The Grey Tower

Some of the group split off and departed after Jaryd finished his demonstration. The M'Hael watched them go with a slight frown on his face. It seemed both rude and a waste of time to get practice blades only to decide to leave before using them. Were they simply keeping an eye on him? The dark man chewed on his lip, the blunted blade spinning through his fingers with the ease of great practice as he watched their retreating backs.

Something pulled his attention back to the others who had wanted his instruction. The young men and women had split into pairs quietly enough, and were exhanging awkward -and in some cases not so awkward- movements in the way he had shown. Jaryd had promised to move among them, and yet he could not move his feet. He stood frozen for long moments as his fingers flexed, his eyes sliding over the group, returning again and again to the man who had been not-watching him.

Kaia's presence abruptly strengthened over the bond. Are you well, mi cueran? Her voice echoed through his mind, and abruptly iron-clad resolve strengthened his spine. With a burst of reassurance to his lover, the Altaran walked among his students, struggling to ignore the feeling of eyes on him.

A dark-haired Mayener woman had paired off with an older Ji'val who clearly knew more than she; despite that the Drin held her own quite well. Jaryd paused as he walked past. "Take a breath," he advised the Ji'val. "Shift your fingers, just so," he told Paks, adjusting her grip on the dagger. "There, now it is less likely to go flying from your grip."

"What's your problem?" the sharp words were spoken from a few paces away. Jaryd felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. As he turned, he saw the Aielman's fist fly, and the much shorter Drin stumbled to his knees. Whatever the Ji said then was muffled by the clatter of metal, but surprise, then acceptance, crossed his companion's face. The Asha'man cocked his head to the side, but did not interfere....not yet. The Warder Yards trained differently than the Tower, and he had not seen the catalyst for the blow.

Alric was the next to receive his attention, facing off against a woman whose Altaran lineage could not be mistaken. The M'Hael watched as they exchanged blows, stepping in as the Drin gave the taller soldier a saucy smile with her hand at his waist. "Good work," the Red said to the woman. She stepped back and bowed, dark eyes flashing with pride. Jaryd examined the man before him. "You are used to a sword," he said thoughtfully as his eyes drew down the younger man's arm. "A dagger may be similarly shaped, but she is not the same. Remember to stay fluid- practice as often as you must. Try again!"

That left only the gray-clad man who had drawn his attention in the first place, paired with a Drin who seemed more than willing to give it a go, but somewhat lacking in inspiration. They did quite well; Jaryd forced himself to watch for the same amount of time he had the others, and to pretend that he was not avoiding meeting the fellow's eyes just as intently as his impromptu student was avoiding meeting his.

Finally he turned away, taking a shaky breath as he strode back to his original spot. By the time he reached the corner, he had regained the Void, and spoke with uncanny clarity. "There are many, many specific places to target on an opponent, particular ways of holding your body, and endless lists of things you should not do. It is important to learn those things before you face a real adversary, but I cannot teach them all to you today." He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.

"What I can tell you is this: If you want to fight like I do, then you must fight with your entire body. If you focus only on your knife hand and ignore the rest of you, you will get hurt. Think of it..." he paused, eyes catching on the tall red-head who stood nearby. "The Aiel refer to fighting as dancing," he said finally, "and for this style of dagger work, it is a particualrly apt descriptor. Find other teachers, learn what I cannot teach you, and practice threading it together into a dance of death."

The sky pushed down on him, and abruptly he could take no more. "If you have questions, ask quickly," he said, wetting his lips as he glanced about. "I must be going soon."

“Take a breath,” the Asha’man told the Ji’Val who looked as if he wanted to dump Paks on her head. The Drin could not help the slight smirk as she watched her partner step away, but then turned her attention to the Asha’man. She watched as he adjusted her grip, and furrowed her brows as she felt the difference from her initial grip to the new one. “This feels better. . .more natural. Thank you, Asha’man,” Paks replied.

Anything else she was about to say slipped away as she looked over to another Ji’Val/Drin pairing, though the Ji’Val sent the Drin to his knees. Paks recognized the Ji’Val as a man from the group march she went on not long after her arrival, but she didn’t know the man well.

It didn’t take long for Jaryd to make his rounds. When he finished, he addressed the small group, informing them that working with Daggers required knowledge of other forms of fighting. Her limited experience with unarmed might help, though she suspected she’d need to make more of an effort at both if she really wanted to improve.

Improve? Paks wondered. She had to do something to pass the time from morning to evening. Once night fell, and her chores were done, she could do as she pleased, or so she thought. Drinking enough to forget tended to be one of her nightly goals, though it often was combined with finding someone to share a bed with.

“I have no questions at this time, Asha’man. Thank you for sharing your knowledge with us,” Paks replied. She may be roguish, but being polite tended to go hand in hand with playing the rogue.

A bruise beginning to grow on his cheek, the young Drin seemed to become more cooperative. He was obviously used to fighting with a knife, even if this new style was as new to him as it was to Terric. The two men danced back and forth comfortable in their existing martial skill even if the new style was foreign to them. One exchange ended with Terric’s blade at the other man’s throat. Another saw him take a series of slashes to the gut. During one of their passes, the Drin passed up a chance to slash Terric’s wrist in favor of a difficult stab at his torso. Catching the arm, he hyperextended the younger man’s wrist causing him to drop his knife. In an encouraging voice, Terric said, “Don’t be afraid to go for wounding strikes. If you cut a man’s arm, he might drop his weapon. You will probably slow him, and cut deep enough and he has to worry about bleeding out. It isn’t always a quick win, but any blood drawn adds up.” The Drin seemed to take his words to heart and Terric had to keep form over extending in their subsequent bouts lest he get his wrists symbolically slit.

Eventually, the M’hael called an end to the lesson. He looked rather jittery and slightly ill as he answered the occasional question and gave a few words of parting advice. Terric wasn’t close enough to tell much, but he thought the man could do with a trip to see a Yellow. As the class began to break up, he caught the sleeve of the man he’d spared with. “If you feel up to it,” he said glancing down at the now purpling bruise on the man’s cheek, “And if you remember to keep your head, we can spar again. My name is Terric, by the way.”

With a rueful grin, the Drin touched his cheek, “You’ve got a monster right hook, Terric. I’d be honored to train with you.” Reaching a hand out to shake, he said, “Telwin Fjord.”

The short weapon still felt wrong in his hands. The M’hael was right, knives weren’t swords. He didn’t expect his footwork to change much, but he was going about this all wrong. Locking eyes with his opponent, Alric did his best to mimic her knives constant motion and viper quick strikes. The Altaran, whose name he still didn’t know, gave him a rather distracting smirk before launching into another series of strikes. He snapped his head and shoulders back from a strike at his eyes, and countered at her bicep. She flowed back like water, pulling her arm out of the way. She launched back in with an aggressive series of slashes. Knife all but forgotten Alric managed to stay out of reach due mostly to years of experience on battlefields. His skill with a knife was still woefully inadequate. That was in fact what he was supposed to be training so he tried bringing the knife up to parry some of her attacks. Still unused to the weapon’s size his knife was rarely in the right place when it needed to be. She pressed the attack, smirk growing into a wicked grin, then shockingly into a smile of girlish delight. Even as he was pressed back, he felt himself begin to smile as well.

With a series of feints, she managed to slip past his guard. The practice knife froze with the tip less than an inch away from the soft underside of his jaw. Eyes wide, he did his best to lean away from her weapon. “You fight well,” Alric said leaning his chin up, “What’s your name by the way?” He gave her a half smile, hoping she wouldn’t catch wind of his true intentions.

“Eldyn,” she said, confidently, looking up at him through long eyelashes.

There it was. The tell he was looking for. Her body relaxed slightly and he used that moment to act. Leaning out of the path of her blade, he clamped his left hand around her slim wrist like a vice. Trapping the wrist with his knife hand, he stepped back and to the right throwing her off balance. Wrenching his body to the left he stepped back on that foot bringing her to the ground. He finished kneeling above her, knee pressed into her shoulder. “My name is Alric, by the way, and I don’t do well with sub-mandibular stabbing” he said knife pressed to her neck. Fair fights were for fools, and Alric had never claimed to be a duelist anyway.

The woman’s, Eldyn’s, face darkened as she found the tables turned and the man she’d beaten kneeling over her. Her scowl turned into an embarrassed blush, as he offered a hand and a kind smile. Shortly after, M’hael Jaryd called an end to the class. While the wiry Asha’man gave the class some parting advice, Alric leaned in and spoke in a low voice, “We should train together again sometime, maybe I’ll actually be able to beat you one day.”

With a sly smile, she asked, “Are you sure training is what you actually had in mind?”

He had been actually meant training. That didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of her intent, or that he particularly objected. After the class broke up, Eldyn found him in the crowd of students. As she said her goodbyes, she rather unsubtly let slip that she’d be studying in her room and her roommate would be busy with extra chores. Alric donned his shirt and coat and set off after her, hopeful he’d found an interesting way to spend his meager free time.