Training With Nature Part I [Solo]

[Solomus Revon]

59th day of Fall, 511 AV Solomus shifted the hammer on his hip for the tenth time as he walked through the thick brush of The Wildlands. Sure he had four men trumping along ahead of him, but that just meant that he had someone to hold the branch that smacked him in the face. The apprentice of Rhysol didn't quite understand why their little band had to travel down the roughest part of the wilderness when their were hunting trails and marked roads around them. Maybe they didn't want to startle those on the roads if they saw seven men trudging along armed. And maybe they didn't want to come upon some unexpecting hunter and risk getting shot by another who thought they were black bears. Well only three of them, the soldiers, wore black armor. The other four, all apprentices, wore what they brought. And besides a backpack, they brought nothing besides their weapon and the clothes on their back. Sure the soldiers carried clothes to change into, but other than that, they were empty-handed. No food, no water besides that in their waterskin, and no tent. They truly were living in the wilderness. They would catch their own food, find their own water, and sleep under the stars. That bothered Solomus because he knew his bald head would be the target of any bugs that still lived in the Fall. Solomus probably wouldn't have even come along on this two day training trip into The Wildlands, but he felt this was a good way to train for The Crucible. He needed to train for the unexpected, and this was his chance. Plus he had a chance to evaluate three other apprentices to determine their potential. Up ahead Llonogh Sykes and Belgardin Thartan were on the heels of Falon Yman and Kingoll Toth, soldiers and co-commanders of their expedition. Solomus figured they were kissing the arses of both men, something they figured would earn them bonus points before it was time for them to also become soldiers. They were young like Solomus, but they also were more childish. And that only left Zerla Baeron. Solomus glanced back at Zerla who was scouting the thick trees surrounding their line. Solomus figured this man would be promoted any day. Well, at least he would be provided his chance at The Crucible. The man stepped through the forest with ease, as if he was born there. His clothes seemed more suitable to the briars than Solomus. While the thickets scratched his leather clothes, they pulled at Solomus' cotton. His brown hair that was cut short slid underneath the branches overhead with ease while Solomus had to unlodge his topknot from those branches several times. And Zerla walked as if the shortsword at his side was just another limb on his body. But even that didn't compare to his skill with the longbow. He truly was a perfect follower of Rhysol. And then Solomus noticed that Zerla was gaining speed. Was he coming to tell him something important. Or did he just want to discuss plans after both of them became soldiers. Or maybe he just wanted to ask for Solomus' advice. Maybe how he looked so good without armor. How he got so skilled with that hammer on his waist. Maybe even how long it took him to grow his topknot. But that bubble busted when Zerla spoke with only slight emotion. "Brann Azra said he spotted a bottom with sparse trees back southeast. Pass it along." And with that, soldier-to-be Zerla fell back once more. Solomus shook his head. He wasn't jealous that Zerla didn't want to trade thoughts with him. He knew he needed to gain his attention. The top-knotted man knew Zerla didn't have a Paladin as a father to just get him the spot of apprentice. The boy, a guard for a merchant before joining the Ebonstryfe, had to work hard for chances like this. Solomus didn't have his respect. But he would before they stepped back in Ravok. And a start would be to do what the man had asked. So the apprentice acted as the messenger, shouldering past Llonogh and Belgardin to pass along the news. The band turned course, trampling through underbrush. Solomus knew this would be a two-day trip he'd never forget. And he wouldn't know until later how this would be proven so true.

[Solomus Revon]

"Alright, ladies, time to spar. Pair up, and two apprentices get with Falon." Kingtoll Toth truly was an old man. He was too reckless to ever be promoted to commanding his own troops whenever he choose. The man was in his sixties, with a grey mustache that revealed his age even if his weathered face didn't. But that man wasn't any slower than one thirty years younger, never giving up a fight. And boy did he know how to fight with that spear of his. But really the symbol of Toth was the golden helmet he wore at all times. A gift from Rhysol, it was his most prized possession. And one of his favorite weapons. Which was why Solomus didn't want to spar with him. When the announcement was made, Solomus turned, ready to suggest that he and Zerla team up with Falon. Maybe if the two choose to train with each other, the man would understand that the top-knotted man hadn't had everything given to him. But Zerla had already begun his spar with Brann, and the two poor excuses of apprentices had teamed up with Falon. Which meant Solomus had only one other person to choose from. If only he could spar with that squirrel in the trees. It would've been better than what he was about to go through. "You goin' to draw that tool of a blacksmith, or is this going to be unarmed combat?" Kingoll slammed the head of his spear against Solomus' right bicep, an attack he seemed to use whenever his patience was being tested. Solomus turned, drawing his hammer from his belt and began to circle the older soldier. Kingoll lunged forward, and their spar began. The head of Kingoll's spear was like the head of a snake, weaving in and out, trying to strike his weak spots when an opening was made. And the reach of it was no fair to his reach with his warhammer. So while Kingoll hid behind the spear and stayed on the offensive, Solomus could only parry strikes and jabs. He could just break the shaft with his hammer, but then the soldier would have no weapon. Well he would, but gold hurt so bad. Kingoll used his spear like a staff, striking Solomus across the knee with the wood. The soldier withdrew his weapon and swung down, hoping to crack it across Solomus' skull. But the top-knotted man weaved out of the way, and caught the shaft of the spear under his left armpit. Solomus then swung down at Kingoll's hands, forcing the soldier tow release the spear of risk broken hands. Twirling around, the apprentice then used the excess spear sticking out to knock Kingoll's legs out from under him. And for good measure, Solomus brought his knee up into the face of the soldier. Not hard, but enough to knock him down. Solomus dropped the spear, and glanced over at the other two fights going on. Falon was breezing through Llonogh and Belgardin, their swords clashing with sparks. Brann was having more trouble with Zerla, the apprentice weaving in and out with his short sword. Even with Brann's large scimitar, he was having trouble catching the quick Zerla. He truly was good at this fighting. But he saw what Solomus just did to Kingoll, maybe he'd think they were equa. . . Solomus didn't see it coming until the head of the spear was smashed against his head. Stunned, he could only take the next strikes from Kingoll. The old man stomped twice on Solomus' left knee to bring to man down. And once on his knees, Solomus ate one, two, three sharp punches into the face. With a final shove, Kingoll pushed the apprentice onto his back. Solomus tasted blood in his mouth, but it didn't compare to the blood that stained Kingoll's white facial hair. At least Solomus showed Kingoll something before his arse was handed to him. Kingoll looked down, shaking his heads. "Never take your eyes off your enemy before you see that they aren't breathing." Kingoll put his hand down to help the apprentice up, but he never could do so. The twang of a bowstring was heard, and the next thing Solomus saw was an arrow sticking in the shoulder of Kingoll Toth.

[Solomus Revon]

If Kingoll Toth was fazed by the arrow in his shoulder, he sure didn't show it. Reaching up, the old man barely winced as he broke the shaft in half, leaving just enough to pull the arrow out when the time came. But that time wasn't now, and that arrow was going to be in the way of a fight. Solomus stood to his feet, snatching his hammer up, and scanned the area. But he saw nothing but the five other men who were the doing the same as him. Was there even going to be a fight, or had a hunter really saw the old man as a black bear with a golden helmet. And then all hell broke loose. The brush suddenly broke, and five men ran from their cover wielding a variety of weapons. Their armor was camoflagued so that any of them could've stepped on them without knowing they were there. But who were they? And why were they attacking Ebonstryfe? Questions to be answered later as Zerla ran forward to meet a dark-skinned man wielding a spear. If Zerla was fighting, Solomus was too. So the top-knotted man stepped forward, unaware of orders spoken by Kingoll, as a man missing an eye met him, his hatchet ready for a fight. The man appeared to be nothing more than a lumberjack who used his axe like he would on wood. A downward strike was an easy parry with his hammer, as was every other strike from this man. Strikes at the arm met hammer, strikes at the legs met thin air as Solomus back up. It was a repeating process, something the apprentice didn't want to fall into. As it could end up like his process with Kingoll. As the man swung at Solomus' neck like was hacking a limb off a tree, Solomus ducked, and brought the spike of his hammer into the man's ribs. He grunted, and Solomus swept the man's legs out. But the killing blow was never delivered as the lumberjack brought a knee up to the apprentice's head as he fell. Solomus stumbled back, blind to the fact that the lumberjack was lifting his arm, ready to throw the hatchet to try and wound him. And the lumberjack was blind to Kingoll until the very end when the old man plunged his spear into the man's throat. He couldn't even scream out. Kingoll barely glanced at Solomus, but he sniff seemed almost positive. As if he was proud Solomus had lived this long. But the apprentice's ears were still ringing as he scanned the battlefield. The two horrible apprentices were fending off a man to themselves while Falon and Brann were dueling with three men of their own. Zerla was backed up, his shortbow out. Solomus could already see four corpses with arrows in them. Why was the man so calm in a deadly situation? It brought a pounding to Solomus' ears. Like his heartbeat in his ears. But as the sound got louder, the apprentice realized this sound wasn't his. It was the sound of a horse running, and it was getting closer by the second. Solomus turned in time to see his next opponent. A man with a blond ponytail was charging him with a lance stuck out ready to strike the apprentice. Tied to the weapon was a lance, as if to catch Solomus even if the lance missed. Oh how he was thrown into situations likes this. Zerla could kill four men with ease, and he had to fight the horse. So unfair. Twisting his body, Solomus dodged the blunt of the strike, but the blade of the lance sliced into his right arm. It was a sharp pain on impact, but nothing near fatal. At least unless that blade was infected with bacteria. But the top-knotted man cared little to his artifical wound, as he turned to see his warhammer dangling in the net. That contraption actually stole his weapon. And now he had to outrun a horse to get it back. Solomus never did get the chance, as the ponytailed man met a quick demise as yet another arrow from Zerla found its target. The man fell out of the saddle, his lance falling to the ground with him, while the horse bounded off into the forest. Maybe Zerla was useful after all with that bow. Solomus felt grateful towards his chosen rival up to the point when a man hidden in the woods ahead ran forward and collected the lance along with his warhammer. Sure one man died, but another took his warhammer. But it was easier to run down a man than a horse by a longshot. But three steps into his sprint and the inevitable happened. For the second time, Solomus was struck in the head when he least expected it. And this time it didn't just stun him. It knocked him on his arse, little birdies spinning around his head. And they all had the head of Zerla.