With great effort..

With great effort..

Postby Alastir » Wed Jul 25, 2007 6:07 am

It'd been three days ago, in the bright early morning that the healer had found himself back upon the Estate at the outskirts of the town just behind one of the large smitheries of Myrkentown. He'd been greeted at the door my Senschal Keller, and had been told to head out to the back - where there had been construction down and the back dinning area had been enlarged and transformed into a rather large training area. And out back, there was even more of a training area of soft dirt, training dummies, and a few men meandering about with morning excercise. He'd come fit for training, and he'd arrived earlire then what he'd been ascribed to do. And so he merely looks as the manor over hangs them - casts it's shadow across the blank-slate of the red-clay dirt. He'd dressed in loose cotton, which shouldn't make him too hot. But the bag and his weapons are still on him as he waits.

There's many weapons laying about the training area - some of wood, some of light metal. There's armor sitting in piles - shined and ready. Sweat tickles at Alastir's forehead and scalp and he sits down neatly to wait patiently. Though, it's not much time before the dark-haired man with the lightning-blue eyes arrives. And that odd diamond-shaped mark over his left eye. And the man's grinning as he approaches him. He stands up sharply, and offers a small bow.

"Good morning, Messer Deost."

"Deost is fine. You're early. A glutton for punishment, eh? Good, I prefer people who truly wish to learn - to those who merely say they do, then balk and complain when they truly have to work for something." Deost laughs, before motioning for Alastir to follow.

And follow Alastir does.


"So, what have you learned so far, Savoy?"

"Just, rudimentary arts of unarmed self defense."

"Very well then, I shall assume you know nothing at all, and we shall begin there. First, put your bag down and your weapons. You won't need them today."

"Yes, Deost." Alastir does so, quickly before merely standing there.


"The first thing, I will assume that you are in no shape to do anything, so don't be insulted by that. You see the treeline over there? I want you to run as fast as you can there, and then back, as fast as you can. With this."

Alastir isn't sure what to make of this already. He should be insulted, as he looks rather fit for his height, and size - but assumptions are what they are. And he rolls his shoulders before beginning to sprint towards the treeline. This felt like freedom. It was easy, considering he'd ran like this before. But the treeline is farther then he's noted and his footfalls are heavy as he's making the return trip. Muscles ache, and strain - and there's a warm feeling creeping in him. It's the feel of hard work, the feel of exercise in the day's heat. He pauses, breathing deeply before wiping sweat off his brow and out of his eyes.

"So you have had breathing training already, I see. I assume that was part of your 'healer' training."

"Yes, we did it for --" But, Deost cuts him off of further explination.

"That's what I thought. They used running to do that, yes?"

"Well, yes."

"So, you're decently fit then. Very well. Here."

Alastir wasn't sure what to make of the odd-eyed man. And when he's offered a ladle of water, he takes a drink from it, readily. Then looks at Deost once more.

"Do the same run, now, but take a drink of water. Hold it in your mouth. I want you to run there and back, without spitting any of it out - or drinking any of it."

There's a moment of flabbergasted expression on the healer's face, but he nods faintly before taking a drink of water. Cheeks almost bulging he takes off for the forest-line once more. Halfway there, his throat is constricting - and his chest is burning. Breathe through the nose, not the mouth - is harder then it looks. Especially while running. And on the return trip, he swallows half of it on accident as he was trying to keep from tripping while running so fast. At the end, he spits it out and begins to pant, even as his odd-eyed mentor is watching him.

"Harder then it sounds, hmm? I want you to do that, until you can do it without swallowing, or spitting any of it out - during the middle of the run."

"Why?"

"You are a Master Yewman, are you not?"

"Yes."

"Then, you should know why already, shouldn't you? What is the most important thing to a person? For any activity?"

"Breathing."

"Of course, and this trains you to breathe - even under duress. Do I need to explain everything that I'm going to have you do?"

"I... I'll try again."

"Good."

Alastir understood, sort of - but wasn't going to argue with the mentor of Cinnabar, either. And so he nods and watches his odd-eyed mentor sit down and relax as he fills his mouth with another ladle full of water. And, this is how much of the morning is spent. Running back and forth, and it's after about the fifth trip that Alastir actually doesn't spill, nor swallows any of it. Flush with success, he ends and looks at Deost, who nods. And then he swallows the water, then exhales loudly.

"Good, I figured your breathing technique was already decent enough - but this is a better indication. You see the pile of rocks over there? I want you to carry them one in each hand with your arms out - back and forth across the training ground. Everytime your arms flail, or your elbows touch your sides - you must do it an extra time, over twenty."



Alastir makes no reply, there's no use in arguing at this point. He's already partly tired and he picks up a rock in each hand. They're heavy, but not too heavy. But then he's just begun. The first time is easy. But nearing to twent, his upper arms and forearms are beginning to hurt. It would be so easy to invigorate himself - restore some of his lost stamina. But, in his mind - wouldn't that be cheating? Wouldn't it not help him at all? And he's becoming tired nearing the seventeenth. So tired. His elbow touches his side. He looks at Deost, who holds up one finger. He gets halway back the next time, and does it yet again. This repeats, twice more. And now he's added an additional four times. The strain has turned his cheeks red, and his muscles feel like agonizing fire.

"Savoy, you can dismiss fatigue, can you not? At least from your own limbs?"

"I, what, what do you know about Yewman?"

"That they're exemplars when it comes to healing, and trained in Razasan. I was with a few on a campaign a long time ago. But, I will say something, Savoy - and you listen to me now. Put your arms down."

Alastir does, and nods, and listens.

"You have abilities far beyond the normal ken of most people. Use them. Don't hide behind them. In a fight, in a battle - any edge that allows you to survive, allows you to live - is allowed. The same will be extended to training."

"But, I want to learn how to fight, not just rely solely on my previous training."

"And you will, but when you learn to fight - you must learn - and you *will* learn that all your talents - all your abilities must come in to play. It is not enough that one has talents - but one must learn when, and where, and how to use them. Am I correct?"

"Well, yes..but.."

"But, you want to be like a normal man, learn like a normal man, feel the fatigue of a normal man, and the strain that a normal man would bear, otherwise you think it is cheating, am I correct?"

"Yes, exactly!"

"Stupidity."

"What?"

"That notion is stupidity."

"Excuse me?"

"This is Myrken. Nothing is exactly normal. If you have been here for any length of time, you've learned this, hmm?"

"Well, yes.."

"Then, you understand that things you will face - which you wish to defend yourself from will not care if you do all those things in that way, nor if you are normal or not. You are not limited to the restrictions of normal men. Your talents see to this. So, do not limit your training to that of normal men. A normal man could only do this excercise to a point his body fails. And then, he'd have to rest - and do it later. You? Could keep your body from failing and do this all day, mmm?"

"...possibly. But to what end?"

"You know the body, what would happen if you did?"

"I'd grow stronger?"

"Isn't that what you're here for, Savoy? Or are you just here to learn how to hurt others?"

"That's not it at all!"

"Of course not, so it's the other, hmm?"

"Yes."

"Very well then. Use your talents to help you train, when necessary, then resume your excercises."



It was almost clouded logic, Alastir thought, but there's some reasoning in it. Use his talents, and train harder? But wasn't that cheating? No, it was more like - acceleration - he understood it slightly, and nods before inhaling. There's a rush through his limbs and he turns to do the excercise again. And this continues for most of the afternoon. It wasn't until evening and his arms felt like they were about to fall off that he paused and put the rocks down. He could feel his arms rising upwards, and he kept them at his sides. It was a slow ache - but there was more excercising. The rest of the day, the rest of the night - he carried rocks - not just in his arms, but on his back. Until the mighty pile at one side was carried to the other.


"....Messer Calomel was right.."
I'm gonna suture up my future, I ain't jaded, just hate it hard to explain, done & buried all I carried.
all my evils, through a needle, as I pull through the eye, of what was & what will, are now gone,
don't sweat it, thread it to forget it,
to feel like you've already gone on, to the rest of,
the rest of the life that you've got,
tie loose ends & bury it all away.
QotSA.

~ If it can't be healed; you're already dead. ~
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Day Two...

Postby Alastir » Wed Jul 25, 2007 6:33 am

He'd just stayed at the estate, it was easier then walking all the way from his safe-house in town. And, he'd gotten to eat and sleep some. But the dawn approached fast and he's awake and feeling like so much leftover refuse. His back was literal knots, his legs were cramped and it took most of his effort to stand. Acute cramping of his shoulders, made his arms feel even worse. Now, he couldn't banish away pain. But, he could cut the cause of it out. He spends ten minutes fixing himself - until he feels rested once more. And the ache is nothing more then dull twinges. A whole day of excercising - a normal person would be dead from exhaustion or worse. But the meal they'd had had been some thick meaty-gruel and some odd dishes of vegetables and many, many rolls of bread. But that's what he'd gotten from using his other talents so vigorously, all day. He'd not used them that much in forever. Ever since he'd learned and trained with them.

He'd been in the training area for a good hour or so before the sun had risen merely stretching and doing light motions to wake his limbs up fully - and to restore himself when the odd-eyed one had exited the manor, and found him.

"Morning, Savoy. Sleep well?"

"I don't really remember sleeping."

Deost laughs, and nods.

"Well, that is usually the case when one trains as much as you did. Which, you do not feel ill, or anything?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Good. Most people cannot take that much training in one day. But, it seems you are quite serious of this. I shall skip much of the endurance training then since it is not necessary for you - with your talents. And, I shall keep them to myself. Now, we shall go inside."

Alastir doesn't reply, he merely walks in behind Deost into the dinning-hall turned training area. It's a large ensemble of things - of different patterns painted on the floor - which resemble feet. And dummies, and wooden blades - and other various instruments that line the walls. Ropes, and pulleys - sandbags at different levels. There was a few men inside, practicing basic fencing passes, but they were more absorbed in their own work then Deost or Alastir both..

"Do you see the patterns of footprints on the floor, Savoy?"

"Yes. I was rather curious of them."

"Well, stand there. Now, you see how the feet are turned? You follow each of them in turn, up and down the training hall. I want you to do this, until you've mastered the footwork excercises. Until you begin to see them in your sleep."

"Yes, Sir."

"Deost."

"Yes, Deost."


And so, this is how much of the morning is spent. And much of the afternoon as well. Alastir hadn't asked questions. Merely, made his way up and down the training all - twisting, and turning - moving, and sliding his feet. Until his boots felt like they'd rip the skin off toes - and his calves burned. And, he didn't 'cheat' this time. Well, save once. But, it was because his feet were becoming blistered.

But, after so many passes, Alastir looks at Deost, and inbetween breaths:

"So, when do I learn how to use those weapons, I brought with me?"

"In time, Savoy. First, you have to learn how to move like a swordsman."

"But, I'm not learning swords."

"Do you think that the discplines of weapons are not connected? Much like your own body?"

"Well, I.."

"If I questioned you on how you do your healing, and the reasons - would you be insulted if I told you, you were incorrect, and I was but a mere novice?"

"Well, yes, it would be rather insulting as I spent much of my childhood learning how to do so. - oh.. I'm sorry, I was being insulting, wasn't I?"

Deost laughs, rather heartily. "Yes, and as you've studied your life, in the arts of healing. I studied in the arts of weaponry, and killing."

"You've killed people?"

Deost looks at Alastir a moment, before folding his arms.

"I was a soldier, what do you think?"

"I.. uhh, I'm sorry. Stupid question, wasn't it."

This was an entirely different arena for Alastir. He was not in his element here, and he felt so much like a naive child - then a grown man. It rankled inside him - these stupid thoughts. And perhaps, it's because his two older brothers had berated him for not being talented at all in ars sword, or fighting in general. He'd been the butt of their jokes, and spurs - for many a time. And perhaps, it was because of this, that in this arena - he had little confidence at all. Not his normal arrogance he had in his healing talents. It prickled him greatly, these sessions, these last two days. Killing people, was still so anathemic to him. Because, he was a healer. How do you retrain the mind to think differently - after you've spent an entire life doing the exact opposite of what you're training for now? It was like a giant wall, which he was trying to climb with just his fingertips.

"Yes, but it's only because you don't understand yet. Easily forgiven. Just, keep in mind - most swordsmen, do not like talking of their duels, fights, or campaigns - unless they are with like men and drinking heartily. Killing wears on most men, and their minds. And it weighs them down, heavily, too. Especially in their hearts."

"I... didn't know that."

"The regret of necessity, the certainty of loss, and the certainty of necessity."

"What's that?"

"A swordsman's maxim."

"I see."

"Continue with your footwork training."

"Yes, Deost."

Deost smiles wanly, before moving to check on the ropes of the pulleys and sandbags.

All of this is so alien, as alien as a man visiting a wasteland, who is used to nothing but forestland. The ideas, the thoughts - swordsmen and warriors had a different mentality, didn't they? A different sort of pride that was not unlike a healer's. But it was so much more, wasn't it? When an insult can lead to death and disaster, when over-reaching can spell ruin. When, not paying attention meant life of death. Yes, everything was so strange. And he's not wrapped his mind entirely around it. But, his thoughts are carried away, much like his feet up and down the training all. And much of the rest of the day he continues the excercises. He'll not ask such silly naive questions anymore. He'll just listen to Messer Deost.


"...I truly didn't understand you, did I, Messer Calomel."

And it is here, that a man learns what to not take for granted.
I'm gonna suture up my future, I ain't jaded, just hate it hard to explain, done & buried all I carried.
all my evils, through a needle, as I pull through the eye, of what was & what will, are now gone,
don't sweat it, thread it to forget it,
to feel like you've already gone on, to the rest of,
the rest of the life that you've got,
tie loose ends & bury it all away.
QotSA.

~ If it can't be healed; you're already dead. ~
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Location: The Inn.

Day three..

Postby Alastir » Wed Jul 25, 2007 7:28 am

The third day, and thus far Alastir isn't sure what he's learned. If anything, save for something that he feels like is more dancing - then moving. Sliding, and gliding. It's all very pretty he imagines considering the way he's been moving. But at the dawn he's inside, practicing footwork ahead of time. And he's not even thinking about it now as his foot turns, and he slides in a pivot, and a turn. It does feel like dancing doesn't it? A quiet smile, little more then this.

"You seem to truly enjoy this footwork training, Savoy.."

"It feels sort of like dancing."

"Part and parcel, it is."

Alastir laughs, and so too does Deost.

"Shall I keep doing it, today, too?"

"Perhaps. Keep doing your footwork excercises."

Alastir nods, and notes that his new mentor is dressed loosely, and has a small satchel at his side, with it's end opened. And, so he continues the footwork excercises, up and down the training hall. And of a sudden, is struck in the thigh by something. He winces, and yells out and looks down as a small black polished rock is skittering across the floor away from him.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"I said, to be able to do them in your sleep - not that you should fall asleep in the mind."

Alastir rubs his thigh.

"Keep moving. And use some of the footwork you've been practicing to avoid the rocks I'm going to pelt you with, this morning."

"You're going to - "

And then, there's a little black lozenge of a rock flying for his head. It's an easy side-step twist and it's sailing past. And he's done it before he's even realized it. And staring quietly, down at himself. And then he notes another one flying for his mid-section. He steps forwards, then around as it clips his ribs. He grimaces quietly. Then another one is sailing at his shin. A slight step but it rebounds upwards off the floor and he's back-stepping and twisting out of the way. There's welts and bruises forming on his side, and thigh now.

"...damn those hurt."

"Then don't get hit."

"But..."

"Trust your instinct. And, when you see it, move. Just use the footwork, sometimes the best way to avoid damage isn't a full-tilt dodge. It's merely moving your feet, and your body following minutely. You use those shield-weapons, you're going to have to master evasion footwork. Because, those weapons are close-quarter weapons. And you'll have to avoid strikes so you can bridge the gap, and strike an enemy. Do you understand now?"

"Ye--ow!"

Another rock, pelts him directly in the chest, and he rubs at it a moment. And soon, another volley is coming. And he's scrambling and moving out of the way. Twisting ankles and feet - knees and hips. And his whole body is moving in tandem.

"I wasn't ready!"

"What's readiness have to do with it. Sometimes, you will be attacked and will not be ready for it. You have to learn to react faster!"

And now, there's another volley. And the sound of small black pebbles ricocheting off the stone floor, and some missing Alastir, and some hitting him, echo louder. He can feel the welts building on his skin. But, the lesson from the other day - had he forgotten it? 'Use all your talents, Savoy.' - he'd said. The welts are fading swiftly, and his motions are a little bit more smoother now, that he's not injured. Many of the rocks miss him, but a few hit him. Was he getting better or worse? He felt worse.

"How am I supposed to dodge them all?"

Deost pauses assaulting Savoy.

"What are you looking for, Savoy? Where are you looking? Are you looking at the rocks? Or the one tossing them?"

"Well, the rocks."

"There's the problem. Don't look at the weapon. Look at the man using it. One must become a battlefield oracle, if one wishes to survive."

"A battlefield oracle?"

"Yes, when a man moves, if you watch the man not his weapon - you will know where the weapon is going. For he shows it to you. But, much like oracle bones - you have to read them. You know a man's body, do you not? How it works, from your training?"

"Well, yes."

"Then, watch as I throw a rock towards the wall high."

A rock is tossed, and Alastir watches. Looks, for a moment.

"I'm not sure how you mean."

"See how my shoulder and arm moves, and my forearm when I throw it upwards. The motion. And downwards, like this, if I throw it down? Learn to look past your opponent, at a point beyond so you can see all of him at once. A man's moves are given away, like oracle bones when you cast them. You learn to read it - and you will see where it goes before he moves. As a man tenses before striking. If you can learn to read this, perfectly, you will become a battlefield oracle who can avoid most blows."

"Seriously?"

"Indeed."

Alastir smiles, quietly and nods. Then lets his 'diagnosis' eye talent turn on. He can see Deost's musculature - and his past injuries, a litany of them. And something else, too. But, he says nothing on it. Deost was keeping his secrets, wasn't he? He watches him throw a few more rocks. And he can see it. The way the muscles move. And he realizes, this is what Deost was talking about.

"Throw some more at me!" Alastir grins.

"As you'd like."

The rocks become a sleeting pelt volley of little black stones. But, there's the movement of arm. And, that's a head throw - and he's pivoting away, and this one here, see, is a shin-shot, so a movement of foot to slide to one side. And that's a - he jumps upwards slightly, as a rock passes inbetween his legs and below. That's a dirty throw! Alastir blanches, before the rocks are coming so fast he's only time to barely avoid them. Then Deost pauses.

"Very good, you're getting it. Messer Calomel is quite a good student at being a battlefield oracle, as well."

"It's no wonder he's a Constable."

"Quite, he's always had rather sharp eyes, and even if his mouth is sharp, and his mind keen - he's a decent fellow. And one of the better pupils I've had."

"I see. And, how do I rate, so far?"

"Tolerable."

"That's not very nice."

"You're much too serious, Savoy."

"So what, I should lighten up and become a jester, and make a fool of myself?"

"Well, swordmen should take any moment they can laugh - and relish it. Laugh often, and loudly. Because, it might be your last laugh. You must understand, Savoy - that swordsmen live their lives - like each day is their last. Because, it might just very well be."

"Oh."

"So, lighten up."

"OW!"

"You're thinking too much."

"You just like hitting me with rocks."

"Perhaps.." Deost laughs, heartily.

And, oddly, Alastir finds himself laughing, too.
I'm gonna suture up my future, I ain't jaded, just hate it hard to explain, done & buried all I carried.
all my evils, through a needle, as I pull through the eye, of what was & what will, are now gone,
don't sweat it, thread it to forget it,
to feel like you've already gone on, to the rest of,
the rest of the life that you've got,
tie loose ends & bury it all away.
QotSA.

~ If it can't be healed; you're already dead. ~
User avatar
Alastir
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Posts: 35
Joined: Wed Jun 20, 2007 2:02 pm
Location: The Inn.

Day three, part 2..

Postby Alastir » Wed Jul 25, 2007 7:29 am

Alastir felt like Deost reminded him of his other brother Zalin, mixed with his oldest brother. The humor of Zalin, but Mair's strength of frame, and swordsman's ploys. It was like a merry meeting of the two. So, for another couple of hours - he dodged flying rocks, and near the end he was only being hit once in a while. But it still -stung- too. But the welt was easy enough to be rid of. It was the next set of excercises that had him flabbergasted.

"I want you to punch this training dummy, here, here, and here. Like this. And quickly."

"All right.."

He hit the dummy square in the throat, and it spins about, with wooden arms flailing and hits him directly in the shoulder and back. He winces and steps back with a spin on feet, and much grumbling.

"Ow, damnit, it moved!"

"You expect your opponent to stand still?"

"But, how can I hit the damn thing if it spins around and hits me?"

"I wonder."

"What, I'm supposed to figure it out myself?"

"What've you learned so far?"

"That doesn't work on wood."

"Does it? You hit it there, and where did it's arms go?"

"So, I let it hit me, so I know where it goes to avoid it the next time?"

"Perhaps, or maybe there's another way. When you figure it out, have D'stan come and get me."

Alastir nods, and the first few hours is nothing but trial and error - and amassing of bruises, welts, and contusions - well, they -felt- like contusions even if they weren't. But, his knuckles and wrists are killing him - and he's healing himself, meanwhile - and feeling like a cheat. But, he won't let this wooden thing beat him. It irks him. Because, this is not how he thinks - and he can't use his diagnosis talent on the wood. Had Deost known? No, he couldn't have. But, you hit here - it swings this way. You hit there, it swings that way. What if I were to move both arms? Hit here, swing this arm to catch it - or push it away? Would that work? The next few hours is nothing more then experimentation on this exact same subject. And, the rest of the afternoon is spent doing this. Until his arms feel like much putty. And he's exhausted from having to heal himself repeatedly. And the skin about his knuckles is red, and swollen. But, in the end, he's figuring out how to hit the thing and block it's other arm too. D'stan sits and watches, and hides his smirks quietly.

"Oy, kid."

"What?"

"You still haven't figured it out, have yah?"

"Figured out what?"

"You keep hitting it standing straight infront of it. Move to one side, then hit that top spot."

Alastir tries that, and it merely sails past him neatly. He tries it again, and again. The arm merely passes by him.

"Y'don't have to just stand infront of it."

"I see, thanks, uhh?"

"I'm D'stan."

"Thanks, D'stan."

"Yeah, just don't let the Cap'n know I told you."


Alastir grins, and nods. And, soundlessly thanks the man again. It'd been the little epiphany he'd needed. He didn't have to stand in one spot, did he? So, he begins punching, and moving, and moving and punching. And the thing misses him. And misses him, and misses him. And flush with his own intelligence, albiet with some help, he's doing it rather cockily. Until he feels a sharp ping in the middle of his back, and spins around. Before half-dancing on his toes in pain.

"You're cheating." Deost says, with a rock in hand.

"What?"

"Stand in the spot, and do it. The black spot on the floor. Don't move from it. You need to learn to strike and block at the same time, with different arms. Not move about like a fencer, or a rapier user. Since, you're not learning rapier, now are you?"

"But, D--"

"No, you were doing what a rapier fighter would do. And, you're weapons aren't rapiers, now are they?"

"Well, no."

"Then do it as I instructed."

"Yes, Deost."

And now, both his arms will hurt - after an hour or more of this same training. Hit here, it swings there - and he blocks with the other arm. And when it spins thus, he needs both of his arms to keep it from knocking him from the spot. And there's D'stan smirking wildly, and Deost grinning with a rock bouncing up and down in his palm. He was just waiting for him to move out of the spot. Damn. Another hour passes, and his arms are killing him now. Deost makes him pause, and heal himself. Then they go to eat dinner.



"Did you tell D'stan to tell me that on purpose?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"You have to be flexible not just in body, but also in thought. You were sticking to just standing there. And not moving. So, I told him to tell you that if you weren't catching on."

"But why the rock to the back?"

"Got your attention, didn't it?"

"Well, yes."

"You were getting too full of yourself, and cocky. That spells death for many swordsmen. When you think you've got something, or someone dead on, they'll do something unexpected."

"I see."

"That, and you've good instincts for rapier fighting."

"No, I'm terrible with a sword."

"I think you'd be pretty good with one, and I'm a good judge of it. But, you won't use one, will you?"

"No. I don't want to kill others."

"I figured as much. Which is why I told you to stay on that spot. Since, you'll be using two weapons at once. You've got to learn how to move, and think, and react with both arms at once."

"Oh, so that's why it moved, and I had to attack with one hand, and block with the other. So I learn it, by instinct?"

"Yes, you're beginning to understand. But, you're still a long ways off. Finish eating, then spend the rest of the night, training with that dummy. Tommorrow, you've the day off. To do with as you'd like."

"But, I want to practice more."

"You need to rest your mind, and your body. Relax sometimes, too. Even Calomel knows that."

"All right."

Dinner was meat, and potatoes, and some sort of white vegetable that reminded him more of seeds then anything. It was bland, and tasteless - but with the meat it was actually edible. And he felt so much better after. And, the training dummy didn't loom so far overhead him. But, he continues the rest of the evening before he's to go to bed. Then passes out in exhaustion, until the morning. And admist the slumber, the murmur.

".....it's much harder, then ... Calomel said.."

And, oddly, tonight - like the last few nights - there are no eyes to watch him sleep.
I'm gonna suture up my future, I ain't jaded, just hate it hard to explain, done & buried all I carried.
all my evils, through a needle, as I pull through the eye, of what was & what will, are now gone,
don't sweat it, thread it to forget it,
to feel like you've already gone on, to the rest of,
the rest of the life that you've got,
tie loose ends & bury it all away.
QotSA.

~ If it can't be healed; you're already dead. ~
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Alastir
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Posts: 35
Joined: Wed Jun 20, 2007 2:02 pm
Location: The Inn.

The talk of serious matters.

Postby Alastir » Thu Jul 26, 2007 6:25 am

The night before had been rather gruesome, and chaotic. And with the fight and after it - he'd slunk back to the Estate where his mentor was. And, it was rather late when he'd returned. And there was Senschal Keller, and Messer Deost sitting in the kitchen drinking what appeared to be whiskey talking to each other. But their conversation abruptly ends when Alastir walks in. Senschal Keller offers a smile, then rises before slipping out of the kitchen and Deost just looks at Alastir a moment, with a half-grin.

"I'm sorry I'm back so late, but there was a fight at the Dagger."

"There usually is, most nights."

"Well, it was Zayken's creatures, then Vraal."

"What?"

The next hour is punctuated by Alastir's emphatic retelling of the evening's events with punctuated hand motions, and half-pacing about with worry. And, the fact he frowns through the entire thing. Deost merely remains quiet, and sits back to listen while sipping his whiskey. And when Alastir ends, he slumps down into a chair and exhales.

"An undead knight, and a demon - who're fighting against each other. The knight taking revenge on the demon. And the demon acts as a man. And you're investigating it. Does Calomel know you're doing something so rash. That's his job, you know."

"Yes, I know but, as I said - Ashfiend can be hurt. Vraal, we know nothing about. Not how strong he is, or anything. Lady Volmay was going back to her home, where her family was killed - to find any information the library there might have. But, she needs an escort."

"And you want me to send some men, to a slaughter-scene, where Calomel's men are - escorting this young woman."

"...yes, if you would. I know it's aski--"

"Hold, hold. Yes, I'll send some men. D'stan and Frethan should suffice. Just tell me when, and I'll have them at the ready."

"Really, you'd do that?"

"What sort of Baron would I be, if I let a Countess wade into danger? I'd be a fair poor nobleman, wouldn't I?"

Alastir only nods faintly.

"What about Vraal, and the others?"

"Stay clear of them, watch and keep your eyes open. But, don't try to fight it. You're not ready for that, in any shape, or form - nor can you really combat something supernatural. You'd need to find someone who's keen on those things. A priest, perhaps. Or a hunter. You really should learn how to use a sword."

"But, I don't want to kill anyone."

"Who said you'd use it on people. Use it on monsters, demons, devils - but don't use it on people. Only use your shields for that."

"I don't know."

"Think about it, Savoy."

"All right."

"Well then, go to sleep. I'll think on it some more. And next time, remember. The swordsman who remains calm, remains alive."

"......" Alastir doesn't reply, he was already embarassed enough by his stunning lack of knowledge. Even with two days of training - he'd bit off more then he could chew. So, he rises then and heads for his room.

Maybe tommorrow would bring better things, and quieter days. But, he doubted it.
I'm gonna suture up my future, I ain't jaded, just hate it hard to explain, done & buried all I carried.
all my evils, through a needle, as I pull through the eye, of what was & what will, are now gone,
don't sweat it, thread it to forget it,
to feel like you've already gone on, to the rest of,
the rest of the life that you've got,
tie loose ends & bury it all away.
QotSA.

~ If it can't be healed; you're already dead. ~
User avatar
Alastir
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Posts: 35
Joined: Wed Jun 20, 2007 2:02 pm
Location: The Inn.

Decisions, and indecision.

Postby Alastir » Sun Jul 29, 2007 10:35 am

The day had been long, as long as the day before. He felt like a ragged, tired, half-dead horse. Still being beaten, for lack of effort. Deost's trainings were excruciating. He oft wondered if he was being hard on him for some reason, other then keeping him safe - or teaching him how to fight. So the grueling sessions continue, and it's the second day in them that Alastir's eating lunch, and relaxing for a moment, by himself. Some days, he was left to his own devices - and his own efforts.

"Why do you leave me to work by myself?"

"You'll only get better, with the more effort you put into it. What you put into it, you get out of it."

"So, I have to learn somethings myself."

"That's correct."

"Why?"

"If I told you why, would the answer have more meaning or less."

"You sound like my old collegia teacher."

"Then you already know the answer. You just want me to tell you, so you can yay or nay your own thoughts."

"I suppose."

"No, that's the way of it, isn't it?"

"Yeah. I have to learn some of it myself, so I can understand it. And if I muddle through it - then I'll eventually have some understanding of it. Sort of like the collegia - who's maxim was 'you can't heal, what you don't understand' - right?"

"It's a good maxim. And you can apply it to fighting."

"Hmm. I don't understand."

"Very well, I will expain it to you. Right now, Savoy, you think like a healer. You see things as a healer does. Soldiers, Knights, warriors, and the lot see the world differently then you do. Calmly, reservely, and with a cold-eye. They have to make snap decisions - and live with the responsibility and repercussions of such actions."

"So, you're trying to teach me how to think like a Soldier."

"I'm trying to teach you how to think differently. See things from all sides."

"I see."

"Perhaps. But, after lunch - return to your excercises. And, continue the footwork first, then I want you to come find me."

"All right."



He'd already known the world was complicated. As far as intrigue, and such goes. But this view of the world - is alien to him. And, he's still trying to figure it out - but with the helpful hint of his mentor. He's beginning to understand. And that swordsman's maxim he'd been turning about in his head - resounds - quite clearly.
I'm gonna suture up my future, I ain't jaded, just hate it hard to explain, done & buried all I carried.
all my evils, through a needle, as I pull through the eye, of what was & what will, are now gone,
don't sweat it, thread it to forget it,
to feel like you've already gone on, to the rest of,
the rest of the life that you've got,
tie loose ends & bury it all away.
QotSA.

~ If it can't be healed; you're already dead. ~
User avatar
Alastir
Member
 
Posts: 35
Joined: Wed Jun 20, 2007 2:02 pm
Location: The Inn.

Ars Epoc

Postby Alastir » Sun Jul 29, 2007 10:48 am

The dawn had risen early - and he'd been to tired the night before to return back to the Dagger. And it's this day that he's greeted by his mentor, and teacher - and he's come to like the mercurial mooded odd-eye'd man.


"Good morning, Baron."

"Deost. I thought I told you, not to call me Baron. It still feels odd."

"What do you mean? It'd be disrespectful to just call you Deost."

"Savoy, listen to me. I wasn't born a nobleman. I was born a soldier's son, a mercenaries son. I've been a mercenary most of my life, serving nobles. It wasn't until after the Thessilane-Dauntless war that I became a noble. I'm sure you were born one, as your education entails. Titles are meaningless on a battlefield, truly. They protect you from nothing, in truth."

"But, how'd you know?"

"Your manners, and the way you walk, mainly."

"I walk?"

"Yes, you're very proud. You keep your head up - regardless of anything. So, please, call me Deost. You're my student, I'm your teacher - listening to me is respect enough."

"Yes...Deost."

"See, much easier." Deost laughs, heartily. Then winks the birthmarked eye.



With this taken care of, the matter of ettiquette and manner - of chevalric attidues - set aside - for Deost is no knight, is no Paladin - of course. They set off to the inside of the training hall, where Deost puts him through various excercises of fisticuffs.


"Strike at me."

"With what?"

"Your fists, Savoy. Fists, or feet. I'm going to teach you how to fight without a weapon first. Then, I will teach you how to fight with a weapon."

"My shields?"

"We'll get there. I want to teach you to use a blade, first. Blades, and Maces."

"But, I told you - I don't want to lear--"

"Silence! I am the teacher, I decide what you learn. You need to learn how to use it - you do not *have* to use a weapon. If you know how to use it, then you know how it is used by others - and can avoid them easily."

"...I'm sorry."

"You're soft-hearted, I know. But, if I send you out with just shields, without knowing anything about any other weaponry - you would get killed by someone who is a lot more skilled, and a lot better trained."


"....I apologize, Teacher."

"Yes, yes. Now, assume the stance I taught you, and defend."

This session was a lot more painful. And at the end of it, after so many tries - Alastir finds himself, after each pass and traverse - on his backside on the ground. Each punch, each kick - is turned against him. And, by the end of it - he is so bruised - and has forgot to heal himself out of frustration. But, after their excercises he heals himself and sits staring at the moon.

"There's so much, I truly don't understand, isn't there?"

The moon offers no reply, no council to the healer's questions.
I'm gonna suture up my future, I ain't jaded, just hate it hard to explain, done & buried all I carried.
all my evils, through a needle, as I pull through the eye, of what was & what will, are now gone,
don't sweat it, thread it to forget it,
to feel like you've already gone on, to the rest of,
the rest of the life that you've got,
tie loose ends & bury it all away.
QotSA.

~ If it can't be healed; you're already dead. ~
User avatar
Alastir
Member
 
Posts: 35
Joined: Wed Jun 20, 2007 2:02 pm
Location: The Inn.

The dauntless quest..

Postby Alastir » Sun Jul 29, 2007 11:01 am

This is a labor unlike he's ever known. And each day brings new pain, new bruises - even as fast healing as they are - he cannot heal the bruises in his mind. The idealistic attitude's bruising, his ego's bruising, his self-identity bruised. But, today's no different.

"Good morning, Deost."

"Morning, Savoy. You see that longstaff iron-rod there, with the flat-weight on the end of it?"

"Yes."

"You see the wide plank of wood, with all the different nails in them?"

"Yes."

"I want you nail them in with it."

"Why not use a hammer?"

"You want to do fisticuff training today, then?"

That, there - was a threat. And Alastir knew it. It meant he'd be on his backside, repeatedly - and bruised too.

"No, I'll try this."

"Good, now - I don't want you to heal yourself, at all, until you've nailed at least three of them flush to the board."

"All right."

Deost leaves. The longstaff-thing is heavy, and unweildy in just trying to hold it out. D'stan sits off to one side, watching Alastir with a bemused expression. The first few tries are unsucessful - it's hard to even hold it - then even trying to swing it. There's some ten odd hammer-end marks by each nail. He sighs to himself, and looks at it a moment..

"'ey, Savoy."

"What, D'stan?"

"Use your wrist to swing it."

"Do what?"

"You want to hit it, use your wrist to swing. Hold your arm out like this, then swing with your wrist." D'stan motions with his arm, in demonstration.

"Hmm."

The weight is great in comparison, and the swing is tighter this time - but it makes his wrist ache insanely after a few swings. But, his brow is knit and he swings again and finally actually hits a nail. Then it dawns on him - this excercise is to strengthen his wrists, wasn't it? And so, for the next four hours - he continues until his wrist is almost purple. But there is two nails now embedded - and the last one is almost there. And his left wrist is aching, terribly. So he switches to the right. After it's finished, he heals his left wrist. Then begins. And much of the day is spent doing this. Much to the chagrin of D'stan, who watches while sweeping up the inside of the training hall.
I'm gonna suture up my future, I ain't jaded, just hate it hard to explain, done & buried all I carried.
all my evils, through a needle, as I pull through the eye, of what was & what will, are now gone,
don't sweat it, thread it to forget it,
to feel like you've already gone on, to the rest of,
the rest of the life that you've got,
tie loose ends & bury it all away.
QotSA.

~ If it can't be healed; you're already dead. ~
User avatar
Alastir
Member
 
Posts: 35
Joined: Wed Jun 20, 2007 2:02 pm
Location: The Inn.


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