23 Ashan 717
Every morning was an early morning for a soldier. It was a particularly early morning when you didn’t live in the barracks with all the other trainees and needed to make it across town to be out in the yards and ready to train by dawn’s light. Her internal clock awakened her long before any of the roosters would be crowing. Having done this enough times, her body was deeply ingrained into the routine and conditioned to awaken before the rooster’s crow or the sun’s light. Cylus had helped her adapt to waking in the dark, as the sun did its usual disappearing act.This morning the fine parchment and the ink and quill set still and unused on the table in her small apartment. In soft cotton night clothes, she stretched and groaned herself awake, making quick work of poaching eggs and frying toast for a quick breakfast. Darkness still seeped in through the windows, tickling her body’s desire to go back and rest. After finishing up the eggs and toast, Violet took to her washing table and splashed chilled water on her face, rattling her body awake better than the crow of any rooster.
After washing up she looked at the chair that her leather armor was laid out on, having been thoroughly oiled the night before. It was pristine black leather with silver snaps and black laces, though there was a knick on it from where the tip of a blade had sliced her during the campaign with the Qe’Dreki. She quickly slipped out of her night clothes and into a plain black cotton tunic and pants. Over that she began buckling and lacing on the leather armor from wrists to ankles. Lastly she slipped on worn black leather boots and a pair of black leather gauntlets, flexing her fingers to let the material loosen.
Violet arrived in the training yard after picking up her weapons just in time for the first rays of dawn’s light to crest over the barracks. A few were already out in the yard and the rest joined them as she worked on fastening five throwing blades on the front, five on the back, and a dagger on either hip. Most of her comrades had swords or axes or hammers, and even those used bulky contraptions like crossbows for their ranged weaponry. At the whistle of one of the officers, everyone straightened up.
Violet’s blonde hair stood out starkly against her black armor, even though it was plaited and pulled back smoothly. Bright, stormy eyes watched the officer pacing in front of the line of them.
“Alright, you soldiers know the drill. Strength training first.”
She was never overly fond of strength training, having found it boring compared to honing her aim with one of her throwing daggers, but it was certainly a requirement. Before them was a line of stumps, each of them only wide enough to support the center of a foot with the toes and heels hanging off on either side. They were meant to hop from one stump to another, obviously only able to use one foot as a bearing. It was meant to strengthen their legs and pull at the core muscles of their body. While she was more adept than some at this, there were still plenty that were better than her. She hopped the first few stumps with effort but accomplishing it all the same. The next one she missed by a hair and stumbled on the ground.
“Get your ass up and keep going!”
It rang in her ears- a familiar “encouragement” from whatever officer was in charge for the day. There was never time for failure. Back on the stumps she hopped and held her breath until she got to the end. Of course they would repeat this exercise at least a dozen times.
With legs and abdominal muscles aching, the soldiers trod over to the next round of torture meant to strengthen their back and arms. Circles were painted on the ground and they were meant to pick up large sacks of sand or stone, depending upon the person’s strength, and toss it into the circles in front of them. Violet, not yet strong enough for stone, had bags of sand lined up behind her. She grunted and hoisted the first one to her chest. Aiming with these was different than aiming with a dagger. She rocked her arms and then with a push of force vaulted the bag towards the circle. It landed short and to the side.
“Well stop staring and keep going Warrick!”
Another common “encouragement”. Violet hoisted up another bag, focusing on her aim a little more this time. It still fell short but was directly beneath the circle. Before another encouragement could be thrown her way, she grabbed another sack of sand and rocked, taking a breath in and breathing out slowly before throwing it forward with all her weight behind it. It seemed to do the trick, as the bag landed squarely in the circle. Some of her comrades had not landed any in the circle, others had landed many. No one could say that they didn’t have a diverse set of skills and practice.
After breaks were spent working on the strength of their body, they were given a slight reprieve to take a rest, hydrate themselves with some water, and dig into their lunch rations. It was never anything good, usually things like dried meat and crusted bread. A better meal could be bought at even the lowest of taverns. Violet didn’t mind, though. She may have been noble by birth, but she didn’t require all the things that many of her noble brethren required. Food was food as long as it did the job.
When the salty sweat had dried on their skin in the Ashan sun, the officers called them back to order. Like well-trained animals they lined up in the yard. Next came her favorite part- blade training. First was close quarters combat and last would be ranged combat, as that was not most people’s specialty. Few of the soldiers understood why she dual-wielded daggers as opposed to using a two handed sword or even a light, one handed sword. They thought it was madness to be caught in a close quarters fight with nothing but two daggers. Violet always brushed off the nay-saying with the fact that every weapon had its advantages. She knew that with such light blades she could be quick, and with blades so thin she could slip them through some breaks or joins in armor.
She was partnered up with a man a little taller than her and stockier with a long sword. Violet would swear to anyone that the commanders did this on purpose because they didn’t enjoy her choice of weapons. She thought it was their way of trying to convince her that she should make a change. Hard-headed as she was, though, she wasn’t quite ready to totally give up on it. She would at least give the daggers a fair shot.
He swung first, as most eager recruits did. Just like in the Burning Mountains, she crossed the blades in front of her and caught the long sword above her head. These blades were blunted so they wouldn’t risk killing off any potential soldiers. There was the ring of metal against metal as she put force against the blade and parried it off, her foot jutting out to trip him up in the process. He stumbled and she gave him a hard smack across the arm with the flat of her blade in response. The next blow cam quickly and for her legs. Violet was too slow and the smack of the blade smarted against her skin and pain started to throb within.
For breaks they dueled, switching up partners and trying their styles against different weapons. After all, you could never predict what kind of weapon would be used against you. You had to prepare for anything.
At last they reached her favorite part of training- long range training. There was a maze of targets out before them all set up with a high stone wall behind them so they didn’t go flying and hurt someone unintentionally. They spread out in a line, each getting ready their long range weapon of choice. Most had bows or crossbows. Very few had chosen the art of throwing daggers like Violet. But truth be told she excelled at this more than she did one on one combat with her blades. All at once a sea of bolts, arrows, and a few blades went sailing through the air at the various staggered targets.
Violet’s first blade missed her intended target and clipped the top of one behind it before clattering to the ground. She had learned that the balanced weight of the blade and the handle really made a difference in accuracy. She needed to check her blades with the local blacksmith. This time she took a sharp inhale of breath to steady herself and then a slow exhale before she rocketed the blade forward. This time it struck the intended target in one of the outer rings. She allowed herself a small smile, pleased with herself. Her aim was getting better. When they had all emptied their quivers and belts, there was a pause as everyone went and collected their ammunition. A dozen or so more rounds would take place before they were considered finished.
When most were sweating and had labored breathing, the officers called a halt to the exercise. Violet took the opportunity to gulp down some water, as did many of her comrades. After a short period of relief one of the officers brought his attention back to the group. “Alright, enough lazing around! Time to run laps. As fast as you can manage. If you fall behind we will be here to instill a little ‘encouragement’.”
With a sigh, Violet made sure her blades were all secure before taking off across the dirt training yard, her aching legs carrying her as fast as they could.
