we'll have the scars to prove it. Who: Mag & Storm What: Knocking down your opponent 101. Where: Bahamut Hall When: Thursday, 11/7 Rating: PG Status: Complete
The squire arrived at Bahamut ten minutes before the hour. Unsure of how to occupy himself before meeting Sir Paget, he attended to one of the training dummies. Storm had seen older fighters demolish these targets with ease. By comparison, his own work, while not behind for his level, was clumsy and underpolished. Perhaps it was unfair to assess himself against fighters of experience; however, it was his mentor that he would be facing in the near future.
Stifling his nerves, the boy threw another determined slash at the training dummy. He did not have the strength to slice through dummy, but the edge of his blade embedded itself onto the wood, leaving a long scratch. Progress was progress, he told himself, recalling Sir Paget’s words. Even if it was slow.
Mag arrived early, as was her habit, to see Storm already hacking away at the dummy, and took a moment to watch. She was no expert on swordplay, but even so the squire's shortcomings were not beyond her notice: in the beginning, insufficient strength was a plague that hounded every squire. It could be the reason Storm had seemed insecure when discussing the challenge set to him by Rictor—likely mingled with a desire to make his mentor proud and the naive misperception, also shared by squires the world over, that his mentor was almighty and invincible.
No doubt knocking a well-trained warrior to the ground wouldn't be easy, and Rictor wouldn’t give the kid any free passes. That was the impression Mag got, from her interactions with the man. Yet what Storm lacked in strength he could make up in inventiveness. His disadvantage could become his greatest asset—forced to think on his feet to win, he would be likelier to thrive when faced against seemingly impossible odds. It was a skill he would need, both for the upcoming challenge and his career in the Guild.
She had procured a blunt practice spear from the weapons rack before arriving at the meeting point; as Storm continued to hack away at the dummy, she approached, holding her own weapon in her right hand. In the spirit of emulating Rictor’s challenge, she’d donned armor for the occasion, though it was leather rather than plate. “Morning, Storm,” she greeted with a smile. “Ate a proper breakfast, I hope?”
Immediately, the boy lowered his weapon and assumed a respectful stance. “Good morning, sir,” he replied promptly. “I did.” He felt his nerves mounting as his eyes skimmed her armour, the weapon in her hand. Fortunately, Storm was able to restrain the impulse to swallow. The elder fighter was doing him a kindness, and he did not want to appear anything but grateful for her time.
So he kept as neutral an expression as he could manage, even offering a small smile. The target dummy forgotten, squire awaited knight’s instruction.
Mag returned his smile and nodded at the weapon in Storm’s hand. “I assume that’s what you’re going to use when you spar against Rictor?” The whole point of the exercise was to let Storm practice for the real thing; it would make no sense to practice under different conditions.
“I believe so,” he replied. Storm had yet to determined which weapon he was best suited for, and so swords, Rictor’s own weapon of choice, were what he opted to practice with. Moreover, if he hoped to wield his family’s greatsword one day, it was only fitting that he begin with the simple sword.
The boy did, however, spare the dragoon’s spear an interested glance, remembering his brief experience with the halberd (a positive one). Polearms, perhaps, could be a consideration for a later day.
“Shall we begin here, sir?”
Mag nodded and dropped into stance. “Rictor won’t give you an easy victory. So I won’t either.” She gave Storm a few seconds to prepare. “Do your worst.”
The squire had barely settled into stance himself when she launched her first attack, a jabbing motion at Storm’s shoulder. Her weapon had the advantage of letting her attack while keeping her distance; Storm would need to get past her guard to counter, and work even harder to knock her down. She wasn’t expecting him to get her the first time; it would take some practice.
Caught off-guard, Storm only just managed to parry her blow. Keeping his blade in contact with the spear, he attempted to move forward, following along the length of the woman’s weapon. The blade would be raised then, the boy’s arm moving in a swipe at Mag’s midsection. She smacked his arm away with the shaft of her spear; the wood hit his wrist, but he managed to keep his hold on the sword. She took a step back to put more distance between them; before he could quite recover and fix the openings that had appeared in his stance as he attacked, she executed a series of stabs at his arms and torso. In an attempt to avoid them, he leaned back, and she took advantage of the momentary imbalance in his stance to sweep his legs from under him with her spear.
“First tip: try to keep your balance. Better step back than lean off-kilter.” She held out a hand to help him up. “Let’s try again. See if you can put that plan of yours in action.”
The boy dutifully took her hand and rose to his feet. This time, he took the offensive, coming in with a jab to her solar plexus. As he’d hoped, she deflected it easily with the shaft of the spear. In a crescent-shaped motion, he swept the sword downward, aiming for her feet and, in an attempt to apply the lesson she had just taught him, stepping forward in case she stepped back. She did take a step back, and still the tip of the practice sword grazed her shins; her weapon, which she held on her other side, seemed to shoot forward as she thrust, point aiming at Storm’s chest. She pulled the blow at the last second to avoid hurting him.
“This time you did better,” she said with a smile. “Don’t forget about your opponent’s weapon when you attack with yours, though. You just gave me some nasty cuts, but I killed you. Careful.” She took another step back and tapped the shaft of her spear against the side of her knee, and against her foot. “The weakest part of the tree is the branch. If you’re going to attack my legs or my arms, go for the knees and elbows.” She nodded and settled back into stance. “Again.”
Still somewhat in shock from the abruptness of the killing blow, so to speak, it took Storm a slacked-jaw moment to recollect himself. He nodded, resuming his stance. The possibilities ran briefly through his mind. As though at length deciding, he began with a strike from above. The knight’s spear whipped up in a graceful arc, deflecting the attack. Her elbow thus outstretched, the squire attempted to slide his weapon down to the exposed weakness. When it hit, she felt the numbness spread from the point of impact, and gripped the spear’s shaft tighter with her other hand.
“Much better.” She shook her arm, trying to work some feeling back into it. “Try my knees.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The squire began his next offensive from her right flank. A series of blows afterwards, his clumsy swipe at her knee was intercepted by the blade of her spear. With an easy rotation, Mag disarmed him. And yet the boy simply shook the pain out of his wrist, reaching for the sword with all the diligence of a footsoldier.
The attempts continued that way until, after quite some time, Storm extended a hand in assistance to Mag, who had hit the floor with a startled laugh.