All Work and No Play (Andy)

[Sunny]

Dax

Every so often, the Creator saw fit to throw new obstacles in the path of self destruction that Dax willfully chose to walk. Usually, those obstacles were shaped like a red-headed Shienaran with a perpetual scowl. Occasionally they were Saldaean, and the disappointment in the older woman’s blue eyes would bring him back to earth with a thump. Sometimes, however, the Pattern thought it would be funny to pit Tairen against Tairen, and Julian Taavo always won the match, no matter how much Dax cursed at him.

Rank had a way of coming out on top in the Tower.

Thus Dax sat atop the fence that led to the practice yards one balmy midsummer day, two practice swords leaning against the wooden rungs to the side. He wore a shirt, for a wonder, though he had rolled the sleeves up to the elbows leaving the herons etched in black ink on his forearms free for the world to see.

He was waiting for a man named Alrim. A Borderlander, or so he had been told. One who claimed skill with a blade, but seemed to lack the personal motivation to acquire the knowledge he said he possessed. Reminds me of another Drin I read about, Julian had said, brown eyes sharp as he stared at Dax. One who shirked lessons and caused trouble, and shocked everyone by making it to Gaidin at all. Dax snorted at the memory. The one thing he could be certain of about his time in gray was that no one had doubted his ability to swing a sword, no matter how many times he was truant from classes.

He stretched, and when he relaxed, he saw a man who might match Alrim’s description approaching. The tinkle of bells gave it away if nothing else. The Tairen reached down and grabbed the training swords by the hilts, and when Alrim got close enough, tossed one to him without preamble. “I'm Dax," he said. "Let’s get started." Then he swung over the fence and dropped into the sand, waiting impatiently for the Drin to join him.

"Let's start with words. Tell me what you think you know.”

[Andy]

Funny, he remembered caring so much how others saw him, agonizing for bell after bell about reputation, punishment and innumerable other things. He had been that way the first few weeks at the Grey Tower too. Punishments, daily scowls and the sense that no matter what he did now the best he could hope for was a form of astonishment ending with the words ‘keep it up else you’re back doing…’ had ironically freed him. He no longer cared as he knew there was no changing it. All he could do was push through, bit by bit, take the lashes for infringements and come out the other side proving them wrong. And making them eat my cloak and asking for a new one afterward he told himself as he entered the arena for the afternoon, Dax Gaidin was easily seen, tattooed and according to whispered legend a bad influence and a rebel. Alrim liked him. Bells jingling in the breeze and training uniform itching something terrible he barely got within a few feet before a wooden lathe was tossed his way. He caught it b the handle easily enough, there was no fear catching sanded wood and he brought it up behind his head, hands either side of his head to pull it into the base of his skull as a support. Looking at Dax Gaidin there was no time or inclination for pleasantries, just questions. So it’s to be that kind of session. I’m game he told himself. “About the sword or how to use it?” he asked and when no reply seemed forthcoming he shrugged and opted for both, bringing the lathe around to be horizontal and at chest height between the, held in his right hand. “Pommel, grip, guard, blade, edge and tip,” stated, his free left hand tapping each part starting by his grip hand and working outwards as it continued, “can be double edged and single edged. Tip is strongest for cutting as has most force when moving. Pommel can be used as weapon and if it has a blunt part by the guard like with hand-half ones can grab the blade for leverage but not usually the best idea. Guard can be used too in a inch, depends what type but I’ve seen full guards smash teeth in before, ruin most people’s day. Some have blade catchers or ring grips. Heard tell it makes using it easier but never had the chance to test it myself” “None on this but grooves are common, heard tell helps improve the strength and make it lighter at the same time but I’m no smithy. Balance depends on the tang length and thickness but again I’m no expert there either. Pointy end goes in the enemy” he finished the anatomy and tilted his head to the side a little to see of there were any sign of a sense of humour. He sighed slightly and frowned at the lather before him, letting it fall and rolling his wrist with it, getting used to the length and weight whilst loosening the joint. “Basics I was told were cut, thrust, parry, and strike. Can’t remember the names too well but was taught some stances and motions by my father. Sheathing, unsheathing…” he trailed off as memory loomed blank and the undersides of too many tavern tables stood as tombstones to now forgotten knowledge. H used to be better than he was. He couldn’t remember if he had been happier. He presumed so but there was always that lingering of doubt. “Miss anything Gaidin Dax?” he asked, for once earnestly. He didn’t want to fail after all, he just knew h was half of what he used to be and that went for his swordplay too.

[Sunny]

Dax propped his own lathe against his foot and listened to the Drin talk about the foibles and features of the sword. It was clear the man knew what he was talking about when it came to book learning, at least...but then, that was just it. The information he rattled off so easily could be memorized from a piece of paper without actually holding a weapon. He did smile at the comment about the pointy end, grinding the practice sword into the dirt reflexively.

“Impressive,” he said at the end. “At least that gets the boring part out of the way. You did miss one thing- the Forms. The names are ridiculous, but as a method for remembering useful movement sets, they are invaluable. If you can reach the ko’di and know even the most basic Forms, naught but a Blademaster,” he flashed a grin as he glanced down at the ink on his wrists, “will stop you.” The Oneness was a topic for another day, if Alrim did not show signs of knowing it.

“We’ll start with something a bit more basic, however. Guard.” He brought the bundled lathes up in a smooth arc, crossing blades with the Drin. Promising, that he knew to respond to avoid getting thumped. “So we’re in this position. Precious few sword fights start this cleanly, and no one you ever fight will stand still this long, but let’s assume for a second we are the chosen ones and everything is perfect. Where should your eyes be to ensure victory? What is your next move?"

[Andy]

He had to concede that he had mentioned nothing of forms but then he had received no extended intermediate training, just enough that he could be considered a true Borderlander and to survive most average situations. He would be the first to say that he had a long way to go before he could achieve the coveted Heron mark that was so prominently emblazoned upon his instructor’s arms. He was under no illusions that he would lose every time against the man and even an Arafellin as lacklustre as h knew to show respect. “I will remember, though I have never managed to be any good at the Oneness. Many spoke of it though, perhaps it is time to try for it again” he reflected. He had little time to react to the movement but luckily enough reflex kicked in and his own lathe had been close enough to where it needed to be that the solid clack of wood upon wood came once and then died as they stood facing each other, Dax still speaking and asking questions. A harsh tutor given that it was hard enough to do one of the tasks let alone both at once. He snorted at the theatricality of the wording though - he was right of course. “Eyes, torso, shoulders usually,” he responded, moving the lath up and down vertically between them, matched neatly by Dax, the soft tapping as they batted was satisfying, “faces give intent away, shoulders and torso can show direction and impending attack” Following Dax’s example on the last word he pushed his lathe to one side, seeking to force the other’s wide and create an opening, into which he brought his rear foot forwards, circling the lathe around to come upwards diagonally. It was easily backed away from and he pursued with a vertical strike, circling the lathe as it went above shoulder height and bringing it downwards. He didn’t know the name of any forms but he had been tutored and he had years of observation to draw upon. Still his movements were nowhere near fluid, instead trying to make up in aggression what he lacked in grace. Dax, of course, would block the vertical strike and turned it neatly so that Alrim had to step back to create space. Toying with me, he could have smacked my ribs in if he wanted. Grateful he didn’t. Still, doesn’t stop me being sloppy. Rusty Alrim, too little practise. Need to up your efforts or you’ll end up being a plaything for bandits he scolded himself, for once acting like the Drin’far’ji he had signed up to be. He settled into an old memory, the name had eroded but the positioning hadn’t - a lowered stance with most of the weight on his back foot, balls of his feet rocking slightly, ready to move. The lathe was at shoulder height, point angled down but towards Dax and he was looking over the hilt at him. A name tugged at him - Ox’s Horns? Something about horns perhaps.

[Sunny]

Dax floated in the ko’di, his body responding to the Arafellin’s movements of its own accord while his mind assessed his choices, movements, or lack thereof. There were moments of cohesion, where one stance flowed to the next, and the Tairen could see that the man had at least received some training. There were also moments where he struck too hard, or retreated too fast, off balance and open for attack.

He had some training, the Gaidin mused thoughtfully. He knows what he’s doing, but his body is incapable of performing the movements correctly. Practicing for unarmed combat would help with that a little, but nothing would be more effective than single-minded dedication to improvement. Did Alrim have it in him? According to Julian, no. Perhaps it is time to prove that priss-face wrong.

Dax countered the Ox Lowers Its Horns with Black Pebbles on Snow, his wooden blade knocking the other’s aside with a resounding crack, then shifting downward with the full strength of his arm. Alrim countered -thankfully, or the man would have had a raised welt across his ribs for weeks- and Dax stepped back, his sword swinging in a half circle before cutting upward toward his opponent’s chest.

[Andy]

Despite his earlier suggestions about a face giving things away it was quickly apparent that this would not help him against Dax, the man’s eyes were almost serene, certainly opaque to any sort of reading. The only recourse he had were his reflexes coupled with peripheral vision, the shoulders rolled certain ways before motions but they were not perfect indicators as he discovered when the counter assault came. Quick, cutting and precise. He barely caught the lathe at all. His lathe was swiped aside, the impact recoiling up through his forearm to set in a dull ache, then carried forwards towards him. Stepping back he brought his own lath down and across his body, almost pushing it to the side, pivoting slightly to avoid the tip. It almost seemed to waggle in the mocking knowledge that his guard was weak and had just been proven. Light that was close! was the only thought in his head as Dax stepped back. Alrim stepped forwards to follow him and saw immediately that had been a mistake. In trying to get inside the reach as the Gaidin had done he was meeting a strike head on. Foolish. Still he was not one to admit defeat. Twisting his body he opted to allow the lathe to follow onward with its momentum, seeking to knock it higher than intended with an upward clack of his weapon, grip almost inverted entirely, blade tip dipping down and under, sweeping up. Turning his grip back to normal was hard, jerky and what was more it was uncomfortable. He was sure what he had stone was incorrect and that there were an easier way of doing it but he was working on instinct more than anything. Stepping forwards he went for a lunge that he hoped might get through the opening, or force the man back at least. It was a clumsy, though correct, version of The Falcon Swoops. One handed and overhand at that he was exposed, he knew it. If he were lucky he could return to a guard stance if given the space.

[Sunny]

Dax held back as he watched Alrim work through how to reverse his blade. It took a fraction of a breath for the Drin to gather himself and strike again, though his choice of Forms was questionable. Then again, perhaps he didn’t know it was a form at all- but that still did not excuse the glaring hole in his guard. The Gaidin’s sword snaked forward until the edge kissed the side of Alrim’s neck. “You’re dead,” he said pleasantly.

The Arafellin did not seem surprised or upset by the news. Dax shook his head and stepped back, dropping the lathe to ground point-first into the sand. “So...you know the technical details. You know some of the movements and some of the footwork, but I can tell it’s been awhile and your body can’t keep up. As you are you might survive a fight in a courtyard, but full on battle you’d be Trolloc feed in minutes unless you had some good mates. The answer to that, of course, is to learn more, and practice.” Clearly the Drin had not been doing enough of that since their unarmed spar, but that was a topic for another day.

The Tairen’s gaze traveled over his student thoughtfully. “Stand straight, adjust your grip. Yes, perfect. Now perform the Falcon Swoops -that last move you tried on me- again.” He watched critically until Alrim had the sword in midair. “Stop. Okay, this Form leaves you wide open here, here, and here,” his fingers indicated points on his student’s body. “What are your options to avoid a painful end?”

OOC: Roan gave thumb’s up to lessons, so now it’s make-shit-up time for me.

[Andy]

The tap to the neck brought a neat end to their short but revealing spar, he had much work to do before he was able to claim any mantle of ability in the Grey Tower. It was a stark contrast to Arafel in some ways. Expert swordsmen were common in the Borderlands but he had the feeling that all of the Gaidin in the Tower were expert at something. It was a good thing they weren’t a standing army poised to invade, it would have been over quickly. Still, from the words spoken he had acquitted himself well enough he thought. “Yes Gaidin Dax, I will attend to it as often as I can” was th response to the suggestion of practise, it was tue but that didn’t mean he had to like it. He would actually follow through with it though, that was the thing. He liked the sword, he found a certain sense of pace using it when he wasn’t frustrated at his own ineptitude. He Hadn’t done it in Arafel because he had been too busy distracted by other, more comely and homely events. The Grey Tower was a fun place to skive off from sweeping but weaponry he could stand by. As it was it seemed the first lesson was to come immediately. He blinked a few time, surprised, before complying with the instruction. He settled into a middle guard stance, blade angled upwards and forwards. Usually he would not think about himself but about his opponent but now it was pointed out to him he did feel a rounding of his back, a hunch of the shoulders. He pushed his chest forwards, shoulders back and tried to hold the imaginary straight line through his spine. It naturally forced his head upwards at the same time. Along with the shifting of grip, hands slightly more apart and aligned, he could feel how it would lead to smoother movement if he could keep it up. He went for the last attack again, back foot stepping forwards and lathe shooting out into the overhand lunge. His weaknesses were immediately pointed out to him - neck, head, chest and gut. All were mortal blows if done right. As the question was posed he tried to think of counters or conservations. There were few things he could do when so exposed. Which was it, he thought. He was over-extending and doing it head on at that. It meant he over-committed and would be punished for it. He considered and shifted his body back, more straight backed now than leaned forwards. Torso pivoted to give him the extra few inches of length a lunge sought for. “I went to far and too hard,” he responded slowly, thoughtfully, “it meant I couldn’t do anything but get hit. If I went like this then I could twist away from a strike towards my gut with a step back and sideways. If they come for the neck like you then I have enough control to bring the blade upwards to parry and step back into a guard. I suppose” “I’d still leave my arm exposed but they’d have to try hard to get at my head without getting inside my guard. But I could respond to it easier now, without having pushed too far forwards?” he ended, the questioning tone would be clear, he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t the expert after all. Besides which he had just been neatly killed the last time he had tried so he was more unsure of himself than before.

OOC: Awesome! Thanks, you're a sparkly star

[Sunny]

Blue eyes swept over their student, taking in the adjustments to posture, the shifting of feet, and then the experimental movement. The words that went with the gestures were promising, and finally Dax smiled. The problems the Arafellin had could not be resolved in one training session, but given how quickly he caught onto what Dax showed him, the Tairen didn’t think it would take the Drin long to surpass the skill he had once possessed. IF he applies himself. “Nailed it,” he said approvingly. “Mobility is very important. One additional thing to consider is why you over extended. Whether due to desperation or simple oversight, it seems likely you committed to a move without considering what to do after- and that moment of hesitation as you decided was deadly.”

The Gaidin brought his own lathe blade up into a mirror of Alrim’s. “For example. From here there are several moves I can make, and when I get into this position I need to have those options on my mind. The most common is to shift into a guard position; however, I can also strike down sharply, parry, then make another attack. Essentially, every time I strike or parry I need to be half a step ahead, with an idea of what I will do if my opponent counters, if he moves, if he plays dirty. That way my body knows what to do without direction, and my mind is free, yet again, to think ahead.” He paused, then added reluctantly, “this process is actually what makes the Forms valuable, even if their names are unbearably prissy.” He could not stop himself from laughing as he stepped back.

“Let’s try again when you’ve caught your breath.” When Alrim was ready, the two men crossed blades once more. “This time, focus on holding yourself straight, and keeping your mind alert for your next move. Guard.”

OOC: You are welcome to write about / gloss over their entire next spar in one post if you want (or not, if you want, as well). If you choose to do so, Dax will keep up a running commentary ("shoulders back." "watch your feet." "what's your plan?" that kind of thing). He'll move fast enough to make Alrim sweat, but not so fast he can't keep up. The purpose is to teach rather than humiliate, after all.

[Andy]

Praise, it felt nice even though he knew that further instruction would always be highlighted. He was there to improve himself after all, there was little point in sitting on his hands and telling himself he was perfect. Despite his personal railing against being told how to live and what to do he accepted that learning to fight properly required being ordered about. He didn’t mind, one day he’d be on of the best swords of Arafel if he put his mind to it and surely that would be enough to return and show them how wrong they had been about him? But that was a long time away yet and he focused himself on the words and actions played out by Dax, listening and working his mind more than he had done for a long while. There was a truth in the instruction that Alrim had never really thought about, the idea of future agency. To know what he wanted to do next as opposed to what he was doing in the present. To control the flow of battle, not just to react. Reactive, that sums me up pretty neatly. Controlling not so much. Never liked leashing anyone but in war…I can see the point. It’s different. Never saw it that way. How who I am defines how I fight… he reflected, it was a large thought, a deep one. No doubt he would dwell upon it for some time before its secrets were fully revealed. “Prissy?” he snorted, “can’t argue there. Always thought whoever named them had too much time on his hands” He followed the instruction and settled into a guard, this time thinking it through and selecting a middle guard, hilt held loosely at waist height in the grip that had been shown, blade angled slightly upwards, towards Dax’s jaw line. Legs were bent but not too far apart. He tried to focus on his posture as well as the actual sparring but it was difficult. He had to learn the link between instinct and intent. “Back straight, straighter. Head up or you’ll choke yourself silly. Better” came the responses, Alrim shifting until Dax was satisfied. That done the session began with renewed vigour. The attack came in, a simple diagonal slash that was meant to test if his thick skull had absorbed anything taught thus far. True to the teaching Alrim proved his listening skills. Lathe came up to absorb the impact before letting the blade slip, sliding it away from his body. At the same time he stepped sideways slightly, circled the lathe and turned it into a vertical slash at his instructors head. Dax twisted and it missed and Alrim stepped forwards to keep pace, this time a horizontal assault turned and pushed upwards, countered by Dax with a thrust that Alrim twisted and batted away. “Think what comes next! Footwork! Good, good, but you forgot about this!” were the words, commentary occasionally punctuated with the sound of wood upon flesh, not hard but enough to make Alrim know when he made a mistake and learn from it. It was quicker this time, the speed dictated not so much by increased effort but by intention and planning. Dax was clearly the superior, as it should have been, but Alrim was no slouch. He tried to make up what he lacked in experience with aggression and intellect, a strange but satisfactory pairing. Circling each other now, lathes tapping out at each other, there was a smile plastered across his face. It was not just about the lathe, he was beginning to realise. His body was just as important and he understood why it had been the first thing Dax had addressed as he ducked a slice for his neck and tried for an upward slice and sidestep as a counter before they both stepped back again. I’d never have been able to move between the two as easily had he not. Food for thought he acknowledged as the lathes click-clacked again. Assault, defend, drop back into guard, parry, counter. Repeat. It was when their lathes grappled and it became a test of strength, hilts almost locked, that the difference in skill was made plain as day. Dax just let him push forwards…and wasn’t there. Side-stepped and outmanoeuvred he felt the lathe smack him right across his rump and the involuntary hiss was audible. “Strength isn’t everything, and what did I tell you about over-committing” He nodded, as he shifted and winced slightly as he settled back into a high guard, The Lion on the Hill, and wondered if he could get some of that salve back from Zarayne.