Closed Left to My Own Devices[Bolivar]

[Rodistair]

Fall 49, 513

It was early in the day, the sun was trying to shine through the grey clouds that cloaked the morning sky. There was a gently breeze blowing in from the Suvan sea, and the soft smell of salt was refreshing to Rodistair. He stretched his arms- they were sore, and bruised from training. The wooden long sword he clutched was heavier than the real thing, the wooden jousting shield he held in his left hand made his arm scream in pain. They were made to be heavy, made to make you strong, made to turn the pain and weakness into strength and power. It was a good morning to train. The weather had been rather nasty the last few days, but the fall storms seemed to be on break for now. Rodistair breathed deeply the sea breeze, and dropped into his stance- his foe- the wooden stake, his hated foe the pell. It was a simple device to swing at while learning stances, and for building muscles as you fought the rebound of the strike.

He had hoped for something exciting today, but it seemed his Patron had other duties to attend, and left the boy in the training grounds to train. Rodistair strained against the heavy armor he wore. The gambeson, chainmail, and various plate he wore weighed on the boy, making the already heavy sword and shield, even heavier. He sluggishly swung at the pell, the loud whack of wood seemed to echo over the nearly silent training grounds. How Rodistair ached for something more exciting.

[Bolivar]

Towards the end of his session Bolivar would notice the young man in the same uniform as his own take up a fighting stance near the pell. Initially thinking he was of the same make as Bolivar stopped short realizing what the boy truly was. Just that, a young boy. Much too stringy to have any Isurian running through his veins and much too exhausted in his demeanor. He was just a mere boy practicing to use very adult weapons.


Though he did not yet wielded the weapons with relative ease. The strikes were relatively shallow compared to a regular knight's but it was coming along. Finding himself reluctantly approving of the aspiring young man Bolivar could see himself many years ago when he held his father's training axe like Rodistair held his sword and shield.

"Keep it up. You still have time it looks like."

Finding himself compelled to help the young man along Bolivar slowly walked towards the other squire weapon in hand as he took a ready stance alongside him. Bolivar knew enough about the sword to at least understand something was amiss. Now to see if they could perhaps find what it was.

"Your stance still needs work. You'll need to teach your body the correct way else you'll fight awkward battles in your later years."

If the boy thought he was Bolivar was indeed criticizing the kid's work thus far. Though the promise of instruction and interaction was evident. Taking an easy stance as he looked back upon the boy Bolivar had it in his mind to imprint as much as he knows of the sword's way until he got it right.

"Well? Go on. Give it another go."

[Rodistair]

Rodistair nearly flinched at the sound of the voice. He wasn’t really paying attention, he was lost in the rhythm of his strikes. The voice was right of course, and the boy turned to see who the voice belonged too. Was it a knight, or squire? Rodistair could never tell, out here in the training grounds, where blood, sweat and mud mixed together, it was tough to discern a person’s rank. Out here, they were all equals, under the command of the weapon masters, and only separated by their skill at arms. In the training grounds, you can learn how to survive. You can learn how to kill.

Rodistair studied the man approaching him, he was obviously older than the boy at the pell, though his age wasn’t easily determined. The boy nodded, and tiredly shifted back and stretched his arms, hitting the pell all day long was exhaustive work. He stood as best he could, his feet shoulder length apart, he faced the pell slightly off axis, keeping the shield in between his torso, and his ‘foe’. He stepped in, trying to muster enough strength to swing with force, he struggled to redirect the force of the rebound, which seemed to grow stronger as the day continued. He stepped back, and moved his arms up and down, trying to loosen his stiffening muscles, before moving in quicker, striking the side of the pell with his wooden sword.

[Bolivar]

A slight reassurance seemed to be exactly what was needed. Readying his stance again Rodistair made for another shallow cut on the pell which rebounded only slightly once again. The boy was exhausted to a degree but he had to keep at it. After all this was the time where he could learn the most good.

The measures of endurance differed between each person with Bolivar being a step hardier then most folk in Syliras. So watching this recruit commit a little bit more then what he normally saw made a knowing smirk creep unto the squire's face. No doubt he'll make a grand knight if he kept at it.

But for now he would have to keep striking that pell. To let that rebound keep his strikes honest and to let that orthodox method shape him. Watching for a few more tics Bolivar watched morosely, patiently. You could not rush these sorts of training, it had to be ingrained into every warrior.

"Enough. Face me. Let's see if your time striking that thing is doing anything for you."

[Rodistair]

Rodistair turned, stepping back away from the pell. He stretched back his arms, trying to keep his muscles limber, and flexible. He knew that the man that had been watching him was a better fighter, and that he was in all likelihood going to lose. But he was going to give the man a run for his money. He rolled his neck, and tried to loosen his shoulder, now that he had room. He rolled his shoulders back, the heavy wooden weapons clutched like a child’s toy in his hands. He was almost as tall as the man, but Rodistair couldn’t tell his age, or even if he was a knight or a squire, and in the end it wouldn’t matter. All that mattered was how you carried yourself in a fight.

Rodistair studied the man, he seemed more than strong enough to handle the axe he wielded, wooden or not, and he didn’t seem like a novice of battle like Rodistair was- ‘this is going to be fun’, thought the newly squired page, barely able to hide the grin that was plastered on his face. A grin that he always seemed to wear when facing a challenge. He adopted his sloppy stance- Shield forward, sword tucked just behind, left foot leading, the right food ready to pounce. Rodistair waited for the man to make his move, watching for any sign of the assault that was surely to come.

[Bolivar]

Enthusiasm? That was good to see. Was striking a pell so lifeless to the squire? Bolivar recalled such times engaging with such an odd device the first few times. Perhaps it was because he was an only child that he found the pell engaging. It interacted with the user in a way and that was more then enough for Bolivar.

Enough reminiscing the opponent is in front of you.

A rough sketch of the usual sword and board stance was presented to Bolivar. A slight nod came from Bolivar as he found his ready stance. Inching himself towards Rodistair with the use of his toes Bolivar his stance focused on dashing forward or backwards. Looking at the usual spots to attack Bolivar quietly mused how exactly his opponent would react. The usual reaction of course was what Bolivar expected but you could never be to sure.

The usual targets outright. Test if the squire understands how to move in response.

A simple combination in his mind Bolivar stepped suddenly into the pair's range before letting loose his swipe. The first aimed high near Rodistair's face Bolivar made doubly sure to make the attack strike where he wanted before following up with a strike aimed at the squire's legs. Both are to be deflected with some measure of difficulty with the squire's shield. The protection of the face second nature but would he keep his sights steady to protect the now unprotected leg? Bolivar shall see.

[Rodistair]

Rodistair hadn’t faced many opponents who wielding such big weapons, most squires and knights wielded a weapon with a shield. It was a very refreshing change, and it ignited the fire in his belly as it was called. Rodistair watched the man inch forward, his tance was aggressive, and you could afford to be with such a weapon. Then the man leaped, Rodistair almost missed it- the man was fast and he knew how to swing. With a fire in his eye, Rodistair answered.

He wasn’t skilled enough to, or fluid enough to match his man blow for blow, and his stance was surely amateur, but he moved his right foot forward, then his left foot in a small bounding step. He had moved forward barely a foot, but he was inside the arms of the axe wielding man. Rodistair raised his shield, trying to block the left shoulder, to slow the transfer of power, and limit the strike while jabbing at the torso of his foe- it wasn’t a well aimed, or powerful strike, but it was the best the boy could muster.

[Bolivar]

Not quite the textbook example Bolivar was looking for but it resembled what he had come to expect from a sword and board user. The first swing from Bolivar seemed to have illicit the correct response from Rodistair. Then in a practiced move Bolivar deliberately drew the weapon back slightly before going for another cut on the youth's leg.

Making sure to slow the attack enough to let Rodistair react Bolivar felt his eyebrows pinch up in approval as the boy used the shield and sword in tandem. Resulting in an attack while leaving up a moderate defense. Bolivar would have to shift more to the side to avoid that flickering tip of the boy's sword. Instead the mixed blood settled for trading hits. A slight rasp upon the boy's shin for a glancing poke at Bolivar's side.

Pulling the weapon back Bolivar gave the kid an indifferent shrug feeling where practice sword poked. The mixed blood would have taken that exchange every time hurts them more then it did him. Once again taking a ready stance Bolivar circled around Rodistair. Testing the boy's in several ways was more important then simply hitting him. As Bolivar danced around Rodistair the only sound that the mixed blood could hear was the sound of his axe cutting through the air.

That was a constant din coming from Bolivar as he continuously strafed around Rodistair. The movement of his feet and the sounds of his axe going through the air was all that was heard for the next tic until Bolivar stopped suddenly in front of Rodistair.

[Rodistair]

Rodistair had no choice but to take the strike to his legs, it stung- not just his leg but his pride as well, the strike was slow but the squire couldn’t avoid it, doing so would have left him even more exposed. He tried to hide the limp as the two warriors disengaged, facing off just out of the axe’s reach. This was a bad position for the sword and board knight- his weapon had a considerably shorter reach, and couldn’t deliver as much pain as that axe could. He was glad that his sword connected, though he couldn’t trade blows all day like that.

As the circled, Rodistair watched the man, his shifting feet, his swinging axe, that seemed to dare, and beckon to the squire. He was really at a loss, he couldn’t risk moving in, so he kept himself slightly off center, keeping his left arm and his shield in between the two. Then, his foe stopped, suddenly, was it a trick? Was it an attack?

‘Petch it’ thought Rodistair, taking two quick measured steps in, keeping his shield held in front of the axe, he tried his best to step so that the two were only a forearm away from each other. He struck forward, again at the torso- his strike was only a little less sloppy than the first.

[Bolivar]

The kid reeked of aggression. The knight's weapons of choice seemed to suit him because of it. Feeling the pressure from the slightly taller figure Bolivar gave ground to the kiddo noticing a slight shaking in his knees. Chiding himself for being too rough with the newbie as he twisted away from the stab.

Another stab?

"Got to mix it up kid."

No one is going to fall for that.

Escaping a few steps on Rodistair's sword side Bolivar watched for a possible follow up as he reseted their positions. Raising his axe above him Bolivar pointed the hilt at Rodistair's head.

"Keep up that vigor. What else can you do?"