40th Spring, 515AV
"You are all here to learn how to better your skill in combat and weaponry."
The woman speaking was commanding, fierce. Shakune winced at every word she spat out to the grisly row of people facing the half-Myrian. Iztel the Swift marched slowly, her dark eyes scrutinizing each face of her students. Was it paranoia haunting Shakune, or did the trainer's gaze linger upon her own black-eyed face a tick longer than anyone else's?
"My sister and I will do our best to improve your skills in the short time we have." The woman cast a hand out to her sister, who stood soldier-like to her right. Eleuia the Strong, unlike her twin, stared blankly ahead, as if she was unaware of the row of students that stood before. Iztel continued: "It will be gruelling. Neither of us will be easy on you."
The young lad next to Shakune gulped loudly. The courier's attention broke away from her trainer and she glanced over to him. She guessed him to be fourteen: sixteen at the very most. His chin was covered in patchy, pube-like stubble. It was the stubble of a young man proudly displaying his recent step into manhood.
Iztel stretched her hand forward, dividing the row of students into two and indicating that the left-most people should join her sister. This included Shakune. Her almost-bearded companion remained with Iztel.
Eleuia appeared to be a woman of few words. She gestured to the pile of training weapons scattered behind her, and her group of eight students all trailed to make their selection. Shakune spotted a blunted khopesh amongst the pile, and grabbed it before any of her fellow students spotted it.
"Pair up."
For a tick, Shakune and her peers simply stood staring at their trainer. But then Eleuia's upper lip snarled upwards and they all scrambled into activity. Shakune ended up paired with a bald-headed man who matched several descriptions of a recent murderer and rapist. She threw him a crooked smile. It did not go down well.
The students lined up into two rows of eight, the pairs standing opposite each other. Their trainer stared down on them with blank eyes. Another chime passed, the silence stretched. Only when the other team of students began clattering their weapons together did Shakune's lot realise what they were expected.
Her partner came at her quickly and brutishly. He swung an axe, and though the courier knew it was as blunt as butter, she gasped and dived down the floor, landing in a heap and throwing her weight to the side. She stared up at the cloudy sky, already breathless and thoroughly regretting her decision to visit the Proving Grounds.
"Get up."
It was not the half-Myrian trainer who'd spoken to Shakune, but her partner. He looked down at her with a cold stare, his gaze full of dislike. She rolled about in the dry dirt with all the grace and finesse of a hog, standing up with a loud groan.
"Thanks for the help up, there." She muttered to the bald man, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
His reply was a horizontal swing of his axe. It was a slow, bulking movement that made the courier think her partner was going easy on her. She answered by raising her khopesh, lugging the weapon upwards with both hands so his hand axe bit into the curve of her weapon. It was a basic defence move for a basic attack move. Baby steps, but steps nonetheless.
The woman speaking was commanding, fierce. Shakune winced at every word she spat out to the grisly row of people facing the half-Myrian. Iztel the Swift marched slowly, her dark eyes scrutinizing each face of her students. Was it paranoia haunting Shakune, or did the trainer's gaze linger upon her own black-eyed face a tick longer than anyone else's?
"My sister and I will do our best to improve your skills in the short time we have." The woman cast a hand out to her sister, who stood soldier-like to her right. Eleuia the Strong, unlike her twin, stared blankly ahead, as if she was unaware of the row of students that stood before. Iztel continued: "It will be gruelling. Neither of us will be easy on you."
The young lad next to Shakune gulped loudly. The courier's attention broke away from her trainer and she glanced over to him. She guessed him to be fourteen: sixteen at the very most. His chin was covered in patchy, pube-like stubble. It was the stubble of a young man proudly displaying his recent step into manhood.
Iztel stretched her hand forward, dividing the row of students into two and indicating that the left-most people should join her sister. This included Shakune. Her almost-bearded companion remained with Iztel.
Eleuia appeared to be a woman of few words. She gestured to the pile of training weapons scattered behind her, and her group of eight students all trailed to make their selection. Shakune spotted a blunted khopesh amongst the pile, and grabbed it before any of her fellow students spotted it.
"Pair up."
For a tick, Shakune and her peers simply stood staring at their trainer. But then Eleuia's upper lip snarled upwards and they all scrambled into activity. Shakune ended up paired with a bald-headed man who matched several descriptions of a recent murderer and rapist. She threw him a crooked smile. It did not go down well.
The students lined up into two rows of eight, the pairs standing opposite each other. Their trainer stared down on them with blank eyes. Another chime passed, the silence stretched. Only when the other team of students began clattering their weapons together did Shakune's lot realise what they were expected.
Her partner came at her quickly and brutishly. He swung an axe, and though the courier knew it was as blunt as butter, she gasped and dived down the floor, landing in a heap and throwing her weight to the side. She stared up at the cloudy sky, already breathless and thoroughly regretting her decision to visit the Proving Grounds.
"Get up."
It was not the half-Myrian trainer who'd spoken to Shakune, but her partner. He looked down at her with a cold stare, his gaze full of dislike. She rolled about in the dry dirt with all the grace and finesse of a hog, standing up with a loud groan.
"Thanks for the help up, there." She muttered to the bald man, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
His reply was a horizontal swing of his axe. It was a slow, bulking movement that made the courier think her partner was going easy on her. She answered by raising her khopesh, lugging the weapon upwards with both hands so his hand axe bit into the curve of her weapon. It was a basic defence move for a basic attack move. Baby steps, but steps nonetheless.
