[A. Training Grounds] Testing the perseverance

by **Zydrunas** on March 19th, 2015, 11:11 am

3rd Spring 515 AV

There was a low sniff as Zydrunas took the blade into his vision. Eyes gave a squint down the sharp edge, his golden orbs peering at it in the morning light, his skin only lightly shivering as the spring winds greeted him. The cold of winter had indeed gone now, the snow melting and the frost lessening as the days passed by. And as it did, did the Iyvess find his body acclimatising better, absorbing the occasional glimmer of sunlight and recovering from the horrid, cold air that caressed him before. It was with such conditions before him that he could now focus himself properly on what he was meant to be doing - training.

But instead of pouring himself over books or narrowing his mind down upon the workings of magic, he turned his attention to something much more mundane. The movement of the body and the art of combat, to defend and fight without the aid of magic was a vital thing for any squire dreaming to be a knight. And so, after much consideration he brought himself through the weapons and various sharp implements and chose the blade now before him. It was called a Scimitar, but as he himself could not say the word without a hideous hiss escaping his lips he gave it a different name for the moment - Kimitar. Whether or not the name would change in time he was not sure, but for the moment the blade held little significance to him. It was just a tool to be used that appealed to him, the curve and weight deeming what he believed to be suitable.

His hand gripped around the leather bound hilt, his lips pursing into a line as he tilted it to look upon the edge. Barely a glow came from it, his thumb stroking over the edge and feeling the sharpness begin to scrape away at his thumb. It was a well manufactured piece, and while he continued to stare at it did his body begin to grow use to the second edition to his collection.

A thick, black gambeson, opened for the moment as he tried to simply get used to moving about in it. He remembered giving a raise of the eyebrow to the mention of having to learn how to wear full plate armour, his mind trying to work out the exact practicality for such a thing, before simply accepting such a task - for now at least. He would gradually add more armour as the season progressed, working up wards in weight and conditioning his own body to such extra lumbering - for the moment however it was the basics.

From his perch, his gaze lifted briefly, eyes looking to a patron training his squire in sword play and promptly felt a bitter taste rest upon his tongue. There was the moment of feeling simply stumped over the whole situation. He was supposed to have a patron, but for the most part the figure had been absent and resulted therefore in leaving him stumped about what to do with himself. He would have read if it was not for the difficulty with the common tongue. And so, he was left to his own quiet practices of his magic - not that he got far with them in the cold. Instead he found himself more focused on the simple act of staying warm.

Still, he looked to try and change that this season. It was the least he could do. Standing, he held the blade across him one resting beneath the edge itself, the right hand wiggling to find the grip he so desired with the weapon. With a pause he let his lips twitch, fingers wriggling as he tried to find a comfortable grip with the weapon itself. He was a squire, he had to use a weapon - least that was what seemed to be the normality. Finding it, the thumb knuckle brushing against the small steel cross-guard and his supporting hand withdrew. It was only then that he gave a testing flick, feeling the weight go straight to the tip and bounce when he withdrew it. Raising an eyebrow he considered it, and then sighed - it was going to be a long learning process.

receipt :

by **Lucien Stalinsa** on March 27th, 2015, 2:08 am

Lucien had long since stopped counting the number of bells spent on the training grounds. Hundreds? Thousands? It certainly felt like more to the fledgling knight. All he could be certain of was the fact he would be adding more to the number on that day. The Antinous Training Grounds never seemed to rest. The sounds of blades clashing, knights shouting at their squires, and exercises of strength and endurance were commonplace - each knight and squire had been or would be through them as they prepared themselves for whatever threat they may be called upon to face. Lucien was, however, unsure if he could truly face any threat in his current condition.

It felt as though his training had slipped since returning from his knighting quest, and he knew he had little choice but to redouble his efforts to ensure he was ready to defend Syliras and its interests, as the Windoak commanded. The knight carried his broadsword at his left side, and a dagger at his right, both strapped on a belt around his waist. The mage favored lighter armors, though he still kept a full set of plate ready should the need arise. Adorned in leather armor, he enjoyed the mobility it offered, even if it couldn't take the beating of steel.

The mage stood alone in a vacant space, enough room around him to practice basic strikes and maneuvers without needing to worry about endangering the others who were utilizing the training area. Lucien set his feet shoulder width apart and cheated his right foot forward, sliding his left foot back simultaneously. His right hand found it's place on haft of the weapon, fingers wrapping tightly around it. Air filled his lungs as he inhaled, and then was pushed out as he exhaled forcefully, drawing his blade as he did so.

Steel freed itself of the sheathe, slicing across in front of Lucien in a horizontal motion. It was steady, even, and basic. The knight had practiced that very strike more times than any other wave of his sword. It was a simple opening attack that could easily transition into many followup attacks. It could be used when on the offensive, charging at a foe. It was also a reflexive attack, usable when someone surprised him in close range. It had to be executed well or risk putting himself off balance.

Lucien held for a moment, his right arm sticking out fully extended to his right side. The tip of the blade extended further out, demonstrating the area that would be affected by the slash.

The knight withdrew his blade, brought it to the ready, and then rotated his wrist so he could sheathe the broadsword once again. He then repeated the motion. Feet shifted, hilt grasped, blade drawn, slash, retract, sheathe. Shift, grasp, draw, slash, retract, sheathe. It was not a difficult exercise, but one he needed to practice. It was vital for his combat style, but also, in its own way, the maneuver was cathartic for the young knight.

What made it even more enjoyable for him to do was the ease with which it allowed him to channel the Flux. From his set position, the knight began to feel for his astral pathways, the roads along which he would direct the flow of his energy. The magic was still new to him, but even so he had learned to appreciate the power it gave him. Lucien began chanting his prayer to Tyveth, an endless flow of praises and tribute being paid to the deity which he held most dear. It wasn't a true prayer, as he did often at the Temple of All-Gods, but something which kept him focused on the difficult challenge of controlling the Flux.

He could feel the energy beginning to flow, moving at a trickle from his lower body. He was far from skilled enough for precise movements of energy, but he could still increase the power behind a slash by taking the strength from his legs and let it pool in his torso. The words streaming forth from his lips helped him ignore the sounds around him as the trickle grew into a small stream, but no more. Not because he didn't wish to, but because he did not have the level of fine manipulation needed to do more. Lucien let his eyes close, visualizing the flow of a fluid like blue energy gathering in a mass centered in the middle of his body.

When enough had gathered, Lucien opened his eyes, loosing the steel from it's sheathe. The blade came free with much more force that his previous slashes, an audible windy sound joining the weapon as it sliced through the air. At the same time, his hold on the pooled energy dropped, sending the power blasting back to its proper place in his body. Sweat dripped from his brow, the simple manipulation of Flux taking it toll on the novice. Lucien swallowed deeply, licking his suddenly cracked lips to give them the moisture lost in his use of magic.

He took a deep breath while putting the blade back in its place, deciding to refrain from any further use of Flux without having another user watching him. Lucien instead began to go back to the non-enhanced version of his attack.

After one of the rotations of the attack routine, Lucien's eyes caught a lightly armored male, looking awkwardly at their weapon. The blonde knight's left eyebrow raised as he watched the dark haired man move the blade around with uncertainty. Seeing the lack of confidence, Lucien put his weapon away and made his way over to the struggling warrior. From the lack of heavy armor, spurs, or symbol of knighthood, he assumed it to be one of the handful of adult squires.

"Hail, friend. Forgive my intrusion, but you seem irresolute in what you should do. If it would please you, it would be my honor to train along side of you." He offered a warm smile, and a caveat to his previous statement. "That is, as long as you give your all." The blonde offered his right hand in a handshake. "I'm Ser Lucien Stalinsa, Third Wing, White Company, Fourth Regiment, Gold Quadron. A pleasure to meet you."

by **Zydrunas** on April 1st, 2015, 11:32 am

Zydrunas gave another flick of the wrist, mind trying to find the fascination in the process of fighting with larger blades - perhaps using a dagger would be the better option, he considered briefly. At least until the angry thought flared within, he had brought it and could not simply have it for show - no, it had to be used, and use it he would. He moved his other hand behind the front. The additional support was there made it easier to keep it steady, the weight being balanced out as he wriggled his fingers. Solidifying his stance upon the floor he took up the stance, holding the scimitar before him, the weight shifting from one foot to another. A rock up onto his toes, he swayed there and brought himself back down with ease.

A deep inhale he focused, arms raising upwards and bending at the elbow. The blade continued to rise, holding it above his head now. The golden orbs gave a burn, a deep inhale as he steadied himself. The point was right behind him now, his mind trying to imagine the process before with a step forward he brought the blade swinging downwards in a basic hack. His form staggered as the tip bounced off the ground, the sensation juddering up his arms as he slammed his foot back down in an attempt to regain his lost balance. A few uneasy steps, he forced himself up and righted - cheeks puffing and his lungs sucking in the air. Straightening, the Dhani rolled his shoulders back, straightening himself out once more before he settled himself back down. With a shake out of each hand he barely managed to regain his grip before he watched the knight come over - taller, blonde, a multitude of other features that seemed to match up with the more northern humans that those further south.

Then he said words.

There was a long pause as the Dhani looked at him a bit dumbfound, the blade being lowered to be slid back into its scabbard. His head gave a small tilt, lips pursing together and silently sounding out what was said back to him. He staggered for a moment, the gentle tilt as he considered what was being said - and then dumbly nodded. He was still translating as the man moved swiftly on into introducing himself. Eyes looked down to the offered hand, brow raising as he tried to work out how to respond to it - this Ser was not a woman after all, but that did not stop the idea that it was still a formal action, or informal? It was an action never the less, and he scratched the back of his head as he considered it. Only rather gingerly did he let his own hand go forward, tap against the other and then pause, "You northmen have long greeting. And have many big word."

With lacking abilities of common and the thick accent, Zydrunas continued to peer at the man, the confusion slowly seeping away from his expression, "I am Zyd-run-ass, 'quire between patron. Many call me Zyd, you may do too." He paused then, as if trying to slowly translate his thoughts into something he could do, "What be irr-ess-ol-ute? And your honour? How? It be... I do not know meaning?" His eyes slid back down between the two swords then, "Train, blade. Would be much good, Sst-er."

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