Flashback Oathos Circle

[Niall Hammerfist]

3rd, Fall of 490 A.V. Niall followed his father out into the cool afternoon of the mining camp. A calm seemed to be settling over the valley, and the air he exhaled left soft wisps of breath as it floated up through the air to mix with the steam from cooking pots and smoke from campfires as it floated into the sky. The sun was beginning to descend behind Oathos, the tallest mountain in the valley. They had told him when he was young that the mountain had been named after a mighty Hammer who travelled the lands of Kalea, and he had made a final stand there giving his people time enough to escape to Sultros. The snow had yet to settle over the valley that fall, but you could smell it in the air. A crisp smell of moisture drifted on the wind, and Niall wondered when it would come. They had stored enough food for themselves for winter, and then some. Game had been plentiful this year, and the scouts had read that sign varyingly based on their personalities. Niall’s father led him into Oathos Circle. It was a simple stone pit formed by the use of Earth Reimancy, wooden weapon racks rested against the sides to hold practice weapons for the guard and their drills. Commonly the circle was used to settle disputes, hold meetings, and otherwise engage the whole of the mining camp in announcements and activities. Niall felt nervous, hoping that their display wouldn’t draw the attention of the other people in the camp. Mainly miners, crafters, and the guardsman inhabited the place. Though one thing tied them all together; they all wanted a break from the monotony. Sulos stopped near the center of the circle and he turned to gaze upon his son. Niall stared back at him, wide eyed and nervous. He had never held a finished sword before, certainly never to strike at another man. His father laid two steely blades in a rack at the edge of the circle and picked up two wooden practice swords presenting one to Niall. The dissapointment was written on his face. Though after a bit of thinking, the young Isur realized that he wouldnt want to hurt anyone. “Take it son.” Sulos said, his Rich Baritone echoing in the stillness of the camp. His father held out the practice weapon, pommel first, to his son offering him the heavy wooden weapon. Niall took the practice sword lightly in his right hand and tested the weight. It was blade heavy, but a sweep through the air with it made each stroke feel committed and final. He couldn’t help but wonder if a true blade felt the same way. His attention on the wooden practice blade was broken by his father’s barking command to raise the blade to attack. Niall had watched his father and the guardsman practice at combat many times and he felt awkward trying to imitate his dads fighting stance. Sulos looked at him and smiled as a hawk might at a hare. “Stop.” Sulos said suddenly, his negative appraisal obvious on his face. He shrugged his shoulders and swept his arm as he fell in to line next to Niall. “Defense first.” His father said in a confident tone. He watched as his father dropped into a fighting stance he had seen him take often. It seemed wide and stable. Like the base of a rock. “Now, watch me."Sulos said. "Blade down to block a low strike.” His father swept his wooden sword downward almost as if he was drawing a line in the dirt with the blades tip. “Blade to the side to block a side strike.” His father sweeped the practice sword to the side, blade vertical. “It’s just like opening a door.” His father then raised the blade above his head so that the blade ran level to the ground “This is a block from a downward strike. If you can block an opponent’s blade with the flat of your own, you transfer the force of his attack across the blade, and not into the edge. It is better to do this to save your weapon the damage, and it has the added effect of jarring your enemies strike.” His father stood to his full height now and looked at Niall seriously. "Downward block left or right. Side block left or right. Upward block left or right."Sulos fixed his son with that hawklike gaze again, assessing, appraising. “Are you ready?” he said, leaning on the wooden practice sword in his hands. "Yes.” Niall nodded to his father, his face serious. Inside his belly squirmed from the excitement he felt. His anticipation made him on edge and he felt as though he could leap out of his skin. Sulos nodded back to his son and lowered his practice sword. “Take a solid defensive stance.” His father spread his feet out in a fighting stance left foot back, right foot forward. Niall imitated his father, feeling out the stance awkwardly. “Spread your feet and hold your position.” Sulos commanded and stood to his full height. He walked around Niall observing his stance. “Left foot further back.” Sulos said as he tapped Niall’s calf gently with the blade of his practice sword. Niall moved his feet further apart and he felt the stability of his stance improve. He wasn’t sure, but he turned his right foot slightly more toward his center and his stance stabilized further. “Good!” his father said as he looked at where his son’s feet rested. Sulos took up position next to his son again and brought his blade up. “Follow my movements, go slowly, and then speed up as you feel more confident.” “Left Side!” Sulos said, and swept his blade slowly and confidently across his chest right to left. Niall did the same bringing his practice sword slowly across his chest while he kept the blade vertical. “Upper right!” Sulos commanded. The pair brought their practice swords up together following a slow and purposeful motion. Niall’s blade would have defended a downward strike to his head, right shoulder, and arm. “Lower left!” Niall’s father said, slowly bringing his blade down to push away an imaginary strike to his left leg. “Hold your position.” Sulos said as he stood watching his son, checking Niall’s footing, and his stance. Niall’s heart was racing at this point. He wanted to please his father, but at the same time, something so new and strange as handling a weapon, even a practice weapon, gave him thrills. He almost felt like bouncing on his feet to dissipate the stress. “Niall,” his father said softly. Nialls wild thoughts calmed and he turned to look at his father and the gaze he was giving his son, was intense. “Let your djed flow son. Your blade is just like your hammer, it’s a part of you. It’s no different than you using your left arm to beat steal. Your sword is a part of you. Move like it is. Always like this.” Sulos smiled at his son. Niall felt his father was wiser than any sage in that moment. Niall felt the anxiousness bleed away from him. In its place was a strange calm. An almost inexplicable feeling like his energy was fuelling him, preparing him for his next movement, his next motion. He watched his father take on an offensive stance and Niall waited unsure of what his father was doing. “Left side!” Sulos barked. Niall barely blocked a swift side strike his father leveled at his left shoulder. When Sulos withdrew for another attack, Niall was prepared. “Lower right!” Sulos shouted. Niall brought his practice sword down low to meet his father’s strike. The two wooden swords clacked loudly, and the reverberations ran up Niall’s arm with a shiver. “Upper Left!” Sulos Belted out just after beginning his strike. Niall bore his teeth against time as he struggled to bring the blade up in his defense. When the blade of his practice sword met his fathers the force in which he struck knocked the blade from Sulos’ hand. Niall’s mouth fell open in shock at what he had just done. He stood watching as the wooden blade flew out of the circle, landing tip first into the ground with a soft thunk. That was when Niall realized a crowd had gathered to watch them, and he blushed and ran the black fingers of his left hand through his hair, his face a growing a shade closer to rose by the minute. Several of the guardsmen were cheering him on with shouts of “Way to go little man!” or “Better watch out Sulos, the kids got an arm on him.” Niall laughed nervously and watched his father, worried at how he would react. There were times his father had been cross with him when he’d messed up things in the forge. Though, when Sulos turned to gaze upon his son, Niall only saw pride in his eyes, and a slight twinkle of mischievousness. “Well done son.” His father said as he tussled his hair. “Well done.”

[Niall Hammerfist]

12th, Fall of 490 A.V. Niall gasped desperately for breath as he crouched in Oathos Circle on all fours glaring agony at the ground. He had not even seen his father’s counter move it had been so quick. So here he was staring at the fresh coat of frost covering the ground. His shirtless body was steaming in the cool of early fall from the strain of trying to keep up with a swordsman as good as his father. When the breath came he felt overcome with relief, and all he managed to do was gasp and cough uncontrollably. “Are you ok?” His father said as he leaned in close. All Niall could do between his coughing and heaves was nod. “Good!” His father exclaimed before he effortlessly pushed Niall over onto his back. Niall would not have been able to stop him had he tried. Breathing was all he could manage. With some struggling, he managed to unfurl himself so that he could lay flat. He had weathered the strike to his stomach, though it left him with the feeling he had been gutted by a real sword. Or at least how Niall imagined it would be. He'd never seen a wound so nasty as a gaping chest would, but he'd heard his father and the guardsman talk about it. Niall’s skyward view was obscured by his father’s grinning face. “Rung your anvil a little bit son?” Sulos laughed softly before offering his son a hand up. “You’re getting better, you need to work on your speed. Also don’t be afraid to use your arm in your defense. Your sword isn’t your only weapon.” With great Effort Niall relearned to breath with that aching knot in his stomach where his father had hit him. He tried to breathe easily, the pain in his belly still acute. Eventually, with much effort he was able to bring his breaths under control. When Niall was standing straight again he leaned against his father’s shoulder. Sulos watched his son with understanding eyes. “Ok Take a break.” Sulos said, a smirk forming on his face, the slightest hint of disappointment in his voice. “Speed exercises, and if I catch you screwing up its sparring time again.” Niall nodded and waited for his father to step out of the circle. The sweat on his body was beginning to feel cold as he brought his sword up in a defensive stance. He lowered his body into a stable stance and exhaled softly. His eyes were focused on an imaginary foe in front of him, and he bagan his drills. “Speed is important to a swordsman, weather he wields a great sword, or a short parrying blade.” His father preached from the nearest bench at the edge of the circle. Niall had heard this many times since he had been handed the practice sword a week or so ago. “A strong swordsman can cleave an enemy through, but he cannot defend against a mobile opponent.” Niall took a deep breath and stepped backward with his left foot, bringing it out of strike range. He brought the wooden sword down quickly knocking away an imaginary strike to where his left leg used to be. The young Isur drew the blade back in his right hand in the beginning of a thrust. As his elbow bent he brought his left leg forward again, and stepped forward with his right thrusting the blade into his imaginary opponent. “Faster!” His father shouted. “A real opponent would have downed you by now.” His father pushed as he always did. ‘strike the iron harder, run faster, jump higher.’ Niall smirked in slight frustration as he sped up his cadence. He tried to anticipate his own next move while his body performed his current defense or attack. It was not easy. His mind felt pre-occupied just by useing proper technique. He swept the blade back into his defensive stance, refocusing his efforts. Quickly he brought the wooden practice sword up in a block, and shoved the imaginary blade away, controlling the practice sword with both hands, before advancing forward for a Hilt strike against his imaginary opponents face. Niall ducked a counter strike and retreated bringing his left arm up in a blocking motion to knock away a shield strike. He retreated again back to his starting position and dodged to the right. With a shout he swept forward advancing with a downward strike. “Woops” Niall heard his father say and his heart sank. He knew he had messed up. His last attack was supposed to be a thrust. He sighed heavily and brought his sword down to his hip holding it by the blade as if it were in its sheath. He watched his father step down into the pit and approach slowly. Their eyes met and Niall watched his father begin to adopt his defensive stance. The young Isur quickly brought his blade up and set his jaw preparing himself mentally for another painful lesson. Sulos roared like a Lion as he pounced forward at Niall. The aggressiveness of his own fathers attack shocked Niall enough that he barely brought his blade up in time to defend his father’s downward strike. Their practice sword made a loud clack and Sulos retreated. Niall retreated himself to a better position and waited, his sword ready for a block or a srtrike. His stance was solid, but he bounced lightly on his feet. When his father moved left, he swung right staying on his father’s left side. It was then that his father stopped moving and held his wooden sword behind him, leaving his whole side open for attack. Niall stopped confused for a moment trying to sort through his father’s hesitance. Not wanting to waste the opportunity Niall chose to strike. With a swift and short advance Niall brought his practice sword sideways into his father’s hind quarter in an attempt to deliver a crippling strike. This time Niall saw his father’s movement. It had not been his pommel that had struck him in the gut before. It was the fist of his left arm, his divine arm. Though this time, its destination was not Niall’s soft belly, but his face. Niall felt his father’s arm knock away his strike, and experienced a flash of color as he carried through. Sulos fist met with Niall’s nose with a sickenning popping sound. His vision blurred and Niall could barely think over the stabbing pain in his face. He felt like his eyes had burst and his upper teeth had all fallen out. Niall fell onto his buttocks grabbing at his face groaning over the pain, cradling his injury. He felt warmth running down into his mouth, which was followed by a salty taste on his tongue. “Pech!” he said stuffily, cradling his broken nose. His eyes were watering like they were on fire and he could feel the blood flowing down his chin, but he couldn’t open his eyes. How is it getting punched in the nose hurts your eyes? Niall tried to get up but fell again. Scrambling through the frosty dirt was humiliating. It was then that he felt a familiar hand gently grip his shoulder. He stopped moving and he heard his father’s warm voice in his ear. “You have to be faster. Right now you would be at the mercy of your enemy.” “Pech off dad you broke my Peching nose!” Niall grit his teeth and spat blood out of his mouth. He wasn’t even sure he cared where it wound up. His breath came in quick gasps between spits of blood. He could hear his heart beating in his ears, as the burning subsided into an ache. His father didn’t move, and Niall grasped at his father’s shirt loosely if only to know where he was. Niall feared what he might see when he opened his eyes. He hated being in so much pain, and being so blind. With great effort he cracked open his eyes and tried to see the world through his salty tears. He wanted to sneeze out the blood desperately though he knew if he did it would hurt like a red hot poker had been shoved up his nose with an added twist. Sulos had knelt next to him. So close, that Nialls blood had splattered all over his clothes and his face. Though his father had stayed there close to him, and it gave Niall a strange guilty feeling for cursing at his father so vehemently. It was then that his father did something even stranger. He swept Niall up in a warm embrace, and held him there. The pain was horrible, but his bear hug was oddly comforting. “I’m sorry son.” He whispered into his ear. “I’m proud of you.” Sulos said as he took his sons head in his hands and he looked over the wound he had caused. “That looks bad, are you alright?” Niall had never seen him show so much concern for him. Unless he had done something stupid like burn his arm, or go wandering outside the walls of the camp. “Come on son, let’s get that looked at.” Niall let his father help him up, and didn’t argue when Sulos put Niall’s hand on his shoulder to guide him. Grateful for the help he walked out of the circle holding his nose trying to staunch the blood flow. “You’ll be ok son. You’ll be alright.” Sulos didn’t sound worried to him. It sounded like he was stating a fact. Like the sky was blue, or the forge was hot. Niall found comfort in closeing his eyes. Though he wasn't focussed on the pain. All he could do was envision his fathers deft movement, and Niall held that image in his head. Sulos had knocked away the blade with his arm, and then used it as a striking weapon. He watched it come toward his face, over and over again. He would remember this. He would find a way to defend against it.

[Niall Hammerfist]

30th, Fall of 490 A.V. Niall watched his father advance slowly, wooden practice sword in hand. He observed Sulos’ fluid stance and waited for his movement to bring him closer into striking distance. Niall’s black arm was raised, ready to block incoming strikes. He rolled off his toes as lightly as he dared edging to the right sideways toward the edge of the circle, and he took mental note of what that did to his father’s advance. His father held his distance just out of reach of his sword, and Niall bounced left this time to break his father’s line. As Sulos turned to face him, Niall advanced ready to level a quick strike to the left leg of his opponent. His father easily blocked the strike and Niall retreated, Sulos followed behind striking quickly and fluidly at Nialls mid-section. The young Isur batted it aside with his black arm, and moved into hand striking distance of his opponent. In an effort to wind him, he punched Sulos’ belly. His father easily blocked the attack with his own red arm and grabbed Niall’s wrist. The sudden rush of knowing you had just been trapped hit Niall in his chest and made him tense up. Sulos tugged as he retreated, taking Niall with him. The young Isur stumbled over Sulos foot, and he rolled into a controlled tumble, letting his motion stop in a kneeling position, before he crouched low to the ground ready to beat away a lunge that never came. His father waited for him, stepping casually sidelong to Niall. He knew his father was baiting him to attack. He had learned caution since their last encounter, so he took the time to stabilize his stance and advanced purposefully. ‘Speed is important to a swordsman,’ he heard his father say in his own head. ‘Stay mobile,’ he thought to himself. Niall entered into Sulos’ attack circle and thrust with his wooden practice sword. His father easily blocked the blow to the side with his own blade, and countered with an open handed strike to the young Isur’s wrist trying to disarm him. Niall saw his father’s arm raise for the strike and was ready. He loosened his stance and brought his arm up, reaching for his father’s divine arm, and grasped it at the wrist. To Niall’s surprise he caught it in his hand, though he was even more surprised at Sulos’ dark chuckle once he had him in his grip. That was when the old blacksmith twisted his arm in the young Isur’s grasp, grabbing Niall’s forearm. With a mighty heave the old man tugged hard and kneed Niall in the chest. Niall grunted painfully, and crumpled. Though if anything the last twenty six days had taught him it was that pain was fleeting. He slipped out of his father’s grip and retreated, grasping at his chest. His eyes focused on his father as he advanced slowly, and he pressed the attack. Niall retreated again, trying to stay out of his father’s reach as he tried to recover from his injury. He dodged to the left and shook off the pain till it felt like a dull ache. He felt ready at last and let his father enter into his circle. The old blacksmith struck with a downward strike to Niall’s head. Niall brought his wooden practice sword up in a horizontal block, letting the blade slide down and away from him, and prepared for a two handed downward strike of his own in a counter move. Though Sulos had anticipated this and simply carried forward bowling the young Isur over onto his back. Niall gasped as the air left his lungs and he felt the all too familiar tap of his fathers practice blade hit his collar bone. Niall sighed and tapped the cold frostbitten earth of Oathos circle. A small crowd of miners had gathered. Some were cheering for him or his father. Niall thought he had heard someone say something about being quick and he thought it must have been a comment about his father. Sulos extended his hand and Niall took it letting his old man help him up. Niall dusted off the bits of frost and readied himself for another bout. That was when Niall noticed that his father seemed a little out of breath. Niall cocked his head to the side in a slight state of confusion. “Dad? Are you ok?” He said an edge of concern in his voice. After he had regained his wind Sulos spoke softly. “Every opponent you face son, will have their limitations. Age, arms, armor, sickness, fatigue, and many more will be your allies on the field of honor, or in battle. Be mindful of your opponents weaknesses and their strengths, they can determine whether you survive a battle, or-“ Sulos made a sliding motion across his neck. Niall understood his meeting. Sulos shooed his son from the circle with a simple wave of his hand. Niall knew that the guardsmen were going to train with his father today. Something he was eager to watch. He bowed shallowly to his father, and left the circle searching for a good seat nearby to watch. Three guardsmen entered the circle and Niall watched as his father took on a different stance to face multiple opponents. It was oddly open and loose. Extreme mobility it seemed was key in facing multiple enemies. Niall found a flask of mead warming in a pot of water by the fire and poured himself a small horn cups worth to help with the dull ache in his chest. The warm liquor was refreshing in the cool of early fall, though he knew he would need to find his jacket to keep the cold away. When Niall had found it he noticed that the guardsmen were nearly ready. He noticed that his father had not moved one inch from where he stood. He followed his father’s eyes and realized that he had been sizing his opponents up. He pulled his coat over his shoulders and sipped again at the hot liquor in his cup and watched as the fight began.

[Caelum]

Thread Award

Niall

Skills
Observation +3
Sword +4

Lores
Sword: Blocking Techniques
Sword: Defensive Stance
Sustaining A Broken Nose

Notes

As you did not define the type of sword, I left it vague. Please let me know if it needs to be clarified. I enjoyed the read very much! Don't hesitate to contact me with any questions or concerns and please edit your post in the grade request thread to reflect grade.