The Grey Tower

Sigmund strode into the warder yards as the sun was making its final descent in the western sky. He wore his grey Drin uniform and had his hair tied back at the nape of his neck as had become his tradition. He carried a training blade made of solid wood as opposed to the typical lath bundles used in sparring matches. He had decided that for today’s exercise he would start with the heavier sword to loosen up his shoulders and wrists. He spun the blade one handed in slow circles to acclimate his body to its weight and balance. When he had finished, he switched to his off hand and repeated the exercise a bit more clumsily.

It’s just another training session, no need to be nervous. He knew the thought was a thin self-reassurance at best. It wasn’t just another training session. Today he would be working with an actual Blademaster. To be fair, he had spent his months at the Tower training with all manner of individuals that were years ahead of him with the blade, but this would be the first time he had worked with someone that had earned the heron. The thought made him both excited and nervous all over again.

Changing his stance he sought the Oneness. Sotma Gaidin had drilled into him that physical preparation was only half of the battle. A warder must also have control over his thoughts and emotions. He closed his eyes and regulated his breathing. He spent a few moments just standing there, taking in the sounds and smells of the yards around him. Reaching that detached stage that all warders seemed to live in
he opened his eyes and moved into his first warm-up routine.

Sidestepping into The Kingfisher Circles the Pond his training mantra floated across his calmed mind. The feet control the hips, the hips control the shoulders, the shoulders control the arm, the arm controls the blade. Pushing it down he moved into The Sapling Trembles followed by Arc of the Moon. It was a simple three form set that he repeated several times at the beginning of all his training sessions. It was aggressive, meant to move into an overextended enemy, disarm them, and allow for a killing strike before returning to guard.

The young man continued warming up for the next twenty or so minutes before he straightened and looked around the yard. It was nearing the time that he had been told to meet Haeden Gaidin. Oneness or no the thought rose again. It’s just another training session.

For Haeden, there was no irony in it to say that it was just another training session. For this blademaster, son of a blademaster and infamous Reaper of the Yards as well as the Head of the Green Ajah--once dead and returned, once Amyrlin, he had attended many, many training sessions. He was a student from earliest memories, then became a Drin and ascended to the fancloak, whereupon he was unbonded for many years and thus spent almost all his time training Drin and Ji, as well as some channelers interested in using the sword.

Now that he was bonded, he did not spend as much time in training duties, but he was still among one of the most frequent teachers. He primarily worked one-on-one lessons now, though, which was what brought him here on this day.

Standing tall with broad shoulders, an imposing stance, and an intimidating expression, the blond-haired and green-eyed Gaidin walked onto the training yards' sandy grounds. He had a training sword in hand, which was reasonably close in weight to his usual heron-marked blade. He looked around until he spotted the young man matching the description he'd been given, and since he was clearly in the middle of swordplay warmups, Haeden determined this was indeed his target.

Haeden's long strides carried him across the space between them, coming in from a front-left approach so that the young man would see him coming, and then he stopped. "Drin Sigmund?" It still helped to ask.