Solo The Arts of War

[Rickard]

Fall 30 515 AV

It was early when Rickard awoke in his wolf form, stretched, and padded over to his pantry. He shifted to his human shape, thinking about breakfast. He briefly considered making a breakfast for himself, but decided to eat at the Knights' mess instead.

The meal was bland, and the time in which Rickard ate it uneventful. A simple bowl of porridge was all that he could stomach. He was nervous about the day to come, though he did not have the first idea why he would be. Rickard set out for the Antinous Training Grounds for a practice session.

As Rickard entered the armory and strapped on a set of plate armor and a metal kite shield, he thought back to the strange unknown Knight he had seen at the Training Grounds in the Spring. Who was he? Rickard had not even seen a sign of the mystery Knight's rank.

The thought was gone by the time that Rickard reached the weapon rack and withdrew aa dulled bastard sword, watching it gleam in the torchlight. Eyes flashing under his steel helmet, he stepped out into the training grounds.

He looked around for an opponent. Seeing that everyone else seemed to be paired with someone already, he chose an inanimate target and set to work, pretending it was a true fighter.

Front hand slash, step back, parry, thrust, block, back hand slash... Back hand, block, thrust, step back, parry, front hand. Rickard silently recited each maneuver to himself as his blade beat down upon the mannequin, letting go of himself and entering the flow of his imaginary fight.

In his mind, a parade of opponents came before Rickard. Like a reaper among the fields, he tore them apart. He was a holy terror, a fell omen to all who opposed him! Thrust, front hand, parry, back hand...

Rickard felt a tap on his shoulder and whirled around, ready to face...

Oh. It was just a squire. A young one. Rickard didn't recognize the boy. He wore armor, with a helmet under his right arm, and his sword sheathed. "Excuse me, Ser," he said, "would you do me the honor of helping me with today's training? My patron is busy, and..."

Rickard flipped up his visor and smiled slightly. "Of course."

[Rickard]

"What is your name, squire?" Rickard asked. "Narick, Ser. Narick Lorgain," the boy replied. Rickard groaned inwardly. The boy had a reputation, and it wasn't a good one. He doubted either of them would enjoy this, but he had already agreed to it.

Flipping his visor back down, Rickard quickly assumed the role of a teacher. "First of all," he said sternly, "get your helmet back on. Then we can begin." The boy fumbled with his helmet, his gauntlet catching on the leather strap, and Rickard couldn't help but smile behind his own helmet. The boy seemed a lot like Rickard himself had, once. Bold. Overconfident. Not half as good as he thought, but perhaps capable of twice as much as he hoped.

Rickard drew his bastard sword, the steel glinting dully in the torchlight, and gestured for Narick to do the same. The boy complied, holding his shortsword with a slightly awkward grip. Rickard gently adjusted the position of the boy's hands. "Is this a sword from the rack, or is it your own?"

"The rack."

"Hmm. And do you own one of your own? A family heirloom, or anything?"

"No."

"Hmm. You should get one soon. I know your patron will be teaching you to care properly for a sword, but you will learn more swiftly if it is your own. Obviously you won't be sharpening or honing a training sword, but that's something you should learn as well."

The boy rolled his eyes. "You think I can't learn without that kind of connection? What sort of Knight do you think I am?"

"Not a Knight at all," Rickard snapped. "You would do well to remember that. A squire is not a Knight. It is entirely possible that you never will be. I am here to help ensure that you do become one. Now. You will either listen to me, or I will break off this session and have you brought up for insubordinate behavior. Are we entirely clear, Squire?"

The boy seemed cowed, for the moment. "Yes, Ser."

"Good. Then let us begin this session in earnest. Follow me." Rickard strode off toward one of the two-person sparring rings in the grounds, sheathing his sword as he walked.

As they arrived in the circle drawn on the stone floor of the Training Grounds, Rickard drew his sword once more, raised his shield, and dropped into a fighting stance. "Let's start with a demonstration of something you already know: you are not a Knight. Try to strike me."

The boy seemed incredulous for a moment. Then he nodded, determined. His eyes went steely, scanning Rickard's stance and armor, looking for any weakness in the way he stood, held his shield, anything.

He found a small one, and lunged... Overextended. He hit the ground, and tried to roll over, only to feel a boot gently restraining him. "You already know what you did wrong, yes?"

The boy struggled and squirmed. "That wasn't fair! You moved!"

Rickard laughed, loud and fierce, almost cruel. "And you think an outlaw will stay still and wait for you to slay him? Or a monster? I see you still have a lot to learn. I hope you will."

Rickard lifted his boot, allowing the boy to stand. "Now. Try again. And this time, keep your body under your control, not the sword's." The boy looked once again, but he was flustered now. He lashed out hurriedly at Rickard's knee. Rickard easily parried the clumsy blow, and tapped the squire on the chest with the tip of his sword. "Again," he said. "And control yourself.

[Rickard]

Time after time, the boy swung and stabbed and slashed at Rickard. And time after time, Rickard stopped him. Finally, after a dozen and one attempts, Narick managed to land the point of his sword dead center on the image of the Windoak on Rickard's breastplate. Rickard flipped his visor up once more. "Good, Narick. But I hope you see the lesson to be learned here: you are not a Knight. You are not a match for a Knight. I hope you will be someday, but you are not right now. Understood?"

Panting and grinning, the boy nodded. "Yes, Ser. I understand."

"Good. Now get ready to really learn! Sylir didn't die for squires to sit on their laurels after the smallest achievement! Let me see more closely how you grip your sword." Rickard suggested a few small adjustments that could afford the squire much greater control over the way his sword moved, and the boy complied. Rickard thought that Narick was beginning to actually respect him. Quicker than I expected, thought Rickard, Even for the smallest modicum of decency. The Kelvic's eyes flashed under his helmet. He knew his father would be proud to see him. Perhaps it wouldn't be so long before he had a squire of his own to train.

Stepping back, Rickard gestured for the boy to try the new adjusted grip. Narick went through a few simple thrusts, then snaked the point of the blade through a simple figure eight. He burst out laughing. "This is amazing! You must be ten times the Knight my patron is!" Rickard's face soured with his mood as he heard this.

"You absolutely must not judge Knights by how they compare to each other. And you must never speak that way about your patron. I'm sure he knows as much as I do, and I'm sure he was going to teach this to you soon. And even if I'm wrong, then it still doesn't matter. Do you understand?"

The boy laughed. "But it's true! I even asked him-"

"No. It is not. And even if it is, act as though it wasn't. Do. You. Understand?"

The boy looked down at the ground. "Yes, Ser."

"Good. Now, show me how you hold your shield. Raise it as if I were about to stab at you."

The boy obeyed, bringing the kite-shaped plank into a defensive position in front of his body, slightly angled to guide the blow away from his body. Rickard sheathed his sword, stepped forward, and adjusted the squire's shield arm slightly, making the angle steeper and pulling it away from his body. "You don't want a blow that manages to get through the shield, like a greatsword or an arrow, to be able to get to you as easily as it would be able to the way you were holding it. This angle will throw an opponent further off balance when his blow slides off your shield, as well."

This continued for some time, with Narick showing Rickard how he did something, and Rickard offering gentle correction for the squire. Finally, the two of them decided that they would both benefit from a few bouts of proper sparring.

[Rickard]

The Knight and the squire stood on opposite sides of the dirt circle, staying as light on their feet as they could in their heavy armor, swords and shields raised. "You understand the advantages and disadvantages each of us has dealing with the other, Narick?"

"Of course."

"Of course, Ser."

"Yes, Ser," said the boy flippantly. Rickard groaned inwardly, but decided that it was not worth the fight at the moment. After all, this wasn't his squire.

Ignoring the boy's disrespect, the Kelvic decided it was time to teach a small lesson. Without giving any sort of warning, he quickly feinted at the squire's head before driving the blunted point of his bastard sword home into the armor over the boy's knee while Narick wildly tried to swing his shield up to guard his face. "That was too easy. Be vigilant."

"That was unfair! You should have... Gah! That was honorless!" The boy sounded smug as he said it, as if he had already won the impending discussion before it even started.

"You're right. It was honorless. As a Knight, you will fight with honor. But those you are fighting will not. You must be ready for them. You. Must. Be. Vigilant. Do you understand, squire?"

The boy nodded his head. "Yes, Ser. But-"

"There is no but to this, Narick. You must learn. I am here to teach you. I will teach you. Understood?"

The boy bowed his head, defeated. "Yes, Ser."

"Good. Now-" the boy's sword lashed out wildly. Rickard easily moved his shield to block it, simultaneously bringing his sword around in a wide arc to tap the boy's side. "I see the attempt. But if you're going to do that, do it competently. Now, step back."

They separated, raising swords and shields once more. The Knight swung the tip of his sword in a lazy circle, and began to count down. "Three. Two. One. Begin!" said the Kelvic, launching himself toward the squire as he said the last word, shield raised and sword pointed above it.

His sword clashed against the young boy's shield, ringing out, one more clash of metal in the din of the training grounds. At the same time, the boy's own shortsword whistled futilely through the air just a few short inches away from Rickard's head. Recovering more quickly than the squire, the Knight doubled down on his assault, violently knocking the boy's shield to one side with his own before swinging his bastard sword in a vicious overhead arc- only to hear a clang coming from his breastplate. He laughed. "Good," he said. "Are you tired, squire?"

"Not... Not a bit, Ser," the boy said, panting and almost stumbling from a still position.

"Lying is unbecoming of the Knight you are growing to be, Narick. Come with me. Let's take this heavy armor off and discuss some theory. That will be easier on us, yes?"

The squire reached up and removed his helmet, revealing a face and head of hair utterly covered in sweat. "That... That sounds better than keeping at this, Ser. Thank you."

The Knight flipped up his visor and smiled at the boy, his own face just as sweaty. "Cancel the theory. I think you deserve a meal. I hear twelfth bell ringing already."

"Even better, Ser. Are you going to share it with me?"

Rickard shook his head, his smile growing wider. "I'm quite flattered, but no. I should keep at this," he said.

"Yes, Ser. Thank you. I'll be sure to tell my patron how you helped me."

"Don't forget the part where you insulted his abilities. I know it will be hard, but he deserves to know."

The boy looked like he was about to protest, but he once again hung his head, letting out a long, flat sigh. "Yes, Ser."

"Good. Now, get to the armory. I think you might pass out if you keep that armor on for another minute."

[Rickard]

Rickard returned to his training alone, mind once again wandering to great flights of fantasy. One moment he was back on his quest, fighting for his life and his Knighthood. The next he was on an even greater one, imagining he was acting as the arm of Sylir himself. Holding a mighty howl inside himself, Rickard's eyes burned like a forge fire. He thought of what it might be like to train a squire of his own. Thinking about it, he resolved to request that a new squire be given to him for training as soon as possible. Rickard beat down the training target with savage force, imagining his sword raining blows like holy fire upon the unrighteous. His mind was filled with great visions, great voices, great deeds...

Suddenly, he heard another voice in his head, louder than all the rest. The voic of his Knightly father spoke. "Sylir didn't die for you to dream, boy. He died for you to fight." Jarred back to reality, Rickard focused on the training dummy in front of him, silently calling out the names of the strikes as he performed them. [i[Fronthand, backhand, overhead, thrust. Fronthand, backhand, overhead, thrust.[/i]

Rickard left the training grounds at fourteenth bell, feeling as though he could hardly stand. Unsteadily, he walked to a nearby tavern. He had earned a small treat today, he thought.

It was nearly two bells later when Rickard left the tavern, a bit unsteadily. His purse was six silver mizas lighter from a decent meal and two pitchers of decent wine. He was happier than he had felt in weeks. His cheeks red, the Kelvic walked home, whistling a happy tune his father had taught him, once upon a time.

Later, Rickard returned home. With a contented sigh, he removed his clothing and shifted into his wolf form. Gathering up a few blankets from the floor to keep himself comfortable for the night, the wolf curled up, tucked his nose under his tail, and slept the sleep of the dead.

The stars shined high above the Stormhold Citadel, and Rickard dreamed of them.

[Elias Caldera]

Behold, Your Just Reward!

Rickard

Experience and Lore :

Skills

• Observation +2
• Bastard Sword +4
• Teaching +4
• Shield +1
• Intimidation +1
• Endurance +1
• Body Building +1
  
  
  Shield Points
• +5 [Training]

Lores

• Location: Antonious Training Grounds
• Teaching: Humbling the Student
• Knighthood: No Tolerance for Insolence
• Combat: Deflecting With a Shield
• Always Vigilant!

Miscellaneous :

Injuries

• None

Loot and Expenses

• -6 SM [Tavern Food and Drink]

Comments :

Solid training thread, but here's a tip for the future; Try and use the shield as more of an offensive tool if you're scrounging for ways in which to incorporate it more actively into your writing. He used it all but once here and you can definitely get more out of these training threads than that.

Now, on to the really important stuff...

Rickard: Great Stark or the greatest Stark?

Don't Forget

Now that your thread is graded, be sure to edit your grade request. If you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to send me a private message and we'll work it out together.