Flashback To Continue Rolf's Legacy

[Irowyn]

Fall 11th 498 AV

The Bronze Woods were not empty but they were quiet. The branches and the leaves were still but remained still amongst cautious, stealthy, guarding eyes. This sort of expert wariness was a way of life among the creatures of the woods, both big and small. Various beings crawled and strode across the forest but they did so silently and largely undetected. For this reason, the forest seemed empty, dead almost. Every now and then the distant sounds of a howl or maybe the rustling of a branch could be heard but for the most part, the creatures were too clever to be seen wandering about.

On this morning, a human was among the silent, sneaking creatures of the forest. As he crept through the forest he appeared quite graceful and adept. Yet in relation to the hauling great sword, he looked clumsy and awkward. In fact, it was the only indicator which kept him from being naturally stealthy among these other creatures as he made his way through the forest. The unnatural gait imposed on him by the cumbersome weapon was the only thing that really marked him as someone who didn't belong here.

He had only bought the thing a few days ago. His encounter with Daniel had spurred Irowyn into action. He felt just as miserable and hopeless as he did in the Stallion. Yet Irowyn realized that he needed...something. He needed something to help him pass the time. The pain of Daniel's punches had actually felt good. He enjoyed the chance, that was given that day, to inflict pain and to receive it in turn. Irowyn had always wondered why Rolf would have wanted to dedicate his life to being hurt and having the chance to hurt others. After having had the chance to physically unleash his sadness and his anger, Irowyn was starting to understand. He wanted something more than fists, though. Inspired by the memory of his lifelong friend, Irowyn had chosen the great sword.

He had spent the last week or so studying a few texts, from in the library, on the subject of proper great sword combat. He planned to spend much more time in that library but for today he needed to get outside and benefit from some real experience while attempting these moves. He made his way to an appropriately sized clearing. There were even a few "props" that he could make use of. An old dead tree slumped on one far side of the particularly round clearing. A few feet away, an old dead stump waited, on its side, next to a long extinguished fire ring. Additionally, there was a small but sizable log pulled up to that fire ring. There was a tiny crevice in the ground, possibly where a tree had once uprooted.

This was definitely as good a spot as any for Irowyn to sling that giant slab of metal about.

[Irowyn]

A few hours later, Irowyn's brow was dotted with beads of sweat. It was, by no means, the drenching sweat of one whose heart was beating and whose pupils were wide with struggled concentration. It was, however, the light, moist sweat of one whose physical struggles were made more difficult by mental focus.

He had been out here for nearly three hours and the only thing that he had learned, by now, was how much more difficult it was to control the momentum of this heavy iron weapon. Using his short sword required precise, quick, deliberate movements with sudden directional shifts, cleverness and a certain unpredictability. This two handed sword was the exact opposite of that weapon. It required total control and the ability to work with the natural momentum of the blade. Its wielder had to choose his swings strategically and allow those movements to continue until completion...regardless of whether the decision was fortuitous or disastrous. The heaviness of the blade required great strength but it also required a certain swiftness as to avoid unnecessary vulnerability.

This practice session had revealed, to him, a greater challenge than simply an unfamiliar weapon. He was being introduced to an entirely different system of combat and a whole new way of approaching a weapon. With Rolf around, Irowyn never really had to be very skilled with the short sword. He only needed to be able to wield it enough to protect himself. One could "dabble" in the short sword in a way that was not possible with the great sword. Behind this massive blade laid great destructive force and a great potential for calamity. Irowyn knew that he had no teammates to watch his back. There was no one to cover for any mistakes. He had to wield this weapon with confidence and he had to do so with focus and purpose.

For the moment, he was attempting to strike a dead stump which he had placed on top of the log. He was working on his ability to heft the sword with grace and fluidity instead of tensed, rigid, brute strength. The problem was his ability to set up the swing and then let momentum to take the edge in the direction which it needed to travel. To properly do this, he needed to "predict" how much strength to utilize and what kind of bodily positioning he would need to achieve this accuracy. However, the simple truth of the matter was that Irowyn had neither the strength to wield the weapon properly nor the familiarity to make these predictions valid. Still, he kept at it for another two hours, making sure to take a few breaks for water from his canteen and the rations which he had brought along. In one doomed attempt, he even had, in great fear and panic, to let go of the handle and allow the blade to careen into the soft soil while he dove out of the way. Had he not reacted quickly, he would certainly have severed his left leg just above the knee!