Closed [Anthonius Fighters' Pits] Pits and Hits.

[Medhozic]

Time Stamp: 6th of Winter, 513AV. He'd spent time with knights, working around the pits and the equipment in it. He'd spent time working with squires, more than most of the patron knights, most likely. But this was the first time that he was working with a squire, in the pits. And he didn't like it one bit, especially since he had absolutely no clue what he might be thrown up against in this place, let alone how much humiliation he would face when eventually brought up to being unveiled as a know-nothing Ethaefal. And being an Ethaefal was something that he took with as much leverage as possible - being something sublime, something mysterious was always helpful. He wouldn't throw it away like so many others that saw their form as a curse, try to escape their mortal selves like forgotten foals bleating pathetically. He'd survive - and make use of what he had. But what he didn't have, was the same skills as these squires, who were training with professionals and knights skilled in combat in order to become knights themselves. He didn't have access to the same knowledge as them, or the same high-quality weapons and armour. And so it looked like he was doomed to remain unable to survive, unless he trained with these half-knights. One of which, he'd found out more information from, after a little talk with Natasha. She'd become a valuable asset over his time here - of course, he suspected that many held the same allotment, but she was still valuable to him, in order to gain access to other knights and squires that he could train with. This one, he'd been sent to, though. Instead of that Cromley, who'd been sent to him.. which had been a bonus, in itself. A squire, coming to him to look for aid.. of course, the boy expected that he would be learning something too.. and he did. But Cromley hadn't needed to know any of that. Being sent to someone else though, was different. It meant that the tables had been reversed, that he.. of all people, he would be the one expected to learn something, not the other. He was expected to be the weak one, weak foal in need of guidance as it bleats away... The scenery took his mind off it all, for a while. It wasn't a far walk to the Fighter's Pit from the Citadel, and for today, he hadn't bothered with his usual shortbow and quiver - what was the point, in such close-ranged combat? - but he kept the Kopis, heavy and impractical as it was, slung by his hip, which clattered with almost the same noise as the blades he could hear in the not-too-distant remains of old buildings, with crumpled walls cleared of the majority of debris and overrun with grass and many odd roots and weeds. It looked like the remainders of some warzone, not a fighting arena.. but to his surprise, amongst it all, there stood knights, squires and commoners alike battling it out with their weapons; some were old and dull, others as fresh as the morning frost. It was a shame he couldn't see which one he was supposed to be working with, though - he didn't know what she looked like. Only her name... which he'd forgotten too. Fantastic... All he needed to do was walk in, and find a girl with no name and no face who knew something about being a squire. That narrowed things down for him. As he walked to the edge of the pit and glanced about momentarily, he tried to spot one that looked like a squire.. but all the damn squires looked alike. Even the girly squires. Damnit, why did they have to get so many of these things.. couldn't they just make it easier and put a restriction on them.. oh. Her name. "Rachel? Rachel?"

[Rachel Messer]

OOCI assumed the thread started in the morning so Med would be in his Eth form, right?

The instructor was in her usual spot, facing a wooden dummy while wielding a blunted longsword available for use in the Fighter's Pit. In this cold winter morning, she was warming up for the day. If a prospective student approached her, she needed to appear in her best shape. Rachel wondered though, if Jon or Kreig would visit her later. Jon was one of her most talented pupils, the young man wielded the longsword like it was an extension to his limbs. Jon was still very much a beginner, but he grew fast, with each passing day, the boy got better and better. Rachel was sure he would be a great warrior one day, and he wanted to be a knight, fitting nicely with his talents combined with admirable sense of justice.

As for Kreig, he was a squire whom she met yesterday. It turned out he was her half-brother from another mother. The revelation startled Rachel at first, but it was soon replaced by happiness and joy. In addition with her most precious friend, Goddess Priskil, she was no longer alone in the world. Kreig had been nothing but a blessing in her life, the older male had some quirks and tendency for reckless acts, but for the most part, he was a kind, caring, man who wasn't afraid to defend the weak and promote justice. The instructor smiled as she swung her sword for a side strike to the wooden doll, feeling the vibration coursed through her muscles. She felt so alive, her calloused hands yearned to grip the blade. She was not as skilled as Ser Wade or Ser Anthonius... yet. She would train hard, every day, until she could deem herself worthy as defender of Hope and spread Priskil's glory to all of Mizahar.

At first, Rachel considered to join the Order, but postponed it. She was not skilled enough, Knights must be proficient in not just the blade, but riding, archery, and shield as well. The only skill she could count on at the moment was her longsword, she was far from worthy to be a Knight. No matter, it only encouraged her to train harder and harder. With a step back, Rachel prepared herself for a thrust, that was when she heard her name being called. Oh! A student! The instructor assumed such, the voice didn't sound like Jon nor Kreig though... maybe it was a new student? Intent on finding out, Rachel put up her professional face and turned around. She froze soon after.

The sight of a.. thin man with warm marble skin, pale brown hair, and rich brown eyes, but what made her truly locked in place was the man's two horns, green as the Bronze Woods in springtime. It perched nicely on his skull and combined with his perfect face, this man was the epitome of physical attractiveness. The instructor audibly gulped, she felt a blush coming to her cheeks. No, no! She must not falter. What was this man? Was he some kind of a foreign race? Rachel had little experience in dealing with Syna and Leth's divine children. Nevertheless, Syliras accepted all races as long as they didn't cause trouble... but this man was so beautiful, it should be a crime.

She couldn't keep her hands from trembling as he approached her. He was slightly taller than her, the closer he got, the more she realized his clean face, not a single freckle or blemish on it. He truly looked like a God descended from the realm of the Divines. "U-uhm..." The instructor steeled her expression, trying to appear as polite as possible. Priskil, please help me. Warm yellow light shone from her right palm, easing her nervousness and filled her with courage. She could always count on her friend in all situations.

With her newfound courage, Rachel greeted the horned man with a warm smile. "Yes, I am Rachel, Sir. I work here as an instructor, may I assume you are here for some longsword training?" If he was, Rachel wasn't sure she could keep her blush from showing, with each passing tick, her attraction to the man grew. His appearance was the one to blame! It must be! "I-if I may ask... I'm a human, Sir. What race are you? A-ah... I don't mean any offense. I just... I never met any of your kind s-so I'm curious." By Priskil, she looked like a love-struck girl. Hopefully the horned man wasn't disgusted at her and left.

[Medhozic]

OOCYes, it's the morning, and he's in his Ethaefal form. Rachel.. The name was, at least, something that he could live with. It was less calloused, less.. battle-made. It was always an honor to meet someone who had managed to survive without losing their life to the struggle. A bit of flare, a bit of personality. But what met him was something that did not fit the frame that his minds eye had created for a Rachel. Calloused hands, lavish blonde hair tied back like some warriors tail instead of flowing freely, as his always was.. it was no character like he had expected, although the first impressions of her personality stumped hi completely for several breaths. Here she was, holding a sword which she was evidently confident in, regardless of its rather faded and dulled edge, and sh stuttered more than a young girl meeting a crush. A deer in the sight of a hunter, startled and frozen still. All that was lost at the luminance in her palm; immediately he jumped to conclusion, but evidence was enough in her voice and changes in behavior. So, I am not the only one touched by the Gods.. perhaps there is hope after all. Briefly, he wondered if he could contact Syna again. But the thought disappeared as quickly as it was made - he would not raise hopes in order for them to be dashed, again. "Yes." He kept as much of his mild anxiety from his tone, even as he studied her critically, scanning repeatedly over her face and down her frame. "I am in need of assistance in training my longsword capabilities." It was a vast understatement, but it would do. His only recent work, which would be his only work, had been with the knight Natasha Druva, and even that had been a brief case that had never yielded much other than the knowledge that knights were very good fighters. "I would be pleased if you would be the one to assist me, as you have been recommended." He hoped that would add some mild confidence to her, which she was obviously beginning to find a lack of, even with the glow of what he could assume to be a gnosis. He would ask later if she was one of Syna.. or one of Leth. Her question dissipated the thought. He leaned closer to her; he had no understanding of personal space and could not tell if he was invading hers, or not. It would not matter, much. He still maintained a mask of neutrality, bottling his emotions under the stony skin - however, there was warmth in his eyes as they stared into hers, with a hint of curiosity and acknowledgement. "Greetings, human. I am an Ethaefal." His curtain of hair slithered down the sides of his head, masking his horns underneath them - when he stood tall again, though, they were revealed in their full glory as the curtain washed down into the gap that was left between his scalp and where the horns curled back and tapered to fine points, with a soft gleam that truly imitated marble in such a way that it would be practically impossible to distinguish from the real thing. Ahh, the wonders of being a mortal child of Syna - she may have nearly abandoned them in this mortal plane, but at least they looked prettier than any other. Or, most of them did. His attention was snagged away as he returned to the present. Within a moment, the eye-contact was broken and he swept past her with all the coiled grace of a competent hunter stalking an unbeknownst doe; his prey was the wooden dummy, worn with use and covered in small gashes from countless blades and axes striking its hard, splintered skin. Something compelled him to stroke it, and he did - like some childs doll, with the back of his hand, he swept away its imaginary hair and stroked gently over what would have been its forehead. "Do you have a spare sword that I might use?" he asks after nearly a chime of simply stroking the thing as if it was a real child, prompting a few side-way glances from the others that had taken time to train in the pits. "Unfortunately, I am yet to acquire my own equipment.. close-hand combat is something that is rarely needed in my profession."

[Rachel Messer]

Of course he would be seeking mentorship to train his longsword, Rachel wasn't confident enough to teach him in other arts of combat, her unarmed and flux were still lacking in skill, she reminded herself to train more on it, perhaps she would ask Sir Gerard or Kreig to train her. For now, she would do what she does best, tutoring a prospective student in the art of the Longsword. The horned man looked very slender and slim, Rachel wondered if he could take the strain of wielding this large blade, but she shook her head. She didn't know anything about his exotic race, who knows, maybe he could lift a large boulder easily despite his slight frame.

Rachel didn't ask questions about who recommended her to him, it was a sign she had done a good job and people started to take notice of her teaching expertise. She gave a silent thanks to whoever the recommender was. "Why, I'm flattered, Sir" She gave a slight bow, she would live up to the recommendation, her gnosis chipped away the last of her nervousness and now the instructor stood firm with her longsword at her side. "So, fir-..." She froze when he leaned in close, far too close for comfort. The instructor tried her best to hide her embarrassment, a tinge of rosy pink color began to appear at her cheeks despite her efforts however. In normal circumstances, she would remind this man to mind the thing called 'personal space', but she didn't know anything about his race's customs, perhaps this was common for him.

"Et... haefal." True to his beauty, even his race's name flowed elegantly from his lips. Were there more of him? Rachel was curious to meet his fellow kin. The instructor stared blankly for ten ticks before she shook her head and coughed to calm her nerves. "I see, Sir. Uhm... I'm sorry but I have never heard of your kind before." She rubbed the back of her head with her left hand, chuckling nervously. In the end, it didn't matter much, all races should get along, Syliras was the shining testament of race tolerance, no matter what one was, one's heritage mattered not, one's actions did. Rachel had to dig through her memories to remember what she was about to say to him. By the time she recalled it, he was already slipping past her and was caressing the dummy as if it was his own child.

"Well, the Fighter's Pit allow us to use them for free, they are blunted and worn, perfect for training." She gestured to a weapon rack filled with blunted blades, axes, spears, and others. As much as she would love to train him, there was something she needed to work out with him first, the fee. "I want to tell you, for one session of training, I charge just five gold mizas, Sir." She smiled politely. Mentoring was her source of income, she needed the money to live. While the woman was generous, she understood one needed money to live.

[Medhozic]

He was satisfied. Regardless of his near-useless knowledge in social interaction, he'd succeeded in embarrassing her. He had something to work from, so that he would not be seen as completely useless in this session. Because, in all truth, he was useless with the majority of weapons that had been presented over his brief time around Syliras. The only one worth mentioning would be the daggers.. but they were light, and they wouldn't cause as much damage as a longsword. Not to mention, the fact that he needed to be able to work with whatever was available, and who was to say that at some point in his life, he'd be forced to fend off opponents with a longsword? "That does not surprise me." In all truth, it didn't. It was simple to tell - from the way that some of the squires and knights looked at him as he passed, that it was a rarity. Of course, it was nothing more than a particular glance every now and then. Many other places would not grant such tolerance, and he was pleased by that.. but he would not spend his entire lifetime in Syliras - he would explore, like anyone else. And he would meet the few others, no matter how it felt to see his brothers and sisters reduced to this form. There were so few.. in other ways, that was a good thing. It meant the fissures were closing.. he felt somewhat glad that there were only few that had suffered the same as he had. Though, many more had never survived past their first day of mortality. And those few deserved nothing more than his disgust. He hadn't turned to face her. Good. The scowl that had slowly crept over his face faded away again into that blank mask, and he gave a final stroke over the imaginary face of the dummy, a little secret shared between them, before he could turn back to Rachel. Payment... of course she would need some form of payment, but he didn't want to lose his grip with her. If he did - she would see him as weak. He had no Miza's to give her. The few kills that he had collected, would not be harvested until the end of the season, and until that time he was literally hunting for the food that he ate every day. She didn't need to know that he felt a slight distrust for coin - you couldn't eat it, so what else was it worth in the end? - but he needed to pay her with something.. and then, he realized what he could give. Fingers played with the gold ring looped through his right earlobe, unfastened it from its place as he walked towards Rachel, and held it in front of her. "It is worth twenty gold Miza's. It will look better on you than it will for me." He didn't care if she would sell it for coin or wear it. The fragment of his past life was the tether to a mortal life filled with hunger and pain, and he would be glad to remove it. He could still remember the day that he had reclaimed it.. and the day that he had realized just how alone he was. But it was not good to remember it today, so he swept past her quickly and left the earring behind, instead focusing quickly on the wooden weapons rack, picking out a longsword from the handle and gripping it with both hands for a decent grip. As he pulled it from the shelf, he realized that it was much heavier than it looked - much heavier than a dagger.. though it was obvious by its size that this would be true, he'd not understood how it seemed even heavier than it looked.. or was it just him? He stood for a few moments, holding it with the tip pointing down towards the floor, both hands holding it in place. This was going to be much more difficult than he'd anticipated. "Shall we get started." He didn't voice it as a question.

[Rachel Messer]

The blond-haired woman's brow frowned ever so slightly when the man offered her a golden ring, previously attached to his right earlobe. Her frown was not out of disdain or scorn, but out of concern for the Ethaefal, what he brought to her was far more valuable than five gold mizas, he said it himself, its worth was at least four times the training fee. "Ah..." She wanted to object, if she accepted, she would be taking advantage of his situation. She assumed this man must be on the poorer side of society, if he wasn't, he would just pay her five gold mizas. The woman found herself pausing as the man didn't give her a chance to reply, he simply left the golden ring behind.

"Sir, excuse me, I..." She then remembered what life had taught her, especially in the ways of Priskil. If someone offered one a sincere offering, it would be rude to refuse it as it meant disrespect, one should accept and fill the offerer with hope, not despair at being turned down. "Very well then. I accept, however," Sure, she would receive the ring, but not without decent compensation. "For this, I owe you four training sessions, so please return to me in the future until my debt is fulfilled." Rachel's green eyes were brimming with confidence, one with honour would stay true to their word. The woman gently picked up Medhozic's ring and carefully placed it in a small pocket on her backpack. "I shall take good care of it, Sir Medhozic, I promise you that." She wasn't sure if the ring meant a lot to the Ethaefal, but she assumed as such.

That aside, they could get down to business, training. Rachel studied, the Eth's form as he picked up a wooden longsword. From a glance, it was clear that the man was a mere child in handling the blade, his decision in picking up a wooden longsword was correct, at his apparent skill, he could hurt himself even with a blunted blade. The instructor put down her longsword to a weapon rack before picking up a similar wooden weapon. He was eager, always a good sign. "Right then, we shall begin with the basics, stances and grips." Rachel stood in front of Medhozic, a distance about six feet separated them. "Since I assume you are a beginner, I shall explain thoroughly." The blond's voice turned more serious and firm compared to the bubbling girl before, a good instructor is a confident instructor.

"There are two ways of holding the longsword, one-handed or two-handed, masters such as Ser Wade Brock can hold it both ways, he has the skill and strength to wield it together with a shield. As for myself, I'm nowhere as skilled or strong as him so my technique primarily lies in the two-handed grip". The instructor held the blade with both of her hands, the blade pointing diagonally upwards. "Now, hold the grip with both of your hands, firmly, but not too clenched as it would strain your muscles." She would wait until Medhozic corrected his sword's position and gripped it properly, instructing him if he did any mistakes. "Now, try to hold it as I do, with the tip pointing as such," She gestured to her own weapon with her head, "If you feel that it's heavy, it's because your footing isn't correct". The instructor then moved her body, her right feet planting forward while her left feet stayed put, she also slightly hunched her torso forward. "This is a basic 'middle' stance, it's good for basic techniques and generally can defend yourself from low or high attacks as you can move to high or low stance faster, but that's for later, for now, try to stand as I do". Rachel stayed put, acting as a model for Medhozic to follow.

[Medhozic]

"I didn't ask for you to take good care of it. I told you to take it. A vestige of my old life is nothing more than a ghost whispering in my ear." He was better than that, now. This was a new life. But even as he told himself this, he found his attention deviating to stare at the comparatively young girl that still prepared herself to train him. And he wondered what would have happened, if she had come to know what he knew. All of her previous lives, the places and the people that she had once seen and been. How low she had sunk, and how heroic she had once been. There would always be countless creatures such as this, all around Mizahar. He was one of the few enlightened, but he wished he hadn't been. He knew how low he had sunk, and he knew the miserable life that he'd left behind, and many others as well. Ignorance was bliss.. but curiosity was avid. This human.. was she once a peaceful Jamoura, or a savage Symnestrian? Most likely both. The chances that she'd known and been betrayed by love more than once, but had it driven her to murder herself, only to be reborn again, were considerable, undoubted. Perhaps.. had she once been a Myrian, wicked and devious long before the Valterrian? These were such questions that probed and plagued his mind even further, and yet he calmly pushed aside under her gentle instruction. Already, her first impressions were amiable - she took authority, maintained control. That was always important, to be confident in ones-self, regardless of her slip-ups on first meeting. It was almost astonishing, her abrupt change from a giddy child to a self-controlled adult and mentor. And, naturally, the Ethaefal followed her advice as he took a two-handed grip, but kept the tip pointing down until she asked him to mimic her stance with the blade raised. Even after correcting his stance and the positioning around his feet, he strained to lift it and hold the blade in place, and had to change his grip and his stance multiple times more until he found the one that was most comfortable, allowing him to keep somewhat of a good hold. However, he still felt like there was a bit of strain in his hands and back when he bent himself over to try and keep the thing set in a diagonal with the tip edged slightly forwards. Daggers just didn't have the sheer weight, there was no need to use two hands and there was no need to have to re-orient the entire body just to hold the colossal weight off the ground. By the end of all the fidgeting, he felt like a bird balanced precariously on a very narrow roof ledge. Elbows tucked tight to either side of his ribcage and with his right foot set about a shoulders-width apart from the left, slightly ahead, he rolled his shoulders and looked up. "Like this, then."

[Rachel Messer]

Despite his words, Rachel still couldn't treat the ring as a mere token of payment, it meant something to the Ethaefal, whether positive or negative and the woman would feel disrespectful if she simply sell it, but she didn't need to tell Medhozic that, she respected his wishes and kept silent about the matter.

The instructor watched as Med fumbled with his stances and this clearly showed his lack of experience, Rachel was glad he was wise enough to train with a wooden longsword. If he struggled with it, he wasn't ready for real steel swords which were heavier. He kept going though, not giving up at first try, Rachel had high hopes for him. She nodded, "Yes, like that, keep it up," being able to hold it was good, but Medhozic needed to move or there was no point, a sword wouldn't swing by itself. If there was a sword which could move by its own, Rachel would like to see one and spar with it.

"Next, let's try moving forward, watch me," The instructor then slid her right foot forward, followed by her left foot, moving in combat position. She deliberately made her movements slower than usual so Medhozic could observe better, such simple basic techniques came naturally for her, but moving was very important for beginners, proper footing could mean the difference between life and death in combat. After moving about a feet, Rachel stopped.

"After this, try moving sideways". With the wooden longsword still kept in position, Rachel's feet began stepping sideways with her right foot first, the movement was different compared to forwarding as her feet left the ground longer. Strafing was important as it provided a way for a combatant to reposition themselves, also forcing the opponent to keep their guard up, being flanked in melee combat was equivalent to defeat. After a few steps to her right and left, Rachel stopped again.

"Finally, back-stepping, you may find this harder but it's necessary to gain distance, especially since longswords have the advantage of reach, opponents with shorter weapons will try to mitigate it by cutting the distance". It was true, someone wielding a shortsword or a dagger would have no chance of winning if a longsword wielder could maintain distance. The instructor prepared her feet then jumped backwards, landing with a thump and quickly readied herself. She faced Medhozic and signalled his turn, "Go on, try it, it's very important to understand basic movements as you can't progress much without them".

[Medhozic]

When she spoke, his attention detached itself from the sword that hung threateningly in front of his face, and below. The thing required constant attention, like a wild animal on a thin leash. And almost instantaneously, he picked up on something that was, in his eyes, quite odd. "This is similar to what I use in dagger training." Self-training, found by watching others and working on what he found easiest to use, he meant. Many of them had a range of weapons, but comparatively equilateral stances with the feet held shoulder-length apart and sweeping arcs of movement below the pelvis. With a dagger, of course, there was less weight.. one had to be fast, he'd learned quite quickly. Footwork was everywhere. And apparently the same would be for heavier weapons, although that made sense too. Balance, the angles, all of the mathematics that eluded his mind for longer than generations; it probably had some relation to that. He copied her quickly, although he soon found that while it looked similar.. it was much different with a larger weapon like a longsword. Mainly because, obviously, it was much heavier than a dagger, or many of the other small and light weapons that he'd had the opportunity of handling. And he nearly tripped over himself in finding the right center of balance which kept the blade lifted and his weight always tipped back slightly as he took his first steps forwards - wobbling, as a newborn child does on its very first steps. And being so unbalanced, it should have been little wonder that when it came to the back-step, he completely lost his grip and had to tip the blade forwards a little more for control. Good thing Rachel wasn't in the range, or it could have led to some serious damage with a hard hit to the scalp - even with a wooden practice sword. The thing was heavy. Petching heavy. "Yes. The same goes for the daggers." He tried not to let any strain into his voice, and succeeded - mostly, in his opinion. After his little miscalculation, the blade was brought up again, but lower than before and slightly crooked; leaning to the left, he had to rear the rest of his body to the right to compensate and put more weight on his right foot. "Although, with daggers, it doesn't feel like there's someone sitting on its tip."

[Rachel Messer]

If there was one thing a student would notice when they picked a longsword for the very first time was its weight, heavier and bulkier compared to smaller blades such as a dagger, kukri, or shortsword. A good longsword which combined cutting and striking power could prove a mighty weapon indeed, its weight helped the blade with added shockwave within each blow, cutting and staggering an enemy at the same time. An armored foe also couldn't completely escape the longsword's menace, as a smart swordsman would utilize stabbing techniques, directed at joints and openings in the armor.

With all its benefits however, there was a catch, the heavy weight meant a longsword would lose in terms of agility and speed compared to smaller, lighter, blades provided both combatants were of equal skill. Superior range and power meant nothing if the wielder couldn't maintain its weight and thus, it was most important for an aspiring swordsman to master weight distribution. Rachel watched her student intently, taking note of every movement and mistakes he made. The instructor had little knowledge in the ways of a dagger so what Medhozic said proved to be a lesson for her, "I see, so daggers have similar techniques?" She didn't hide her curiosity, honest to the fact that even an instructor could learn from the student.

Medhozic tried his best to follow her instructions, the longsword wobbled, tethering between the edge of staying upright and slipping from his hands, but fortunately, by the time he finished the back-step, it was still on his hands. She did chuckle at his humor, the combination between his words and his expression were amusing to say the least. "There's still rooms for improvement, but I think you get the hang of it, you need to refine your balance, find the 'sweet' spot of the blade, each person is different to a degree," Rachel then put her blade vertically with its tip pointing towards the ground, she gestured to the pair of wooden dummies watching silently near them, "Alright, feel free to experiment with your stance, once you are ready, I will show you one of the most basic, but important, offensive technique". The instructor didn't want to rush, she would let Medhozic acquainted himself more with the wooden blade before moving on.

Once he was ready, Rachel stood before a wooden dummy, gesturing for Medhozic to stand near the other one, her sword at the ready. "This is called the side slash, basically a slash from the left or right, aimed at the opponent's waist or belly," Rachel taught as she swung her longsword to the right side of her body with the tip facing backwards, "You prepare it like this and then..." with a firm grip, Rachel swung her longsword at the opposite direction, slamming its blunt wooden edge at the dummy, "swing it back, using the momentum to your advantage". The instructor repeated the basic technique for a couple of times, then stopped as her green eyes turned to the horned man. "Now you try, hold the blade firmly, but don't overly strain yourself, give it some slack".