77th Day of Spring, 514 AV
Tock.
Tock.
Tock.
Bitt slammed the butt of his quarterstaff into the training post: a basic thrust executed from a low-guard stance. He repeated the action endlessly, switching his primary hand at random intervals. The staff's most dominant feature was its reach, and so Crowe had taken measures to ensure that his squire was able to take advantage of it by first teaching him a low-guard thrust. Beads of sweat trickled down Bitt's face; he had been at it for bells. Despite how much he had been improving, his patron had insisted that constant practice was essential to maintain any acquired skill, and Bitt agreed with the sentiment.
"Alright lad! That's enough!" Crowe called out. The grizzled old knight always watched over his squire's training sessions so that he might correct any faults in Bitt's technique. Today, however, he had not needed to do so.
At the sound of his patron's call, Bitt stepped out of his stance and exhaled deeply. He found it odd that he could smack a practice target for bells at a time without any issues, but be assaulted by an insatiable blood-lust when in an actual fight.
There is definitely something wrong with me, Bitt thought satirically. Thankfully, he was making progress in overcoming his affliction, and it was all thanks to Crowe. Still standing, and with his quarterstaff held vertically, Bitt closed his eyes. Slowly, he started to breath. Breathing was essential. Deep, soothing breaths. Inhale. Exhale. The squire looked inwards, calling up the visualisation of his mind he was most familiar with: an ocean.
The ocean rolled in time with the current, and the small waves it generated barely crested the water's surface. A gentle breeze blew, and the sun was shining. Bitt found himself on the small rock of an island that stood alone amongst the sea and there, still standing strong, were his walls. The walls. A mighty shell of stone: a mental creation brought about through his patron's meditative instructions. They served as a focus, a manifestation of his mental fortitude, and Bitt valued them dearly. All was well. I am in control...
Several chimes passed before Bitt opened his eyes, but Crowe waited patiently. He understood the importance of his squire maintaining a stable state of mind. Bitt closed the the distance between himself and his patron, and Crowe took a quick moment to organise his own thoughts.
"Well done, lad, you're making good progress," the older night stated simply, and Bitt smiled at the praise.
"Thank you, Ser Crowe."
"Most fights, as I'm sure you've realised, lad, barely last more than a single exchange. For the most part, whoever can strike first, and hardest, will win." Crowe looked to Bitt for confirmation he had understood, and the squire nodded seriously. "However, the older knight continued, "there are times when you will find yourself in a drawn out fight, or in a situation in which you won't be able to take advantage of the staff's length." Again, Bitt nodded in response - what his patron was telling him made sense. "It's in times like these, lad, that the stance I'm about to teach you might come in handy."
"Yes, Ser-" Bitt went to answer before fully understanding what his patron had said. "Wait, so there's more than low-guard?" Crowe chuckled at the question.
"Of course there is, lad!" the older knight answered enthusiastically. "Low-guard is your most basic of the basic, any brute with a stick could do it." When his squire frowned, Crowe amended his statement, "Of course, it takes a lot of practice to do it well, but even you yourself picked it up pretty quickly, lad." Bitt was slightly taken aback.
I've barely scratched the surface of the staff, it seems he realised, and shot a quick glance towards the weapon in his hand. Bitt grinned at his patron.
"Teach me." After a few ticks, Crowe returned the smile.
"Of course, lad."
Tock.
Tock.
Bitt slammed the butt of his quarterstaff into the training post: a basic thrust executed from a low-guard stance. He repeated the action endlessly, switching his primary hand at random intervals. The staff's most dominant feature was its reach, and so Crowe had taken measures to ensure that his squire was able to take advantage of it by first teaching him a low-guard thrust. Beads of sweat trickled down Bitt's face; he had been at it for bells. Despite how much he had been improving, his patron had insisted that constant practice was essential to maintain any acquired skill, and Bitt agreed with the sentiment.
"Alright lad! That's enough!" Crowe called out. The grizzled old knight always watched over his squire's training sessions so that he might correct any faults in Bitt's technique. Today, however, he had not needed to do so.
At the sound of his patron's call, Bitt stepped out of his stance and exhaled deeply. He found it odd that he could smack a practice target for bells at a time without any issues, but be assaulted by an insatiable blood-lust when in an actual fight.
There is definitely something wrong with me, Bitt thought satirically. Thankfully, he was making progress in overcoming his affliction, and it was all thanks to Crowe. Still standing, and with his quarterstaff held vertically, Bitt closed his eyes. Slowly, he started to breath. Breathing was essential. Deep, soothing breaths. Inhale. Exhale. The squire looked inwards, calling up the visualisation of his mind he was most familiar with: an ocean.
The ocean rolled in time with the current, and the small waves it generated barely crested the water's surface. A gentle breeze blew, and the sun was shining. Bitt found himself on the small rock of an island that stood alone amongst the sea and there, still standing strong, were his walls. The walls. A mighty shell of stone: a mental creation brought about through his patron's meditative instructions. They served as a focus, a manifestation of his mental fortitude, and Bitt valued them dearly. All was well. I am in control...
Several chimes passed before Bitt opened his eyes, but Crowe waited patiently. He understood the importance of his squire maintaining a stable state of mind. Bitt closed the the distance between himself and his patron, and Crowe took a quick moment to organise his own thoughts.
"Well done, lad, you're making good progress," the older night stated simply, and Bitt smiled at the praise.
"Thank you, Ser Crowe."
"Most fights, as I'm sure you've realised, lad, barely last more than a single exchange. For the most part, whoever can strike first, and hardest, will win." Crowe looked to Bitt for confirmation he had understood, and the squire nodded seriously. "However, the older knight continued, "there are times when you will find yourself in a drawn out fight, or in a situation in which you won't be able to take advantage of the staff's length." Again, Bitt nodded in response - what his patron was telling him made sense. "It's in times like these, lad, that the stance I'm about to teach you might come in handy."
"Yes, Ser-" Bitt went to answer before fully understanding what his patron had said. "Wait, so there's more than low-guard?" Crowe chuckled at the question.
"Of course there is, lad!" the older knight answered enthusiastically. "Low-guard is your most basic of the basic, any brute with a stick could do it." When his squire frowned, Crowe amended his statement, "Of course, it takes a lot of practice to do it well, but even you yourself picked it up pretty quickly, lad." Bitt was slightly taken aback.
I've barely scratched the surface of the staff, it seems he realised, and shot a quick glance towards the weapon in his hand. Bitt grinned at his patron.
"Teach me." After a few ticks, Crowe returned the smile.
"Of course, lad."
