4th of Ashan 720, Ninth Break.
The winged spear in Clavam's hand was crooked, dulled in the edge, and looked near enough to fall off its shaft. Yet it was the best he could manage to grab from the armory. A veritable lost and found the armory of the Post was, most of it's inventory occupied the lost category. The weapons on offer weren't the best, the tools of bandits and beggars. Yet Clavam couldn't be choosy. He only had so much merit to offer the Post, and thus new forged weapons were out of the question.
So the gnarled shaft of this crafted spear was in his hand, as he waited for the day's training to commence. Kurt was next to him. They'd decided to switch up their choice of weaponry, if only to further their competence with all aspects of the polearm. Clavam in particular wished to learn some two handed techniques with the spear. Kurt had impressed him with what he could accomplish with the weapon in both hands. Clavam had come out on top during that first contest, only by dint of superior skill and experience. By now, Kurt was starting to make strides, and getting stronger everyday. As were the rest of their little wing.
Nall strode their line, not giving them the usual tongue lashing. She might be tired, or else not interested in testing her voice. In either event, she spared them the usual dressing down. Instead, she barked out a brief command, "Spread out! Find a dummy and let's see what you weaklings can do to it."
So there wouldn't be sparring, at least not yet. This was a slight disappointment to Clavam as he enjoyed the unpredictability of his comrades' fighting styles. Even so, it might be good to familiarize himself with a two-handed grip on a polearm, before testing it out on a live opponent.
He jogged on, to the nearest canvas spin dummy. There, he extended the reach of his spear by about four feet. At that point, the advantage of a two-handed grip became all the more obvious. He didn't have to couch it at such a length, but could hold the end with one hand, and let the shaft slide through his other. It was like the fancy game that he'd seen some affluent people play in the Comm'See. Billiards is what it was. Yeah, he felt like he was playing billiards as he let the spear's shaft slide through his hands. Even the form he adopted as he began pegging away at the dummy felt and looked like the game. Not that he'd have occasion to play it. He was just playing a servant during those days, as a young boy straight out of the orphanage. It wasn't his lot to play the nobles' games.
It had looked interesting, and fun, though. As his spear made contact with the arms of the spin dummy, he varied up his attacks. Sometimes missing , but he was well outside the range of the dummy's retribution. He grew more confident with every hit that landed, although they were glancing off of the limbs of the dummy. He was making progress with his accuracy with the two-handed grip.
He turned his head , to spy Kurt trying his hand at the one handed grip, and shook his head.
"Fuck!" Kurt spat, as he lost his handle on the one-handed spear. The dummy wrenched it from his grip as two arms gripped them between two pegs like a pincer.
He gasped as the dummy's flail arm sent the head of the flail sailing over his shield, and almost took off the older man's scalp with it's sharp spikes. He got his shield up alright, though, in enough time to deflect it. Kurt withdrew, pulling the spear forcefully from the dummy's grip. He only shot Clavam a brief, baleful glance, and then resumed his practice.
Clavam had almost forgotten how one of these 'stationary' dummies had trounced him earlier in the prior season. And so as he pegged away with his two-handed spear, he began getting a little overconfident. He began targeting the pegs on the dummy, making it swing and oscillate faster. He continued thrusting and back drawing with a cut of his hewing spear against the limbs of the dummy. On one particularly forceful draw-cut, his spear had someone gotten lodged between the limbs of the dummy. The pegs twisted, catching the spear's head in between them and wrenching his spear away as it swung back to center.
Kurt couldn't help but cough on his laughter, at watching Clavam lose his weapon. Yet they were not done. Nall gave Kurt a sharp look, and fetched some dull staves from the pile.
"Alright funny man, think you can make light of your comrade's slip up?"
Clavam felt mollified by her charity, and almost had a mind to tell her where to stuff it before he remembered his soldier's discipline. He kept his curses to himself, for now, and nodded as he accepted the long staff. Kurt, himself, got a short staff and shield. As they were learning various different ways to use their weapons. Kurt being more used to the longer polearms, while Clavam had only known short-hafted spears, meant for use in one hand.
Clavam nodded to Kurt, that he was ready, and lowered his staff's point to maintain a line between the center of his guard. Kurt took the moment to strafe from side to side, trying to get an angle that would make it easier to hit.
Nall, not amused at the way they moved, shouted at them, "Come on you wet toilet rags! Hit each other! You have five seconds before the next man puts a spear through your back! Fight!"
Thus the gauntlet was thrown, and Clavam had to bring his staff to bear as Kurt took initiative. The older man charged him, leading with his shield, the shortstaff angled beneath the shield, as if using it for cover from a high blow. Clavam moved his staff outside of his opponents guard, inching it that way and then reversing, binding with the short staff. He locked his opponent's spear beneath his arm, and with it firmly couched there, thrust the butt of the staff at the other man's foot, with a satisfying crunch against the cartilage of the arch of Kurt's foot.
Kurt fell to the ground, and there Clavam, forgetting Nall was there, rushed down to help him out.
"Agh, fuck Clavam. Could've eased up on the foot... Wait what are you doing..." Kurt inched away, but Clavam grabbed him by his sprained foot, half not understanding what he was doing.
However, as he laid a hand on the man's foot, he felt the misfortune of that poorly placed blow evaporating. And what meager wealth Clavam owned, that went with it. He felt poorer somehow, like he'd never dig himself out of the ditch he'd laid himself in. But then, something nearly miraculous happened. Kurt's foot began to move more fluidly. There was no cramping or crushing of cartilage or bone, or the light injury he'd inflicted. Within moments, Kurt stood on his feet, then looked down incredulously at Clavam. "The fuck did you do? Some kind of magic?"
Clavam grumbled, knowing that stunt would cost him. Yet they needed every man on the post in fit condition now, and having one with a lame foot wouldn't do at all. "Fuck if I know. More like a curse."
Several of the Etzori exiles looked on him with disgust at the mere mention of a curse. To invoke divinity, even in a derogatory manner in Etzos wasn't a great idea. Yet that's all that Clavam had known his strange 'abilities' if you could call them that as.
After the rest of the yard had cleared out, and Clavam was done putting away all their equipment, he turned from the weapon rack, to see Gladis there. Staring at him. She looked at him with a blank expression. "Curse, eh?"
Clavam shrugged, and spat over his shoulder. "Yeah, well... Maybe he just got lucky? Or he's just a screamer." Clavam said, pushing past her. As he exited the training area, he called over his shoulder back to Gladis, "Either way, he's fine now. So let's not make a deal of it, Gladis..."
"Boop." Said Gladis' raven as it sat on her shoulder. She turned her head, and dabbed the bird on its beak briefly. Then turned to get on with her crossbow practice. She only cast one look over Clavam as he went out of the hall, before muttering to herself. "Can't be him. Must be luck, like he said. Or else Kurt is that much of a namby pamby." So saying, she used a goatsfoot lever to draw her crossbow, and placed a bolt on it, taking aim at the nearest targets.
