a solid push - before he knew it, Will found Wilhelm sliding down his guard, forcing his arms into his core, the sword across his chest and into his neck. “During a strong parry,” William began, “...move in, secure the kill. You’re a fool to let a sword turn into a power struggle. Overwhelm, but never allow a stalemate or you will find nothing but danger. Even if you have to move their arms into theirs and trap their weapon - there is more to fighting with a blade than the blade itself. Use everything you have. Your foot, your arms, even your head.”
William nodded with a stern look, understanding as they slowly broke away like two wolves that didn’t trust each other. “So fight dirty then?”
“Aye, fight dirty. Your body is a weapon just as well, after all. Practice fighting without your sword. A good kick, a good punch, or even a strong skull can go a long way.”
Nodding in further affirmation, William stepped back. “Right. I’m ready for more.”
“Go ahead and strike at me. Something above the waist,” Wilhelm answered with a casual gruffness. After a moment, Will spun his body into a heavy slash, and Wilhelm’s blade went against his with a High Guard, pulling back in the opposite direction and drawing William’s arms out.
“Wha!” Will cried, finding himself being dragged forward by the sword. The man promptly stepped into his swing, and twisted his blade, swinging it at the dutiful trainee’s pulsing neck. Thud.
William choked. “Chhfft!” Then he dropped to his knees, holding his neck as he started to cough. “That’s... rough,” he complained.
“Good, now you’re gonna get used to being hit. Pain is all in your mind. Now stand.” Spurned by those harsh words, William stood, his eyes bulging and red, swallowing. "It’s gonna happen. You’re gonna feel like that, but worse. And you need to pull through when it does. Experience is what separates the survivors from the weak in a duel. That was called a Momentum Strike. Try it.” He quickly swung his sword, smacking Will on the rear.
“Hey, watchit!” he cried, bowed backwards by the hit and bringing his knees together. With a grunt, he got back into position. Frustrated, William tried his best to calm himself. “I guess I haven’t taken a lot of hits yet,” he croaked.
“Good, then I’m gonna hit you more.”
Another breath to calm himself, he swung for Wilhelm’s guard, the wood clacking together. He adjusted his blade by the pommel, trying to drag that other sword with him - it didn’t work, and Wilhelm struck him again, this time in the balls. William stifled a whine, letting out a murmur of pain instead. He blinked his eyes tight and opened them, trying to get a hold of himself. “Don’t beat me up too hard. I’ve got a job at a smithy to go to after we’re done here.” He drew his blade, and Wilhelm struck him again, flattening the boy to the ground. Again, he got up, and again he was struck down. This continued until William was covered in bruises, and Wilhelm seemed to enjoy himself until their training concluded.
Ugh...
“Get up, and quit being a damn wimp. Wimps don’t survive long. Remember, it’s all in that damn head of yours.” This time, Wilhelm didn’t hit him. “Now finish the strike. Show me who you are.”
William growled and stepped in swinging. This time, he put more force into the movement, paying attention to drag his blade in the same direction as Wilhelm’s own movements. This time, he could see it being drawn out inch by inch, creating an opening for him to strike inward - Wilhelm let go of his own sword and caught the blade in that newly free hand, wrenching it down.
“Alright, that was good. Lesson’s over, boy.”
Now he had to pay the guy, and his hand was shaking from screaming nerves as he drew the coins out to pay the man. Meister Ulbrek is going to kill me when I can’t shape the metal properly. And I’m nearly broke.
“You’re short, kid.”
“What?” Will gasped.
“You’re getting better. The training is getting more intense - it costs more Price’s doubled now.”
“You need to stop extorting me, Wilhelm,” Will cursed, paying the man. “I don’t know if I can afford another lesson for awhile.” At the end of it all, he found himself limping in the rain, but even if he was hurting, he knew it was all worth it. I’ll be a great warrior. And I’ll get the hell out of here, with a blade to match my balls... His sore balls.
-10 GN for Competent training
There were few warriors at the temple, save for Wilhelm and his earliest trainee. William awoke earlier that day, perhaps too early. It didn’t bother him. He saw it as, perhaps, a chance to connect with Raskalarn, or Cassion, or maybe even Ashan. Would Raskalarn be cross with him, praying to another God in her temple? That worry hung in his mind as he approached one of the warrior priests clad in ceremonial garb, striking them up for conversation. “Can I see my blade, Pallor? I left it here, within the Arsenal.”
“Your name issss..?” the Ithecal rasped, towering over William by at least two feet. It was intimidating beyond words for the smaller boy.
“William Dovecraft,” he replied.
“Ah. I have ssseen you here,” the male lizard-man growled throatily. William calmed himself with a breath, trying to think about nothing to push those rampant thoughts of difference in strength and size away. The Ithecal were a truly awesome race of men, and Will envied their size, their strength. Turning, it walked softly through the halls, to a large door in the same room as the Pits. “Wait here...”
And so William waited. And waited. Eventually, the Ithecal brought him the blade, holding it within a soft cloth in two hands. The warriors had polished it for him, or someone did. “There is more to this blade than simple Embersteel,” the Ithecal told him, looking over it. “It is almost as if it sings in a way that cannot be heard, but rather felt.” He handed it off to William, who rubbed over the oiled edge with a finger, marveling over it.
“I am training to wield this sword. Perhaps it is as you described. Maybe that is why I was drawn to it.” He pulled the cloth away, holding it upright in one hand - it was still heavy, but less so than when he’d started training many Trials before. Even though his muscles ached, he held it up and entered an Ox Guard stance. “I think I can feel it too, but I’m not sure what it means...” he confessed. “Maybe in time, I will learn.”
He turned, and wound up tension in his body to take a mighty swing that made the air within the temple flutter, a breeze rolling across the wound. It was by no magic that this happened, simply the result of such a strong swing with such a heavy weapon. After all, Pallor weighed fifteen pounds, at least. With a sharp breath, William stood up straight, letting the tip of his blade rest against the ground. Ahh, just one swing and I feel like I’ve been winded? I’ve got a ways to go, don’t I Cassion?
With a hollow tink, he kicked the tip of his blade up, causing it to arc around into a proper stance rather quickly. He allowed it to fall against his other palm, nestling it in the kind, soft embrace of that cloth and handing it back to the Ithecal, who nodded and left once more with the blade. William thanked him when he returned. “I have lessons to attend to. Thank you, and thank Raskalarn.”
The priest nodded to him, and Will went to check on his mentor, who was already waiting patiently for his next student. “Ah, William,” the man said in a tone that was far more welcoming than usual. “You are coming along well enough. It’s time to step up the training. Are you ready for that?”
William drew a wooden sword from the rack, and slowly turned his head. “Aye.” He entered the ring and knelt there in the middle, praying to Raskalarn and dedicating the training to her, while, as always, paying homage to Cassion. His mind even wandered to Ashan, but there were few words to be said there. Rising to his feet, he lifted his sword. “What will we be learning today?”
Wilhelm cocked his head, looking him over. “I’ll be teaching you some defensive strikes and counters. I might rough you up a bit, so be ready for that.” He nodded, seeming to iron out a course of training in his mind over a few moments. “Now, lift your blade up. Like this.” He lifted his elbow, the hilt close to his head, the tip of that padded weapon angled at his face. “This is the High Guard. It’s similar to the Spear Guard, but your arms are crossed. Uncross them by turning, or uncross in the direction to strike an opponent at your flank.” He demonstrated by whipping back and striking behind him with a quickness, and then returned to the guard, swinging at Will who lifted his own weapon in the same guard to block it. “Good. It’s a simple enough form, aye?”
“Aye,” Will said, nodding. “It’s like you said. Very similar. Mind if I strike you a bit?” Wilhelm nodded, and entered a High Guard. Will did the same, and began to mimic the strikes from before, first swinging behind him, and then entering the guard again, this time turning through his body and noting how it made a very close distance slash that didn’t reach very far. “It seems sturdy,” he commented, swinging more slowly to study it. “It’s something that I’d want to block and hit with at the same time, right?”
“You’ve got it. That’s what we’re going over today. Now, the next couple are a bit trickier. Go ahead and strike out at me, lad.” He entered an Ox Guard with his blade center-line. William took a breath to regulate himself, and then twisted back, stepping forward with a heavy slash at Wilhelm’s head. The man blocked it with his blade, lifting up with his arms and stepping around, his weapon over Will’s. Then, in that same moment, he turned and began to swing. It smacked into the boy’s chest, and his whole body shook from the force, so he took a step back and winced.
“Mmmnnh. That smarts.”
“Aye, it does. That’s a crooked strike. One of a few counters. You saw how I had your blade above yours, right? Let’s do it again.” He brought up his guard, and Will did the same, a little more winded this time.
He’s not going to go easy on me. Not at all. He took a deep breath, and stepped in for another swing. Wilhelm did the same thing, except this time, his sword remained perpendicular to the ground as he stepped out, like a wooden wing. In that flash of a moment, Will saw the blade-edge angle towards his neck, starting to move in his direction as Wilhelm took another step and hopped forward at him and turned, dragging the wood against his neck with such force that he was sure he would have gotten splinters if not for the padding. “I’d be dead if that were a real weapon,” Will scoffed, pushing the weapon away with a finger.
“It’s a head lopper. The Sunset strike,” Wilhelm clarified. “It’s tricky to get right. There’s a lot of components, but it’s something to practice.”
Lifting his guard, William took the challenge to heart. “Now?”
“Just take some swings. Let’s see what you’ve got now. An assessment.” Drawing his blade up again, William stepped forward to strike. Clack! “Again!” ”Clack!” “Good!” Wilhelm pressed in, wooden blade grinding against William’s, who took a step back but reclaimed ground with a solid push - before he knew it, Will found Wilhelm sliding down his guard, forcing his arms into his core, the sword across his chest and into his neck. “During a strong parry,” William began, “...move in, secure the kill. You’re a fool to let a sword turn into a power struggle. Overwhelm, but never allow a stalemate or you will find nothing but danger. Even if you have to move their arms into theirs and trap their weapon - there is more to fighting with a blade than the blade itself. Use everything you have. Your foot, your arms, even your head.”
William nodded with a stern look, understanding as they slowly broke away like two wolves that didn’t trust each other. “So fight dirty then?”
“Aye, fight dirty. Your body is a weapon just as well, after all. Practice fighting without your sword. A good kick, a good punch, or even a strong skull can go a long way.”
Nodding in further affirmation, William stepped back. “Right. I’m ready for more.”
“Go ahead and strike at me. Something above the waist,” Wilhelm answered with a casual gruffness. After a moment, Will spun his body into a heavy slash, and Wilhelm’s blade went against his with a High Guard, pulling back in the opposite direction and drawing William’s arms out.
“Wha!” Will cried, finding himself being dragged forward by the sword. The man promptly stepped into his swing, and twisted his blade, swinging it at the dutiful trainee’s pulsing neck. Thud.
William choked. “Chhfft!” Then he dropped to his knees, holding his neck as he started to cough. “That’s... rough,” he complained.
“Good, now you’re gonna get used to being hit. Pain is all in your mind. Now stand.” Spurned by those harsh words, William stood, his eyes bulging and red, swallowing. "It’s gonna happen. You’re gonna feel like that, but worse. And you need to pull through when it does. Experience is what separates the survivors from the weak in a duel. That was called a Momentum Strike. Try it.” He quickly swung his sword, smacking Will on the rear.
“Hey, watchit!” he cried, bowed backwards by the hit and bringing his knees together. With a grunt, he got back into position. Frustrated, William tried his best to calm himself. “I guess I haven’t taken a lot of hits yet,” he croaked.
“Good, then I’m gonna hit you more.”
Another breath to calm himself, he swung for Wilhelm’s guard, the wood clacking together. He adjusted his blade by the pommel, trying to drag that other sword with him - it didn’t work, and Wilhelm struck him again, this time in the balls. William stifled a whine, letting out a murmur of pain instead. He blinked his eyes tight and opened them, trying to get a hold of himself. “Don’t beat me up too hard. I’ve got a job at a smithy to go to after we’re done here.” He drew his blade, and Wilhelm struck him again, flattening the boy to the ground. Again, he got up, and again he was struck down. This continued until William was covered in bruises, and Wilhelm seemed to enjoy himself until their training concluded.
Ugh...
“Get up, and quit being a damn wimp. Wimps don’t survive long. Remember, it’s all in that damn head of yours.” This time, Wilhelm didn’t hit him. “Now finish the strike. Show me who you are.”
William growled and stepped in swinging. This time, he put more force into the movement, paying attention to drag his blade in the same direction as Wilhelm’s own movements. This time, he could see it being drawn out inch by inch, creating an opening for him to strike inward - Wilhelm let go of his own sword and caught the blade in that newly free hand, wrenching it down.
“Alright, that was good. Lesson’s over, boy.”
Now he had to pay the guy, and his hand was shaking from screaming nerves as he drew the coins out to pay the man. Meister Ulbrek is going to kill me when I can’t shape the metal properly. And I’m nearly broke.
“You’re short, kid.”
“What?” Will gasped.
“You’re getting better. The training is getting more intense - it costs more Price’s doubled now.”
“You need to stop extorting me, Wilhelm,” Will cursed, paying the man. “I don’t know if I can afford another lesson for awhile.” At the end of it all, he found himself limping in the rain, but even if he was hurting, he knew it was all worth it. I’ll be a great warrior. And I’ll get the hell out of here, with a blade to match my balls... His sore balls.
-10 GN for Competent training