The sun was breaking over the walls of the Grey Tower, as Beron went over the pages he had grabbed from the Library. He had been avoiding a rare rainy day at the Grey Tower, using one of his study periods to try and find information on some of the training used by the various kingdoms. He knew that as a Ji’val or Gaidin he would be counted among the officers if the Grey Tower was ever sent to aide one of the Westland nations, and he had decided it would be a good idea to try and brush up.
He had found a few books, mostly with the help of a young Novice who had seemed born to mouse among the stacks of books. Unfortunately everything he had found had been incredibly dry; written by someone who Beron imagined had spent their life hunched over dusty sheets of paper and cared little for the reader.
He had found one interesting tidbit though, nestled amongst the boredom inducing books, he had found a small journal of a former Gaidin. In it had been written many thoughts, poems and recollections that Beron had found enjoyable to read. But what truly had surprised him was the notes and descriptions of a dagger based style he had yet to encounter in his training.
He had learned some dagger as he had advanced from Drin, mostly as a way of helping to settle his muscles into new patterns and for those times when close walls prevented the sword or axe skills he knew. But this journal had described something incredibly interesting, a style that in many ways was cantered around protecting a bond mate or other charge. And so the early morning found Beron with daggers in hand, the two training blades comfortable and familiar in his hands.
The journal had included descriptions and drawings of forms to utilize, and while many of them were familiar, Beron knew he would need time to practice the variations and subtleties. And so he began to work through some warm up stances, his mind mulling over the journals words as he let his muscle memory work his muscles and limber his body.
Circle, always circle. Be like the wind or the water, always moving and flowing, Beron spoke to himself as he began to move through the simple forms that provided the basic patterns. The journal had spoke of the need for movement, no stiff blows that forced you to plant your feet; you did not stop the sword or spear with daggers by imitating iron.
Instead, the forms called for you to be like the wind. If the blow was too strong, move it like a willow and circle your attacker. Always be adjusting and limber, the core of his hips and back often flexed and bent in supple ways as Beron moved from a mock parry to a strike. Then he flowed through some kicks and steps to finish his warm up.
Sweating; his muscles protesting a little from the added speed and suppleness he was demanding of them, Beron moved over to the target dummy to begin practicing the forms and patterns that made up his attacks. Taking his daggers, he moved through the forms carefully at first giving his off hand time to adapt to the feeling of the pattern. Knowing the journal had said that each must flow without pause. Beron recalled Bastian’s description of learning the axe. Perfecting each stroke until it came as readily as breathing and knew the style he had found in the journal would be years in mastering.
Pausing for a moment, Beron stooped to grab some water from the pails kept filled by Drin. The cool water felt good in the growing heat of the day, and he grabbed the journal for a quick perusal. Think of the waves on the ocean, when they crash against a lone rock they do not stall. Rather they circle around until their force is spent, Beron read in a whisper as he looked at the next portion of practice.
Placing the target dummy in the center of the sand Beron paced out concentric rings from there. These rings made the basis of the form, controlling each circle would protect the center where whoever was being protected stood. As Beron began to move, he let his mind focus on the movement and forms that allowed him to remain mobile enough to control the circles. After moving through several defences he moved into the next closest ring. Here the dummy was closer and had to be shielded with more intent as he practiced shifting and deflecting blows away and outwards. He was becoming more comfortable with the second blade, and he knew that with continued practice it would eventually be as easy as assuming Lion on the Hill .
The last circle was his own person and as he practiced the blocks and strikes, he realized that this style would demand that he often take a little blow to be prepared for the heavy ones. He twisted and grabbed the dummy as much as he was able, but he realized that to truly practice the style he had found in the journal to its fullest extent; would require a sparring partner.
With that thought in mind, Beron put the target dummy back in its usual position, and once more began to practice the kicks and forms that would enable his daggers to deflect and direct blows as he willed. Pushing himself hard, Beron kept the pace going harder and harder until eventually his hands could no longer keep the proper patterns; fatigue burning in his shoulders and hips.
Smiling he stopped with Folding the fan , before using the water pail to splash water on his face. Looking over the fences he could see a steady stream of Drin heading to their classes. Knowing he should make his way to the dining hall, Beron collected the old journal, making a mental note to ask Owen if he could copy the drawings and notes. The Library would be interested in having the original back he was certain.
———
The attacker comes at you like a rushing river. The wise learn to channel the rivers path, or wash ashore Beron read to himself as he was once more at the practice sands. He had been distracted by the ideas and thoughts in the journal all day. Fortunately he had been mostly surpervising some of the learning ranks as they worked in the stables, something he could do in his sleep after growing up in Saldaea.
It wasn’t just the strikes and throws he liked Beron decided, it was the mental aspects that seemed as much a part of the style as any form. After his Arches, he had been looking for ways to broaden his understanding of the martial skills that formed a Gaidin’s life. And while its talk of water to describe the energy that moved between the fighters seemed like something Owen would understand more; once he got past the language he liked what he was exploring.
Moving into the sands once more, Beron once again began to move through the circling steps and sweeping motions of the style. This time he found his muscles warming up to the patterns faster as they became more familiar, and as he sweat through the heat of the afternoon, he knew he would try to find a sparring partner soon.
He had found a few books, mostly with the help of a young Novice who had seemed born to mouse among the stacks of books. Unfortunately everything he had found had been incredibly dry; written by someone who Beron imagined had spent their life hunched over dusty sheets of paper and cared little for the reader.
He had found one interesting tidbit though, nestled amongst the boredom inducing books, he had found a small journal of a former Gaidin. In it had been written many thoughts, poems and recollections that Beron had found enjoyable to read. But what truly had surprised him was the notes and descriptions of a dagger based style he had yet to encounter in his training.
He had learned some dagger as he had advanced from Drin, mostly as a way of helping to settle his muscles into new patterns and for those times when close walls prevented the sword or axe skills he knew. But this journal had described something incredibly interesting, a style that in many ways was cantered around protecting a bond mate or other charge. And so the early morning found Beron with daggers in hand, the two training blades comfortable and familiar in his hands.
The journal had included descriptions and drawings of forms to utilize, and while many of them were familiar, Beron knew he would need time to practice the variations and subtleties. And so he began to work through some warm up stances, his mind mulling over the journals words as he let his muscle memory work his muscles and limber his body.
Circle, always circle. Be like the wind or the water, always moving and flowing, Beron spoke to himself as he began to move through the simple forms that provided the basic patterns. The journal had spoke of the need for movement, no stiff blows that forced you to plant your feet; you did not stop the sword or spear with daggers by imitating iron.
Instead, the forms called for you to be like the wind. If the blow was too strong, move it like a willow and circle your attacker. Always be adjusting and limber, the core of his hips and back often flexed and bent in supple ways as Beron moved from a mock parry to a strike. Then he flowed through some kicks and steps to finish his warm up.
Sweating; his muscles protesting a little from the added speed and suppleness he was demanding of them, Beron moved over to the target dummy to begin practicing the forms and patterns that made up his attacks. Taking his daggers, he moved through the forms carefully at first giving his off hand time to adapt to the feeling of the pattern. Knowing the journal had said that each must flow without pause. Beron recalled Bastian’s description of learning the axe. Perfecting each stroke until it came as readily as breathing and knew the style he had found in the journal would be years in mastering.
Pausing for a moment, Beron stooped to grab some water from the pails kept filled by Drin. The cool water felt good in the growing heat of the day, and he grabbed the journal for a quick perusal. Think of the waves on the ocean, when they crash against a lone rock they do not stall. Rather they circle around until their force is spent, Beron read in a whisper as he looked at the next portion of practice.
Placing the target dummy in the center of the sand Beron paced out concentric rings from there. These rings made the basis of the form, controlling each circle would protect the center where whoever was being protected stood. As Beron began to move, he let his mind focus on the movement and forms that allowed him to remain mobile enough to control the circles. After moving through several defences he moved into the next closest ring. Here the dummy was closer and had to be shielded with more intent as he practiced shifting and deflecting blows away and outwards. He was becoming more comfortable with the second blade, and he knew that with continued practice it would eventually be as easy as assuming Lion on the Hill .
The last circle was his own person and as he practiced the blocks and strikes, he realized that this style would demand that he often take a little blow to be prepared for the heavy ones. He twisted and grabbed the dummy as much as he was able, but he realized that to truly practice the style he had found in the journal to its fullest extent; would require a sparring partner.
With that thought in mind, Beron put the target dummy back in its usual position, and once more began to practice the kicks and forms that would enable his daggers to deflect and direct blows as he willed. Pushing himself hard, Beron kept the pace going harder and harder until eventually his hands could no longer keep the proper patterns; fatigue burning in his shoulders and hips.
Smiling he stopped with Folding the fan , before using the water pail to splash water on his face. Looking over the fences he could see a steady stream of Drin heading to their classes. Knowing he should make his way to the dining hall, Beron collected the old journal, making a mental note to ask Owen if he could copy the drawings and notes. The Library would be interested in having the original back he was certain.
———
The attacker comes at you like a rushing river. The wise learn to channel the rivers path, or wash ashore Beron read to himself as he was once more at the practice sands. He had been distracted by the ideas and thoughts in the journal all day. Fortunately he had been mostly surpervising some of the learning ranks as they worked in the stables, something he could do in his sleep after growing up in Saldaea.
It wasn’t just the strikes and throws he liked Beron decided, it was the mental aspects that seemed as much a part of the style as any form. After his Arches, he had been looking for ways to broaden his understanding of the martial skills that formed a Gaidin’s life. And while its talk of water to describe the energy that moved between the fighters seemed like something Owen would understand more; once he got past the language he liked what he was exploring.
Moving into the sands once more, Beron once again began to move through the circling steps and sweeping motions of the style. This time he found his muscles warming up to the patterns faster as they became more familiar, and as he sweat through the heat of the afternoon, he knew he would try to find a sparring partner soon.
- Spoiler: show
