Your Words I My Words I My Thoughts
28th of Summer, 514.
It was bright and early, just a few bells after sunrise and the castle was yet relatively quiet, as its citizens were just beginning the day’s activities when Balian arrived at the training grounds. There were already a few people around; some knights, but mostly squires being supervised either by their patrons or one of the few weapon masters that walked about. No doubt they were here for the same reason he was, to practice and improve his skills. He had hoped to catch one of the weapon masters free, to help him in his small personal quest, but seeing none did not discourage the young squire. He walked past the different types of terrains; the boulders and fields, past the constructed rooms to simulate indoor fighting, past all of that to possibly the simplest piece of training equipment there was; a training post.
The post itself was nothing more than a log wrapped in rope and stuffed with straw, a poor substitute for a real person but for his purpose today, it would do just fine. He stood infront of it, making sure to widen his stance so that he didn’t swing himself out of balance, remembering one of the few maxims that his father had taught him about fighting…Lose your balance, lose your life. He grasped the hilt of the sword that hung at his waist and drew it forward, the sound of the steel sliding out of its scabbard ringing in his ears. He had become more accustomed to having the addition weight at his side, but the weight of the weapon in his hands was still unfamiliar to him. He gripped the hilt with both hands and held it in front of him perpendicular at an angle to the ground. With a cry, he hefted the sword over his head and swung downwards at an angle. The blade dropped more out of its own weight than any force that Balian had put into the swing, being able to do little more than attempt to guide its path. As a result when the blade hit the post it did not sink in to the rope, but bounced off instead. The resulting shock of the impact prevented Balian from bringing the sword back into position quickly. If this were a fight… I’d be dead he thought grimly. He repositioned himself back infront of the post and tried again, this time swinging from the opposite side. The result was largely the same. He went at the post for several more chimes, repeating the swing from either side. Sometimes the sword would find its mark, but the majority of the time it did not. The temperature was still relatively cool, however with his armour on and the efforts of the morning, beads of sweat were already trailing down his forehead and neck. Maybe if I swing like this... he swung from a lower angle ..No, they same blasted result. Can’t seem t’get the damn thing to do what I want. Balian switched up his attack; instead of swinging it from overhead, he now attempted to thrust the blade forward in a stab. He drew back his arms, the sword now parallel to the ground. He had to hold the hilt with both his hands in order to keep the weapon as steady as it good, however it still managed to waiver a good bit. He pushed his arms forward, aiming for the centre of the post however he was unable to hold it steady enough and the blade dropped. The attack ended in his blade sliding against the side of the post, instead of the point embedding itself in the rope and straw.
Balian let out cry and pulled the sword back, frustrated at his own inability. He had no idea that he was this bad with a sword. At this point he had stepped out of his stance and swung at the post furiously from the side, not really expecting to accomplish anything other than release his frustration on the post. Amazingly however, this time the swing connected; it even seemed half way decent! His ire was quickly replaced with excitement as he got back into place and attempted the swing again. He swung from the side, however the attack seemed to carry less strength, and the blades weight carried it downward. Balian let at a sigh and returned to his original position; sword out in front of him at chest level. By this point his arms, particularly his shoulders began to burn under the weight of the sword. Not one to give up however, he rose the weapon above his head and attacked from above, as if to cleave a man’s head. This time the sword was compliant, and the resulting swing was successful. This kept him motivated, and he was able to push past the burn that his arms felt as he continued to practice with his bastard sword. So focused was he, that he didn’t even notice that he had drawn an audience, that is until the man spoke.
