40th Day of Spring
508 AV
508 AV
“I don’t give a flying petch what you ‘thought’ initiate, now drop it and get your ass over here!”
The speck of rage filled spittle that hit him on the cheek as madam Sylvari screamed from across the training pit was enough to immediately convince the boy he was wrong and she was right. He abandoned the sword and shield in his hand as hastily as he could and came bounding hesitantly towards the imposing woman. He had upset her, obviously but he figured that perhaps he would escape the little confusion about whether or no he was meant to be training with his weapons today without so much as another curse thrown at him if he was lucky. When Sylvari’s fist smashed into his jaw, the petitioner realized he had been wrong for a second time now.
------
When Elias had awoken that morning, his body still ached. His hands stung as he shifted them, the raw skin of blistered callouses brushing against an uncaringly stiff mattress sent more pain shooting up through his arms than any man deserved to feel as soon as they woke up. It elicited a wince as he pulled his hands away and cradled them as if they were his babes. It didn’t help matters that then was the moment the bruises on his ribs and stomach decided it was time to remind him that the day before had not left him unmarked. Easing into a uncomfortable seated position, Elias blinked in the darkness of the barracks, taking mental account of his seemingly endless list of injuries and finding they were not so severe he couldn't get up and get dressed. The morning horns hadn’t sounded yet, but he had become so accustomed to waking up at this time unbidden by any screeching instructor, that he was certain they would be sounding any chime now. Getting up in the dark however, did not translate into being all that adept at maneuvering in it, and even after falling into something resembling ease and familiarity with his new humble abode, Elias was still as cautious as possible as he stumbled over his own sheets and the bunks of his fellow petitioners during the early morning hours.
Sliding on his shirt and pants as gently as he could, Elias moved on with a yawn to the chest at the foot of his bed and assembled the rest of his gear stored within. It was going to be another long and painful day, and where once the anger of humiliation and the sometimes literal torture his overseers put him through drove the young man through resentment alone, these days that rage had transformed into a determination to not fail. For a while now, that alone had guided him up and out of bed each and every grueling morning. He refused to prove them right. He refused to give up and go skulking back home like they wanted.
Once his clothes and armor were on, Elias gently padded through the flickering streams of early morning light cutting through the rows of tiny windows spread throughout the barracks. Having woken of his own volition, his mind was not nearly as groggy as it could have been, and he saw that few other recruits were stirring, let alone up and about as he was. By the time he had reached the door leading into the courtyard, the morning horns had roared to life.
Elias had made his way to the main hall with surprisingly not even a word from the line of instructors that were marching into the barracks to begin their hallowed morning ritual of beatings and yelling to rouse the recruits. He didn’t look at any of them as they passed, and not because he didn’t care for their less than pleased reactions to him being awake before they could get to him in his bunk, but more so because he dreaded the idea of garnering any more unwanted attention from the monsters than he had to. As he stepped through the towering doors of the main training hall however, the apprentice to be found madam Sylvari already inside. He shivered uncontrollably as her beady eyes fell upon him sneaking into her territory. The stocky, muscled instructor stood in the sands of a fighting pit alone, adorned in a plain vest and equally dull pair leather trousers to accompany an aura of hostility that the boy could feel even from the other side of the hall. She pointed at him, Elias squinting to make sure of it, and then with the same finger, silently motioned him over.
Elias didn’t waste any time dawdling. He doubled timed it over to Sylvari’s pit, the sword and the shield he had taken earlier from the weapon racks bouncing in tandem with him as he ran. His mind was awash with fears of what was about to happen. He had heard rumors of this woman before, and by the sound of it, he had been spared a cruel fate by not ever having to train under her before. He dearly hoped that wasn't going to change now. As Elias neared, he couldn’t help but noticing her breathing was leaving her in short but controlled bursts, and a thin sheen of sweat covered her exposed arms and face. It was as if she had just raced across the entirety of the training hall on someone else's whim herself. She must have been warming up Elias decided as he came to a stop and bowed his head in respect. “Madam Sylvari, I-“
"Disrobe, prospect. I’m going to teach you how to use those fists of yours today." Elias lifted his brows and frowned. That wasn’t right. He had weapons training today. Hell, he had nothing but weapons training all week as far he was spitefully promised. He let Sylvari know as much in the most degradingly respectful and polite manner he could. Well needless to say, what followed was some yelling, a punch to the head, and then another unscheduled meeting between his face and the floor on behalf of an displeased instructor.
The sand in his mouth was a new twist however.
He coughed.
He wasn't a fan.