Solo The Schneider Smile

[Wynn Argall]

The second day of winter, 513 AV.

Wynn stood at the entrance to Winthrop Alley, the salty breeze of the sea pushing its way through his cloak and shirt to send a shiver from the nap of his neck down to the bottom of his spine. In his hands, he played with his coin purse, the muffled jingle an attempt to ease some of his nervousness. From what Tareesa had said, there was a man who often frequented the Anthonius Fighter's Pit who would be able to help him, for a fee, of course. Feeling as though he were about to commit some sort of shady deal, Wynn took his first steps forward, his leather boots tapping onto the cobblestone with what felt like a thunderous sound, though the passersby took little - if any - heed of his presence.

With each step, Wynn gained a smidgen of confidence. While Ser Corbus Stanlisa wasn't the worst teacher, Wynn found the man's inability to let a moment of silence pass without stuffing it with noise to be a bit unbearable, especially when it often had nothing to do with what they were supposed to be discussing. He wasn't betraying anyone, nor was he doing anything illegal. He was merely seeking an alternative path of edification. By the time he finally reached the entrance to the "Pit", Wynn had a large, determined grin on his face. A grin that quickly melted away into uncertainty once more as he gazed out over the spectacle before him.

The majority of the people there were large, hairy labormen. Some seemed more like sailors, while others appeared to minors or carpenters or any of the other titles of workers who used their hands. There were several mats placed out for the shirtless, sweaty men to tumble about on. All the weapons were metal, clashing and smashing against the opponent's with the occasional shout of surprise breaking out from the clamor. Almost every single person at the Pit stood maybe two or three inches above Wynn, and not a single one turned to pay him any heed as he crept towards one of the walls farthest away from the action. Quickly loosing the confidence he'd managed to bolster, Wynn tentatively peered about the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man Tareesa had described: cropped blonde hair, blue eyes, and a face that could make a rock look as though it were more interested in what you had to say.

Surprisingly enough, there was indeed such a man on the opposite side of the open area, leaning against a wall and staring at two men sparring with swords. Glancing to his left and right, Wynn started across the field, taking care to give a wide berth to the various forms of training and combat as he passed them. The grunts and shouts of the men were thrown about as he passed with as much obscurity as he could muster, ducking out of the way of stray axes and elbows, bracing himself as tumbling bodies bounced off of his own. Finally, after what seemed like an extensive foray through a strange, sweaty marsh of violence, Wynn arrived a few paces from two dueling men. Edging his way around them, Wynn kept his eyes on the swords, making certain to keep out of range of the weapons despite their dull sheen and edge.

When he was finally within a comfortable distance to speak to the hardened looking man with the blue eyes and blonde hair, the man held up a hand to quiet Wynn, shaking his head. Uncertain how to proceed, Wynn started at the disinterested face for a few beats before turning to stare at the two men alongside his rejector. There wasn't anything particularly interesting about either man. One had a surprisingly well maintained beard, cut such that it had three points: two to either side of his face at a diagonal and the third pointing directly down. The other had no hair at all on his head nor his face. Both wore determined expressions on their faces as sweat dripped down. Their swords clashed, slashed, and clashed again with a solid ringing that reverberated in the air around them. They appeared to be evenly matched in both technique and strength, though Wynn couldn't really tell if either of them were actually any good with the weapons. His own knowledge on the proper use of a sword was rather lacking.

With a startlingly loud shout, the pointy-bearded man slapped the other man with his shield before slamming the pommel of his sword into the other man's neck. There was a fraction of a breath during with the other man seemed to be swinging his sword in retaliation before he crumpled to the ground with a pained moan. The pointy-bearded grinned down at the groaning mess of legs and arms, laughing out something that Wynn couldn't quite make out. "Did the winner surprise you?" Wynn jerked his head back in surprise, not prepared to hear the voice of the man beside him. Turning his head to face him, Wynn shook his head. "I..." He glanced back at the two men as the bearded man helped the bald man to his feet. "They seemed even to me."

Turning back to see if he'd given the right answer, Wynn received a dull stare from the blue eyes of the man leaning against the wall, his muscled arms folded across his chest serving to greater emphasize his apathetic aura. Figuring that it was now an appropriate time to see if the man would be willing to help him, Wynn spoke once more, his voice a bit wavering under the almost unseeing gaze of the man before him. "I was told you could... Help me. With training." The impassivity continued, giving Wynn no indication that he'd even been heard. "I-It's for fighting, really. Or- Or more like fighting theory." The blue eyes seemed to gaze entirely through him. Fighting the urge to turn around to see if there was indeed something more interesting directly behind him, Wynn continued, the volume of his voice dropping with each word. "It's just I don't really know much, and I thought you might be able to help me but maybe I..." His words faded into a mumbled silence. Just as he was about to turn around and leave, Tareesa's final instruction came back to him: "The only language that man really speaks is that of coin. Keep that in mind, sweetie."

Pulling out his purse, Wynn rummaged around in it, pulling out fifteen of his dwindling Mizas. Before he could say anything, the coins were swiftly snatched from his hand and placed in the other man's purse before more than a few ticks had passed. "What kind of fighting are we talking about?" The man's face hadn't moved more than a few blinks, but at least now Wynn had managed to get the man's attention - and from the sound of it, his help.

[Wynn Argall]

Having finally gained the attention, Wynn focused on the actual question. What sort of fighting? He offered the man a shrug. "I'm... not sure. Any kind, maybe?" He paused, clicking his tongue and thought, "I use a great axe, so maybe help with that?" The blue eyes only blinked, their interest completely null and void. Speaking to the man was like trying to entertain a stone wall with terrible puns involving rocks and various other forms that stone came in: awful, uncomfortable, and seemingly hopeless.

"A great axe, huh?" He pointed towards a few men swinging axes. "Like those but huge and gaudy?" Wynn wasn't entirely keen on people describing his weapon of choice as "gaudy", but it did, unfortunately, fit the bill. Giving a short shrug, Wynn gave a reluctant nod. "Hm. A slow weapon then." Even the man's voice seemed to hold little intrigue, the tone as close to monotone without actually being so. It was a wonder Tareesa had been able to handle more than a few words with the man, let alone an entire training session. "If you're here to learn about... What did you call it?" His brow raised, but more - perhaps - due to the fact his brain was having to work a bit harder than resting required than any actual interest. "'Weapon theory', yeah?" He shook his head, frowning at the corners of his mouth. "Guess we can call it that for now."

With that, he stared to walk across the field, back towards where Wynn had come from. Having no other course of action before him other than to leave and accept the lost Mizas or follow him in hopes that some sort of teaching might eventually transpire, Wynn hustled after the apathetic man, dodging and weaving between the swinging weapons and staggering bodies until the stopped in front of another two men sparring. This time one was using a long sword while the other an axe and buckler. "The long sword is slower than a hand axe." Not sure what the man was getting at, Wynn nodded, though it was an empty gesture. "Watch his positioning." And so Wynn watched. The man with the long sword matched the axe's advance and retreat, his feet moving in time with his opponent's. When the axe man moved forward to strike, the long sword would take a step back and swing in a counter-strike. The axe would then have to defend, rather than continue the attack. The exchange occurred several times before the axe man got wise and leaped into close quarters before the long sword had time to swing.

"He's lost his advantage now." When Wynn nodded this time, it was one of understanding. The long sword, while inferior in speed, had had the advantage of reach. While the fighter had been able to utilize his superior reach, he'd been unable to maintain it and was now being bruised and battered by the axe man's dull weapon. "Repetition. We learn by seeing and doing the same thing over and over." The entire time, the disinterested drone of the man's voice came from a face focused on the fight rather than the pupil. "Don't teach your enemy, let him teach you." A surprisingly profound statement caught Wynn off guard, his blank stare lost on the back of the man's head. Perhaps Tareesa hadn't been pulling a cruel sort of prank on him after all. "Y-yes, Ser!"

For a moment, he seemed to tense at the honorific, but Wynn couldn't decide if he'd just imagined it or not. "Watch." This time, Wynn stared intently at the two men, leaning slightly more forward than usual as his grey eyes scanned the scene before him. The long sword once more kept his distance from the axe, but where as the ax had been previously frustrated by the gap, he know held a knowing smile on the twist of his lips. The long sword seemed to be much more wary of his opponent's movements, over compensating for the advances with several shuffles backwards and under compensating for the retreats. "Fear." Wynn's eyes squinted some, trying to focus on the fight in hopes he might be able to see what his new mentor meant. It was obvious the long sword no longer had the confidence from before, but he didn't seem to be all that fearful. There were no beads of nervous sweat or jittery movements of the eyes. Both men seemed to be fairly calm, with slight expressions of more or less confidence.

When the axe man leaped once more, the long sword was ready. "Anticipation." He swung his sword the moment the axe man left the ground. The metal connected with a solid slam into the axe man's side, sending him sprawling harmlessly past his opponent and onto the ground. "Deception." Wynn gazed in surprise and wonder as the long sword grinned down at the cursing axe man. He helped the other man up, laughing out something that was covered up his mentor's next words. "Fighting is more than just understanding how to swing an axe." His eyes had wandered from the two men in front of them and had begun to peruse the various other states of combat and training that populated the pit. "Fighting is comprehensive." His eyes finally rested on Wynn's, the cold blue of his gaze uncomfortable in their almost alien apathy. "Can you understand that?"

Wynn wasn't entirely sure he could. While he'd just seen a glimpse of what the man was talking about, he hadn't really understood it at all. The long sword, by all appearances, had seemed as though he'd lose the match the moment the axe man lunged at him, yet in an impressive turn of events, it was the axe man who found himself on the ground instead. Typically, Wynn would have just attributed it to luck, but the man in front of him had suggested otherwise. Strange that he used the word "can" instead of "do". It was uncomfortably accurate. Still, Wynn had gone out of his way to meet with the man before him, to learn from him, and - hopefully - become a better knight for it. If he could learn how to turn a hopeless fight into an unexpected victory, he would try to understand anything he could. Nodding his head with a determined glean in his eye, he returned. "I believe I will."

[Wynn Argall]

Wynn's temporary teacher raised a brow at his response, but his face gave away little more than a reflexive blink. Turning to face another two locked in training combat, he addressed Wynn with his disinterested tone. "Tell me what they're going to do." Wynn gave him an incredulous look, his face a panicked frown that emphasized the lack of confidence in his eyes. The whole gesture was lost as the intended recipient merely stared ahead at the sparring match he'd just prompted Wynn to predict the outcome of. Drawing a breath, Wynn rolled his shoulders back and resigned himself to join in on the observation of the two men.

This time, both held swords and bucklers. Neither man was distinctly different from the other: they were both of similar heights and builds, and though one man had slightly longer, mussed hair, both had the same color. Both wore some protective leather armor, the only difference in clothing being the man on the left wore dark boots while the other's were more of a tanned bronze color. Deciding it was better to just assign the two men names in order to keep them straight, he dubbed the man on the left with the dark boots as Maude and the other Puck. Rather pleased with his problem solving skills, Wynn let a satisfied grin creep across his face as he kept his eyes trained on Maude and Puck. From what he could tell, the two of them showed signs of fatigue: heavy breathing, labored step, and both had fair amounts of perspiration on their faces. How long, exactly, Wynn had little idea, but he figured the two men's physical states were probably something he should take into consideration.

Puck made the first move, lunging forward with a stab at Maude's stomach. The movement came as a surprise to Wynn, as neither man had given much of an indication that they were preparing for any sort of movement aside from the sluggish circling of the other. Frowning, Wynn squinted with concentration as Puck's sword moved through the air towards his opponent. Doing his best to foretell Maude's response, Wynn figured the other man would dodge to the side by taking a slight step forward and away while raising his shield, as that was the most logical course of action given a straight lunge. "H-he'll dodge and-" To Wynn's unfortunate surprise, Maude moved into the stab, his shield arm braced against his chest for the impact. The sword slammed into the wood, but instead of slicing into it as it might have despite the dull tip, the weapon slid along the side of the buckler as the surprised Puck stumbled forward after it.

Wynn shook his head in disbelief as Maude brought a knee up, slamming it into Puck's groin with enough force to elicit a yelp of pain as the other man dropped his sword, buckling to his knees. Maude let out a hearty belt of laughter as his comrade writhed on the ground clutching himself. "I don't..." Wynn's hired help moved a hand to quiet Wynn. "Keep watching." Knowing better than to try to question him, Wynn refocused himself on the two men. Puck, who had been clutching himself at his last glance, extended a fist with an astonishing display of speed, connecting with Maude's privates hard enough to reward Puck with a howl of confused pain. Utilizing Maude's sudden incapacitation, Puck pushed himself up off the ground, dashed to his sword, and slapped Maude with the flat of the blade on the buttocks with a taunting expletive.

Maude didn't find that pleasing in the least. The moment the sword made contact with his behind, he let out a frustrated roar and charged at Puck. Here, Wynn was finally able to see - perhaps - a small insight into what his teacher was getting at. Angered and humiliated, Maude had thrown both caution and tact to the wind, wanting nothing more than to harm his opponent. Puck, on the other hand, still had his wits about him. While Wynn wasn't certain how the interaction would play out, he had enough information of the men's physical and emotional states to feel a bit more confident with his prediction. "Puck is going to move into the charge, like Maude did the first time." A thrill of exhilaration shot through Wynn's body as his words proved true in the spectacle before them. "Then Puck is going to raise his shield up, bracing for impact!" Again, the men did as Wynn expected. His excitement now unadulterated in both voice and face, Wynn finished with a breathless, "And slam his sword pommel-"

To Wynn's utter dismay, Maude slammed into the shield, sending both wooden circle and the man holding it crashing into the ground. As the men smashed into the dirt, Maude let his chest bounce off of Puck's, the recoil sending him into a seated position on top of his opponent's stomach. From there, Maude proceeded to beat the living daylights out of Puck, liberally throwing in expletives and several other offensives comments regarding both Puck's details of birth and rude suggestions about his mother. Wynn let out a disappointed sigh, shaking his head. He'd felt as though everything had been so clear, yet he'd been unable to predict Maude would have enough strength to just barrel through Puck's defenses. "Not bad." While - as with everything that seemed to come from the man's mouth - the tone was apathetic, the words were decidedly praise. Albeit, they were not words of high praise an indication of shock or awe; however, Wynn found them unexpected and - as far as he was concerned - misplaced. "...But I was wrong." His lack of understanding was clear in his voice; the statement made with an inflection as if he were almost asking a question.

His tutor shook his head, a slight twitch at the corner of his lips. "You weren't completely wrong." He turned to stare down at Wynn, his blue eyes almost dancing with what some might squint and say, "Amusement?" "What was it? Puck?" Again, the faint hint of mirth seemed to tinge the man's voice. Wynn grimaced all the more, as he realized he'd verbalized his temporary names to keep the two men straight in his head. "He's... The one that lost." Unable to say the sentence in anything other than an embarrassed mutter, Wynn felt the heat of his blush filling his chilled cheeks immediately after. "And so he did." He paused for a moment, glancing back at the two men who had through some miracle become good friends again, clapping each other on the shoulders and laughing - though Puck was beginning to show definitive signs of facial swelling. "Why, do you think?"

[Wynn Argall]

If there had been a hint of amusement in Wynn's hired teacher's voice, it was gone now. Clicking his tongue in thought, Wynn took his time before answering. He mulled over the respective strengths, emotions, tactics, and physical appearances of the two men, comparing them in hopes of finding an answer. The first answer that popped its way into his head the moment the question was asked was simply that Maude had simply been stronger than Puck. While possible, Wynn wasn't completely sold on the idea that that was the only reason. As his temporary mentor had said, fighting was comprehensive. If strength alone were enough to decide a battle, Wynn figured the Order and any other fighting man would favor conditioning over skill or knowledge. His grey eyes wandered across the two figures as they chatted, replacing their weapons on the movable racks before shambling off into the growing busyness of the street.

"They're friends..." Wynn frowned in thought, mulling over the potential possibilities the men's relationship might have had on the fight. Usually, charging into another's advance wasn't the typical mindset in the midst of a fight. But, if the two men were well acquainted with the other's fighting style, perhaps each knew the extent to which the other was capable. "...Meaning he charged in because he knew it would work..." And it had worked, as was clear. Yet, Maude had underestimated Puck's resilience, thinking him down after a single strike. His friend had surprised him by surpassing Maude's previous expectations.

"Anticipation and deception." Anticipation that had been learned through repetition. Both men had had a specific set of expectations as to the limits and capabilities of the other, most likely from having spent enough sessions together to assume they had learned all the other had to teach. When Maude had over powered Puck with his charge, he'd displayed strength that Puck had not predicted, taking him off-guard with what had seemed like an overwhelming amount of strength, when, in fact, it could easily have merely been more than Puck was anticipating. Though Wynn's entire thought process had been a mixture of observation and speculation, he felt as though his mentor's way of thinking wasn't terribly different from the process he'd just employed - though the refinement was certainly several grades higher at least.

"You think so?" His lacking voice gave Wynn little hint as to whether his deduction had been correct or not. Feeling uncertainty creep in, Wynn paused for another moment, wrestling with other possibilities. Strength aside, there had been fatigue. Both men had seemed tired at the beginning, so it was possible Puck had just been more tired that Maude. When he'd moved to block, he could have easily lacked the required amount of strength at that time to successfully deflect Maude's charge. Frowning, Wynn shook his head. "I'm... Not sure." His teacher nodded, but before he could say anything, Wynn added, "But I think it's the closest to what happened, from what I can tell."

Wynn's companion paused then, staring at Wynn with what felt like an appraisal, though the actual action resembled something more akin to a void stare. "I see." The words didn't carry any more weight, in the verbal respect, than anything else the man had said, but Wynn couldn't help feeling a bit deflated under the cool gaze of his blue eyes. The very notion of being able to determine the outcome of a fight based solely off of one's own observation and subjective reasoning. Of course, with the theory applied to one's own fighting style, it suddenly became much more pertinent, almost necessary. Wynn figured that was the foundation of the lesson: to take his newly developing thinking patterns and reinforce them through his own personal combat training. It was just unfortunate he had such a difficult time - and rightly so - watching other people and determining the best courses of action from their relative perspectives.

[Wynn Argall]

There was a sizable silence that lasted for several chimes, during which the chaos of the training around them continued. Wynn allowed his gaze to wander between his companion's blank, disinterested face to his boots and the surrounding ground. Usually silence was something he welcomed, but in that instant, he desperately wished the other man would say something. Instead, he merely stared at Wynn. While it felt more as though the gaze were passing through him, his temporary teacher didn't avert his gaze even once. It wasn't until he spoke that Wynn realized he'd been spending that time to think about what they should do next. His surprise was evident in the jerk of his head to attention and wide, startled eyes.

"Let's have a test." Wynn shook his head, frowning with confusion. "A test?" The other man nodded, heading straight through the middle of a match towards a rack of the dulled weapons. Wynn shot off after him, not wanting to be left behind. The two men shouted at him as he darted by, to which he offered an apologetic smile and bow of his head. The motion was mostly lost to his momentum, making it look more like he were some large, featherless bird bobbing its head as it awkwardly plodded through the grounds with some mission of great importance that no one else could see. When he arrived, further instructions were given to him. "Take this." Directly following the order, a short sword was thrown his way.

In his experience, one didn't toss weapons at people they didn't intend to kill, maim, or harm in some way. Having never had a sword chucked at him with the expectation that he "take it", Wynn couldn't decide whether to attempt plucking it out of the air - a feat he suspected he lacked the necessary physical finesse for - or to let it fall to the ground and scrabble it up from the dirt. Unable to come to a decision in time, the weapon fell out of its arc, slamming into his chest with - thankfully - the flat of its blade. The impact knocked a bit of wind out of him, but his arms reflexively moved to pin the sword to his chest. His action got a raise of a brow from the other man, but Wynn was more focused on the fact that perhaps the reason he found foretelling the movements of fighters was because he simply didn't think fast enough. Frowning down at the ground, Wynn wondered if the mind's computing power was something set or if it were like a muscle and could be honed, toned, and trained into something more than it was. Hoping that it was something more along the lines of the latter, Wynn brought his attention back to his trainer as he spoke.

"Don't teach me." Wynn stared blankly at the other man for half a beat before he realized the two of them were going to spar. Immediately two very blaring concerns arose in his mind. Firstly, he had nothing more on his body than his shirt, britches, boots, and cloak. Secondly, the man that was now advancing on him had enough muscle to feed a family of four for several weeks. Fumbling with the weapon in his hands, Wynn finally got a grip on the thing, uncomfortable with holding the heavy thing in just one hand. Still, there wasn't much helping it as every moment he wasted preparing himself, his partner drew closer and closer, the bored look on his face making him all the more intimidating. "Don't teach your enemy, let him teach you." The words rang familiar in Wynn's mind as he moved to block the other man's slow slash. A bit relieved he wasn't using his full strength nor speed, he let it show on his face in a small, thankful smile. Immediately after, the blade whipped around and slapped Wynn in the thigh with a stinging snap before his opponent drew backwards.

"Anticipation." Wynn grimaced, realizing everything he'd supposedly learned had been thrown out the window the moment he was placed in a combat scenario. Resolving himself to get down to business, Wynn flexed his knees, bouncing and testing his weight as well as wincing at the stinging pain in his leg. He focused his attention on the movements of the man before him. He was calm, collected, cool. There were no tells in his face, and if his eyes belied any sort of intention, Wynn couldn't discern it. Gripping his sword with his left hand, Wynn did his best to mimic the lack of facial movement, letting his grimace loosen into a slightly bent line of his lips. Even his muscles he allowed to relax somewhat, letting them rest somewhere between engaged and resting, though he didn't worry about that all too much as it took far too much effort to maintain the in between. Evaluating his opponent, Wynn noticed that the other man favored moving with his right leg, constantly circling in one direction. Uncertain, but deciding it was the best course of action, Wynn lunged forward, clumsily swinging his sword in a sweep, aiming just to the right of his target. His opponent dodged into the swing, bringing up his own sword to block, but letting out a quick, "Better." Before lithely switching his block to a swipe at Wynn's ribs, making a graze of a connection that sent Wynn hopping backwards to avoid any more injury.

His miserly mentor was altering his tells and physicality. Through the fight he switched from favoring his right to his left, chose to block for a time before switching to a blind offensive, and adjusting his power in his strikes anywhere from forty to eighty percent. The match kept Wynn on his toes. Despite the fact his skill with a short sword was next to nothing, he found that wielding the weapon was the least of his worries. While it certainly seemed to grow heavier with each passing chime, Wynn was far more focused on the movements of his opponent. His mind felt as though it were on fire, constantly asking questions in a rapid fire, singular line: how is he going to dodge if it's to the right should I attack or back off if I back off will he advance here he comes I'll block because he will only strike once and during that I can retaliate he's striking again the pattern changed. They carried on, the two of them. At times Wynn felt more confident than others, especially when his opponent's tells were more obvious than others.

When his partner developed an apparent limp, Wynn was quick to press his attack, focusing his clumsy strikes on the side of his opponent's body that would put the most stress on the injured limb. Other times, when the tells were more subtle, Wynn would only just realize he would take a double step forward before charging before he changed his tactics. Almost constantly on the defensive as anything else required calculations too quick for him to handle, Wynn found fatigue slowly beginning to claim his arm as its first victim. As his swings became more and more uncontrolled, his partner finally stopped the match by batting the sword out of Wynn's hand with a deft swipe of his own weapon. "That's enough for today."

By that time, Wynn's breath had begun to come in heavy gasps and sweat had long since been trickling down the sides of his face, despite the chill in the air. Nodding and panting, Wynn leaned forward with his hands on his knees, letting the air rush in and out of his lungs with a sting. His left arm shook considerably more than his right, the effort from having to keep the practice sword aloft for so long had taken its toll on his limb. Once he felt as though he could stand straight without feeling as though his chest were going to explode, Wynn stood up slowly, letting the dizziness that followed fade away before wobbling over to pick up his sword. "So?" There was a distinct undertone of expectation in the man's voice that caused Wynn to respond immediately, as the precedent had been an utter lack of anything at all.

"T-thank you, Ser! I learned more than I think I was prepared for..." Wynn let his words fade out some, uncertain as to what his companion was actually referring to now that he thought about it. The other man raised a brow as he took the weapon from Wynn's offering hands, placing the sword back into the rack next to the one he'd been using. "A lot or a little, you'll still be learning until you die, I imagine." Once more, he didn't seem particularly interested in the conversation - if that were even what it was - as he made his way towards one of the walls out of the way of the commotion of the grounds. Thankfully, he moved at a much slower pace than before, taking his time to travel through the training area, giving Wynn plenty of time to stumble behind him. When they reached the relative safety and privacy of the wall, the man extended out a hand with five Mizas in it. "You're not a a level for me to take the fifteen."

Giving the man a smile in thanks, Wynn extended a hand to receive the reimbursement, but the other hand was quickly drawn back, the Mizas returned to the man's purse. "But it was the price you paid. Why?" Staring at the man, Wynn shook his head, disappointment pulling the corners of his face down. "That's what... I thought you..." Stopping, Wynn felt a little grin flip his slight frown. "Anticipation?" For the first time since he'd seen him, the other man's lips curved ever so slightly up. The minuscule movement was even barely noticeable in his cool blue eyes. "Next time, bring your weapon." With that, he gave Wynn what was either a disdainful flick of the wrist or a very quick wave before strolling off down the length of the wall, swinging his arms back and fourth to loosen the muscles in his back.

Rubbing some of the sweat out of his eyes, Wynn just stared after him. The session had been something far beyond anything he'd expected, but it had been well worth both the time and the money spent. Grimacing at the thought of money, Wynn was quickly reminded how very little he had left. Perhaps it was time to get some sort of job to bring in even the smallest amount of income to spend on frivolities such as the one he'd just partaken of. Taking in a deep breath, Wynn sighed out what exhaustion he could before turning to head back into the mess of human traffic and return to the dorms. He was certainly going to be sore in both brain and body in the morning.

Grader's NoteThe NPC used in this thread is Cecil Schneider.

[Nightmare]

Secret :

[Wynn Argall]

Skills	Amount
Observation	+5
Land Navigation	+1
Negotiation	+1
Tactics	+4
Philosophy	+1
Weapon: Shortsword	+1
Endurance	+1

Lore

Location: Anthonius Fighter's Pit

Cecil Schneider(But not his name yet): Disinterested weapon trainer

Tactics: Hand axe vs. Longsword

Importance of repetition

Let the enemy teach you

Tactics: Using deception in a fight

Tactics: emotional state determines potential outcomes

Tactics: Importance of anticipation in a fight

Philosophy: Can the mind be honed like a muscle or was it set?

Shield Points	Amount
Training	+4

Loot

-10 GM

Additional Comments: A very interesting NPC to work with, you pulled it off well. Good job and enjoy your XP and lore!

Please PM me if you have any questions or concerns.

Credit Lenz