Teach My Hands to War, My Fingers to Fight (Training)

by **Abashai** on September 25th, 2009, 6:55 pm

Timestamp: 5th Day of Fall, 509 AV
Purpose: Weapons Training (Self-Mod)

Abashai waited patiently, leaning against the pile of soft furs. He turned from watching the fire to look at Nya, The girl sprawled out on the bed, covered with a soft doe skin. When he was sure she was fast asleep, he carefully removed the hand he had rested on her shoulder and stood, removing his sleeveless tunic and tossing it aside. He did not usually handle his weapons in front of his bondmate, they made her nervous. The Beshiran crossed the cavern to where his khopesh leaned against the wall.

Picking up the sheathed sword, Abashai closed his right hand around the hilt and pulled the weapon from the scabbard, accompanied by a faintly audible swish and ring as the blade came free. Setting the leather case aside, The desert warrior stepped to the center of the room. Only a dim glow reached from the fire at the back of the cave, a red sheen along the length of the steel blade. Abashai hefted the weapon up in front of his face horizontally, tip pointing out in front of him. He surveyed the blade, looking for any deviation in its lines, any sign of a bend or twist. Satisfied, he began slowly swinging the weapon in a figure eight in front of him.

The khopesh is a heavy sword, the blade leaving the guardless wooden hilt in a straight line before sharply angling down into a shallow sickle-like curve, the sharpened edge running along the outer side. Evolved from an axe blade, the khopesh is tip-heavy. This imbalance renders the weapon impractical for finer thrusting and parries, but is ideal for powerful hacking and blocking. The technique, as Abashai had learned in Yahebah, was to use the imbalance as an advantage. Using the weapon's momentum to leverage one's body, a warrior could wield the sword with relative grace.

Once Abashai had loosened up his muscles, he relaxed and dropped his arms to his sides. His mind slipped back to the desert, to the dusty courtyard where he was taught the balance training ritual. The routine was designed to hone a warrior's feel of the weapon, to experience how the body keeps the heavy blade in motion and under control. The Benshiran bent his knees slightly, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. In a burst of motion, Abashai stepped foward with his right foot,swinging the weapon up in front and over his head, then in a smooth motion brought the heavy sword down and to his right, sliding his left foot out and letting the wieght of the khopesh twist his body to the right, his left arm out slightly to maintain balance. The blade changed angle, Abashai using his own mass against the weapon to change its direction and send it slashing diagonally back to the left. Letting the blade pull him into a spin, the Benshiran turned 360° on his right boot, chambering his left leg and delivering a sidekick as he completed the circle. He over reached the kick, throwing off his balance and sending him crashing to the cave floor, the khopesh clattering to the ground after him. "Hik." He rolled to his hands and knees and looked over towards the bed. Nya stirred, but did not awaken. With a painful grunt, Abashai stood, picked up the sword and prepared to start again.

The excercise continued in this manner for over an hour, the broad sweeping arcs of the blade interrupted by stumbles, misdirections and the muttered Shiber curse 'Hik'. Finally, dripping with sweat, bearing several bruises and two minor scratches, Abashai was able to complete the excercise twice through. He sheathed the sword and returned to the fire to light a candle. He quietly made his way to the secondary chamber where he would grab a quick bath. Tomorrow, as Nya went hunting, he would continue training outside, but would have to find some small saplings first.

by **Abashai** on September 26th, 2009, 2:54 pm

The next morning, after finishing morning chores with Nya and the forest cat left to patrol their territory, Abashai set out with a hand ax out to collect some saplings. He selected softer pine and fir, about an inch thick each. After cutting about a dozen, he laid them in a small clearing just down from the cave's entrance. Next, Abashai stripped the small limbs from the young trees and cut rough points in the bases, setting four of them in a square pattern around him. Each sapling was buried nearly a foot deep and stood about five feet high.

Abashai fetched his khopesh from the cave and removed the scabbard. Again, he began to work the sword in a figure-eight, stretching his sore arm and shoulder muscles. The balance exercises performed the night before had taken its toll on his body. Once his muscles were warmed up, he stepped into the middle of the sapling poles. While last evening's exercise focused on balance, today's regimen honed speed and accuracy. Abashai slowly moved through the pattern, pivoting on his feet and swinging the weapon up and down as he simulated striking each pole. Then he returned to the center of the square.

The Benshiran relaxed, allowing every muscle to ease. He focused mentally on the position of each pole. Drawing in a deep breath, Abashai blew it out and swiftly raised the weapon, bringing it down at an angle at the pole in front and to the right, chopping the top foot of it off. He pivoted quickly towards the sapling to the rear and right, sending the top foot of it flinging into the woods. Pivoting once more, the blade came up and fell on the next pole, the angle too steep. The heavy steel blade glanced off the pole, meerly stripping off some bark and missing his foot by inches as it buried itself in the soft forest floor.

Abashai stopped, picked at the strips of bark on the missed pole and craned his neck sideways, the bones popping audibly. He lifted the sword, slowly mimicked the motion from the last cut pole to the failed one, gauging where he had misjusdged the angle. After repeating the movement several times, Abashai returned to his starting position and readied himself.

He swatted at a stray insect crawling on his shoulder and closed his eyes. Once again, he inhaled deeply and exploded into action. The heavy blade sung as it passed over the first two poles, inches above their new height. The weapon fell on the third pole at a good angle and the sharp-edged khopesh cleanly severed its top. Abashai turned to the last pole, striking it too high. The blade lodged in the sapling, rocking it loose in the ground. "Blast," he muttered and siezed the pole, jerking the khopesh loose. He tamped the ground around the loosed pole with the ax and again practiced the last move slowly until satisfied he could correct it.

Once again he readied himself and started the exercise, successfully cutting through the last pole. He paused to catch his breath and wipe the sweat from his brow with his tunic. Once ready, he began over again, repeating the routine until only two feet of the poles remained above the ground with only two more mistakes. Draining his waterskin down his throat, Abashai figured he could do one more set before Nya returned from her rounds. He removed the stumps and set up four new poles.

Tomorrow, he'd work on power.

by **Abashai** on October 1st, 2009, 2:51 pm

Abashai and Nya had spent most of the morning gathering reeds down by the bog. The Kelvic girl was all too happy to help. When the Benshiran had what he wanted, she shifted to her dire forest cat form and he laid the bundled reeds across her back to carry home.

Once outside the cave, they used a large fallen tree as a workbench. Using spare one-inch saplings, they bound reeds around it until it was about as thick as a man and about five feet tall, with a long sharpened stake at the bottom. When his curious bondmate asked what it was for, Abashai explained that they were targets to to help him practice his swordsmanship. Nya let out a wary 'harumph'. It was no secret she did not like the sword. They completed several of the targets. The rest of the reeds were cut into three foot lengths and bundled into squares to use as archery targets.

Seeing Abashai retrieve his khopesh, Nya bid him a quick farewell and bounded off for afternoon hunt. Taking the first target, Abashai pounded the stake into the ground with the pommel of his sword. Once satisfied it was sturdy enough, he took a moment to warm up. Removing his coat, he hung it on a limb on a tree just within reach, leaving his arms free in his sleeveless tan tunic.

To get warmed up, Abashai began the balance routine. Halfway through, he stumbled and snagged the weapon on the long coat hanging nearby. With a tearing sound it jerked the khopesh from his hand and sent it flinging helter skelter across the clearing to clatter against the fallen tree. Abashai crouched, as much from embarassement as to dodge the whirling blade. He looked around to make sure Nya wasn't spying on him, and retrieved the weapon. Oh, she would have loved to see that. The frustrated Benshiran mumbled to himself in Shiber, venomous words aimed at the sword, the coat and any other inanimate object he could blame that could not defend itself. "One day, one day I'll get it right the first time."

They say that the ancient Eypharians, before the Valterrain, would test the quality of their blades by lining up criminals. Then they would strike through the prisoners. A weapon was rated by how many men it could cut through in one slash. It is said the finest weaponsmiths could make 3-man swords. Cruel and gruesome, Abashai thought. He would be happy if he could get his blade through his single reed-man in one cut.

The man readied his stance, one leg back and slightly to the side, his body angled with his right side slightly forward. He reviewed in his mind the teachings on power strikes. Breathing out while striking adds power. Rotate the hips to put the body's weight into the attack. Follow through the swing, aiming for a point at the opposite side of the attack. Taking a deep breath, Abashai raised the heavy blade and swung it at the reed and wood target. The weapon cut cleanly through the first half of the reeds, but stopped at the sapling pole at the center, lodging in the wood. Breathe out, forgot to breathe out. He looked down at his waist. Hips, should turn around more. Using both hands, he yanked the weapon free and reseated the target in the ground.

Pushing aside the stray strands of dark hair that had fell in his face, Abashai took his stance again, raised the khopesh and inhaled deeply. He tightened his forearm and then his upper arm, the straining muscles bulging as he gripped the sword's hilt, then allowed them to relax. With an explosive exhale he brought the blade around in a wide swing, twisting his body behind the weapon and envisioned it cleanly slicing through the target and exiting the other side. The sword did clear the target and the top of the reed man toppled to the ground.

The second and third targets went down before Abashai's khopesh in one swipe each. But the fourth kept lodging in the center pole. Abashai examined his weapon's blade, gently testing the edge with his thumb, drawing it across the edge perpendicular to the blade. Dulled. The Benshiran returned to the cave to find his whetstone and set to honing his desrt sword's blade.

by **Abashai** on October 2nd, 2009, 7:29 pm

Abashai had set up a reed archery target in a rare stretch of space below their home where there was a clean shot for a hundred paces or so. He returned to the cave to grab his bow, ducking under the boughs that partially obscured the entrance to their home.

In a rare moment when he actually surprised Nya, He found her kneeling by his weapons. She had the bow in her lap, and was holding the hilt of the scabbarded sword up to her nose, inhaling deeply, eyes closed. Only a spark of time passed before she sensed him. She did not try to hide the fact that she was sniffing his stuff, but gave him a big innocent grin and carefully laid the weapons down. His bondmate had told him how her kelvic sense of smell was very keen and, in the same way he was comforted by the sound of her voice, Abashai's scent comforted her. To be honest, Abashai didn't mind one bit.

Nya knew what he was there for and brought him the bow and quiver of arrows. He grinned and thanked her, asked her if she as going to watch. She replied that she had plans to go into town and, with his usual admonishments, she headed out.

Abashai did not have quite as much training with the Eypharian shortbow as he had with the various swords during his schooling. But he wanted to improve, both for defense and to employ it in hunting. It was a war bow, heavier than a hunting bow with enough pull to kill a man. It would not be suitable for small animals, but could bring down larger game.

After trekking down to his makeshift range, he set the target agaisnt a tree and marked off about 100 paces away. With a grunt Abashai strung the stiff bow, raised the weapon and pulled the string back until his hand brushed his cheek. He held the string there while he counted to 30. He repeated the exercise thrice more, the final time the muscles in his arms, now starving for oxygen and highly defined, began to shake. With a great exhale he slowly lowered the bow and brough the string back to its resting position.

Shaking out his arms and feeling the tense muscles in his shoulders and back relax, he chose an arrow and nocked it. He noted the breeze, or absense of one. Probably followed Nya to town! He joked to himself. The Benshiran raised the wood and horn bow up again, drew back the string and closed his left eye. Squinting, he lined up the arrow's head with an imaginary point just above the center of the target. Nya had made a little surprise for him, painting a circle in the center of the target the size of a dinner plate with dark berry juice. Holding his breath, Abashai release the string, sending the arrow streaking towards the reed bale. It struck above the circle, he noted, figuring that the power of the bow kept the arrow from dropping as much during flight as he had expected.

Nocking another arrow, the archer raised the weapon again and aimed, this time just on the upper side of the center circle. The arrow flew, striking above the large black circle, but closer than the first. Abashai pick up the quiver, pulled out the arrows and upended the arrow case over his open hand. A small bronze ring fell into his palm. Picking up the bow, he slipped the string through a small break in the ring about halfway between the top and bottom of the bow. He placed an arrow on the bow, adjusting it untill it looked level resting on the ring. Leaning down, Abashai squeezed the ring closed around the string with his teeth.

Reseating the arrow, the nock resting on the ring, Abashai raised the bow and aimed again. The arrow sunk into the target, just inside the top edge of the painted circle. He fired several more arrows, all grouped in the same area. He removed them, returned to his shooting position and fired several more flights, adjusting his aim, until he could get at least half of the group inside the dark circle.

When he was able to consistently get more than half in the center, Abashai took 50 more paces back. He fired several arrows until he could gauge how the distance affected the arrows drop, and began to work on getting his groups within the circle until his arms could no longer draw back the string.

by **Abashai** on October 5th, 2009, 6:58 pm

After breaking for a quick bite of cooked rabbit and leeks, Abashai slung his bow and quiver over his shoulder and drug two more reed targets down to his crude archery range. Having worked on accuracy for quite a while, he turned his focus to speed.

While archers in a military formation relied on a shower of arrows to stop an enemy, the individual must conscioulsy choose a target, be able to hit that target and move to the next quickly. This is the only way to take advantage of the ranged weapon at closer quarters, when the enemy can close the distance relatively quickly.

Abashai set three targets up in the woods roughly 20 paces out around him. He restrung the Eypharian bow and adjusted the quiver slung across his back. He crouched down, looking at the floor of fallen leaves, but visualed the location of each target. He inhaled slowly, then shot up, simutaneously reaching back and grabbing an arrow. As the arrow cleared the quiver, Abashai brought the bow up. Bringing the arrow down, he used the tips of his fingers, still grasping the arrow, to find the string and slid down until he felt the nock ring and laid the arrow to rest on the bow. Taking only a hair's breath to aim, he released the arrow. A soon as the missile left the shortbow Abashai turned toward the second target. Reaching back, he gripped the end of the next arrow by the fletching. As he pulled it out, he lost his grasp of the thin feather and the arrow dropped at his feet. "Hmph."

Reaching down to pick up the fallen arrow, he carefully put it away. the Benshiran checked the first target, seeing the arrow jutting out just inches to the left of Nya's painted center circle. He trudged out to retrieve it, place it in the quiver and returned to his starting point. Need to slow down enough to feel for the arrow before pulling it, he admonished himself.

Adjusting the quiver a bit lower on his back, Abashai crouched again. He paused, then burst into motion. The first arrow flew without a hitch. As he turned to the second target, he nocked the next arrow, sighted the target and let it fly. Without a pause in his rotation, the archer spun to the next target, setting the arrow and releasing before fully sighting the last target.

Abashai lowered the bow to gauge his success. The first arrow was even closer, just inside the circle. The next was several inches to the right. He stared at the third target for a moment, straining to see where the arrow struck. He had to admit it had missed completely. He knew he had released the arrow before even seeing the target. Patience man, speed won't help if you can't hit 'em.

To make matters worse, a cold autumn drizzle had begun to fall. He had left his long coat in the cave, wearing only his sleeveless tunic. Abashai had never gotten used to being in the rain. It soaked your hair and made your clothes stick to you. This kind would end up chilling him to the bone. But he was determined to finish his exercise. Shaking his head, sending droplets of moisture spinning from his dampening hair, the transplanted desert dweller returned to his crouch. He repeated the exercise, consciously pacing himself in hopes of avoiding mistakes in mishandling arrows or overshooting the targets. Managing to at least hit the target everytime, he struggled with the speed of drawing the arrow, either dropping it out of the quiver or fumbling it as he laid it on the bow. Abashai began to simply practice the draw, pulling and setting the arrow. He found that if he tilted the bow slightly, the arrow would better fall into place.

Returning to the exercise, Abashai was able to minimize the mistakes, and complete several more rounds before the rain became more steady. He called it quits for the day, hearing Sus whinnie from under her makeshift lean-to (the desertbred did not like the rain either), which usually indicated that Nya had returned. He hunkered down and made his way back up to their home, dripping wet and anxious for a warm fire, dry clothes, and stories of Nya's latest antics.