Tuning the chords (Fanfic)
Posted: April 19th, 2018, 9:03 pm
Beron Faim
Beron stretched as the evening air was beginning to cool off the heat of the day. A strong breeze had been present all day, and he idly wondered if students had been learning to work with the clouds or weather as it seemed cooler than normal.
Still the cool weather here was hardly comparably to the winter he had spent scouting along the mountains of Saldaea, which made him laugh as he saw other Drin’far’ji heading for their dormitory. Taking his practice blade he felt the warm sand beneath his feet, the afternoon sun having soaked into the practice ring for many hours.
Taking his stance, he settled his feet comfortably underneath him, and smoothly Unfolded the Fan his blade singing slightly as it emerged from the scabbard. Flowing into the high guard, Beron circled with his blade held high allowing his muscles to warm up and grow accustomed to the weight of the training blade. The weight was slightly off from the shorter calvaryman’s sword his father had taught him to wield as a boy.
Moving through his kata, he practiced the stances and movements his uncle and father had drilled into his memory over long afternoons and evenings. Once the work had been done on the farm, it was time for weapons practice and as Beron moved across the sands, he came to the realization that he had allowed his skills to grow rusty. He was definitely stronger, and had learned much about other weapons in his time at the Grey Tower, but he could feel it in his muscles and the lack of smoothness to his movements.
Still, he had held a sword since he was tall enough to wield one, and as he worked his blade in small movements his muscles grew less stiff. Lion on the Hill was the first form he had observed at the Grey Tower, his training having been less formal and so he assumed the stance now to ready himself. His sword stood straight and true, the blade showing no wobble as his strength allowed him to handle the guard. From this higher stance he had learned to enjoy the power it lent to many attacks, and he launched into Courtier taps his Fan , the powerful downward chop a blow meant to stun or split the head of the target dummy. As he completed the strike, he could feel the impact against the dummy, and backed away to begin again. This time he assumed Lion on the Hill once more, and flowed into he Hummingbird Kisses the Honeyrose his blade as quick as a serpent’s tongue as he thrust it forward into the dummy’s face.
While he knew there would never be an opponent who could not defend himself, Beron concentrated on following each form, practicing the move until it was second nature. Many of the forms he had observed since arriving here were similar to the simple thrusts and slashes of a soldier; but his mind floated back to the Gaidar he had witnessed when he first arrived. She had moved like water and the wind, and Beron knew that if he worked hard and ingrained the forms into his muscles deeper than wood grain; he could hope to achieve that grace as well.
Lion on the Hill was assumed once more, this time with the variation of holding his blade straight out towards his opponent. This was a more arrogant posture of the high guard, it seemed to Beron like his blade challenged those who faced him. From his stance he moved forward, [/i] The Lion Springs [/i] executes quickly as an attack that would hopefully deflect with the upwards motion. He cursed when he realized he had let the tip of his sword droop too low, and as such his upwards slash was sluggish.
Once again taking the stance, Beron moved through The Lion Springs , trying the opening gambit as he had often heard it described as a strong testing strike against an opponent who’s skill was unknown. Beron worked the varying strikes and defences suited to Lion on the Hill , having decided to build from one stance in his practice to improve.
As he moved and shifted from form to form, he could feel his mind settling into the rhythm, his focus shifting as he became increasingly focused. With a flourish he finished off the second and third strikes of Lightning of Three Prongs , his body instinctively completing the move with Low Wind Rising the slashing motion extending slightly past the guard he had wanted to return to.
Hands sweaty from the exertion, Beron returned his practice sword to the racking. After shedding his jacket, he returned to the center of the training circle. He then began to run a brief series of unarmed stretches to help his body cool down and prevent his muscles from seizing.
As he moved through the motions, Beron once again sought out that feeling of focus and concentration. He recalled hearing the other Drin debating whether the ko’di and the Flame and Void used by the channellers was the same, and he remembered thinking there was little need to worry about it.
As he moved, Beron concentrated on his breath, closing his eyes and trusting his awareness to warn him if he moved to far from the center. As he breathed, he pictured a mountain he had often climbed, a towering edifice of bedrock that looked over the countryside. Eternal and impervious it had survived centuries of the rain, cold, and furious wind Saldaea could summon during the winter’s heart. And so he imagined that mountain in his mind, each errant thought a cloud he simply shed to the winds; eventually falling into a shaky Oneness. A pair of Drin walking by called out the last warning for the dormitory, and so Beron collected his clothing and made for his room. He would ensure he made time for both sword practice, and a chance to use the Oneness in his fighting.
Beron stretched as the evening air was beginning to cool off the heat of the day. A strong breeze had been present all day, and he idly wondered if students had been learning to work with the clouds or weather as it seemed cooler than normal.
Still the cool weather here was hardly comparably to the winter he had spent scouting along the mountains of Saldaea, which made him laugh as he saw other Drin’far’ji heading for their dormitory. Taking his practice blade he felt the warm sand beneath his feet, the afternoon sun having soaked into the practice ring for many hours.
Taking his stance, he settled his feet comfortably underneath him, and smoothly Unfolded the Fan his blade singing slightly as it emerged from the scabbard. Flowing into the high guard, Beron circled with his blade held high allowing his muscles to warm up and grow accustomed to the weight of the training blade. The weight was slightly off from the shorter calvaryman’s sword his father had taught him to wield as a boy.
Moving through his kata, he practiced the stances and movements his uncle and father had drilled into his memory over long afternoons and evenings. Once the work had been done on the farm, it was time for weapons practice and as Beron moved across the sands, he came to the realization that he had allowed his skills to grow rusty. He was definitely stronger, and had learned much about other weapons in his time at the Grey Tower, but he could feel it in his muscles and the lack of smoothness to his movements.
Still, he had held a sword since he was tall enough to wield one, and as he worked his blade in small movements his muscles grew less stiff. Lion on the Hill was the first form he had observed at the Grey Tower, his training having been less formal and so he assumed the stance now to ready himself. His sword stood straight and true, the blade showing no wobble as his strength allowed him to handle the guard. From this higher stance he had learned to enjoy the power it lent to many attacks, and he launched into Courtier taps his Fan , the powerful downward chop a blow meant to stun or split the head of the target dummy. As he completed the strike, he could feel the impact against the dummy, and backed away to begin again. This time he assumed Lion on the Hill once more, and flowed into he Hummingbird Kisses the Honeyrose his blade as quick as a serpent’s tongue as he thrust it forward into the dummy’s face.
While he knew there would never be an opponent who could not defend himself, Beron concentrated on following each form, practicing the move until it was second nature. Many of the forms he had observed since arriving here were similar to the simple thrusts and slashes of a soldier; but his mind floated back to the Gaidar he had witnessed when he first arrived. She had moved like water and the wind, and Beron knew that if he worked hard and ingrained the forms into his muscles deeper than wood grain; he could hope to achieve that grace as well.
Lion on the Hill was assumed once more, this time with the variation of holding his blade straight out towards his opponent. This was a more arrogant posture of the high guard, it seemed to Beron like his blade challenged those who faced him. From his stance he moved forward, [/i] The Lion Springs [/i] executes quickly as an attack that would hopefully deflect with the upwards motion. He cursed when he realized he had let the tip of his sword droop too low, and as such his upwards slash was sluggish.
Once again taking the stance, Beron moved through The Lion Springs , trying the opening gambit as he had often heard it described as a strong testing strike against an opponent who’s skill was unknown. Beron worked the varying strikes and defences suited to Lion on the Hill , having decided to build from one stance in his practice to improve.
As he moved and shifted from form to form, he could feel his mind settling into the rhythm, his focus shifting as he became increasingly focused. With a flourish he finished off the second and third strikes of Lightning of Three Prongs , his body instinctively completing the move with Low Wind Rising the slashing motion extending slightly past the guard he had wanted to return to.
Hands sweaty from the exertion, Beron returned his practice sword to the racking. After shedding his jacket, he returned to the center of the training circle. He then began to run a brief series of unarmed stretches to help his body cool down and prevent his muscles from seizing.
As he moved through the motions, Beron once again sought out that feeling of focus and concentration. He recalled hearing the other Drin debating whether the ko’di and the Flame and Void used by the channellers was the same, and he remembered thinking there was little need to worry about it.
As he moved, Beron concentrated on his breath, closing his eyes and trusting his awareness to warn him if he moved to far from the center. As he breathed, he pictured a mountain he had often climbed, a towering edifice of bedrock that looked over the countryside. Eternal and impervious it had survived centuries of the rain, cold, and furious wind Saldaea could summon during the winter’s heart. And so he imagined that mountain in his mind, each errant thought a cloud he simply shed to the winds; eventually falling into a shaky Oneness. A pair of Drin walking by called out the last warning for the dormitory, and so Beron collected his clothing and made for his room. He would ensure he made time for both sword practice, and a chance to use the Oneness in his fighting.