First Lessons

[Kazmir Saelaris]

C

assiopeia already extended even as the red haired warrior fell, a deadly tip ready to lash out in a short thrust towards the throat. Though not of any true threat, it was more a signal of who had taken the first bout. Paladin felt not glory in the 'kill', no elation in that he had won. Even as his partner lay on the grass below he already began to deconstruct and analyze the brief engagement. Not even a full two bits had passed before the woman accepted the offer, and already there were breaks of information that she had left Paladin to ruminate upon. He was slow, old perhaps. As though his short rebirth had left his arms and legs with a decade of sleep. And indeed he had become sloppy. His decision to open his shield could, should the woman have moved in other ways, ended his life.

“I surrender...”

In almost a mechanical manner the mans sword found her place in its sheath as the fires already to began to cool in his blood. It was only now that the warrior allowed his biology to take control in the form of a deep sucking gasp. “My word...” Paladin gasped as the ache under his ribs suddenly began, “You are strong...” Still huffing the man reached his arm outward to offer a hand up to his sparring partner, though she had already began to stand.

“I hope at least part of your rust has come off, since that’s about the best I can do, I’m afraid. You might be dulled or rusted, but I am still in the process of being forged.”

Was that disappointment? Or simple recognition. From his eyes she was not a poor fighter, quite easily being as experienced as any trained by the man that died. Though perhaps reckless in her assault and desire to close gap between the two far more than was needed. Still, she left the man with a bruise he would not soon forget, and a shortness of breath that would persist even into the following day. Letting has left arm hang, Paladin's shield slipped softly to the grass below and fell to lean against his calf. “You...” taking a slow and deep breath the warrior winced, “You are far stronger than you appear. And quicker. A handful more years and you will make a fine blade.”

Squatting, the warrior looked up at the woman above. Perhaps he had made his point. If she was assassin, she would understand now that direct assault would be a poor choice. He, as he had been trained, was a fighter of open combat. If his assumptions were correct, she was a fighter of guerrilla war. Her advantage would be her speed and stealth and should there be truth in her ability of archery, range. And so now Paladin knew from what corners attack would come from. Wiping the growing sweat from his fuzzy brow Paladin gave the woman a soft smile. “Better choice would have been to slash at the groin. Or thigh. Your blade was closer to the position. I would not have been able to defend.” a grim chuckle slipped from his airy voice. “Not a death blow, though most would prefer.” Some considered such acts fighting 'dirty'. Paladin did not. There were no dishonorable tactics.

Resting a moment as his eyes twisted to watch the three annoyed Norn, who now watched aftermath of the skirmish from Barons back with disapproving ambivalence. “Your commander taught you well renegade. Though the Legion taught me better.” The warrior grinned playfully up at the woman. Perhaps Paladin was not finished with risk taking. But should she truly be a bounty hunter or assassin, she would use this to establish identity until she could strike. And should she be a deserter of some nation she may be put at ease that she was in like company. Or, perhaps, she make take to paranoia and again draw her sword.

“Commander?” the boy whispered. Low in the underbrush, half hidden by the shadows of the thin tree cover, the adolescent watched as the fighters spent a moment of recovery. The boy wondered if they would fight again. He had seen the Knights engage in these sorts of practice duels, sparring if he heard the term right, but never so far from the wall of the city. Were they bandits? For another moment the half blood young man watched the warriors, uncertain if he should make his presence know. They didn't look like raiders... well the man might. Rough hew and maybe needing a good bath he had the sort of look one might see worn by a killer. But surely the woman was far to pretty to be one? “She has to be a knight...but she lost...”

'To hell with it...' the boy thought. Fortune favors the bold. “Excuse me!” he called out as he stood from his hiding.

Paladins head snapped to his right and the Norn took to wing. Standing from the underbrush a tall and whip like figure approached. A young man no older than fifteen arcs, hardly a man but not quite a boy. Dark of skin and bright of eye the lad nervously watched as Paladin carefully stood from his crouch. A long moment passed as the warrior waited for the boy to speak first.

“Um.. Hi! Are you guys Moske Knights? Cause I saw you fight and I thought you might be Knights. Though you kind of look like one of those bandits from the mountain.” the brazen young man gestured at the standing fighter, “She doesn't though. Too easy on the eye. But still looks like she can lay down the hurt. Is she a new recruit? I'm curios cause she lost against you. Not that that's bad or nothing we all start somewhere. That's why I want to know. I wanted to be a squire, but my father won't let me.” with careful but quick steps the young man began to approach, quite obvious excitement running under his voice. “He needs help on the farm. But I think I might be able to get a leg up for later, but we can't afford the private tutor right now. My mother doesn't much like the idea anyway, she's scared. But I told her with some good training she wouldn't have to worry. Lots of men my age join the military, but they live long lives. That's cause the Iron Hand is the best there is. And Rynmere has the best warriors in all the world. I thought I might want to be a Skyrider, but to be honest heights scare me stiff. So that leaves U'frek Sailors or the Moseke Knights.” The adolescent paused to catch his breathe. “I'm Pyrim. So if you guys fight again can I watch?” The boys bright eyes glimmered in hope as he stopped suddenly. He was smart enough not to get closer than a few yards, but foolish enough to approach armed veterans without any idea of their allegiances. Slipping thin hands into the pockets of his brown cotton slacks, he hoped silently that the two would not chide his interruption.

Paladin watched the boy as he approached, only able to catch half of his rapidly spat speech. Resting his hand on the hips of his blade, he glanced first at the woman then to their visitor again. Such a poor sod, begging for scraps when the meal he wished was so visible out of reach. A good boy though, no doubt, serving his family more faithfully than some national identity. Still, what he requested was a small thing. Far too small than was deserved. No person, peasant or king, should be deprived of the ability to defend themselves.“Should we give the boy a lesson?”

Pyrims eyes went and a stupid grin lit his narrow face. “A lesson?”

Dialogue Color Key
"Paladin." "Norn." ~Pala~

[Yanahalqah]

Yana accepted the complements of the swordsman with crossed arms and slightly pursed lips, as if she was considering his words. He then started to review on the fight, listing a couple so called “dirty tactics”. Yana nodded, quite aware of the effectiveness of the actions he’d described. “Well, I was planning on giving you a knee to the groin, but I thought that perhaps that was a little too much for a friendly spar.” That, and she hadn’t been sure where he stood on the whole dirty fighting front. Now though, it was apparent that he wasn’t afraid to use them himself. Good to know.

Unexpectedly, the swordsman revealed himself as a former legionnaire, though not before labeling Yana a renegade as well. She kept her pokerface up however, showing no surprise at either statement. She’d assumed he’d figured out her being a deserter a while ago, and she’d not dismissed the option of him being one either. Still, she had not expected him to just say it out loud. “Perhaps, but I-” A rustling in the bushes to the left attracted their attention, and Yana cut herself off. A tall, darkskinned lad made his presence known, and the Yludih wondered how long he’d been there. How much had he heard, if anything at all? His first question seemed to indicate he’d only seen them fight, and had heard very little of their exchange, but it could be a farce to get them to lower their guard… The notion was dismissed just as quickly as it had been thought. Looking at him, it was quite apparent that the lad was no threat at all. As he stood there speaking with obvious excitement or nerves running below the words streaming from his mouth.

Actually, his whole body showed signs of nervousness; it was in the fingers of his hand that fumbled with the hem of his shirt, it was in the way he stood, looking as if it cost him effort to stay still and not bounce around. But the most obvious was indeed his voice, which spouted an endess stream of words, rapidly making half-assed assessments, and laying out his own backstory and dreams. It wasn’t something Yana paid much attention to, instead she focused on the information he gave on the Skyknights, the Knights themselves, and the Sailors. Unfortunately all things she’d found out after a break of talking to the townsfolk about the military.

She decided to say nothing about the young man’s claim that she was too “easy on the eye” to be a bandit. A thing such as seduction existed, and was usually employed by women who looked quite beautiful. There were more methods to robbing people other than beating the crap out of them and taking their belongings. Sometimes people were far more subtle about it, using seduction as a distraction. The boy had still plenty to learn about the world, the Yludih concluded, managing to not shake her head at his approach. He was a naïve one, far too caught up in his own mind and assessments that he failed to see things in another way. To him, Yana was a fresh squire, no doubt about it, and the swordsman was probably her instructor or something. At least that’s what she assumed he thought, guessing from the things he’d said.

The swordsman was willing to give him a quick lesson in swordfighting, it seemed, either with or without her, and Yana considered her options in a few trills. She could agree to instruct him a little –not that she believed she would be much help- and as such she could probably win this boy over. It wouldn’t be too hard, he seemed to already be adoring her, believing she was in the Moseke Knights. But what would that help her? A farmer boy in his mid-teens. There weren’t that much uses someone like him could have, or were there? Maybe not now, but in the long run… In a couple years he might inherit the farm, making him useful for growing food and the like –though Yana could survive on ale alone, so that wasn’t too helpful. However, if he did succeed in becoming a squire, then he would be a whole lot more helpful. An ally on the inside. One she could push around a bit, manipulate subtly, use when she needed him. Yes, perhaps this would prove to be a useful tool later on.

“I suppose we could,” Yana nodded to the Swordsman. “But firstly, we’re not knights. We’re mercenaries. Name’s Rayna.” She turned to the would-be teacher then. “So where do we start? Should I lend him my sword? It’s lighter than yours.” She looked at the boy’s arms again, not believing those skinny things would be able to swing a longswords around for very long. He might be a farmhand, but Yana doubted the strength he possessed.

[Kazmir Saelaris]

Pyrim could hardly contain his excitement. He had watched the Knights spar on occasion, though wasn't often able to spend long studying their martial arts. Between farm work and school his free time was in tragically short supply. And though his recent leave of absence from education had freed up his afternoons, he was often far too tired after his long day of farm work to venture into Andaris proper. This was an opportunity that the half blood boy could never refuse. “Really? An actual lesson?” Pyrim rocked back and forth on his feet, “I... Thank you!” he looked as though he was about to explode.

Paladin admitted, the young man's excitement was infectious. The way he fidgeted, his obvious wish to release another torrent of questions, it in some ways reminded the fencer of the first time the dead mans father told him there would be lessons. Though, for Paladin, it was far younger than this Pyrim. A prodigy of sorts,the swordsman had begun his training far too early (insofar some would be concerned). This allowed him, when his military career began, a small advantage over his peers. Due to this rapid rise in rank he was quickly given the honor to train recruits himself. They were about the same age as Pyrim. Though they obviously came from a very different world. Had the boy even held a sword before?

From his short time in this land, Paladin had seen that the Rynmerians valued their armed forces. The nation was one which emphasized the military. But it was different than the Empire. Where in Rynmere the Iron Hand was a subculture of the nation, in the Empire the military was the culture, the Legion in particular. One could hardly swing a stick with out striking a dozen veterans upside the head. Six of those Legionaries, and four Calvary. “Maybe...”

“I suppose we could, But firstly, we’re not knights. We’re mercenaries. Name’s Rayna. So where do we start? Should I lend him my sword? It’s lighter than yours.”

The fencer did not like the woman speaking for him, though he voiced no complaint. Scratching the three day scruff with his leather wrapped hand, Paladin silently appraised the adolescent. He would have no training in live steel. Less concerned with either of the boys new instructors, Paladin was worried the child might harm himself. “I agree.” the swordsman nodded, “I doubt he could wield Cassiopeia for more than a few bits...”

“I'm strong!” Pyrim protested, “I've worked a farm my whole life, I can lift a real sword. I don't want a woman's weap...”

“Lesson one!” Paladin barked. “Never denigrate a fellow warrior. Or their choice of armament. Each blade is as valuable as the next. Each a tool well suited to its purpose. Each of its own advantage.”

Pyrim shifted, a sheepish blush growing. “Sorry ma'am. I talk with out thinking sometimes. I did't mean any offense. My mother says I got a mouth so big I can put both my feet in. I just think it would be better for a real sword, that is what the...”

“Stop talking.” Paladin barked, but had a difficult time containing a chuckle.

“Yes sir.”

Paladin smirked as he threw a glance towards Rayna. Had she heard his less than subtle admission? Had she recognized it? Perhaps she did not know of the Eternal Empire and their ever marching war machine? He found it doubtful though. In the past few decades the bitch god-queen had fueled the fires of explosive expansion. Many, if not most, of the fiefs of Idalos would be aware of such a violent imperialist agenda. Even if unconcerned. No. She did recognize even if she did not react. Was it for his benefit then? To ease his fears? It was possible, this Rayna was one to shield herself from others minds. Though, at the moment, his doubt of her assassinhood grew she was still a mercenary... it was rare the Legion hunted deserters beyond their own borders, though equally rare any made it that far. But Paladin had slew a well liked Centurion and budding politician. The grudges held against he were personal. Even if she was not his bane now, there was still a potential enemy of her in the future. And an ally. She made Paladin uneasy.

“I do not think live steel will be wise.” Paladin turned his head to the boy, “Go fetch three sturdy rods. Each no longer than my forearm and hand.”

Before Paladin had time to finish his sentence, Pyrim was already half way back into the tree line and rummaging like a pig for truffle.

Once the boy was past ear shot, Paladin spoke softly to the woman. “Have you ever trained another?” By this Paladin would know her rank in estimation, even if he did not know from what army she came. There would not be a professional military who would be any other way. If she had, she was trusted to smelt the rock headed youth into iron, which was a duty not to be taken lightly. This would mean she is far more skilled than other of her former comrades. Which may mean she was holding back in their spar, and had lied as to her skill. If she had not... if Rayna had not she may as well be trust worthy for the time being. Running his finger under the leather baldric that ran over and around his shoulder, Paladin carefully lifted the thick belt from his self. He was getting tired.

Dialogue Color Key
"Paladin." "Norn." ~Pala~

[Yanahalqah]

While the swordsman did agree with her on the boy's strength or lack thereof, he did not introduce himself. He'd remained silent instead, which -for all the man's formal speech and desire not have his skin be seen- she found strange. But not alarming. Yana had already determined the possibility of him hiding something, though a name usually wasn't one of the things one did not give another. She would have given a fake, if she'd been hellbent on keeping her real name under wraps -which, incidentally, she actually did- but the swordsman hadn't even done that. Perhaps it had slipped his mind, something unbecoming for a man of formalities and politesse. However, Yana did not think it too important and just added a mental note of the fact.

Not unexpectedly, the matter of which sword he was to be training with was something the lad wished to have a say in. He objected when both mercenaries agreed he wouldn't be able to lift the longsword, spouting demeaning nonsense Yana took no offense at. One of her preferred combat tactics was having an opponent underestimate her, whether they did so due to their own self-confidence, by looking down on her for being a female, or because she'd made them. It put them off their guard, and the advantage would be hers. Unfortunately, that type of thing usually only worked once, but people didn't live twice, so that was not too much of a hindrance. That is, if they fought to the death without any onlookers. That way no one would know her true prowess. However, if the need was there, she would not hesitate to go all out. For now though, her skill was little, and her experience too. She didn't even need to fake weakness, for she actually was. A point she needed to work on for sure.

The swordsman reprimanded the boy immediately, and the lad tried to apologize, but only made things worse. He did indeed talk without talking, and he did a lot of talking at that too. A simple boy, it would seem, not the brightest candle in the basket... Someone like that would be extremely useful. Well then, it was about time she did what she could to get on his good side, without changing her own demeanor and character too much, else the swordsman would no doubt pick up on it. The man's body might have rusted, but the blade of his mind was a razor. She had to be careful or she'd get cut. “I would argue that taunting an opponent is a valid strategy,” the Yludih spoke with a hint of an amused smile, “as long as you know what you're doing and what kind of person the other is.” After all, taunts were unlikely to work on someone who was able to keep calm in just about any situation, or on someone with thick skin. A hothead was the ideal target, but then still one had to be careful.

Pyrim scurried away in search for a trio of suitable sticks for their lesson, and the swordsman leaned in to talk with her privately. The question to what he was planning to ask of her was answered quickly, but it only summoned another one. Why did he ask that particular thing? In this setting it was a natural question, one to determine how they would structure and go about this lesson they were planning to give this lad. But the swordsman was not just an ordinary person. Yanahalqah did not think lightly of the things he asked, as he was too similar to her. His questions, while seemingly harmless and ordinary, were everything but. They were subtle ways to pry into her mind, to find out more about her without being too obvious or aggressive. She could learn a thing or two from him. But what was he trying to find out with this question? Was it just what it seemed to be? It couldn't be. She -and he- wasn't someone to just ask such things for the sake of a lesson. There had to be something... But finding it would take time, and she didn't have a lot of it to keep a conversation going without letting too much silence slip in. “No I haven't,” she responded, “this is a first.” It was the truth, as she'd never had the time or the desire to train another. Nor had it been her task. That was something reserved for her superiors; a lowly footsoldier such as herself was not allowed to train other recruits. … Her rank? Was that what he was after? It did make sense, but what information did that grant him? Skill level, most definitely. Experience too. Social skills, he'd get a good grasp of what she was capable of, not only combat-wise, but on other fields as well. Sneaky bastard. This was a man, she realized, who never did underestimate his opponent until he was certain of their true ability. He'd even doubted his victory. A very, very cautious man, this was.

Pyrim returned then, having gathered the rods requested. Each was about as long as the forearm of the swordsman, though they varied in width. He approached with obvious enthusiasm, and held the sticks in front of him so his would-be tutors could pick one. “Ladies first?” he turned to Yana, presenting his bounty. With a sparse smile she picked the thinnest of the bunch, the lightest. “Here you go, sir!” the lad spoke after the Yludih's choice had been made, turning to the swordsman, and Yana noticed that the rod lying in Pyrim's palms -the one he was obviously offering his tutor- was not the biggest and heaviest of the bunch, but the middle one. She said nothing about it though, instead opting to ignore it and avoid saying or doing anything that would be experienced as negative by the boy. And if she had to, well, then she'd end on a positive note anyway, with a compliment or so. If the boy associated her with positive feelings, then he'd end up liking her, and she'd be able to push him around that much easier. Plus, she considered, there was a lesson to be learned too. A thick stick was not as heavy as a longsword, but still, swinging it around would drain his energy just the same. He'd learn that the swordsman had been right after all, and that his teachers usually do know what they're talking about. She tried to make eye contact with the swordsman, and attempted to relay a message through staring and shaking her head slightly. Not the biggest rod, she tried to relay with a glance at the biggest stick, and a shake of her copper mane.

[Kazmir Saelaris]

A

s he watched the adolescent scurry about the underbrush Paladin's brow furrowed. Every person, regardless of status or class, had the right to defend ones self. This was the Will of Mortals. Unfettered self preservation. But by his Reason the swordsman worried whether the small gifts he and this mercenary woman were ready to bestow were truly inline with the boys Will, let alone that of his parents. Pyrim had stated his mother was concerned about the boys interest in military life, as she rightly should be. Still... he was of an age where he was beginning to crawl out from under mothers skirt, blossoming into a man that could make his own Reason and realize his own Will. But what of the Iron Hand?

Paladin had not been in Andaris long. The only demonstrations of martial prowess, in any competency, were among soldiers, peacekeepers, and gladiators. And a precious few of the citizenry seemed to openly carry steel... In the past some nations had restricted their laymen from wielding weapons and learning martial skill in fear of a rebellion fortified... Was Rynmere the same? In so far as he had seen the only martial training was to be found via the armed forces and, as rumor had, the University. “Tyrants...” Paladin murmured. It was not a legislative disarmament, but one based upon class. Ironic considering the directive of combat the state religion demanded. What harm could come though. It was a single boy that Paladin would teach. It was not as though he was raising an army.

“I would argue that taunting an opponent is a valid strategy, as long as you know what you're doing and what kind of person the other is.”

She smirked. Barely, but he could see it.“Perhaps. I would question such a warriors... proficiency.” More than strength, stamina, or speed, the greatness asset of any warrior was self control. Though the woman was partly correct, by Paladin's estimation. Summoning a fire in ones blood could be useful in so far as fire did not burn without control. “Sticks and stones...” the swordsman scoffed as he watched Pyrim break into a slow jog towards his teachers. It was bullshit. Words were far more powerful than any steel, magic, or god. Ideas could shape worlds.

The woman answered in negative, for which Paladin was thankful even if mistrusting. Though without evidence to contrary he was forced into the assumption the woman was of no threat for the time. “It is not too difficult.” the swordsman began, “Of most importance, relinquish ones own ego. Every action but be for the student. Every thought upon the students growth. Push them to ever more greatness, but do not topple their confidence. Reward them when they listen even if they are unable to learn. Punish rarely. Only when it might better serves their growth. Explain... everything. And most of all..” Paladin looked into the woman's face, “Be patient.”

“Here you go, sir!”

Shifting on his feet Paladin watched silently as the boy returned. He offered the choice of his find to Rayna and then decided Paladin's. Without thinking the swordsman took the rod, already uncomfortable with the lightness and weight of the 'blade'. For a moment he inspected the stick, studying for rot and bore. If nothing else the young man chose a sturdy trio of weapons, though they would not survive a proper blow. Catching the rustle of red to his left, Paladin saw the woman's silent communication.

Cheeky boy. Paladin smirked as he took the rod from the boys hand. “Well chosen.” the boy would learn a valuable lesson tomorrow morning.

“The purpose of the arms length blades is two fold.” the the fencer turned professor began. “The small sword, or short sword, is perhaps the most versatile of all blades. And though there is some disadvantage in its length during certain scenarios, its rapid use of all three dominant striking methods as well as its lightness often compensate.” As he spoke Paladin turned from the boy and woman and quickly made his way to his half sleeping horse. Shedding his shield with a groan, the began to remove his baldric. “Though it lacks the heaviness needed to puncture thicker armor, such as heavy padding or plate, it excels against lightly armored targets. Such as Rayna here,” the swordsman's free hand gestured to the mercenary as Cassiopeia found a place atop Baron's back, “or myself. It may, depending on the blade, easily puncture mail and slide between scaled armors.”

Pyrim nodded with a grin before interrupting “Three strike methods sir?”

Paladin turned as he rubbed the fatigue from his left arm and shoulder, “We will cover this at another point. Suffice to say, a vast majority of weapons are used only by three forms of strike. The thrust, chop, and cut.”

“What about...”

“Vast majority.”

Pyrim took the hint. Though he doubted and could even think of a few examples to contradict the swordsman, who himself had used a style which seemed to be neither of the three, he did not wish to risk an argument.

The boy was not stupid. Uneducated, perhaps. Cocky, without a doubt. But not stupid. Paladin marched slowly back towards where Pyrim and Rayna stood as he gripped his new 'sword' tightly. “As per my own teaching, this first brief lesson will be in what my training called the First Form. It is a military stance designed to be used in shield wall, relying upon the short blade and predominantly trusting attacks.

Looking over to the seconded instructor Paladin wondered whether she or he would make a willing target dummy. He, as the primary, would need to be free to move about and correct the pupil. “Rayna, if you may," Paladin gestured before himself with his hand, “We will need a target.”

Dialogue Color Key
"Paladin." "Norn." ~Pala~

[Yanahalqah]

While Pyrim was in the treeline searching for the training gear for the day, her fellow instructor gave Yana a quick lecture on the art of teaching. According to him, it wasn't so difficult, but Yana could already see the pitfalls one would stumble across when attempting to instruct another. Surely in theory, keeping the listed virtues in mind wasn't a hard task, but in practice things often turned out differently. No matter the aspirations of a beginning tutor, being barraged by question constantly would slow his lessons to a crawl, and while the pupil might learn something, it wasn't necessarily that which the tutor wanted to teach. Not to mention that it was annoying to only be able to say three words before another question came flying one's way. Patience was perhaps the most important indeed, but even that could be corroded and diminished.

However, she was not alone. The swordsman was to share in this burden. He seemed to have his experience, and his vision. A good tutor for the boy then. And a high ranking officer in the Legion, it would seem. Or at least not a common soldier. The Yludih listened and analyzed, taking in and processing all information she was given. A trait most people seemed to lack nowadays, focused to much on filling the air with the nonsense of chatter. Sometimes she wondered if those people really understood what was being said to them, if they were able to actually communicate, or if they were just picking random phrases that seemed fitting for the situation. It sounded ridiculous, but from time to time that was exactly what she thought she saw happening. Either way, Yana was always gathering information, using prior knowledge to understand all meanings of the spoken words, even the hidden ones, just like she had a moment ago. She nodded when the swordsman finished his lecture, and when he picked the rod Pyrim had offered him. He'd seen and understood her message, and had agreed with having the boy being taught the lesson of not overexerting himself. As a farmhand the boy should have learned that one already though...

The King in Rags began his tutoring then, starting off with the basics, and explained the purpose of the length. He then went to cover the striking methods, which Yana decided to execute to give the boy a visual of the motions. It reminded her of her own teachers in the military, who'd given a similar lecture and had shown the moves as well. Not surprisingly, the swordsman's lecture felt awfully familiar, as if he was quoting her instructors word for word. Of course this wasn't the case, but it was very similar to the point of her considering the existence of a manual for new teachers of the sword.

Yana wasn't only there for visualization of the lecture though, she became quickly aware of it as the head tutor assigned her -his assistant, if you will, to be a training dummy. Well, wasn't that great; being poked with a stick by a fifteen arc old farmhand. Concealing her internal dislike of this plan, she graciously accepted. “Of course.” She did wonder though; how could she and deflect the stick, and still have the boy practice without being hindered. “Can you lend me your shield though?” Stick or no, in his enthusiasm, the boy could end up dishing out more pain than he intended, and that wouldn't make anyone happy. If the swordsman gave a positive response, she would go fetch the shield and hold it in position in front of her, protecting as much of her torso as possible, ready for Pyrim's instructed assault. Though heavy, Yana would be able to hold it up for a while. She had spent about four arcs in the military after all, she wasn't exactly weak.

If the fencer refused her his shield, then there was nothing left but to brace herself and prepare to deflect the most dangerous blows with her wooden “sword” or to dodge them by stepping out of the way.

[Kazmir Saelaris]

F

rom his peripheral Paladin's eyes trekked across the woman's body as she demonstrated the forms for their young pupil. A passerby might assume the man, much as the boy did, ogled her in half secret. And perhaps in a past life the fencer may have. His attention though was not lecherous. But instead appraising. As a painter might study canvas or a merchants a ledger, the swordsman's mind dissected the woman's balance and form. She was not incompetent, as she had already proven, but her thrust lacked the full power she may have attained. In her demonstration she relied upon the muscle of the arm to deliver the blow, neglecting the full power her hips and back could provide. It was a common mistake and one that Paladin had made hundreds of times over. One that took years to scour from muscle memory, and only after countless thousands strikes delivered.

“Can you lend me your shield though?”

Paladin grinned. She was less than thrilled at the prospect of being target practice. Not that the swordsman could blame her, after all, he had spent many sore nights after providing a similar service to recruits of the Legion. It was a ritual of sorts, nearly a right of passage for all officers and commanders. Perhaps a way to temper the egos of a newly promoted Decadrion, who would soon need to earn the respect and love of those found under his sophomoric command. “Please.” Paladin said as his hand waved towards Baron.

“Now, Pyrim. We will begin in much the way I did.” the instructor began as his colleague trotted off to gather his belongings. “Each military varies, though commonality is found with all. One of these is that of form, or stance.”

“I see the Knights doing that all the time!” Pyrim chirped.

“As they should. In how I was instructed, and the limited training I provided to my dec... unit, we began with the First Form. As it is most common. Do as I do.” Turning to face Rayna, who now arrived and readied herself, Paladin grinned. She was an eager one.

Holding his left arm before of him and bent at a forty degree angle, Paladin envisioned the towering shield he had once worn with pride. Into a braced crouch he fell, right hand gripping the rod that hovered beside his hip. “This is the First Form. It is to be used with short blade and large shields... though any proper shield will suffice. The intent is for defense. To hide behind your tower of wood and steel and strike in a methodical fashion. To work as a single entity with those that stand by your side. A machine.” Paladin's arm trusted outward, his hips pivoting and toes pushing harder against the ground. Low strike mid strike high strike. Groin. Diaphragm. Throat.

Pyrim did not assume the stance immediately, instead the young man simply watched, his bright eyes dancing about the warrior with a furrowed brow. The boy was, despite some impulsiveness, a good pupil. He knew that his eagerness would lead a misunderstanding of the bio-mechanics that the warrior class exploited. For another moment longer he watched, careful attention called to where and how the instructors weight shifted.“I see...”

Carefully the boy mimicked.

“Good...” Paladin nodded with a smile. Standing as he gave the young man a once over, surprised how well he took to the uncomfortable posture. Perhaps his years of pushing plow and cracking dirt served his endurance. Walking around the boy Paladin continued to appraise.

“Lift your left arm further.” Paladin instructed as he tapped the boys arm with the stick. “Right arm forward more. The tip of the blade should rest at the edge of the shield... Less weight on your right foot, more on the ball of your left...No.” Crouching the teacher grabbed at the boys left heel, raising it slightly. “Tuck your chin to your shoulder and turn your left shoulder further into the shield.” Placing his hands atop the boys shoulders, he turned the young man another few degrees before stepping back to appraise the angle. “Brace for impact. Always.”

Rayna was sure to be bored, turning his attention to the mercenary his brow arched. Had she no experience with large shields? Though a far cry better held than the boy, the swordsman had quickly seen her inexperience with the heater. Marching to her now he frowned as he reached for her left arm. “Further out, shields as mine prefer to deflect a blow than to absorb directly.” Should she allow, he adjusted her arm with none too soft a grasp. “Observe the shape of the heater.” Paladin tapped 'missing' wedge of at the top right of the shield with the rod, “This is to allow you to see over without sacrificing defense.” Grabbing at her wrist again, Paladin pulled the shield slightly away from her body. “Don't be too close. It may prevent you from properly deflecting.” Walking behind her now he gave a moment of study to her hips before reaching forward and setting his gloved hands upon them. “Turn slightly. Where as the tower the boy uses absorbs, the heater prefers to deflect. Brace less.” Paladin turned the woman slightly. “Better...” he nodded as he quickly stepped away. Absently he rubbed his gloved hands over his dirty tunic.

“When I was a recruit, we would hold these stances for upwards of four breaks at a time... Then practice with the blade for another three.” Glancing at the young man Paladin smiled with feigned maliciousness. “Alas a single lesson does not permit the time.”

Taking up the first form again, Paladin once again demonstrated a quick thrust, his hip pivoting rapidly and a small amount of weight driving the blade out and up. Then directly out. Then out and down. Eyes. Heart. Inner Thigh. “Follow me Pyrim.” Again the swordsman demonstrated, this time significantly slower. “Note my shield arm. Do not let it falter as you thrust. Pivot the hip rapidly as you push firmly with your right foot. Do not sling your arm forward, but instead push outward with the blades tip.”

Pyrim nodded. The boy had been silent for long now as his mind tried to suck the marrow from every bone the mercenary duo would throw him. Pyrim's puppy like mind was ravenous for more. His deep curiosity and, most probably near mythological dream of adventure, afforded the adolescent far more attention than bravado or ego. He, unlike many of his peers, might have had the dedication to pursue military service. “Like this?” Pyrim asked as he slowly mimicked his teachers motions.

“Good... Do it again. Faster.” Paladin nodded as he stood and paced around the boy once more. “Chin tucked, shield closer.” Glancing at Rayna the swordsman nodded for her to ready her shield. “For the time being we will avoid movement while in this stance. You may be strong, but such repetitive training is quick to leave a toll on the muscle. Now, thrust into the shield. Slowly.”

Pyrim obeyed.

Dialogue Color Key
"Paladin." "Norn." ~Pala~

[Yanahalqah]

Most fortunately, the swordsman was willing to let her borrow his shield, which she went to fetch while the primary tutor continued his lecture. Yana struggled a bit with the shape of the shield, but eventually managing to get the thing on her arm. The heater was strange to her, and wielding a shield had never been a huge part of her time in the military. Sure, she had been taught the basics of using one, but it wasn't one such as this. And even if it was, Yana had been part of a Wing, not a Block. Ranged combat had been the most prominent part of her training, though she had learned to wield a blade as well. For emergencies and the like.

She returned and readied herself, earning herself a smirk from the fencer. It wasn't returned, though by no means had she allowed her face to take on an unfriendly expression. The Yludih watched carefully as he started demonstrating the First Form and the attacks that could be used while using it. In case she and him would clash blades in the future -for whatever reason- she wanted to know his moves so she could more efficiently counter him. And if he was a man that tended to stick to deep-rooted patterns, she'd be able to exploit. Perhaps it'd even allow her to win. He was already falling into a pattern after all, perhaps deliberate, perhaps not, one he'd used when she'd seen him train himself.

Pyrim copied the fencer's moves remarkably well for a farmhand with no prior experience with the sword, Yana found, watching him perform the thrusts a couple times. Though his form was far from perfect, even she could see that, he showed great promise. If he made it into the Iron Hand and managed to survive in the organization, he was sure to grow quickly and achieve greatness. A natural talent, it seemed. One wasted on someone who'd probably never be able to stray from the path laid out for him. Whether or not the swordsman had the same contemplations, he still took this lesson seriously, and began to correct Pyrim's stance with the patience and efficiency of someone who'd done it before hundreds of times. When he was done with the boy, it was Rayna's turn, something she'd definitely hadn't seen coming.

Her form too he corrected, not being all too gentle, but Yana let him make adjustments as much as he pleased, knowing fully well it would only benefit her later on. She allowed him to move her limbs with the smoothness of having undergone such treatment many times before, acting like a mannequin that could be moved in different positions. She followed him with her eye as he moved behind her and studied her rear, but did nothing. Only when he adjusted her hips she did whisper to him, in such a way he'd hear it, but the boy wouldn't. A wicked and teasing smirk emerged as she turned towards him, his hands still on her hips. “Liked what you saw?” she breathed, testing him just a bit. If she'd had two eyes she would have winked, but now that would leave her blind for the blink of an eye, and thus she did not. However she did smirk again as the swordsman stepped away and rubbed his gloved hands off on his tunic, a part of information she stored away for later use.

It took a while yet before Pyrim was finally ready to use the Yludih as a target, and in that time Yana watched and listened just as attentively as the boy did. A free lesson was a free lesson after all. She could only learn from it, a state of mind she shared with her “father”. When Pyrim did practice on the shield though, Yana did her best to keep the heater steady and high enough so the boy would have little trouble striking it.

* * *

A break or so later they were still going at it, though the boy had been taught a second style and was in the middle of using Yana and the heater as his target once again. Perhaps he could have learned the basics of three forms in that time, but between a short break as to not overexert the boy's muscles, two sticks breaking in half on the heater, and the swordsman's thorough lectures, they had only gotten to the second form, which Pyrim had little difficulty with either -perhaps he really was a natural. Of course his form needed to be corrected multiple times, and his accuracy with the practice sword was a little off, but other than that he was doing very well. Until the bushes behind him rustled and a cracking voice called out his name. He almost jumped out of his skin, his face suddenly flashing worry and the look of a boy who'd been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to. An old man stepped out of the underbrush, wearing the same kind of clothing as Pyrim did. There were obvious similarities between the boy and the man, such as their nose and the shape of their jaw, but the old man lacked the dark skin Pyrim had.

He stepped into the clearing, remaining close to the trees however, not approaching too far. His guard was up, his eyes darting from his boy to Yana and the swordsman, a slight frown creasing his already crinkled brow.

[Kazmir Saelaris]

I

n truth the briefness of these tiny lectures annoyed the swordsman. He gave instruction, corrected stance, hinted at proper application, and corrected the boys frequent but probing questions. He, despite having trained recruits to some degree, was never a primary instructor to the Legion. Only ever having filled a role of aide, or overseer to already mastered practices. Educating a person who had never even held a proper blade was a daunting task. Though Paladin persisted. He knew his art well enough to demonstrate, even if his body was still too weak to harness its prior skill. And, even if he could never again fight as savagely as he once did, he could at least show others how to hone their own Power.

Despite his growing annoyance at having to constantly correct and modify Pyrim's stance and motions, Paladin hid his feelings under the stony military gaze he had adopted. Maybe he liked it. The training. The instruction. The giving of his knowledge so freely to this young man. At times in the past he had dreamed of doing such a thing. To be standing on those sandy beaches under the manor of his own building, showing his son and daughter....

“Your doing well enough. Are you tired?”

“No sir!” the boy lied.

Paladin knew such perseverance. He himself being one to doggedly pursue any matter he sunk his jowls into. In Pyrim this he respected. Even if the boy was to fail, he at least gave everything he had to master such complex and nuanced skills in so short a time. It was this time that was the boys enemy. Where as the man that died had spent months practicing the first, only half a break and Paladin had moved unto the Second Form. And soon the third. And fourth. And fifth. And etcetera. Most of which were dedicated not to single combat, but shield walls and open war. Never enough hours in the day.

Still. Paladin was forced to admit that the experience was good for he. He needed reacclimatization to the habit of daily practice, two breaks a day at the least. If only to begin to reforge his crumbled body. But more so, the objective would be good for him. Rumors of war had hit his ears not a few trails ago. Rumors that, perhaps, were unfounded. But should they be true... the poor never weathered a war well. The most devastating of all stratagem was to lay waste to infrastructure and supply. Which, in short, meant slaughtering the farms. Paladin glanced towards this alien city as he tapped the boys arm lower.

Rayna was faring far better in her own ancillary education. She had been to war and learned the basics already. And she would need little more correction than Paladin had already given. She was patient too, it seemed with the boy. Not once having offered a discouraging word, though few many more than that. To Paladin she seemed to enjoy this painfully brief lesson. Perhaps he did to.

Someone cleared their throat as Pyrim suddenly dropped his form as he leapt to attention. Turning he spied the rough and gray shape of his father standing a few yards away. A brief glance to both his instructors and Pyrim began. “Hi fa!” he chirped. “Is ma with you.”

Toby Porter shook his head slowly. “Pyrim.” the old mans voice was like peat loam. Stepping forward another few steps, he eyed the warriors that stood far to close to his boy. “Who are these people?” the old man asked as his hand rested to the knife hidden under his thin rough tunic.

“My apologies sir. Your boy here had happened upon our sparring and asked a brief lesson. He is quite the good student.” Paladin stepped back from Pyrim. The old human was tense, ready to protect his cub if it meant so. Paladin did not wish to give the farmer any reason for more alarm.

“Did I ask you stranger?” Toby responded with a glower as he marched to his sons side.

Pyrim audibly rolled his bright eyes. “Relax...” is right to be concerned.”[/color] Placing his his dirt covered hands on his sons shoulder, Toby gave the man a once over. “Toby Porter.”

Paladin gave a shallow bow. “I am Paladin. And this Is Rayna. I am a retired mercenary. We did not think there would be any harm in showing the boy the basics.”

“Oh. There isn't. Though you should have consulted me first...” Toby looked down and the discouraged and embarrassed Pyrim. “And should his mother have found out it would be my hide as well as his.”

Pryim, nearly tall as his father, shrugged away from the old man as his eyes fell to his feet. He would get scolded for sure.

“Have you finished your chores? Pigs slopped?”

Pyrim nodded. “Pigs have slop, got three bushels, washed the dog, and cleaned out the pens.” Pyrim couldn't help beam a small bit of pride.

“And the goats?”

“Shit!”

“Watch your tongue!”

“Yes sir.”

Toby turned his attention to the warriors, his fluffy eyebrow arching as he gave them another moment of measure. “Well. I supposed there is no harm in it. So long as the boy has his damned shores done.” the old man said with a grin, “You said you two were mercenary folk?” Reaching into his pocket Toby removed a pair of coppers.

Paladin liked the man already. Protective, strict but not over bearing, he was ready so quickly to throw his life to the unknown warriors without consideration. Just as any father should do to protect his child. “No.” Paladin said as Toby dove it not his pocket, “We do not do this for money. It was too small a thing.”

Toby laughed as his green eyes pressed shut. “You'll take the damn coin and you'll like it. You two did a service and I expect to pay for that!” Though Toby, often, spoke with rough words, his tone was light and almost amused. “It ain't much, but that's all your getting.” Stepping towards the swordsman, the old bear shoved a coin at Paladin, who accepted it despite no small reluctance. “And for the lady.” Toby said as he held out the copper nel to the woman.

Dialogue Color Key
"Paladin." "Norn." ~Pala~

[Yanahalqah]

The old man was cautious, his voice tense. It was abundantly clear that he did not trust the two mercenaries, even if his son seemed to be rather comfortable around them. The swordsman tried to defuse the situation, but the farmer did not have an ear for it. Yana had kept her mouth shut the whole time, leaving the speaking to her fellow mercenary, like she had the whole time. In the end though, it was Pyrim who managed to get his father to calm down a little, though the old man did not cease his protective body language.

Only then, it seemed the man, Toby Porter, would listen to what they had to say. His mind at ease, tension slowly leaving his body. The fencer introduced the both of them, and gave a brief apology as well as a recap of what they’d been doing. The farmer was a lot less hostile now, apparently he did not really mind his boy being taught the way of the sword. Well, as long as his wife wouldn’t find out.

Toby reached into his pocket then, fishing out some copper coins, which Paladin refused almost immediately, and Yana did agree with him. While she did need money, a copper nel wouldn’t make a difference. But other than that, she hadn’t been doing this for coin anyway, besides, she’d done next to nothing to really tutor the boy. Despite the protest of Paladin and Yana’s head bobbing in agreement, Toby would have none of it, basically telling them to shut up and take the money. In Yana’s case the former was not a necessary demand, as she hadn’t said a word since the old man’s arrival –not that she’d said all that much before either. She was of the opinion that if you didn’t have anything to say that contributed to the task at hand, you better kept your mouth shut.

She took the coin then, not quite with as much reluctance as Paladin had, but she didn’t look very eager to get the money either. “Thank you kindly,” she said, closing her hand around the cold metal coin. Toby Porter was an honest man, the sort that did not want to be indebted to anyone, apparently. Hence the payment. But only greedy people would just accept his coin without resisting. It was a small game of sorts, a test to gauge one’s personality. At least Yana thought it was. With it, Toby would have a positive impression of the both of them, perhaps even thinking they could be trusted. In the future he might even ask for their services, knowing they wouldn’t ask for a ridiculous sum in return. Today was a good day, the Yludih decided, having learned quite a bit about both the sword and the shield, and she’d made contact with a potential future client. She was fairly sure that if there was trouble on the farm –not the familial kind of course- Pyrim would probably think of asking Paladin and herself for help first. Perhaps Toby would too. However, she was fairly sure that in both cases the swordsman had made more of an impression than she had. But that was fine. With some luck, the fencer would involve her if he deemed to situation too much for one man to handle.