Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

Cylus 4, Arc 722

Cylus on Faldrass wasn’t quite as bad as Cylus in other parts of Scalvoris – while it was dark and cold, there was that nice orange sand – but Devin had decided to move his combat training – his personal training as well as the training for the employees – inside for the duration of winter, nevertheless. Miranda, the head maid, had graciously allowed him to use the ballroom when there were no balls or similar events, provided that nothing got damaged, and he cleaned up again afterwards (Even though he was the man in charge, Devin had decided to always ask his staff for permission and let them have a say – he wanted to have a good relationship with them and not be seen as a tyrant who did as he pleased).

So, that was where the young man that was dressed in a pretty white training ensemble and hard toe shoes (for safety reasons) and that wore a headband with fake snowballs made of cotton and glitter (because snow-themed accessories were in fashion that season) was at the moment. He had to admit, he liked training in such an overwhelmingly luxurious environment much better than training in the garden.

He had decided that he would master every type of weapon there was, or at least every type of bladed weapon there was, and all other skills that he could think of in general. He already knew how to wield one-handed and two-handed bladed weapons, and he could even use two swords at the same time. He really wanted to show off his skill at The Proving Ground or a similar place one trial, because he liked winning and being admired, and because you could only progress so far if you always had the same sparring partners or practiced on your own.

Before he was ready for that, there was one more thing that he wanted to learn though.

You couldn’t only stick blades into other people, monsters or targets in general, you could also throw them. Throwing a bastard sword or even a short sword seemed like a challenge at best and a potential disaster at worst though, so, Devin had procured a set of throwing knives. They were made of steel, which was a bit of a boring metal, to be honest, but their handles were made of gold which made up for that boringness, to some extent at least.

Since he didn’t want to create any holes in the pretty walls, Devin had set up a circular target in the center of the ballroom, far away from any pieces of furniture, paintings and other things that might get damaged. It was made of some sort of wood from what he could tell, and there were several circles, in blue, red, white and black, on it.

He had also covered the floor around the target with a number of big blankets, so as to not accidentally poke any holes into it. He didn’t think that he’d hit the floor instead of his target – he was quite a skilled swordsman which should translate to throwing blades reasonably well in his opinion – but it was better to err on the side of caution anyway.

Finally, he had brought a book. Mistress Alina’s guide to sword fighting had taught him how valuable a bit of advice from an expert was, so, he had gotten a guide to thrown weapons this time.

For the time being, the book remained untouched though.

If he was already skilled with a number of different blades, he might be able to manage without any kind of instructions. With that thought in mind, he grabbed the first throwing knife, made a step forward, lined the tip of the blade up with the center of the target - and let go. His eyesight was quite fantastic, so he had no doubt that he'd do well. To his surprise, his knife didn't hit the center of the target though. It didn't even hit the target itself.

It landed somewhere on the blanket in front of it.

He frowned and briefly wondered if either the knife or the target – or both - were broken.

After a few moments of doubting his knife, he decided to do something slightly more productive, opened the book instead and checked the chapter that dealt with the correct grip.

From his lessons in sword fighting (both the ones where he had been the student and the ones where he had been the teacher) he knew that holding your weapon correctly was important, and that you needed to learn how to hold your weapon correctly before you learned how to hit things with it.

The book came with a lot of diagrams and pictures of hands with various sorts of throwing knives and throwing daggers in them.

The author’s main advice seemed to be to hold your throwing knife as you would a hammer - which caused Devin to furrow his brow for a moment as he tried to remember how he usually held a hammer. He didn’t hold hammers very often because he wasn’t really into woodworking and such, and he didn’t really think about it when he did.

Grumbling ever slightly, he looked through the book some more in order to see if the author provided readers with an alternative to holding knives like hammers, or more detailed instructions, at the very least, and came across another picture of a hand holding a knife with a few lines under it.

He took a look, grabbed the second throwing knife (The first knife was still lying on the blanket in front of the target because he hadn’t seen a reason to pick it up; he still had four more.) and then he tried to copy what he saw, making sure to keep his thumb on top of his other fingers, like the book said that he should.

Finally gave it another try – with questionable non-existent success.

Again.

Since he couldn’t believe that he had failed two times in a row, Devin walked over to the blanket and checked his knives again in order to try and see if they might have some sort of flaw, after all. His guide to throwing weapons also described what an ideal throwing knife looked like; it was supposed to have no sharp edges, but only a sharp point and rounded corners for safety. Furthermore, the book recommended using a knife that weighed approximately two-hundred grams. Heavier or lighter knives could affect your accuracy negatively.

His knives had all that from what he could tell – sharp points, but no sharp edges, and nice and safe and rounded corners on top of it. He couldn’t tell how much they weighed – he didn’t have a scale – but they felt good, and what more, they didn’t have any perforations which was something that could cause blades to break more easily, if the book was saying the truth.

So, why hadn’t his perfect knives hit the target perfectly?

He sat down on a chair in order to give the book more of an in-depth look, even though he didn’t like the idea that he might have made a mistake very much, to be honest. His stance, it turned out, had been correct – apparently, stepping forward with your right leg wasn’t only something that you did when you handled shortswords, longswords or bastard swords (or other bladed weapons that you didn’t usually throw at your opponent).

The book didn’t only describe different kinds of throwing weapons, stances, grips and such, it also contained a few short lessons. They were beginner’s lessons, for the most part, but Devin, the swordsman of above average skill, decided to give the first lesson a try, anyway. It turned out to be about throwing the knife into the target with half of a spin.

The book recommended a distance of six feet for that. Devin didn’t have anything to measure the distance with so he couldn’t really tell how much six feet were, but approximately six feet were probably good enough, so he positioned himself at a distance of what he thought were approximately six feet from his target, holding a throwing knife in one hand and the book in the other hand, because there was still more for him to read.

He checked the book and checked it again, to be sure, and finally set it down on the floor, moved his knife slightly so that the blade was facing himself and the handle was facing towards the ceiling, like the book said that it should (He was still holding the handle rather than the blade, of course, he was just holding the knife differently than he would when he wanted to stab something with it.) and threw it at his target with moderate force.

Supposedly, that was sufficient.

This time, the knife grazed the edge of the target before it landed on the floor.

He tried again, with the fourth knife and made a step closer to the target just in case his six feet hadn’t been six feet, after all. This time, the knife actually met the target, but it didn’t stick for some reason. Frowning, he grabbed the fifth knife, focused hard and threw it with a little more force, and then he collected his knives and did it all over again, until, finally, he managed to not only hit the target, but his knife stayed in the target.

He let out a spontaneous cry of triumph before he threw a few more knives, because practice made perfect and such, and he wanted to be the most perfect knife thrower ever!

He had just managed to hit the target for the second time (It had still ended up far away from the center of the target!) when he heard a knock on the door. When he called out to enter, he found himself facing one of the kitchen aides, a fluffy white cat cadouri. She curtsied deeply before she told him, “Your Grace, I’m supposed to tell you when Mrs. Adams starts her dinner preparations. It’s time now.”

“Tell her that I’ll be with her in a few short bits, please”, Devin replied, and the cadouri inclined her head. He wanted to help Mrs. Adams, the head cook, with dinner and plan the different dishes. He had decided to be involved in as many aspects of Smooglenuff Manor as possible.

Before he could help Mrs. Adams, he needed to clean up though. He had promised Miranda that he would, and he intended to keep his promise. So, without further ado, he tried to grab the target – except that it was too heavy and unwieldy for him to carry it on his own (a servant had helped him move it into the ballroom). He had a solution for that though. He pushed it onto one of the big blankets and dragged it across the room, into a corner where it wouldn’t get in the way – moving it like that was far easier and took far less effort - and then he folded the blankets neatly and placed them next to the target.

As there wouldn’t be any events in the immediate future, the target and the blankets could just stay there, he decided. Besides, he would be teaching the staff another sword fighting lesson soon. Maybe, he could incorporate the target into the lesson somehow. With that thought in mind, and with a huge smile on his face, he grabbed his knives. He put them into a chest in his room and locked it, and then he finally made his way into the kitchen.

He didn’t only want to master every kind of blade there was, he also planned on mastering the art of cooking.

He loved cooking!