14th of Spring, 507AV
I fought the urge to scratch an itch behind my ear as an officer of the guard paced back and forth in front of us. I stood in line formation with seven other potential recruits.
“You have the honor of trying out for a position in the Denval Guards. Usually we would take you in and train you, but we currently only have three positions. So you will be facing each other in the training room.”
He then without another word proceeded through a thick wooden door with the frame of an archway on a side of the courtyard. I was already following behind, glancing behind me, some of the other recruits looked unsure. I tilted my head in the general direction the officer had gone then turned forward and walked out of the courtyard following the officer into the internals of guard affairs.
The ‘training room’ was no more than a simple wood planked room containing a chest filled with scraps of armor, and a weapon rack holding several wooden weapons of different makes. The only apparent care for the comfort of trainees was the platforms of soft wood covering sections of the ground, and a worn cot in the corner.
“Why the cot?” Me and my big mouth.
“That is for training injuries where it would be too dangerous to move them to the infirmary.” Replied the officer.
Okay, That’s fun to think about..
“These weapons may be wooden, but they still are dangerous. I want each of you to go through the chest and put on some protective padding.” He continued.
My expression turned distasteful as I examined the chest being kept half open by the overflow of its content. Discomforts bubbling up my entrails at the idea of the extra weight, I turned myself towards the officer, “Could I pass on the padding?” I ask.
“At your own risk, lad.”
After a few chimes more than I thought necessary, the fumbling of recruits attempting to figure out the unfamiliar buckles and straps dwindled.
“Now pick out a training weapon and a dueling partner. I will be taking each of you one at a time to test you myself.”
I ran my eyes over the assortment of practice weapons, my attention drawn to a small but solid looking hickory sword which ‘blade’ grew thicker further out from the hilt for about two thirds of the length, then ended in a dull point. The other recruits were already crowded around the weapon rack, two were even arguing over a thick oaken double-edged battle axe. The onset of recruits made me lose sight of the short sword. I was walking up to procure it when I saw it in the possession of a lanky, shrimp of a young man. Oh well, I thought, resigning myself to a worn white oak staff, that must have been supposed to be a practice spear. A man who looked like he was built to be a clerk approached me.
“Want to give it a go?” his uncertain eyes said to me.
“I hope the best for you.” I said, moving my arm in my narrow idea of a salute.
We stepped over to one of the platforms. Readying our weapons we begin circling each other, each too anxious to get close. His weapon was a- I can’t identify the wood, dark with a tight grain structure, one-bladed axe with some hook on the back of the blade. While I was pondering the potential danger of the hook, the clerk lurched forward. I being the fool that I was at the time was putting all my focus on the unfamiliar weapons. I overruled my instinctual defenses, allowing myself to think the weapon was the danger. Oh how wrong I would find that in later years. It is the person that is the danger, the weapon but a tool.
The clerk lurched forward, putting in as mighty a swing as he seemed capable, a large arch of a right hand slash. The lingering thought of the itch behind my ear vanished as I fumbled to get the staff reared. With an audible clack, the haft of the axe struck my staff; a combination of the clerk over-reaching, and I moving into the blow. I barely maintain my grasp on the staff during the jarring experience of blocking such a swing. Hands already stinging, I can feel that I am about to lose my grip. The clerk without pulling back for another swing switches his grip bringing the hook to bear, sliding the hook down the length of my weapon catching between my wrist and the staff. I attempted to strike him in the leg with the lower half of the staff, while still struggling to defend myself with the top half. But he must have expected that; with a sharp twist, I feel excruciating pain in my wrist, and then the staff went spinning off to the ground a couple yards away.
Without a single thought towards my defeat, I shake my hand as if to fling the pain off my fingertips. Noticing the glare of the officer, I pretend the pain doesn’t exist. Failing that, I walk over and bend down to pick up the staff. Two challengers later, I find myself on my back. With more bruises, and still no grasp at the technique required to wield this staff. By now I’ve started giving up on learning the weapon. I had no pretenses at my status in the eyes of the officer; flunky, useless. I walk over to the weapon rack and settle the staff back into its proper resting place. When I turn away I come face to face with that shrimp from earlier.
“You’re not giving up are you?” He says with a grin. He had been handling himself quite well against the others and was most definitely getting hired.
“Nope, I just wanted to try a different weapon.” I lie picking up a crooked long sword.
Sharing a glance, we walk over to one of the open platforms. I wasn’t expecting to start so quickly, he was doing his very best to clobber me! I did my best to keep up with blocking, but he almost seemed to be flailing out these wicked strikes. I took several stinging hits; some of my successful blocks were with my fingers grasping my hilt. At this point I feel overwhelmed with pain and frustration. I start backing up, trying to clear my mind more. He presses the attack. Now I feel the world pressing in, pained, and cornered. frustration only a distant memory, in this moment I only feel fear and indignation at this game with weapons. With his next swing I all but threw my sword in the direction his strike was coming from, putting all my force into throwing him off balance. With the same movement I stepped into his guard put my left knee in-between his legs, rapped the same leg around the back of his right leg, and switched my grip from my weapon to his shoulder. Releasing my sword allowed his weapon freedom, I predicting that is where he would put his weight. I was right, when his swing started again it completed the circuit of force I needed. I was able to pull his sword arm shoulder towards me with my right arm and throw the opposite shoulder back with my left while stomping on the back of his knee and leaning my weight on his unbalanced leg. His knee buckled and he landed sprawled on the ground, I flung myself on top of him with my left elbow against his throat.
I came back to my bearing right about then. Embarrassed, I stand up holding my hand out to him. We grasp hands, and I yank him onto his feet. If the officer hadn't already decided on not hiring me, this show of barbaric lack of discipline most definitely did it.
Walking over to pick up my sword, I start apologizing for wasting the guard’s time. The officer stopped me in mid-sentence.
“Time for your test.” Says the officer. I sighed, walking back up onto the platform and put my sword into the best unpracticed guard position I could think of.
“No, without the weapon.” He said in a matter of fact tone. I looked up at him puzzled, and embarrassed. But I do what he says, and put the weapon down gingerly at the edge of the platform.
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“Thank you, that concludes our interview. Those who have been hired are;” The officer looks down to review the list in his hands. “ Baren Kilper, Leaf Chelt and Alias Burns. Please report to the armory for distribution of your equipment. Then follow up in the barracks so we can assign a bed to you for when you are on site overnight. You will be briefed on your new schedules and responsibilities afterward.
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Holding a sword for the first time, a real sword, left me feeling like I was a step closer to betraying myself. All the possible advantages that were now within my possession flashing through my mind, and not one made me feel any more comfortable about what I was holding.
“Well? Give it a swing!” Said the Supply Administrator of the armory.
Putting a firm grasp on the hilt, I awkwardly tug the short sword out of its sheath, brandishing this object of my wonder. This has empowered and destroyed empires? I can understand, the feeling of assurance is most definitely capable of helping me over-estimate myself.
I slide it back into its sheath with a look of determination, what a useless yet dangerous tool. |
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by Alias Burns on November 16th, 2012, 1:39 am 
