Day 55 of Spring, AV 441 |
Ser William was an old codger of a man. Weaponmaster, maybe, but still an old prick. Valleck hated that old bearded man. Grumpy, sour. He didn't know how old he was, probably fifty or older, but Valleck hated him. Valleck swore he would never be that old, that mean, that stupid. No, he was going to be a petching hero. Weaponmaster was nothing in a world like this. Valleck was going to be known. Valleck ran his finger across the blade edge of the practice longsword. It was about as sharp as a brick, and less deadly. It was a blow to his moral for certain to have such a pitiful weapon, so dull, but he understood what it was for. It had its purpose. Besides, if he were using a real sword, he'd end up killing so many squires, he'd never make it to Knighthood with a record like that. The young boy, Valleck, moved his green eyes from the rusty, chipped, and heavily word sword of iron in his hands to the quivering blade pointed at him. Valleck was young, but his sparring partner was even younger. Two years younger, and probably fifteen pounds lighter. Valleck was feeling very mighty indeed. He was matched up with a craven, unskilled, inexperienced drudge. Oh, how bothersome. Valleck's first day in Squire training and he was matched with a commoner, a weakling. Pity. Valleck was born to a Knight, raised by a knight, yet still somehow lacked the qualities of an ideal knight. He was not honorable, not respectful, he was arrogant, and it annoyed some people. However, worst of all was his anger. He hated feeling inferior, and yet he almost always found ways to feel so. The Weaponmaster, damned Ser William, should have seen his skill a mile away and paired him up with a true fighter, not this. Oh well, he would end this fast, show the old bastard failure-of-a-knight just how good he was. Maybe he'd then show him to a real opponant. As the weaponmaster called out to begin, Valleck exploded into a flurry of strikes. Wild, fierce, inaccurate. The boy could only close his eyes and hold up his blade in a horizontal angle as Valleck came in and pounded viciously against that blade with a ferocity and lack of restraint that even a Blacksmith's apprentice didn't have bottled up. It only took half a dozen strikes before the boy dropped his sword to the ground and backed away, calling for peace. Valleck grinned to himself as he looked around. Everyone was staring at him. Not in awe or respect, but just stared at him like he was an idiot. "What?" Valleck grunted as he shifted his sword (damn, that was a heavy sword) to his other hand as Weaponmaster William came up, picked up his partner's felled weapon, and handed it back to him. "Get back to training boys!" There were a few mutters as Ser Williams turned to Turen, Valleck's partner, and began to explain several things to him. It took a few chimes, Valleck only waited impatiently, offering heavy sighs, soft grunts, and kicks at the ground with his booted foot. Then Ser William walked away. What? Ser William didn't even offer a "good job" to Valleck. That was infuriating. Turen lifted his blade again, and obviously still afraid of Valleck, a larger more experienced and angry boy, prepared for the next assault. Turen did no better this time. As Valleck came in, over head swing pounded against the iron blade, twice, three times, then Valleck changed the attack, coming from below and striking the smaller child viciously in the side, no restraint, no mercy. Turen released a wail of pain as he clenched his side and fell to the ground, again all eyes in the Training Ground fell on Valleck as their voices hushed almost entirely. Some boys cursed Valleck in whispered voices. Already they hated him. Ser William stalked over again and, instead of helping Turen again, he punched Valleck on the cheek, sending him too to the ground. "Boy! Answer me this, what have you gained today? What have you learned? What will you leave with when today is over?" Valleck rubbed his cheek as he stood back up, glaring up at the old Weaponmaster as he did so. "I assume a bruise. Not like there's anything to learn from him." Valleck pointed an angry quivering finger at Turen, who stood up still clenching his side. His mouth opened, surprised and attempted to speak, to defend himself, but nothing came out. Ser William on the other hand, still had a voice. "And you are punishing him for being the son of a farmer because you are son of a knight? Is that it?" Valleck was silent as he shrugged his shoulders. It didn't particularly matter to him. He was just an arrogant prick that wanted a shiny suit of armor and the title 'Ser'. Ser William handed Turen the blade once again, whispered something in his ear, and patted him on the shoulder before stalking away once again. Valleck was annoyed now. The only attention he was getting was that of scolding while Turen was getting praise and who knows what was whispered to him. Valleck found himself hating the Farmer's son. For the third time Valleck charged in with a fierce overhead, two-handed strike, and much to his surprise was deflected. Turen, as instructed by Ser William, didn't just block the blade, but pressed it to the side, it was easy with Valleck reckless force, and then brought the blade up and swiftly struck Valleck in the nose with that blunt-as-a-stone blade. It was Valleck's turn to stumbled backwards and fall, clenching his bleeding nose. There was laughter bubbling here and there across the yard as Ser William came up again. There was no smile on his face, only that sparkle of victory in his eye. "What did you learn this time?" Valleck stood up slowly, ignoring the taste of blood that seeped into his mouth, lining his teeth. "I learned you favor weaklings." Weaponmaster William frowned as he handed Valleck his dull longsword, who took it viciously as if he expected Ser William to tease him with it. "I'll show you a knight." William smirked as he walked away again, Valleck's eyes narrowed down as he focused on Turen again. For the first time, their little fight was almost decent. Knowing that Ser William explained a few tricks to Turen, Valleck actually had to be cautious, fight smart. His opponent now knew how to parry, it was just lucky that Valleck wasn't ready for it. Now, it was real. Valleck moved in, vertical strike, defelcted, to horizonetal, barely dodged, he was aggressively pushing foreward as Turen was forced to backpeddle. Each strike came harder, faster, more confident until Turen was practically running backwards, then he fell. "Stop! Stop! You win!" "Damn right I do. Don't forget that." Valleck pointed to sword at the defeated boy's throat as if the blade was sharp as a razor, snarling as he did so. Turen didn't dare move. "Valleck, go home. Come back tomorrow. I'm sick of looking at you." Valleck turned around to glare at Ser William, but in the end, did as he was commanded. Tomorrow he would punish somebody better, hopefully. |
