The Grey Tower

Dakson Torellion Drin’far’Ji,

Report to the Warder Yards after the noon meal for evaluation.

Signed,
Garren Brighteyes Gaidin

The missive was simple, but carried with it an air of command in it’s square, solid hand. The paper that it had been written on still held the imprint of the pen, the force behind its strokes clear even hours later, after sanding and drying.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Garren had been here since before lunch time, and had taken his meal in the Yards themselves. Since returning, if he hadn’t been by Angel’s side, he could be found in the Yards. more than ever he missed Whisper, his brother, and for that and a thousand other reasons, he avoided the Gardens. He also avoided Hama Valon unless he could help it. The city, like the gardens, held to many memories. So did this place, but most of those were pleasant ones, and even had they not been the sounds of fighting was like a well oiled machine, and it soothed him.

As he waited for the Drin, he wrapped his hands, a gesture he had made a thousand times before to protect others from the callouses that were his knuckles. Not far away could be seen a metal staff, and a dagger was lashed to either of his thighs, but these would be ignored today. No, he would be using the weapon that had always been the closest to him. His first and his finest...his hands. He wondered about this man that the Tower had bade him test today. Before now he hadn’t cared about the boy (so many seemed like a ‘boy’ now a days), but now his curiosity was beginning to show through. Was he young? Was he courageous or timid? The thought of timidity brought back memories of Jip, but like Whisper he pushed it away and focused, instead, on his hands, and the new Drin that would soon be before him.

Dax sat on his bed, head lowered, fingers rubbing in gentle circles on his temples. He knew any time he went drinking he would pay for it the next day, but this time the hangover beat any he had ever had before. His mind could make no sense of the night before, his thoughts turning to gray fuzz when he tried to pick out details. Something about it did not feel right, but his mind would not focus enough to determine what was wrong.

Sometime mid-morning, the pain abruptly ceased, like passing from a shadowy room to the bright light of day. the Tairen froze mid-block to touch his head, and got a solid buffet to the shoulder with a practice sword for his trouble. "Pay attention!" his instructor snapped, and he returned to his practice. What had he been so worried about,anyway?

After lunch, he sauntered back to the Warder Yards, doing his best to appear nonchalant and confident. Garren Brighteyes wanted to spar with him. Dax knew enough to know the session would not go well. Garren was no country bandit, nor even a city guard; his ability at unarmed combat had become a legend since his return to the Tower. Dax enjoyed a challenge as much as anyone, but he did not look forward to being trounced.

He arrived at the assigned practice yard a few minutes earlier than requested, to find the Warder its only occupant. "Afternoon Gaidin," he said cheerfully, removing his cloak and draping it over the fence. "Call me Dax," he added as his sword belt followed, and then the hand-length knife he kept in his boot.

"How should we begin?" He tried to keep his tone upbeat, but a note of uncertainty wormed its way through anyway.

---

OOC: It hasn't been written yet, but his brain is unhappy because he was mega-Compulsed to perform a long-term task. He'll have some moments where he seems to just zone out, then he'll snap back into it.

You can see the beginnings of the Compulsion plot here, if you're curious: http://www.grey-tower.net/Board/viewtop ... 4142#p4142

Garren’s brows rose in pleasant surprise as the Drin’far’ji approached him so amicably. Most new recruits were uncertain, and far too intimidated to be friendly, let alone talkative. He found he liked it, and a smile that was far too rare on his features these days spread across his lips. Surprisingly, it didn’t seem out of place on his features, but proved the serious expression he kept these days to be the false one, as old smile lines almost invisible came back into appearance. He held out a spool of cloth wrap for the man’s hands. “Well,” he said, nodding to the boot knife the other had pulled out. “You can begin by replacing that. I’ve not fear of you trying to pull it on me, and it’s better that you get used to practicing with it on your person. Carrying a knife in your boot rubs against the skin. To do so comfortably, you need to build up a callous in that area, and in the midst of a fight, you’re not going to be able to stop and ask your opponent to allow you to remove your weapons. It’s best to get used to it now instead of having its presence hinder you later…”

He moved towards the practice circle as the Drin wrapped his hands, his own knives strapped to his outer thighs, and as much a part of him as his own skin it seemed. They were long, thick things, and likely equally good in a fight, or skinning a deer. He hooked his thumbs in his belt and looked at the man. “By the way, when we’re in training you should call me Garren Gaidin.” That smile returned, and it seemed he had taken a liking to the young man. “But outside of duty, you may call me Garren, as long as it is improper to do so. In turn, I shall call you Dakson Drin’far’ji and Dax in the same circumstances. Deal?” He held out an already wrapped, calloused hand to the man. If Dax took the hand, as they shook Garren told the young man. “You’re here to be evaluated on your experience. The goal of this isn’t to beat the living daylights out of you.” Some seemed to think this. “But to press you just hard enough that you show your skill. Knowing how good you are in these ways allows us to customize your lessons. After all, there’s no reason to send you to learn how to throw a punch if you can already hold your own in a fight. It would waste our time and yours. So you can start by telling me about your experience, and then we can move onto a sparr.”