Amadacian vs Arafellian Round 1

Another day, another part of the Sword Lesson. It had been nearly two weeks already and if Marteol were being honest with himself, he’d have to admit that he’d be glad to see the other side of this class. He knew practically all of the things Elaryl had been teaching, despite the differences in his methodology, and quite honestly, he was bored. Two swords would never be one no matter how much he may have made them move like it. And the Arafellian did not think he’d ever again get used to the feel of both hands on the same hilt. But he had to learn. If this was the price that the Tower would exact from him for it’s gift, then he would pay.

All of this he thought as he was dressing his hair after his morning wash (in very cool water). Though he always wore his hair and beard braided in public, at night he unbound both. His hair when not braided was long, nearly to his shoulder blades and the color of mown straw ready for the harvest, although much softer. His beard hung to the top of his stomach and was courser. Several of the trainees had laughed at seeing him each morning, combing his hair our after washing it, then carefully ordering it, braiding it, and tipping each braid with its appropriate bell. But this was his meditation time, and since learning of the Void, he had been using it to practice.

One of the trainees who shared his barrack, an Andoran with a reputation as a bully if a lazy one, had been heard to remark on Marteols effeminacy. The Arafellian had taken great pleasure in pounding the fools head into the dirt during a grappling lesson. No one had commented since. His bangs he braided into two thin braids which he then tucked back over his ears and tied off behind his head a single bell between them. The rest of his hair he gathered into two handfuls and then worked into separate braids going down his back, each with their own bell. His beard had two forked braids, after a Kandori fashion, and the remainder hung between those in three smaller braids. Each had a bell. In total eight braids and eight bells. It was a lot of effort, but he had always considered it worthwhile. Even here where it more often than not meant he was sweating before anyone else.

He arrived to the yard on time, maybe a bit early, but unlike many of his classmates, Elaryl’s lateness did not bother him. She was after all herself a trainee, not a Gaidar, so she doubtlessly had other responsibilities and he simply assumed that it was one of these which had her delayed. As he waited, he closed his eyes and practiced the Flame and the Void. It was becoming easier he noted, and he could fairly reliably call it up if he were meditating, or even doing quiet, repetitive tasks, like bathing, dressing his hair and any number of similar tasks. As soon as someone spoke to him however, it still shattered like a fallen mirror leaving him with a slight headache. He wasn’t sure if that was what was supposed to happen, but he hadn’t bothered to ask. Once Elaryl did appear, he was among the first to retrieve a lathe, as well as being one of those who had been practicing, and as such he did not miss a step of her initial drills.

He had a much more difficult time with the forms themselves. No matter how much had been practicing lately, the single lathe in his hands still felt uncomfortable, unnatural. He felt naked with only one blade, whats worse he felt incompetent. It was an unfamiliar sensation. He had been one of if not the best swordsman in the Shol Arbela guard, and he had accounted himself well against other swordsmen from the army. He was quite accomplished in his own style. Outside of it he was, adequate at best, hopeless at worst. With a single blade he was marginal. But it was what he had to do. He struggled to replicate Elaryl’s movements, though all the forms were familiar.

The simplest was of course Unfolding the Fan. But Elaryl performed it unusually, drawing her single blade from her hip. Marteol was used to drawing two swords off his back, so for him the form was different. It was like that for all of them. Just enough similarity to highlight the glaring differences, and the difficulty Marteol was having in their execution. Even after several walk throughs and drills, it would be obvious to anyone that the Arefllian was struggling. When Elaryl announced the spar, Marteol felt he was the only one not excited by the announcement, but when the big shaven former Child came to him and requested that they partner, he did not say no. Krath Theron had actually been his first pick for partner, judging by their listed experiences during introductions they were about equal in skill, and both were fighting outside their styles. That being the case, Marteol felt his best chances for a fair match as it were, lay with the Amadacian.

As the pair squared up on each other, Marteol looked the other man over. They were near in size, and if they were as near in experience as she seemed to remember them being, this would be an interesting fight. That the man carried a shield around like a safety blanket spoke to the Arefellian. He knew then that he wasn’t the only one missing the familiar comforts of a long held style. He had tucked the lathe into the waistband of his trousers at his back when the two had squared up, and to start the fight, he Unfolded the Fan, in a fashion after which he was somewhat comfortable. Krath was in The Lion on the Hill, and after blocking Marteols first strike he attacked. The Boar Rushes Down the Mountain. Marteol stepped back and swatted at the other man’s lathe with his own, parrying awkwardly.

The mans next for Marteol did not recognize, so he did his best to avoid it, yet the tip of the lathe still clipped his clothing. TOO CLOSE! His mind screamed, adrenaline coursing into his body as the Fight or Flight reflex kicked in. Off balance from the form he did not recognize, the Arafellian swung an awkward Black Pebbles on Snow, and followed it with Arc of the Moon. It was clear to him even at this early stage that Krath would best him with a single blade. But that did not mean that he meant to go down easily. He fought on, giving his best, knowing that even if he ‘lost’ the duel, such as it was, both he and Krath would be improved by the experience.