Backscene: To Fight Who: Rhocanth Garal, Cormac Murrough Where: A courtyard in the keep. When: Just before leaving on the group quests, Molioris 9:45 Summary: Cormac sees Rhocanth training for impending battle, and it strikes up a discussion about fighting style. Rating: PG, should be fine for all except for talk of fighting.
The point of the new sword trembled in the air. Nerves vibrated, their hum audible in the dwarf's ears. The steel rose, shimmered in the sun, and struck. It stung the body of his opponent in a series of wicked lashes. The roar of a warrior rattled the stones of the courtyard, channeling through breath and voice the controlled rage of one trained to turn his emotion into more a rapid river, less an aimless typhoon.
After hitting points on a few key spots on the training dummy, tortured canvas weeping and wood splintered from a great deal of use by past recruits, Rhocanth stepped back into a defensive stance. His shield arm was holding up beautifully after it had been healed. He worked it now, first holding it forward, then to the side for a flank. It felt as though it had never been skewered by an arrow at all. All that remained was the memory of the pain -- the incredible, searing pain -- when Guthor had yanked it out.
Finally, he came to rest a little. The young dwarf yanked off one of his gauntlets, then his helm, and ran the back of his hand over his forehead. A sheen of sweat had begun to course over his skin. He had forced himself to practice in the full chain he had been given, and a similar blunted sword to the one he'd received in anticipation of their impending voyages. He would be ready for this enemy they were about to face. He had learned that he was to stand at the head of the group, shield ready, and thus it made him responsible for those behind him, he felt. If the first line failed to hold enemies at bay, it would give them the opportunity to strike at their core, the mages. This he understood, and would not allow.
But for now, his breath was heavy with the weight of his exercise, and he set his helm on the ground, knee down to catch his energy back.