Reeds for Steel: Two Left Feet
Balin al'Brennan, Written by Misty
Posted on Tue, Jul 6, 2010 13:25 pm
He could taste rain on the air, smell the oncoming late summer shower, but no one had said the class was canceled. He had assumed that one was, the first time one had coincided with a rainstorm, and he had definitely not enjoyed running laps. He had seen Cerawyn, huddled against the fence, her face drawn and pale, instead of plump and brown as it should be of a summer (and her belly flat, which both angered and saddened him: he’d come all this way and he still couldn’t marry her. So much for the stories that assured you that if you traveled for true love it was yours!) She’d thrown him a note: he had it in his pocket. Slinking into the courtyard, where Elaryl stood, her head thrown back, her gaze fixated on the clouds, he gave her a sketchy bow and reflected that the White Tower ground people down. First it stole your dreams, then it replaced them with duty, responsibility, whispered, tantalizing promises that someday, you could still triumph. But not, of course, until you had given it everything.
Stretching had been the first thing he’d been taught, and as Elaryl studied the sky, Balin prepared himself to get drenched – the Gaidin whose class he had skipped had taken sadistic glee in dumping a bucket over him at the end of each lap, intoning, “But it was raining!” each time he did, his voice ranging from rage to amusement as Balin squelched his way around the entirety of the Tower campus fifty times. Oh, how he had dreamt of a bed of ice that night. Even Cerawyn wouldn’t have compared to some relief from the pain! Guiltily, he shoved that thought away: when you had crossed the world to be beside someone, then didn’t you owe them more loyalty than that? He still wasn’t sure, and it was a question that plagued him late at night. But he certainly couldn’t go home without her, especially since Adasine had run away “with” him: it wasn’t even fear of wagging tongues this time, but rather a total paranoia of what Velda Bandevin would do to him.
She had ways that made the Gaidin seem uninspired, and would make a Questioner applaud.
He had practiced, and so it rankled that as Elaryl called the gathering-step that he stumbled over his own boots, pitching into someone else. Both men stood up, his victim shrugging it off. Ashamed, Balin concentrated on each movement, but the focus cost him time, and he was always a half-step behind the more advanced Trainee’s calls. While her pivot was smooth, well-practiced, honed, his was as wobbly as a babe’s first unguided steps, and nearly had the same result. Thanking the Creator that he had avoided falling on his arse this time, Balin tried to speed up his steps, but he was no more graceful under the woman’s scrutiny than he had been before. Based on what he had learned of sword so far – which did not seem like much, as he had yet to touch one, just a lathe – he could tell that it would not be a weapon at which he would ever excel. Sighing, he gave up thinking about that and pushed himself back toward the tendril that forever ruled his thoughts.
These are the stepping stones in the tale I will tell my children.
His mind wandered away, seeing the children he wanted sitting next to the hearth in the house he’d built, hearing Cerawyn sing a silly song in the kitchen, even smelling the pie – Light, but the girl could bake – and when Elaryl’s voice broke his reverie, he was surprised to find that he had been moving in perfect time. Had, in fact, been far away from what his body was doing, and it had taken advantage of his absence to do it all right. Blushing, he paid some attention to the passing step, but his feet got tangled, and he was hopeless at the switching step as well. Someone told him to think of dancing, but that was no good: Balin couldn’t dance, either! Cerawyn had tried to teach him, and then, by the campfire at nights in the wagon train’s shadow, Adasine had tried as well. She’d given up, laughing that he was as hopeless at dancing as her sister was, and he’d scoffed in scorn. Cerawyn could dance.
Whenever he could bring himself to let go of her, that was.
For a long time, he listened to the commands and moved his feet, knowing that some of his steps were wrong, knowing that sometimes he took two steps on the left instead of one each foot, or sometimes his front foot stayed his front foot, and the back foot in the rear. He tried, and that was the best he could do. Later he would run laps, as the Gaidin encouraged them to do when they were not at a formal lesson: he would run one in passing step, one in gathered step, one with pivots…It would look strange, but, he reasoned, no odder than he did right now. He had to practice, had to excel: there was no contract between he and Cerawyn any more, and what if she chose another because he was nothing other than a dumb blacksmith? His worries droned in his skull like enormous bitemes.
Finally, Elaryl called a halt to the the prancing: Balin caught his breath, his body sagging down as he crouched momentarily over his knees. Some of the men here were in shape so fine that they seemed not to feel the endless exercise, but Balin was not: while he had no more leftover pie in his lithe but short frame, he was far from a tanned and muscled young warrior, that was for certain. She demonstrated cutting, which surprised him: he had thought that there were the three basic motions – slice, stab, parry – and her economical grace as she slowed her motion to show how the blade moved was a revelation. Some around him seemed bored, but Balin found himself…fascinated. Not at all skilled, that was true, but fascinated. She went further, showing them five stances, and while the names tangled in his mind like so many snarled balls of wool, he kept the motions. More things to practice. His arms already ached. Some of it was undoubtedly the tension she had warned them of, but there was nothing to do for that: he had never before been the center of so much attention. His face paling, he watched men perform series of motions, his brain an unwilling tabula rasa, completely clean of all he had just learned.
Cerawyn, he thought, irrationally: why think of her when there was no way she could help him here?
Begin with feet, her voice prompted him, a snatch of speech stolen from those long-ago dancing lessons. Now, your arms, the phantom voice whispered, and from his basic stance, his hands met, lifted the lathe, tilted the tip out from the easy grasp at his waist. This stance, which Elaryl had named…Light, he could not even pronounce it inside his head – flowed into a gathering step, a wary sidle, then he cut down and to the side, the blade moving with an awkward yet efficient sweep. With his blade out to the side, he pivoted smoothly, passed his feet fluidly, and flicked the blade back up, letting it lean back over his shoulder, a clear and evident guard’s pose. From there, he took a shuffling half-step forward, thrusting outward: it was evident that the string of motions could continue ad infinitum. That reassured him, though: taught him that there would always be some response when the time came to defend – or attack. He demonstrated his short sequence shyly, but Elaryl did not deride him: indeed, she made certain he understood, even to pronouncing the names of the stances again.
Taking up his position to drill again even though it was raining merry hell, Balin sighed. It was going to be a long time before he was dry, because after this he would need to run those laps just to remember what he had been taught. He could not afford to forget.
In reply to Reeds for Steel: Part Two: Cuts and Stances[show]/[hide]
It looked, and felt, like it would rain. The air was uncomfortably heavy and low, full clouds hung over the impossibly high spire of the White Tower, looming above Elaryl as she waited in her yard for her Basic Sword students. She peered up at the grey quilt covering the sky, silently hoping that they were just there for show. If it rained, she could cancel her class; but she knew she wouldn’t. She would stand there, and teach under the raindrops, with her students silently hating her. Well, it would happen to them again, and another teacher would make them do it. She really thought that it always ended up being part of the duties of the Trainee’s first teacher to make them hate her a little bit, for some reason. She either bored them because Basic Swords really was that Basic, or was too strict, or paired them up with someone who didn’t fight fair, or made them spar in the rain. None but the last situation was intentional.
But the life of a Trainee was full of pain, exhaustion, boredom, frustration, and all kinds of other unpleasant adjectives. They all found out eventually.
For today, at least, they would get to pick up a lathe again, and that would make most of them happy. Her students began trickling in; when she thought that everyone who had attended her first class had returned, she took her place at the front of the class again. This time there would be no long introduction, and much less lecture and explanation. Today, they watched and learned, or fell behind.
“Gathering step,” she commanded, and began counting “One-Two, one-two, one-two…” A girl in the front row realized what Elaryl meant, and began stepping, practicing the footwork she had learned in the last lesson. Eventually they all began practicing the step. “Backwards,” Elaryl shouted, and they reversed their direction. She held up her hand and eventually they all realized that she wanted them to stop. She turned her back to them and took the first half of the gathering step, then rotated on her feet so that her original back foot was now her lead foot, and she was facing them again.
“Pivot,” she explained, and demonstrated again. “Gathering step, front; one-two, one-two, one-two, one-two, one-two, pivot. One-two, one-two, one-two…” She lead them in this pattern for a few moments, then switched tack. “Passing step. One-two, one-two, one-two, one-two, one-two, pivot!” She saw several of the trainees figure out her switch on their own, and look up at her as if they weren’t sure whether or not they were right. She smiled and nodded at them, then demonstrated the second type of pivot, the only difference being that her back foot became her lead foot, then returned to back foot as she pivoted.
“Switching step,” she named, then demonstrated. “This step switches your feet and your angle—you will step your back foot up to meet your lead foot, then your original lead foot becomes your back foot. Notice here that you are in a very weak stance for a moment—keep this in mind, make this switch very fast and fluid. Use this step wisely. Alright. Passing step: one-two, one-two, pivot. Gathering step: one-two, one-two, backwards one-two, one-two, passing step, one-two, pivot, switching step, passing…” She ran the Trainees through a long series of varying arrangements of steps and pivots, watching various Trainees trip over themselves or others, scramble to recover, and try again. When segments of the Trainees performed the series correctly, it was like watching long grass wave in wind. She always got a little lost in this part of the lesson, reciting steps and numbers, watching bodies weaving back and forth, synchronized. Eventually she shook her hair out of her eyes, held up her hand again, and motioned towards the practice lathes. This portion of the class, at least, was a lecture.
“Cuts with a sword should take minimal movement. Think of how I asked you to sit when assuming the Flame and the Void. Your body should not be overly tensed; try not to tense muscles you do not need to use. Your shoulders should always drip down your back, like candle wax—do not hold them up by your ears, thinking they’ll add power to your strike. They won’t. Tensed shoulders will only limit the movement of your arms. Unnecessary tensed muscles, in fact, will always limit movement.
“Think of a cut using circular movement. The cut will in fact be a chop—making contact with the enemy—and then a slice, although they happen so fast as to become one movement. This is not true of all weapons, but it is true of a longsword. The slicing movement is integral to making a clean cut rather than just a striking blow with some unfortunate bleeding—many people who are unfamiliar with swords assume that all blades are razor-sharp. Mine is certainly not. It is sharp, but it will not cut through a silk handkerchief which lands on the blade by any means, and it will not take an off arm with only a chop.” Elaryl called one of the trainees—she thought his name was Gerol—up as she unsheathed Anarië.
“Grab the blade,” she instructed. Gerol looked at her fearfully, as if she had asked him to climb up the Tower and jump off. “Go ahead,” she encouraged, “it’s fine.” He gingerly reached toward the blade, laying his palm against the flat. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye again and she nodded him on. Taking a breath, he wrapped his fingers around the edge of the blade, and raised his eyebrows, surprised.
“See?” Elaryl nodded. “It’s sharp, but you won’t lose your fingers. She fished a length of rope from the pouch hanging from her swordbelt and handed it to Gerol. “Wrap this rope around the blade. Now pull it tight.” The rope began to fray slightly, but remained intact. Elaryl pulled Anarië toward herself, and the rope came apart in Gerol’s hands. “The technique I teach relies on the pull.” She held the blade out in front of her.
“This blade is primarily a cutting weapon. It is designed for use against most types of light armor; this is probably the majority of the fighting you will be doing. Other types of swords are designed for other purposes; against plate armor, for example, or chainmail. More advanced sword lessons may cover these other techniques.” She shifted to stand in the basic stance she had taught them.
“As I said, think of cutting as circular. Forms start in one stance, and end in another, which leads to another form, and another stance, and so on. There are five stances which our forms begin from and end in. Two of them usually begin from your strong side; I believe it is important to be comfortable with the stances on both sides, strong and weak. For all of these stances, both hands will grip the sword.” She listed them, demonstrating while facing them, assuming the stances on the opposite side she was naming so that the students could mirror her.
“Los’Val, right side. Hold the sword level with and behind your right ear. Your sword should have a slight diagonal rise; think of your back hand pulling the hilt down to create the rise, not your front hand pushing it up. Now, do the same on the left. Your stance will have to change to take this stance on the left, so that your left foot becomes the back foot.
“Taer’Val. The top of the hilt is level with your waist. The sword is pointed upward, the tip heading for your opponent’s face or throat.
“Mosiev’Val. The opposite of Taer’Val, with the sword pointed downwards towards your opponent’s shins or feet.
“Rahien’Val. Hold the sword above your head, your arms slightly bent. The sword is sloped slightly upwards, heading for the space between an opponent’s eyes.
“Ji’Val, right side. This time the blade is pointed backwards, held level with your waist, blade pointed down. Switch to your left, and once again, switch your stance so that your left foot is the back foot.” Once Elaryl was done demonstrating the forms a few more times, she circulated the yards as the Trainees practiced, answering questions and correcting stances as she moved. She moved back to the front.
“These stances can be maintained during the footwork; just maintain the position of the sword while moving your feet.” She demonstrated Los’Val with the Gathering step. “Cuts flow from these stances, and in the beginning, you should practice cuts with the footwork we practiced earlier. The step happens with the fullest extension of the cut.” As she completed a Passing step, she swept her blade upward and diagonally, slashing across an invisible opponent’s torso. Her students imitated her.
“Alright. Take a few moments and think about something. How can you combine the footwork and stances we’ve learned, using cuts to link the stances, to create a series of movements that makes sense physically and contains the most power with the most efficient movement, using only one sword?”
Elaryl gave the Trainees about twenty minutes to think and to practice their sequences, then called their attention back and watched each student perform his or her series. She corrected or praised, asked questions, and offered suggestions. Finally, their assignment done, she took up the same position as the beginning of class, readying for more drills. The remainder of the class, perhaps another half an hour or longer, would consist of Elaryl calling out series of stances, footwork, and cuts, and the trainees assuming them, so that they would be second-nature. The footwork, stances, and eventually, forms, would need to be ingrained in the Trainees’ muscle memories.
“Rahien-Val. Ji’Val. Passing step, one-two, one-two, cut upwards.” As she spoke, the first drops of rain fell. She flicked her eyes upwards, squinting against the drops. Well, the weather had held out for most of the class…or at least half of it. She had a feeling that not many Trainees would be staying after class to practice.
OOC: Ok, another 500 word post (at least), responding to this new information. You have some specific homework this time—describe the sequence your character comes up with. They can use a few simple forms if you really need to, but try to stick to simple cuts, thrusts, etc. I will have the last part of the lesson up on Friday. Thank you all for your prompt responses!
