Almalexia. (arithmeticks) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-10-19 14:46:00 |
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“Tomorrow will be more movement drills.” Heron’s baritone carried over the heads of his students, abruptly filling the spacious dojo and echoing off the vaulted ceilings high overhead. Addressing crowds seemed to require no more effort from him than did an individual conversation, as though amplifying his voice was no more complex than idly spinning a dial. The young men and women before him had recently learned not to groan in response to the promise of another brutally punishing day, but there were a few audible sighs nonetheless. Heron paused at the sounds, scanning the conscripts for signs of fidgeting until they’d fallen into line again, the twin tractor beams of his gaze having long since learned how to silence a squadron of soldiers, green or no. By now they knew there was always the possibility of being kept late for another round of drills, anyway. “Thank our guest before you go,” he said finally, white-blue eyes flicking toward the slight presence to his left. Almalexia Lliryn might have been unobtrusive in the average Emillion crowd, but in the training hall, amongst a throng of hulking, perspiring, aspiring warriors, her careful robes and cool demeanor were impossible to miss. He noticed a few of the knights drop their heads with involuntary respect as they echoed the thanks traditionally reserved for a guest lecturer. “Dismissed.” The room dissolved into a white noise of activity, padding being shed and students bottlenecking sweatily at the door, conversations sprouting like brushfires just outside the hall. He turned to the young white mage, struck again by how much she looked like one of his younger siblings. “Thank you again for coming. It’s always best they learn from a true mage, basic spells or no.” Lex turned her gaze from the students crowding the door. “Of course,” she said promptly. "Thank you for the offer as well." Lingering thoughtfully at Heron’s side, she continued to remain a contrast from the noisy, eager students she had assisted in instructing. Her words were genuine. An opportunity to engage with others on the subject of magic was certainly nothing to be easily dismissed. She had arrived early that day, with notes on the lecture carefully prepared beforehand, and had endeavored to speak clearly and with a conviction born from years of hard work and a small but growing amount of field experience. The ability to properly conjure curative magic was essential, in her opinion, and she had suggested as much to the students. Even the smallest efforts proved crucial in times of emergency. She watched Heron with a subtle amount of interest. “Is there anything else I can assist with, perhaps?” The last of the students parted around the two instructors like a river around a pair of boulders, some stopping to introduce themselves to the Mage or the storied old knight in turn, or just sneaking in a flicker of eye contact on their way out of the dojo. Heron showed no signs of exertion, despite having spent the final thirty minutes of the training as the target in a defensive exercise, but his vague lean on the cane he carried everywhere had increased by a few degrees. He dropped his gaze to his wrapped hands, though not before catching the glint of curiosity in the young scholar's eyes. Clasping the cane in the crook of his arm with a practiced gesture, Heron began unwinding the yards of linen looped around his heavy fists and between each of his fingers. "I'm not sure, Ms. Lliryn," he said. "There's the possibility of having you back, though the guild'd want to discuss wages again. The class’d only benefit from practical demonstrations such as this." He flexed his fingers and looked up, finished, the lengths of cloth from each hand wound neatly in a palm like some kind of reverse cat's cradle. Mild bruising bloomed faintly over his chalk-dusted knuckles. "Unless you had something more specific in mind." His weathered face and unflinching gaze might have made the Sphinx look readable. She had to know his asking her here wasn’t on a whim. Heron hadn’t done anything on a whim in at least a decade. “Have you done any teaching like this before?” She did have something specific in mind, in fact, and as Heron worked to remove the bandages from his hands, so too did her gaze travel to the battle-bruised knuckles now on display. It was likely a natural urge to offer healing--either that, or Lex’s usual desire to prove her own abilities. “Perhaps,” she answered vaguely, her attention drawn to his other question. Lex understood patience, even in spite of her natural abundance of curiosity. If Heron wanted anything further from her presence, then she understood he would relay as much in time. After all, her dealings with both him and the Kaplan were much less trying than any of her encounters with the Gardists (and Rictor, of course, was quite the singular issue). His strict manner did little to put her off as well--Heron’s piercing stare as he regarded his students reminded her nearly of the instructors she had studied under herself. They had expected the same amount of thoroughness and precision as well. “Most of the tutoring lessons I’ve offered previously were informal,” she admitted. “And my experiences at the University are...incomparable.” Instructing fighters had proven to be quite the novel experience, she decided. It had been a young group today, full of fire and force but short on control, mindfulness. He hadn’t seen that degree of rawness on display in some time, and it made him all the more confident in his decision to bring in Almalexia. The corner of Heron's mouth edged upward for a moment, not a smile so much as an allusion to one. "Don't concern yourself too much," he said, catching her gaze and lifting the linens before tossing them into a nearby laundry receptacle and dusting off his hands. "They’re preventative." In his experience, when someone hedged themselves in with perhapses and perchances, they usually had a quite specific answer to their query in mind already. Heron was generally good enough at prompting these sorts of people, though he was now beginning to see why Ric—and even the Kaplan—had been so sparse in their mentions of the promising healer. ‘Guarded’ didn’t begin to describe. “Incomparable? In that they’re more theoretical, or…?” His broad shoulder rolled as he leaned back into the line of his cane and began walking to the door, and he threw a glance back in her direction, apparently as some brusque sort of invitation to join him. Heron was no mage, for all his conflicted interest in magic, and considering the reason he'd extended the invitation to Lliryn in the first place, he was more interested in her impression of the role she’d just played. For now, at least. His own judgments could come later. "Have to start somewhere--if it's a field that interests you, of course. Know most on your path don’t tend to stray into these guildhalls.” He cleared his throat. “But it’s always something, keeping us out of an interdisciplinary classroom. The field, for us. Even I haven’t had much time to dedicate to training outside the Blades for the past--oh, decade or so.” Speaking of understatements. “This setting is rather distinct,” she admitted (in a fashion), “as are the students themselves, I suppose. It requires making some necessary adjustments for the sake of compatibility.” Fortunately, teaching the fundamentals of white magic to the previous group was far less of a challenge than attempting to explain other, more advanced theories. It was quite easy to number the differences between those like herself, who thrived in quiet, studious settings, and those whose skills were honed for martial training. After the glance Heron had given her, Lex took her cue and followed along beside him. Moving out of the classroom, Lex considered the rest of the guildhall with interest. Even if she did know a number of fighters, and a young squire besides, her experiences in guild territory were still very few indeed. Lex fell attentively into place beside the older man, keeping with his pace. “Oh?” She gave him a curious sideways glance. It was an easy prompt for him to continue, and suitably vague regarding her own opinions. No more specifics to be had in that direction, apparently. Heron led them through warm, dim corridors of ancient beveled limestone, paneled with ornately-carved friezes of cherry and oak. Hellwyrm and its surrounding churchly environs had been his home for the majority of his life, and were now more familiar to him than his country origins would ever be, both beautiful and utilitarian. "Oh," he echoed, finally. "Considering my path in the guild, there's not much else to tell." Even as a new conscript in the Order, Heron’d had limited time at best to mentor new recruits. After he was made an officer, and then in his near-decade of service as Feldwebel for the most elite sect of the Knighthood, his time for reaching outside the Blades to offer his services diminished by the year. He still made a point of headhunting the occasional promising recruit and grooming them for the field, but as his responsibilities grew, his availability for training anyone but those under his direct command shrank until there was hardly room for one apprentice at a time. The young Korporal Cassul, in fact, had been one of his final true protégés. Since his official—change of position, however, Fw Shaw had expanded the training program, practically building a series of workshops from the ground up. The Blades were still his primary charges, but these days he’d begun scouring the Fighter’s Guild afresh for the next generation of Templars. Always good to keep busy, he supposed. Even if he was Feldwebel in faded, ceremonial name only, now, the way a general retains his title in retirement. A descriptive husk. “Keeping study diverse and competitive safeguards the health of the guild, as I’m sure you’re aware. My primary concern these days is supporting that goal.” Heron led them out out along a covered walk bordering Hellwyrm's central courtyard. The sky was threatening, but the stones beneath their feet retained the warmth of the day, and several young squires were scattered around the grass or perched on the lip of a low fountain. They came to a slow stop near one of the gates to the street. “You did well today.” As with all his praise, it came plainly and succinctly. “And frankly, Ms. Lliryn, I’m more interested in hearing your goals than in talking about my past. ” Lex simply nodded at the words of approval. When taking into consideration her own goals, however much she had seemed guarded before, it was if the topic had compelled her to reinforce the gates. She crossed her arms and considered herself for a moment. It wasn’t so long ago when Rictor had asked her a similar question, and it had put her off just as much. For though she had kept her focus on one goal for so long, advancing as a mage to those prestigious ranks of an arithmetician, once it had been realized, Lex found herself quickly at a loss at where to next advance. Attempting to join the Disciples seemed a reasonable option once, but life had certainly found enough ways in which to complicate such a decision. “My goals are as they have always been,” she explained thoughtfully. “To serve others in the name of Faram. Finding a way in which my knowledge can best be put to use, however...” Admitting her uncertainty aloud was nothing less than difficult. The edge of his mouth lifted, a smile brought on by déjà vu: he remembered that early conviction. When he was young, the drive to serve his newly-discovered god eclipsed shape and structure in such a manner that it threatened to overwhelm. Faith became the answer and the question all at once, sweeping aside earthly concerns even as it demanded earthly greatness, giving direction even as it scattered. Before the name had turned to ash in his mouth, he'd sought Faram's will every day. In the end, he supposed, it had been the Blades who'd provided the direction he'd so ardently hunted. It was easier to depend on magistrates, priests—the Cardinal, the Kaplan—as interpreters of The Law. He came to think of himself as a physical instrument, varyingly blunt or surgical, but a means to an end nonetheless. There was no sense in instruments interpreting the will of the stars. And it all came down to mechanics, in the end. He wanted to tell her to pray on it, to beg for guidance from the god they still technically shared, as he once had. As, sometimes, he still did. "A question we all must answer for ourselves, at some point, Ms. Lliryn," Heron said, rapping twice on the gate with his stick. The brisk thock thock echoed the syncopated crackings and cadences of staff against staff that had filled the training hall not half an hour hence. “Sure you’ll have plenty of options to keep open until then.” Ancient timbers groaned, and a seam down the center of the arched gate began to split open. A shadow fell across their faces. “I suppose you are correct,” she agreed vaguely. Lex shook her head, keeping herself from indulging in too much introspection. That was a task for another hour, and instead, she turned her attention to the street outside the guildhall gate. It was time now to commit herself to more immediate tasks, and Lex made certain to thank him once again politely before excusing herself. Heron watched her set off, arms crossed over his chest, heavy shoulder resting lightly against the gate’s standpost. The fading light over the tops of the shops and churches outside glowed like the embers of a fire, and he could tell by the angle of the sun he had hardly an hour before his final session of the day. “Almalexia,” he called, before she could get more than a few yards across the cobblestones. “If you need someone to consult with.” Something registered in her eyes when she turned and nodded, but whether it was a sign of thanks, or acknowledgement, or merely a tidy farewell, it was hard to say. She was on her way in an instant, and shortly Heron drifted off the wall and receded into the depths of Hellwyrm Hall, as always. |