Observing Steel [Bolden Denusk]

[Matthial]

Much like Bolden, Matthial found himself somewhere else the moment his hand's found their way around the strips of leather comprising the hilt of his sword. Yet the place he was taken was far darker. ...Do you possess even a shred of humanity at all? Matthial's face went blank as he took the longsword in a two-handed grip. Yet, he didn't try to mirror Bolden's stance, instead raising his arms until the hilt was parallel with his forehead. The blade rose above his head in the Sylirian 'High-Ready'. It was a famous stance, something that had been coined, if not invented, by the famed Sylirian knighthood. He let his arms relax and studied Bolden's stance, yet... he didn't see the Drykas at all. "How could you do this? HE WAS MY SON!" Matthial felt his boots digging into the soft dirt as his arms started to sink. Instead of trying to swing the sword like a child, with all his force behind the swing, the man let his arms drop. Gravity did the work for him as the blade arced downward towards Bolden's sword. Around the mid-way point, Matthial flexed his shoulders and put his weight behind it. The strike was perfect, and a second later, the two swords met in a clash of steel. The strike had been hard, and yet, it wasn't more then a second before Matthial was holding the sword back above his head. A practiced eye would note that the young man had used the momentum of the blow and a little muscle to pull the sword back up. He hadn't exerted himself at all. "What did you see?"

[Bolden Denusk]

Bolden saw the man's inward look and tensed up. He sent up a quick and silent prayer to the Gods to give him the swiftness to evade Matthial's down stroke.

He shifted his balance forward and exhaled in surprise at the strength of it. Metal screeched on metal in a bone jarring sound that made his teeth ache. Bold changed the heft of the hilt, or he'd drop it under the deadly flurry of the shining blade.

Matthial had a Master's touch with the sword that had Bold vowing to learn everything the Outsider could teach him. Bold knew he'd be lucky not to drop his sword. Just keeping it in his hands would be an accomplishment in comparison to such a skilled swordsman.

The man's height seemed shorter for a brief moment and the young man was hard put to keep up with him. He saw the sword returned to its beginning stance and watched the man's utter calmness.

Bold was stunned at the ease in which Matt moved. It was a revelation and he was eager to learn. When Matthial asked the question, Bold knew it was an important test, but he struggled to define an answer.

"I'm not sure exactly. It was as if you let the blade fall while your hands were still on it, but you didn't use your arms to move it."

He frowned, searching for the words to explain the peculiarity of what just happened.

"The....the air moved it down, not your arms.."

[Matthial]

Matthial nodded for a moment. Then he let the sword lazily drop down, and scratched at his cheek. "Sort of. More like the weight of the sword brought it down. Remember earlier how I was blathering on about how that sister had lost? Well I was looking at something else entirely. Each battle is defined by stamina. If you swing like a child does - with all your strength - then you will quickly lose in a prolonged fight with multiple opponents. The trick is not to swing with your arms, but with momentum. Don't use your muscles use your..." He trailed off, looking about him for something. The field being empty, he gave a little sigh, and raised his sword in front of him. It was a new stance, one where he held the sword in both hands, but kept it in front of him. ".. body. Try swinging at my blade. When you do, act like you are about to throw the sword, but still keep your grip. In this way you arn't using as much energy." In truth, Matthial was simply repeating everything his old master had taught him many years ago. Blindly copying the technique that he'd been taught. Despite the fact that he was standing in a field with the Drykas, the young man was faraway for a moment. Time. There was never enough time. Matthial waited for Bolden's strike.

[Bolden Denusk]

Bolden narrowed his eyes in concentration, taking the man's word as though from the Gods themselves. He repositioned himself to aim the middle of his sword toward the other sword, with the tip pointing directly at the hand guard. Done correctly it would force the opponent to drop the sword with force, leaving both hands numb because of Matthial's double handed grip.

Bold's feet automatically moved to correct his stance so he could try to use the momentum and his body rather than muscular strength. The explanation was in depth enough, but accomplishing the words was another matter entirely.

He grasped the hilt to feel the balance and noted how the tip instantly moved downward of its own accord!

'That's what he means! The sword can move on its own, with just my hand to guide it! If I drop my shoulders at the moment of impact, the sword will follow!'

A whole new realm of learning opened up to Bolden and his amber eyes gleamed with the greed to know more, -do- more with blades!

Bolden exhaled and felt the sword's own weight give flight and dropped his shoulders at the moment of impact, mimicking Matthial's previous movement. The shining blade seemed to take on a life of its own, swooshing down like a bird of prey, faster than any muscle could make it move!

[Matthial]

What happened next was up for debate. To an outsider, Matthial didn't move at all. His sword simply blocked Bolden's strike. To Bolden, as his sword fell, he would note the very slightest of movements from his opponent. Not just the arm, or the wrist, but the entire body. To an experienced warrior, it was quite obvious what had happened. The defending swordsman had barely inched his left leg back, and dropped his knee, while simultaneously arching his back, and brought the blade upwards in a horizontal motion. While doing this, the right shoulder dropped back, and the arms flexed. Put together, the movement allowed the shorter warrior to drop himself a few inches, and turn his sword to catch Bolden's strike. Then, with a startling strength, the older man pushed with his legs. The man seemed to catch Bolden's strike, and then bounce. It was not dissimilar to a rock skipping off of the surface of water. The force had been redirected, and shoved away from Matthial. Bolden's blade harmlessly bouncing back for a second. The two stood facing each other, and Matthial resumed his previous stance. He wasn't entirely sure how to explain the next step to the man, so he decided on a question instead. "Say, do the Drykas teach fist fighting or martial arts? Do you have any training? Or brawling experience?" Matthial himself knew little of fighting with his fists, but he had met several people who had dedicated their lives to such arts. He was hoping Bolden knew the basic gist of fighting. It would be much easier to explain the next part if the younger man had an inkling of what he was talking about. His master had been very specific on the lesson to Matthial and his brother. The outsider hoped to be able to simplify it, and still get his point across.

[Bolden Denusk]

Bolden stood dumbfounded at the slight movement with its vast effect. He stared at Matthial as if he had two heads.

"How? What?" He tried to ask but couldn't even form a proper question.

When Matthial asked that question, the young Denusk was unsure of how to answer.

A memory ripped through his mind with startling clarity and his eyes took on a faraway look.

' "Damnit Bold you can't just act like a zibri's arse every time there's a family function! Be a man for once!"

"Yea like you're mister perfect! You lose you petching temper every single time I breathe in your direction! I petching HATE yo--"

The older Denusk and younger one went at each other like angry colts fighting for status in a bachelor herd. With bared teeth and angry shouts, they pummeled each other bloody at the start or finish of every conversation they'd ever had. Rage filled Bold as the golden haired man pinned both of the boy's arm easily with a well placed knee on the chest and a clever hand to twist Bold's ankle. He was well and truly trussed, like a bird ready for plucking.

"If you just grew up and acted your age for once, I wouldn't have to keep beating some sense into your thick stupid head! Stop embarrassing the family with your idiot antics!"

If there was one thing that pushed the boy's buttons, it was being called stupid--and the blond haired man knew this.

Instead of fighting the twisted ankle held tightly, he moved into it, rolling his hips to throw the man face first into the dirt. He shifted to his knees, jerked to his feet and stood abruptly.

"I hate you you petching piece of shyke!" Bold said with venom, spitting the blood from his mouth.

The older man smiled slightly with his head to the side.
'Bold now knows enough about combat to keep himself safe. He may hate me, but by the Goddess, he'll be all the stronger for it.' Vanator thought. '

His eyes darkened and clouded over as he tore himself from such a strong memory. He wasn't so sure he wanted to remember so much...

"I honestly don't remember if I have any formal training, but my patchy memory lets me know I have a modest knowledge of brawling and fist fighting. I'm sure if we work with it, I'll remember more as we go along."
He tried earnestly to sound positive, but his tone fell flat.

The young man tried not to be ashamed, but admitting he had no memory of warrior training was excruciating to admit--even to himself. He sucked it up and stayed honest and true to his upper class raising.

"I had a head injury a while back, and I'm only just now recalling things."

It was yet another of one of the many times he wished he could crawl under something and unsay what he'd just said.

'Just another zibri's arse with no formal education in anything.' Bolden thought with humiliation.

Nightwind's neigh rung out from across the field, reassuring the Denusk that he always had a friend. It was one of the few times where the Strider's presence only worsened the feelings of inadequacy.

Bold brought his gaze back to Matthial's face, desperately hoping he didn't just screw up his only chance of real learning in six years. He was so hungry to learn and it seemed like an eternity since the last time he'd had a lesson in anything. But then again, six years always seems like eternity when you're a prideful, eighteen year old Drykas.

[Matthial]

Matthial blinked, and for the most part listened. However he couldn't help but hear her voice again. Who do you think you are? Is that frost-covered heart ever going to thaw? Masking his discomfort with a cough, Matthial looked back to Bolden. He held no judgements, as he was fairly certain he didn't understand the situation in its entirety. However, his lack of a memory explained a lot. For someone who couldn't voice swordsmanship, his muscles sure seemed to remember some sort of previous training. In truth, Matthial was surprised, Bolden was catching on remarkably quick. Certainly quicker then he and his brother those many years ago. The warrior let his sword drop, obviously lost in thought. A hand freed itself from the hilt of the weapon, and made its way to the chin to cup the goatee. "Mmm. Well, I was going to explain some things, but they arn't really important. Instead lets do something else." Matthial took his sword in both hands and raised it above his head in the previous Sylirian battle stance. Then the young man started to walk. He began to circle Bolden. "Most important thing about swordsman ship.. or... well... any fighting style, is positioning. The best form in the world can't overcome bad positioning. Try circling me as I circle you, don't cross your legs." Slowly the swordsman continued to circle Bolden.

[Bolden Denusk]

Bolden prayed to the Goddess he hadn't just petched up his chance to train with Matthial. Everything this guy said, each move he made, brought back the memory of a golden haired man teaching him these same things. As if Bold needed only a reminder of what he already knew.

The moment Matthial took up circling, he heard the memory voice in his ear.

'Lunge the horse at shoulder in-it's a battle tactic for Drykas, horse and strider. Match your pace to his and never lose your balance. Circle but keep your shoulder, arm and torso to your opponent. Just like teaching a stallion to straighten himself, you should learn as well. Keep your center of balance smooth and match your motion. If you cross your legs--ever--I'll knock you to your arse and you'll feel a sword in your throat as your last memory of me.'

Bolden kept his torso, arms and face toward Matthial, while moving his legs in an independent, smooth slow motion. He saw Matt scrutinize his feet with a quick scowl and he realized he was overextending himself. The Drykas corrected the distance swiftly, making sure his legs didn't extend past his own shoulder width. Each careful stride began with the toes sliding in for the next step, with the heel following in a gentle glide.

The hot sun beat down on the men and the light breeze died down to nothing. Even the grass hung heavy and unmoving as the afternoon wore on another bell. The scents of leather, sweat, horse and the sun baked ground lingered and strengthened in the heavy humid air.

Although most sword fights didn't last more than a couple chimes, their practice was purposely drawn out and intensely difficult to build stamina. As it should be. If you couldn't handle the practice, you shouldn't own a sword.

Bold's right leg began to throb and a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. The carefully controlled circling movements were harder and far more physically demanding than a bell long gallop on a green horse!

Bolden's respect for the outsider climbed another notch.

[Matthial]

Matthial wasn't nearly as tired as his companion, but he could recognize the other man's discomfort with a quick assessment of his 'energy-state'. Matthial wished he could explain the concept to his companion, but he was beyond certain that the Drykas wouldn't even begin to understand the mental tool his master had taught him. Instead the man continued to circle, but as he did, he could feel his leg start to cramp. His training and conditioning kept the man moving, but it was only a matter of time before the recently-healed limb buckled. The swordsman slowed down, and came to a stop. "Simple eh? Just got to practice. Swing while circling, that kind of thing." That man took a short breather before letting his sword droop down once more. "I dunno man. Ive been doing this for years. Ive seen alot, done alot. You have any questions." Matthial scratched at his stubble with a free hand as he debated wether or not to add in his master's usual warning. He doubted Bolden didn't know the golden rule of weaponry, but sometimes it needed repeating. Still, it could wait.

[Bolden Denusk]

In his concentration and mounting weariness, he almost missed it. There! The man was favoring a leg and then just came to a stop. Bolden also down pointed his sword, thoroughly glad for a break. He nodded at the instructions, memorizing the words.

Bold thought for a chime, wanting to phrase his questions right and not sound like an idiot or be offensive.

"Yea a few questions actually. How long have you lived by the blade, if you don't mind my asking? What brings you to Endrykas when you look like a Sylirian?"

The young man rested most of his weight on the right leg, refusing to admit to the mounting ache deep within. Although his sword pointed to the ground, his guard remained alert for changes. Somehow he just felt that it was not the time to relax just yet. He frowned and wondered something about the swordsman with far away eyes.

"Oh yea--have you ever done any of this on horseback? It just seems strange and ...unnatural to do this on the ground." His amber eyes searched the man's face for clues to his past. Bold wasn't trying to be nosy, but there was bound to be a given curiosity about an Outsider.