You're Doing It Wrong [Wystern]

[Edalene]

23rd Winter, 510AV

Her sword was clutched in hand, the silver gleaming from a recent polish, edge flashing from being sharpened the night beforehand. As Edalene drew it from the scabbard at her waist, she centered herself, using the knots etched onto the blade as a focal point. The knots of her mother served to calm her every time she had to empty her mind of thought. Eyes closed, a deep breath in, sword held up - she was ready to fight.

Fighting, sparring, same thing. Edalene was at the War Pavillion, as she was so often. Growing up, she spent the vast majority of her time training here. Those times had dwindled now, as Eda got less and less ambitious and warrior focussed. Eda was recently just floating around Endrykas with no real purpose, but that was another story.

She was practicing a move that she was having trouble with. As with most of the time, she was by herself. She didn't have anyone to learn off - the move was only "perfected" when she felt it in her gut. Which was probably why she never quite thought they were. The name of the move had escaped her yet again, so as she usually did when she could not remember the specific name of the move, she made one up. This one she called the "When I Really Hate Someone And Want To Chop Off Their Head" move.

She imagined a man in front of her. This was the important part. She didn't have anyone to spar with, but the imaginary bloke had to be realistic enough to make her want to Chop Off Their Head. The man in front of her was tall and thin, sallow skin and red eyes. He breathed fire and had teeth that poked out past his bottom lip, sharpened every night by his sixteen concubines. Thus, the man was sufficiently dislikeable. And fully imagined.

The man in front of her edged forward with his broadsword, and tried to cut off her hand with a swift uppercut, from his waist up. This made Eda want to Chop Off Their Head, so the move came into play. With a quick step diagonally forward, to the right, Eda batted down the sword to the ground with evidently superhuman strength, and with a quick move upwards, swung the sword at where she imagined the tall man's head to be.

The only problem was, because the man was imaginary, there was no force to slow down the swinging blade. The sword flew clean out of Eda's hands, falling dusty in the dirt. She sighed. It was hopeless. Without anyone to train with, Eda was never going to master any moves. She collapsed onto the dirt floor, staring at the blade listlessly, suddenly too melancholy to move the short feet it would take to retrive the beautiful sword.

[Wystern]

Wys was out of bed and back to practicing his newly restructured footwork and the new style he had to come up with. The quick draw could only work so much now, now that he had an injury, it was less on the offense and more on the defense, hence he had to come up with a different style. Maybe he would call it Handi, for handicapped. The military man really had that awkward sense of humor. It was like someone dropped a rope made of sarcasm, and pulled him out of a bottomless pit. On second thought, how does one go around pulling someone out of a bottomless pit anyway? It called for irony.

A girl caught his eye. She was a little too young for him, and she was wielding a weapon a little to large for her frame, even though some obvious muscle appeared on her. He has just always wondered why some women in the Syliran Order chose broadswords. Weren't longswords enough? Just because of the societal view on women, did they have to try to outdo guys by picking up a larger blade, and sticking to it, through better or through worse? Wys sighed, he wasn't a sexist, it was just funny, especially when his commanding officer, who was a woman, told him something about a smaller stick. That chunk of metal was just screaming to stand out because she was looked down upon. Or maybe because she had nothing to do. Or maybe because she just had that sword available to her or it was important; like he was one to talk, Ararna had cost him an arm and a leg. And almost a stomach. The last bit was actually true.

He kept walking by, and then saw a slightly impressive decapitation technique...scratch that, a slightly impressive, almost completed decapitation technique. The foot work was a bit off, she didn't balance the swing. Maybe if she actually met something for the force to move into, she wouldn't have dropped the sword, Wystern had the same difficulty. His swings were too difficult to do because he couldn't control the weapon because he put in too much force too meet nothing. That is how he won the fight several days ago, his opponent made that amateur mistake, too much strength in swing, a miss and too much opening, or in this case, she disarmed herself.

It wasn't about strength, it was never about strength. Grace, control, fluidity, that is what counts with any weapon. Wys could be as strong as a god, but with no skill a rookie could take him down, assuming a god could be killed. He could slash at an opponent's visor, that is how he overcame the problem with weight. He sighed again, he just couldn't let this one go. She is defenseless like that, and he saw what happens to defenseless people, many, many times. He limped over to the broadsword, drew his own blade, flicked the katana's blunt side at the handle, and caught it in his left hand, and put Ara back in the case.

"My name is Wys, milady, and you need to take more care of that. Weapons have sour attitudes toward bad owners," he said while putting the cane in the hand that held her weapon, and offering the girl a hand to help her up. "Now, won't you show me that decapitation attempt one more time?"

[Edalene]

Note!I can't read your speech, the black against the maroon background is far too difficult to read. Change it?

Eda was too caught up in the depressive thoughts that tumbled through her head to immediately notice that her broadsword was magically rising into the air. She watched it for a few moments before jumping, seeing a cane that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere flick her beloved blade up into the air. She followed the line of the hand, arm, shoulder and neck of the man who had picked it up.

A tallish, pale man with darker hair and stormy eyes stood before her, her sword in hand, extended out. He looked older than she, and walked with a limp - or rather, she guessed he did, due to the cane he held which had just been switched to the hand which held her blade. He began to speak to her.

She smiled, unsure of how serious he was being. Edalene, a bad owner? Hardly. The sword had more love and care than she gave anyone she knew. She decided he was joking, or at least, wasn't being completely unforgiving when he extended the younger girl a hand. Taking it, she pulled herself up, brushing her clothes of dust and keeping her eyes down.

Nodding slightly at the introduction, she too made herself known to the man, replying in Common. "Thank you. I'm Edalene." She made no further introduction, not extending any information to this unknown man. He evidently was not a Drykas, bearing no Windmarks and speaking Common as though it was his native tongue. She did not trust him, what with the innumerable scars that ran up into the sleeves of his top and his unnerving limp. Seeing a physical deformity on one who used to be a warrior was always disarming and uncomfortable. It was like watching a bird straining to fly, but never getting off the ground.

She stared dubiously at the sword before taking it, hesitant about showing a complete stranger her frankly embarrassing sword skills. She was nowhere near skilled enough to be showing off. Though the man seemed to want to help, so she decided to show him. After all, there were two options as to what could happen here. First, he could actually train with her, helping her and giving her opinions, hopefully even sparring with her - this was the better option. Or, rather, he could watch it once, nod and move away silently, and Eda would not have lost anything in particular. She decided the first option was worth the risk of potential awkwardness with this newcomer.

"Very well sir, if you wish to see my decapitation technique, you may. But I warn you: I'm not very good." It was odd to call it "decaptitaion technique", it sounded so formal and ... normal. Eda much preferred the name "When I Really Hate Someone And Want To Chop Off Their Head".

[Wystern]

"Oh, we can fix that, don't worry. I'm just going to watch it from... behind," Wys said with a slight pause, quickly remembering how the blade fared the last time. Perhaps it was a good idea to just be clear of the flying range. Just in case. But then it would be rude, and Drykas seemed to be easily offended. Or actually just about every damn thing was, the Pycon, the potential teachers, it was all just starting to turn into a wasted trip. If he stayed in Syliras, he wouldn't have had to use this cane, but then again, if he stayed in Syliras, he would be nowhere in the search. Technically, this was progress; sort of.

Wys looked her in the eyes reassuringly, at least trying to not look like a freak, though a freak he was or is becoming, or is hoping to become. His mind is just in two places, one half here, the other wondering what would happen in the future. What will he do once he actually learns it? Will Syliras accept him as he is now? Will he get his head chopped off if he won't get his ass back on the ground and watch the blade? The last one was actually kind of a "maybe".

Decapitation swing is aggression at its finest. Quick, efficient, and looks horridly beautiful if done right. Kind of like a descent of a messenger of Dira. And now he was getting religious because of his near-death experience. Any more stereotypes to fall into? There's always the "being dead due to lack of attention" if he wouldn't focus. It really would be pretty pathetic if some girl who has been barely trained, killed him. Wystern, the Syliran Knight, slain by a lady who barely reached maturity. Assuming she did reach maturity.

Wystern was younger when he picked up a blade; but she looks like she has been practicing, and without a mentor or possibly any peers. Ah, her main issue was the lack of sparring, the lack of real combat. One could hit a training dummy all day, but without sinking the blade into flesh down to the hilt, without experiencing real life-or-death situation, it's impossible to improve. Road is long, it has no shortcuts, but it has forks, and when one would stray from the true path, one would have to find a way back onto that path. Perhaps she isn't seeking weapon mastery like Wys is, it was just for self-defense. In that case, verdict's the same, she must know how to stand up to something without killing herself with flying blades.

Maybe he should teach her that little prayer that he does before he practices with Ararna, but it wouldn't apply to her. It might seem just creepy. Still, he would recite it if he would spar with the Drykas. With that injury and the plan he has in mind, he may very well get hurt again. But right now it was this dusty ground, the virtue of patience, and her pose. He noted that the stance was a little off balance for his taste, but her sword was heavier. He just needed to watch, so he placed the cane between his feet, rested the palms on the top and would tell the Drykas to do it again when she finished it the first time. Now just a little check to make sure nothing would hinder the draw, should the need to block arises. With a satisfied smile, Wystern simply breathed one word, "begin."

[Edalene]

She swallowed nervously, holding her blade again with two hands, stretched out in front of her, as the man stepped behind her. She blushed as she realised exactly what he was doing - getting out of the way of the potentially fatal swinging, flying sword. Petch, that was embarrassing. Why did he HAVE to walk in on her at that moment?

Eda swallowed as he looked her in the eye. She thought he was trying to look reassuring, but really, all he was doing was some strange eye twitch thing. It was a little disconcerting. He looked like one of them crazy men. Maybe it should have been him she was picturing decapitating... But no, he was fine. She smiled back nervously, trying to convey that his reassurance had worked on her (it hadn't).

Eda took a deep breath. He had uttered one word, begin, and she would do that. A quick breath in, closing of the eyes, and her mind being centered and she was ready to begin again. She lifted her sword to breast height, and quickly brought it down from her right shoulder to her left hip, her arms twisting a little bit beside her back. A quick step forward, diagonally to the right, and she swung her sword, gripping with two hands, back up the way it had come. She took a deep breath again, bringing her sword back to waist height. The move was over.

Looking anxiously at the newcomer, she waited for his feedback. She felt much more comfortable this time around, like her move had been perfect! (Or near to, anyway). She hoped he thought so too. She wrung her hands together, twisting her fingers in and out - then she remembered her sword, as it swung from her hands to the ground with a clatter. Blushing, she scrambled to pick it up again, not looking Wys in the eye.

[Wystern]

Solid swings, a little too strong, but solid. Fluidity was present, though it was lacking a bit of grace that was just so necessary. Firm grasp, she actually had the footwork down for the most part. Nothing that a couple of training matches couldn't fix, assuming she won't kill herself. The Drykas looked back at him, waiting for approval. Wys smiled warmly, but the grin quickly disappeared when she lost the contact with the weapon and the gravity took over.

"Listen, Wystern, you will NOT poke fun at a beginner for doing the same amateur mistake twice. Furthermore, you will not teach her the creepy as hell prayer, probably because she doesn't worship the same gods. You will not ask her anything about magic because she doesn't handle herself like a magician; then again, neither did the Pycon. And you will likely ignore your own advice," flashed through his mind as the girl dropped the damn sword again. She likely sees it as a piece of metal, something to swing down and bring the crimson. Wys saw his sword as an extension of his own body, soul, and spirit. He would actually have it reforged when he could place a piece of himself in it.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. She wasn't hopeless, she just needed practice and discipline. Oh so much discipline. And sadly, no one could provide that to her. He couldn't hurt women, unless, in this case, she literary asks for it. And even then he still probably would't do much more than slap across the exposed areas. Specifically not cut. It would be so much easier to do with a practice blade. After watching her pick the sword up, he finally spoke. "Never drop the blade. Never let it go. It breeds bad habits. Every warrior knows that," he said calmly. The Knight just didn't know where to begin.

"Alright, I will teach you a few things," he said while taking off the cloak and laying it down with the cane. He calmly closed his eyes, whispered the prayer, then limped to stand in front of her, the left hand was resting on the sheath and he was playing with Ararna's guard. "How about this little practice, use the technique on me. Go for the kill," he said smiling, and sounding entirely serious. Wys even gestured where to cut. A strange glimmer was in his eyes, but he didn't seem arrogant, just pouring cold professional confidence. How much and what he would teach her would depend on the reaction.

[Edalene]

He spoke calmly, but she could tell that he wasn't exactly happen with her. "No, sir. I won't drop my blade anymore, sir." Hold on a second, when did he become sir in her mind? He was authoritative, that much was true. Also, intimidating ... definitely so. She felt bad now, for her sword. She wondered if it were a person, if it would feel sore. Wait, if her sword was a person? She blushed (the man probably thought her crazy, blushing at her own thoughts) and attempted to pay attention to what the man was saying.

She nearly hugged him as he consented to teaching her sword skills. A real live teacher! It had been a while since she had had that, since she had had any sort of sparring practice or interaction with another blade-wielder. She smiled gleefully at him, arms twitching at her sides as she watched him take off his cloak and murmur something under his breath. At first, she thought he was talking to her, and was about to question him on it, but the deeply concentrated look on his face made her pause, and reconsider. She dropped the subject, and something deep inside of her told her that this was the right choice.

Her head snapped up in disbelief as Wys suggested Eda try and kill him, a strange cold gleam in his eye. Eda, try the move on him? But she didn't hate him nearly enough to decapitate him! How was she supposed to decapitate him if she didn't want to? She cleared her throat, suddenly worrying for this strange man and his sanity. "Um, excuse, sir, Wys, person thing. Are you entirely sure you want me to try and chop off your head? It doesn't seem very safe." Looking carefully into his gleaming eyes, she waited for a response. Depending on the sanity of this person's answer, she would either stay and fight or run the petch away.

[Wystern]

He kept smiling, Wystern possessed a special love for philosophy. That's what the question was about, how eager she would be. He met enough people, saw enough squires and to those that he would be told to teach something, the first thing he tested was tenacity and the desire to learn. In this case if she actually would swing for an unarmed man or if she would doubt his intentions. Some trainees just told him that he would get hurt and drew right there, and so Wys quickly drew or dodged. He was enough of a swordsman to block something that big used by a novice from a standstill.

If she would attack an unarmed man, then he would just use her for some practice, just teaching the basic use of force. Hesitation was present, meaning that the girl's not a killer, at least not a natural one. Hesitation was great, it showed the presence of a brain, and in Wystern's notes it was a definite virtue. A person that would not kill was a far stronger one than he.

"I guarantee you, you won't chop my head off. You need to get a feel for the force you put it. You swing hard, you release hard, you don't have the muscle to slow yourself down and you lose control," he droned like a drill instructor. Losing control. Hypocrite. "Force flows, it doesn't stop, it's passed on. Whatever you hit will repel you with an equal amount of force, plus whatever is pushing behind it. You must know grace and finesse to strike right. Drill that to yourself, and we will see where it gets us."

His left hand began tilting the sheath, his body slowly assuming the new posture for the draw. In this case the timing would be about the block, not the kill. "Get ready, cut the air upon swing, use the curve of the katana to guide the broadsword, do not absorb the full force, just a little, flex and bring the guard to guard, hilt to hilt, face to face," flashed through his mind, quickly etching the strategy. "No blood, no one gets hurt. Do not cut to the chase," he kept repeating, thinking of adjusting to the style of teaching that he used for women. "Begin," he said and his right palm flew onto the hilt.

[Edalene]

Edalene was confused when the man, Wys, kept smiling at her. Smiling even though there was a distinct possibility she'd chop off his head? Of course, she knew that as a swordsman, he was distinctly more skilled than she, but still. She wouldn't put it past herself to accidentally chop off his head in some fail move he wasn't expecting.

He had seemed pleased with her response, for some reason which she could not quite figure out. As a sword teacher, or whatever he was, shouldn't he be disappointed that Edalene was not jumping at the chance to swing at his head? Eda's father had always been disappointed that she did not have the natural killing instinct. This strange man who seemed to revel in that fact confused her.

She nodded along as he began to talk, he did, after all, show a good insight into the physical workings of combat. It was true that in recent years she had not had many an opportunity to spar, and she guessed that her techniques had suffered because of it. However uncomfortable and inferior this man made Edalene feel, at least he was a willing sword.

"Sir, I'll spar with you, but my technique is based on a defensive move, then a quick offensive attack. I would appreciate it if you moved first."

With that, Edalene stood, right foot slightly in front of the left, standing on the balls of her feet. She held her broadsword out in front of her body, with two hands, and a look of fierce concentration graced her face. She was ready.

[Wystern]

Wys almost frowned when he was told to strike first. The leg didn't stop him, it was comfortable to be on the offensive, especially when he could get the any skill assessment from the initial strike. "Remember, Crow, the first strike is important, it determines the need for a second," Wys was told by his master long ago. He wasn't initially raised to be a killer, but decisions like that came in the trade, and he killed if he had to, so he often wondered if what he did was too harsh; regardless, Wystern never failed to justify his actions in according to the situation. No time to second-guess yourself on the streets, if someone has a blade out that is soaked in blood, and such individual does not surrender, their days run out on the spot; no two ways about it.

Perhaps it would be a good idea to finally start adjusting until Syliras, so far the way he was handling the limp as if nothing was wrong wasn't working out. Not to mention the hazy memory that follows. He didn't put on the shield, it would require too much footwork, he would just have to wield with both hands. It was pitiful that he couldn't even use the only other weapon that could be used with Ararna, pitiful indeed.

Wys nodded and stepped back to get enough room for the slash to be obvious. He gripped the very top handle on the sword, fingerless leather gloves made a cracking noise, and drew Ararna, revealing the beauty in all her glory. Wys switched the hand positions, as opposed to the usual where the right hand was on top, the left was now. In theory, it would help to put all the main stress on the left foot, and the right would be used for support. And the whole thing was already feeling awkward enough that he really could be caught off guard while attacking. This wasn't a time for self pity, the lady is waiting.

He stepped forward, bringing in a fairly slow up-front horizontal strike from the left to the right and prepared to block.