27th of Spring 515AV
Nevar’s tower bathed in the morning sunlight as Timothy made his way up the city. The scent of freshly baked bread came wafting down the street and he considered buying some at Bastani’s Bakery. Their chocolate chip cookies were especially tasty. An elder Akalak in the docks had, at a snail’s pace, explained the exact route from the lower tier to the Kendoka Sasaran. Hirem’s untrained attempts at teaching him swordplay had sparked an undying interest in Timothy. He no longer desired to be a Knight, but to kill as many as he could. For that, he needed to become better. Much better.
Upon arriving at the stone-and-glass structure he was greeted by the largest Akalak he had ever seen, two twisted daggers strapped to the man's belt.
“Excuse me,” Timothy started politely, “is this were people come to train?” He hardly had to ask. The banging of wood smacking against wood accompanied by grunts and cries spokes volumes. Still, it was only polite.
“Huh?” The broad Akalak grumbled. “Oh, yes young one, this,” he gestured jovially into the training facility behind him, “is were all great warriors are born. Are you looking for someone?”
Timothy stopped trying to glance past the broad-shouldered Akalak and straightened his back. “No. I’ve come to train.”
The Akalak started to laugh. “You? You’ve come to train?” A blue hand the size of a shovel clasped around his arm and squeezed. “Who exactly do you plan to fight with these wires of yours? Your mom?”
“No,” Timothy snorted, “I’m going to fight bad people.”
“Forget it kid. You’re too flat, too thin, too small, you won’t be fighting anyone anytime soo-“
Slam! A small white-hot fist rammed into the Akalak’s abdomen. Searing pain coursed through Timothy’s veins, he hadn’t expected the Akalak’s skin to be hard as a brick. Biting back the pain he shot an angry stare up at his opponent. “I’m serious. I want to get better, I must.”
“Hmm.” Mizra Aqdas was entirely unfazed by the weak punch to his belly. Nevertheless, the boy showed spirit which was the minimum requirement for entry into the facility. “So you insist?”
“Yes,” Timothy said, rubbing his battered fist.
“Very well. What is it you wish to learn? There are many weapons: spears, staffs, maces, sw-“
“Sword,” Timothy interrupted.
Mizra raised an eyebrow. “You sound awfully sure.”
“I told you, I came to train.”
At once the eight foot Akalak stepped aside, allowing Timothy entrance into the sweaty training room. Mizra zig-zagged through pairs of Akalak boys and men as if he was taking a stroll outside. It wasn’t until they reached the very end of the room that he stopped to turn Timothy again.
“You’re lucky, I have no class to teach today and I could use a bit of practice myself. Fair warning though; once you start there’s no backing down. Is that understood?”
“Yes…”
“Mizra. The Name is Mizra Aqdas, but you will call me Master Aqdas.”
Timothy’s stomach tightened at being asked to call someone ‘master’ again. Jed Radacke had given that word a very foul taste.
“Yes…Master.”
Approving of his young student’s determination, Mizra picked two wooden longswords from a rack on the wall and tossed one at the boy.
“Get ready.”