The initial burst of speed one may get by physically flinging themselves into a dive-roll was good as a desperate measure to evade a strike, but the delay between finishing the roll, reorientating yourself, and finally attacking, all took too long, especially when one killed their own momentum when initiating that dive.
And, most importantly, it was easy to read. You could feint steps, could feint swings, but could not feint the effects of gravity.
Serenity didn’t turn when Fanilly dove out of the way. She continued three steps onwards instead, three steps that would carry her out of the effective range of the Knight-Captain’s sword. Pivoted once more to face her foe. So that's what it was. A mobile sword style, emphasizing the reach that a two-handed sword could give, while adding in some acrobatic flair. It reminded her of certain schools of spearmanship developed by the Nem, who’d utilize the relevant length of the spear, alongside their natural agility, to strike with unorthodox, rising angles.
It reminded too, of Lucas.
“Two thrusts.” Just an observation.
Their positions were reset once more. But this time, Serenity did not charge. She simply walked.
Shield front-facing, sword hidden from view.
A calmer tempo, one to better respond to a mobility that could not handle a stalwart defense head-on.
Even as Serenity moved out of her range, Fanilly was already moving. The upwards thrust had failed to reach her target, but that was no reason to stop for even an instant.
Pressure.
She had to put on pressure. She had to make every movement a potential threat. She had to constantly apply herself from every potential angle, every potential point of aggression.
It was a sparring match, but that didn't meant there was any reason not to fight to her fullest.
This time she was tilted forward, darting over the grounds towards Serenity's side once more. Obviously she would pivot, just as she had done in response to every attack prior, but this time Fanilly twisted her body as soon as she reached the shield's side, on her opponent's right.
She had to get around the shield.
With both hands firmly gripping the hilt of the wooden sword, she used the momentum of her body to put as much power into her swing as she could. The angle and positioning wasn't the best for striking Serenity herself, and trying to position herself properly to achieve that would likely have lead to more time for another pivot.
The goal was, instead, to push the shield out of the way. Even for an instant, if she could succeed, it would at least force a different response and open new avenues of attack for her.
Even if she managed to catch her, from this angle, her blade would assuredly strike the shield from the side, from a difficult position.
It was a matter of how much that would matter that would determine her next actions.
"-YEP-HI-JUST-GIMME-MOMENT-" A couple words tumbled out through grit teeth.
Lein dared not turn his head around, but his balance nonetheless faltered just enough to let loose a bottle from the box. In an impossible swing, he used his one free leg to intercept the bottle's downfall and soften its landing just enough for it to tumble unto the floor without breaking. The bottle rolled unceremoniously across the floor, the rest rattling above and eager to join it. With his entire focus dedicated on cursing his situation and his grip clearly slipping from the sudden unwelcome intervention, Lein grimanced as if to direct an invisible force of will into stalling the inevitable as long as possible.
"From what I've read and heard, although only a few aside from the paladin remember meeting her in person, Merilia's particular speciality was in teleportation to an extent that hasn't been matched since. A very well-rounded mage and battlemage in general, but dreams...? I cannot believe that even she could have such skill in an unrelated field to ensnare hundreds from another continent without having let it slip once," Lilianna answered, eyes tracking the fighters. Of course, her own style was evident, but she had tried to impart the more generalised style. Speed and mobility were key, but the young blonde--hopefully--would never be favouring fighting unarmed to the same extent. "Of course, I have no magical ability. Perhaps my conclusions are incorrect."
The senior knight smiled slightly, "You want to improve? Then did you learn where your skills are wanting, where the flaws in your form are? Do you have a plan to act on specific improvements? Or were you simply planning to practise aimlessly and hope you got lucky?"
Lilia (Elf)
"Ah, yes, magic allows for taking on much more heavily armoured and weightier enemies without my mother's speed, and low-intensity spells like that are easier to keep going for long periods..." Lilia answered, turning to look at Renar as he left, "O-Of course! If I can be in any way of service, please, ask me!"
The tanned elf's eyes drifted back to her sword as Nicomede made his offer, fingers poking at some of the sword's gems. "I-I would be fine with either, but... i-if it's the magic you're interested in, I could do a demonstration? There's a lot of things that are too dangerous for practice, someone could get hurt really bad at best, and there's some things I can't use if I'm keeping the sword blunt. M-Most of it's pretty weak spells, though! I don't know much that's useful against more than one target, I could only practice with mum most of the time..."
It came as no surprise to Serenity that a city overseen by the royals would have an expansive network of slums, where the destitute flocked for alms and cheap rent. A miserable place, where buildings were built with no eye for design, where roads narrowed into streets narrowed into alleyways, the capillaries to the arteries of the great city. Shadows possessed eyes, haunted by what they had survived to reach here.
Some were veterans of the civil war. Others had lost their property to weighty debts. More had simply been born to it, could never climb out of it. And overall, it pointed to one thing.
The inability for the state to provide for the destitute.
She tread through puddles, when it had not rained for weeks. She tread over mud, when the surrounding streets were carved of stone. She wore black boots and clothing she would not miss, her arming sword hanging from her belt. Her flaxen hair, brilliant even in the long shadows drawn by tall apartments.
Matching the gaze of any who stared at her until they turned away.
Serenity came from wealth, but she wasn’t here to offer charity. It was simply a reminder, of what she swore upon sword and shield, amongst graves and symbols.
One place, however, did give her pause.
An orphanage wasn’t a rare sight either. Funded by the Mayonite church, they offered a place for children with nowhere else to go to grow, at least until local gangs pulled them into their fold. The interior of such places were often as barren as their exterior surroundings, anything of monetary value having been stripped away by trespassers or stored away to not tempt trespassers. Toddlers with distended bellies. Girls with flint-eyed glares. Nuns, always at the boiling point of stress and faith.
Certainly, not another Knight of the Iron Rose.
“Fionn.” Ten steps to cross the street into a courtyard choked by weeds. “Thought you were from Velt.”
”I am!”
For a moment he didn’t look up, focusing instead on the staff that he was just finishing carving. After he was satisfied enough with its current shape he tossed it atop a pile of its mates next to him, finally lifting his eyes to meet Serenity. He wasn’t particularly surprised to see that she wasn’t wearing the finer clothes that others of her background might, even walking through the back streets of Aimlenn—she never much struck him as the type given to such a need to show off. Though her presence alone did defy any quick explanation he could imagine.
”Something happening back at the keep?”
“Yes. Lein lost to Rui on the fields, and they’re getting married tomorrow. He wants you as his best man.”
It was total bullshit, but Serenity, schooled in the noble art of putting on a perfectly genuine, perfectly undisturbed face, delivered bullshit with an unperturbed face. She stepped closer, picking one of the staves up. On the smaller side, to be certain, but the finish was smooth enough that one wouldn’t get a fistful of splinters afterwards.
“Didn’t expect you'd be…doing whatever you’re doing in this orphanage, if you didn’t have a previous tie.” Fionn never struck her as the religious sort either. Not when those more overtly faithful than he remained in Candaeln, sharpening their blades religiously. “What’s the story?”
Looking back down, he reached over to grab another of the coppiced shoots he was carving, holding it between his feet and stripping bark with his knife. ”Charity’s a virtue, isn’t it?” he mused, turning it slightly and continuing. ”Sometimes it makes as much sense to give time as coin.” Time that, perhaps, could’ve been better spent removing the weeds rather than harvesting a copse to carve staves, though both needed done. ”I’ve got some rushes of rough horsetail there, if you want to take a few from the pile and smooth them out more.”
He paused to turn the coppice again, ready to slice off another long strip of bark.
”Sure hope the wedding isn’t tonight. Would be shameful to miss it, like. Especially if I’m the best man.”
“Well, if it comes to it, I’m sure Nico can grow a beard.” She obliged the older man’s request though, wrist crackling as she rolled her fingers before she got down to it. “You didn’t answer my question though. Places like these are tucked away. If a knight asked, they’d be pointed somewhere more palatable. So.”
Scraping away the surface, scattering wood dust to the wind.
“What’s the story here?”
With a last bit of scraping and peeling, the newest staff was added to the finishing pile, and another coppice grabbed. By the end of it he’d have far more than he’d likely need, though it was always best to account for those that would break, get lost, or anything similar. ”Why’s there have to be a story, eh?” he asked back, shooting Serenity a glance. ”I’m no orphan—not as far as I know—but I haven’t always been a knight, either. I know places like this exist, I know kids in some of them, and I know I’ve caused kids to get sent to them. Short of figuring out a way to get more money coming in or to spur on a massive drive to adopt, I might as well make sure the kids know a bit of how to defend themselves.”
Strips peeled away with the aid of his knife, getting added to the growing pile of future-tinder next to him. Hopefully it wouldn’t be used to start any less-than-legal fires. ”Course, I could ask you the same question. What’s got a born-and-raised noble like you wandering around out here?”
“Better to learn a trade than to learn to break bone.” Though Serenity supposed such things weren’t mutually exclusive for a former mercenary. Violence was its own trade, and considered darkly, it was simply of the military to make sure that orphans were the problem of the enemy.
Didn’t work out so well in civil war, certainly.
“It’s the obligation of the nobility to understand the state of their people.” Serenity still held in her hands the final staff she had cleaned up. Still too small to be anything more than a stick, but stick-fighting was a gentlemanly enough martial art that she hadn’t neglected training for it either. “We were born privileged, granted innumerable advantages, after all. Rather than raising the roof, we ought to raise the floor.”
It made a good enough sound as she gave it a swing or two. Then, as if thinking of something, she turned towards Fionn once more.
“You didn’t tell the orphans you were a knight, did you?”
”Would it matter much if I had?”
“Yes.” She rolled her eyes. “And don’t answer questions with more questions.”
Fionn grinned back at her, setting aside his knife and picking up a handful of the scouring rushes himself. ”Maybe I’m just doing what you born-and-raised nobles ought to do, raising the floor. A lot of the kids here are already apprenticed to various trades, but almost none know anything about how to keep the bit of coin they get from what they do, or they don’t yet get enough exercise. This one’s doing better than others at keeping them fed, at least, and they’re starting to pick up enough books to teach the kids how to read. I’m stepping in to help the kids stay strong, defend themselves and what they have, and make sure they aren’t completely out of their element if things turn for the worse again and they find themselves stuck having to fight for the crown.”
Thus the pile of coppice he was carving into light, sturdy, short staffs for them to train with. There was no telling for Serenity whether or not he’d already taught them some measure of pugilism and wrestling, or if they’d just picked it up on their own—but training with the batons would help them incorporate the basics of all sorts of other weapons they might ever be tasked to take up, or at least help even the field who weren’t as adept at the hand-to-hand stuff.
”While we’re talking questions, though, you still haven’t given much of an answer to mine. Understanding the state of the people? You’re not some silly child with their nose too buried in books and banquets to look out a window and recognize what’s going on. Doesn’t seem like they ever gave you the chance to be that kid. What’re you after?”
He still didn’t answer the question, and at this point, Serenity just decided to ask one of the church nuns about it afterwards. Who knows. Maybe one of the kids would call him by some obvious identifier too, like ‘Stalwart Ball Knight’. That would make things clear enough.
The response came easily enough too, for the lioness. She opened her mouth, breath drawn already.
Then she closed it, thought it over. This wasn’t Candaeln, nor was Fionn a blue-blooded knight. She didn’t need to speak in a way that inspired either, in the way that she had to so Gerard had a mindset to aspire towards. And regardless, the sword around her hip wasn’t the sword of a knight.
“Aimlenn’s not my city, but it’s nevertheless the capital city of Thaln, where the centre-most institutions of the nation are concentrated. And it’s one thing to know, broadly, that such slums exist. It’s another thing to experience, physically, what the situation is for the poorest people of this great city.” Hm. Old habits were hard to suppress, after all. “We are shield and sword, but that doesn’t mean we’re excused from looking.”
Her lips quirked.
“Can you work out the rest?”
”Maybe, maybe not. I’m a bit simple for what you’re talking about, I suppose. What’s your plan now that you’ve experienced it, then?” The finished staff was tossed over to start its own pile, and another grabbed for smoothing out. ”Back to business as usual? Inspired to your own acts of charity, outside your service to the Roses?”
“If charity was what this inspired, any noble could point to their tithes and claim they’re doing the same.” Quiet place, this orphanage. She figured there’d be brats scampering over by now, even with a nun holding the leash. “But what I want is a change in policy.”
Of course, Aimlenn was not her city. Yet. And she did not have true political power. Yet.
“Which will take time, but certainly feels more achievable, considering my circumstances, than slicing a dummy in half from a hundred paces away whilst wielding a sword with an imaginary arm.”
Fionn couldn’t help but laugh at that last comment. Their most recent visitors had their fair share of tricks to work with, sure, but the claim that Rui’s abilities weren’t magical in nature was one that rang utterly hollow in his ears. ”Well, now, that one’s simple, isn’t it? Just have to sacrifice one of your arms to dragonfire. Easy as pie.”
Thinking of...
”It’s about time to eat, isn’t it? The kids will be heading back this way soon. Ought to store all these up and I can finish smoothing them out over the next couple of days.”
“Leaving the staves for later then?” Serenity shrugged. “Pity. I’d stuck around this long just to see what sorta training you’d make the kids do, considering the activities you’d invent for Gerard.”
”Getting them made now, sticking them in a shed to store. Not teaching how to use them until the beginning of next week. You’re free to come and see, if you’d like.”
“Sure.”
Serenity’s hands swept back, readjusting her ponytail into a tidy bun.
“You’d need a partner to demonstrate techniques with anyhow, and I’m sure the kiddos would enjoy some entertainment.”
”Fun to see how our styles compare, at least,” he replied. ”No shield for you with this, though, so best make sure you haven’t gotten too rusty working without one. Shed’s behind the orphanage—grab an armful and follow me.” Without waiting for any reply to his little jab, he reached down, gathering up a number of the staffs and starting to stride through the yard.
”Any plans for dinner, or are you just heading back to the keep?”
“My faith is my shield,” Serenity replied, picking the bundle up from the ground and following after. “And I’ve dinner with Gerard after this. Figure I better wash my boots before then though.”
”Planning to give him more dancing lessons, too, or was that just a one-off before the ball?” Fionn glanced back, one eyebrow raised at Serenity’s mentioned plan. ”Sounds like I’m not the only one inventing activities for him.”
“We’re knights, not swordsmen.” Her steps gained a particular rhythm, an aristocratic grace. “The battlefield won’t be the only place where we’re expected to perform.”
”Just so long as you’re being good to him. I’d hate to have to put myself between you.”
She fixed him with an offended look. “Fionn, please. I know full well how to treat a lady.”
Fionn chuckled again, pushing open the door to the shed with one foot. It was almost completely empty, any tools hung up along the walls. Mumbling a few short words under his breath he held up one of the finished staffs, a light glowing at its tip so that they could see in the windowless space. Then, as soon as he was sure he wouldn’t trip on anything that hadn’t been put up properly, he unceremoniously dumped his armful in the back, stepping aside so that Serenity could do the same.
”Well, anything that gets him to relax, I suppose,” he mused after a moment. ”I’m still trying to make sure he doesn’t throw his life away while we’re out and about. The more help I can enlist for that, the better.”
Serenity placed her bundle down more carefully, ensuring that it didn’t spill over all messily. “What’s his deal anyhow? A merc who doesn’t value his life is a rare thing, considering the nature of the profession.”
”Just how they trained him, I think. Pull him in as an impressionable kid, teach him constant offence, neglect defence, make sure he feels like he’s doing something great and good throwing him in with the...what do they call it...verlorene Haufen. He lived a lot longer than most do in his situation, a testament to same natural skill, but between what they taught him to do, the money he got volunteering to be in the furthest front all the time, and whatever everything he’s seen did to him, I’m not surprised we’ve got as much to make him un-learn as we do.”
She could see that. Brash and reckless, training himself to charge forth with wild abandon. The sort to skewer himself on a spear formation in order to smash the skull of the enemy commander. “Taught like a Reonite Paladin, without an understanding of the sanctity of the life that one was staking.” Serenity shook her head, then nudged Fionn’s arm. “Well, he’d certainly benefit more from learning how to use a shield then, rather than following the path of a two-hander.”
Fionn’s eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly, at Serenity’s jab. ”A shield is a weapon like any other,” he replied stiffly—any indignance mostly an act. ”Something he knows too well to trust that that might curb his poorly-directed instincts. No, I think we’re on the right track now. Better to keep him with what he’s best at.”
And lest she think his reply too serious, he nudged back. ”You, meanwhile, ought to pick up a different shield. Yours is alright from horseback, or fighting in a formation...neither of which we’ve done much of. Ought to pick up a buckler or a targe instead, something a bit more handy and active.”
“But how would I shield a fair maiden from a rain of arrows with a shield the size of a dinner plate?” If Serenity noticed the hint of something raw beneath Fionn’s response, she didn’t react to it. “It’s simply out of the question!”
”Fair is up for debate, but I’d be surprised if he’s a maiden.”
“Everyone’s a maiden, if you’re enough of a knight.”
Fionn turned to look, another raised eyebrow, though that particular joke passed without comment. ”Well, I’m glad you’re going out and enjoying yourself, at least,” he said after another moment, before gesturing back outside the shed, tossing his no-longer glowing staff down atop the rest. ”Gives a bit less to worry about with you, leaves me a bit more time to focus in on the other two.”
Not that he wouldn’t worry, of course, but at least it wouldn’t be as much.
”Now, if you intend to wash your boots before dinner, you ought to head out. I don’t want to keep you from your fair maiden.”
“Plenty of others to keep your eyes on, Fionn.” Serenity waved, setting off. “These days, I’d say: ‘don’t blink when it comes to Lein’.”
”What’s he going to do, ask me to loosen his laces again?”
He frowned, a puff of wind carrying dissatisfaction into the void that had been carved between the inimical dumbasses by the ongoing miscommunication. The problem with going for the legs... lunging like a low wolf...
Alright, what the hell was it, if the incoming admonishment wasn't "Quit throwing yourself so far forward for that stuff," then?
His arms folded, he closed his eyes, awaiting the inevitable from three feet to the right.
He looked back up at the dissatisfied noise that Gerard himself made, glancing over at the younger man. "Properly covered, lad. That's the important part to remember. If you're close enough to strike at my leg, even if I'm overextended myself, you're close enough that I can split your skull at the worst, or at best just cripple you in return by striking at your hands and forearms, whether or not I let yours land." He lifted his training blade, lightly jabbing at Gerard's chest for emphasis.
"Sure, you might be cutting from tag down to pflug, but like I said, any strike to my leg should be incidental. A result of me not voiding your cut properly. You always aim for a strike that will end the fight, remove the other person's ability to keep attacking, and keeps you covered at the same time. Aiming so low doesn't do that. That is why I keep telling you it isn't a valid target whenever we're keeping score in our spars."
Where did that Hundi ran off to? Messing with that door was serious business. It took him too long to get the last one replaced.
It almost made him break his own rules when it came to Candaeln, one he would happily remind to other knights: No running in the hallway!
Still he wondered what the hell Lein was breaking into his office for. He doubted that the Hundi was just there to mess with him: he knew what Lein would've done just for that. If only he knew, he would have remembered which notes or books that had been misplaced, then he could make guesses on what he wanted. Even after the heart-to-heart with Lein, there were still bits and pieces he was worried about from this inconspicuous Hundi. Hell, in fact there might be more to be worried about than his previous image of the mischievous rogue going about in a semi-nomadic lifestyle. It was something expected as he got closer to the lad, but ought not to be ignored.
While his mind was circling thoughts, he turned a corner and speed-walked right into a familiar face. One of the Iron Rose Knights, the same one at the eventful ball the previous week, but also the same one from many years ago too. The first memory served was a tattered, beaten and bloodied face, stumbling and wobbly from his injuries. It wasn't a good memory per say, but the bond between the relatively senior knight and this outlander now turned Iron Rose bookkeeper tightened from such a starting point.
"Oh, Sir Steffen. Didn't expect you to be in such ruffles." Sir Katte, bemused by his friend's appearance, said. "What's gotten you so worked up?"
"Oh, nothing really." Steffen replied, with a chuckle of his own. "Some troublemakers that's all."
"Can't get away from those folks eh?" Katte laughed kindly. "Makes sense when our knight membership shifts younger, especially after the war."
"Any administrator's nightmare, really." Steffen rolled his eyes. Youngsters and their roguish ways nowadays. "Anyway, what are you up to, Sir Katte?"
"Oh." The knight gestured to an envelope in his pocket. "I'm heading into town. Had to deliver this to May."
"Oh May, how's she doing right now?" He recognized that name. She was someone Steffen called his compatriot and friend, hailing from the same village he was from when he arrived in Thaln, and fought on the same side as him and the Roses during those desperate hours. Last time he heard, she was in Aimlenn, trying to make a living in the capital.
"Eh, not too well?" Katte shrugged. "She's living for now, but hasn't been able to get a stable footing. I heard that the school she was teaching at got closed down recently due to funding."
"Ugh, that's not good." Steffen frowned. Poor girl. Fate hadn't been kind to her.
"So I'm sending a bit of money her way, hoping she'll get back on her feet."
Hopefully that would do something.
"I'll see what I can do over here, maybe putting in some good words for her. I do have a voice in that regard."
He wasn't a political powerhouse by any means, but to some, he was a hero of the War of the Red Flag, and was loved enough that he was given the honor to join the Iron Rose. His words would carry a bit more weight than others, considering May also had parts to play in those days of the war. But she wasn't a knight, and had no nobility connection to speak of, so when it came to state actions it would still be limited.
"Good luck Steffen. I'm sure May would appreciate your effort regardless." Katte gave the Ingvarr a kind smile, a wave before parting ways.
Steffen would take a bit of time back in his office for the aforementioned task. He had told himself to excuse from paperwork for the day, but if it's for a friend, he was fine with breaking his own rules every now and then. On that note, it would be great to send a note to Sir Renar's office about that creaky door that he now knew a particular Hundi had caused.
One of the boons of home visits is that home really is the only place in this land I can fetch good tobacco. I can weather Abele's ridiculous antics if it means I don't have to inhale the roasted moss common in some parts. I'd rather not have to spend such expenses on some sleazy charlatan to give me something I can get for a quarter of the price back at home.
I talk as if home itself isn't a gift to visit - my corner of Thaln never ceases to surprise me with how well kept in its beauty, despite my absence, but on this occasion I hadn't had much chance to appreciate the sights. I'd received a letter from my cousin that my younger brother - Abele - had fallen ill. I feel guilt now that my first instinct was to suspect a macabre joke that he'd reeled my gullible relation into. The timing too, was poor. In the midst of the ball fiasco, no less, I was given the letter by a nervous courier who I'd likely made ever the more antsy by my less than cool conduct. I took flight homeward bound almost immediately after reading the letter in full - concluded with my cousin reporting an urge from Abele for me not needing to visit. It was uncharacteristic enough to shock me into action - brief flashes of my father's last days controlling me more than anything.
Quite the luck that it turned out to be a false alarm. Abele had contracted some obscure fever and in the time it took for the letter to deliver had seemingly mostly recovered - although still bedbound. Normally this would have elicited anger, but this time it sparked relief. He was well enough to only require me to stay a few days to ensure the illness was not to have a recurrence. I considered petitioning for more time away, but I'd missed enough with the situation at the ball that I couldn't permit myself to remain more than that. My best physician was to keep me updated with regular letters for a month. I suspect my brother would refuse to see him longer than that.
Now back at Candaeln, I fan the cigarette smoke away from my face. I've been watching it burn away outside the Iron Roses' keep, dressed in shirt and trews. Starkly modest, frankly, but the stress of the past week has stripped my extravagance bare. It'll return - likely as soon as I'm sent out on task. For now, I'll bear the cross of modesty.
And as quickly as it was lit, it fades away. Such is life.
I find myself floating back towards the keep, mostly aimless in direction. And then I looked down to my shirt sleeve, to notice a dispersion of ash across my top.
"Oh...for...Merda!"
This shirt wasn't even a favourite. In fact, it almost wasn't worth the visit to the maids to have it cleaned.
Angrily, I stormed into the keep, looking for the maids quarters. A week ago, this wouldn't have happened.
Whereas shields too could be weapons, so too could swords become shields.
Just as Fanilly leveraged her mobility, Serenity leveraged her stability. She had not built up speed herself, not with her striding approach, and while there were some among the knights who would see a shield and decide to charge straight ahead to smash through it, Fanilly was not one of them. So just as how water consumed fire, just as how pillows could withstand what wooden boards could not, slowness could respond better to swiftness.
She didn’t pivot this time.
She stepped inwards, into her foe.
Serenity’s sword arm rose upwards, elbow facing out, as the training weapon aligned with the side of her body. This was not an axe that was being swung, where the pure impact could break bones. This was a sword, versatile and agile, capable of cutting and thrust, but never crushing.
Fanilly’s swing did not strike Serenity’s shield on the side. Her swing instead struck Serenity on the side, blades clacking for the first time in their spar. The impact was felt, but through the padding training vest, it would not leave a bruise.
And now, there was the pivot. The turning of the hips, the extension of her left arm, as the rim of her shield swung towards the Captain’s extended arms while her blade was bound on the opposite side.
It was the philosophy of the Dwarven Shieldragers, whose weapons were hefty enough to supplant shields, whose shields were sharp enough to supplant weapons.
Renar sat in Candaeln's extensive library, several tomes scattered on a table before him as he scrawled with quill and parchment.
"Worthless." He murmured under his breath, crossing out his latest attempt as he moved further down the sheet. The knight turned to one of the old books he'd been perusing, flipping through several pages before landing on something that seemed to appeal to him. After a few more repeats of the same process in other books, he picked his quill back up and returned to scribbling something down, it not being legible without an observer drawing closer.
"Strategizing your way into a victory against Dame Lilia?"
In the gloom of a library at twilight, Serenity emerged from a neighbouring aisle of ancient tomes, her form illuminated by the lantern she carried. Her other arms were ladened with books as well, some bearing familiar titles. Treatises on martial arts, observations of duels between the masters, and scrolls on histories so far back as to have become mythology.
She didn't sit at Renar's table though. Goddess knew that Serenity preferred seclusion when it came to her own study.
"Not quite." Renar said easily in response, glancing up briefly just to confirm Serenity wasn't accompanied by anyone he'd rather not talk to at the moment. Fortunately, it seemed she was perusing the library's contents on her lonesome as well. Even with that, Renar debated briefly to himself on how much he should tell her. Then again, it was entirely possible she would recognize what he was doing, making the point moot.
"It's come to my attention that I'm rather lacking in magical weaponry. I'd had a brief chat with the castle smith this afternoon about the matter. He'll inscribe runes into my weaponry for me, but I'm to study the designs myself for what I want. Unfortunate that this sort of thing was never within the purview of my education. Now I'm stuck cramming years' worth of runic systems into my head."
"Hm."
The flaxen-haired knight neither set her own books down, nor did she leave. As far as she was concerned, there was little need for her to explain anything unprompted, with regards to the theory of runic ensorcellments and arcane armaments. Plenty of examples existed in both history and the present, from the blessed blades of the Reonite paladins to the ancestral weapons hoisted within the tombs of the duchal houses. One didn't have to stay at a tavern long before tales of storm-cleaving axes and demon-burning longswords began slipping past the lips of bards and manchildren.
There was a touch of curiousity though. "Why learn? The smith knows more than you would, no matter how much you read."
"I at least need to know what I want. There's little point in leaving it all up to him, and that dwarf doesn't have the time to sit me down and explain what there is in the first place." Renar shot back, glancing between two separate runes in different books each. Hm. Based on what he'd learned, overlaying these would...cause a catastrophic explosion. Damnation. Back to the drawing board it was.
"Besides, I'm not one to let someone else choose a magical weapon for me at their whim. Time I spend here now on this means a weapon that suits myself better in the end."
"Start with what you want, and move backwards from there. Little point in learning everything when you only need a few things."
But she couldn't fault him for simply wanting to learn either. One of the great variables in combat was whether or not your opponent possessed magical artifacts. Though some were foolish enough to make it obvious from the get-go, others possessed a greater sense of subterfuge and cowardice, holding back an effect until it could be leveraged for maximal gain. If one could form an educated guess, based off of a glance upon the inscriptions within a blade, that certainly helped stave off death.
On the other hand though, an amateur's knowledge was just as likely to harm as it was to help. And the Mage's College was just a short walk away...
Ah, Renar and his secrets.
"Oh?" Renar quirked an eyebrow at Serenity's words. More accurately, the ease of which she'd given out advice on this topic. It'd be too much to hope for, but just maybe...
"Could it be that the Arcedeen family education included knowledge of runic script and symbols? By all means, I'll accept advice if it gets me to my goals quicker." That, and he didn't quite have much else in the way of options. His lack of magical talent meant the Mage's College would laugh him out the door, even being an Iron Rose. And frankly, he wouldn't blame them. In their position, he wouldn't take a chance on a magical blunt of a knight without sufficient amounts of bribery or political pull that he didn't quite have access to yet.
She set her books down upon the table.
"And what are those goals?"
"I should think it would be obvious." Renar riposted, his expression unruffled. "You've seen us out in the training yard with Lady Lilia. After the Demonbreaker, it's obvious that our rate of improvement isn't fast enough without more drastic measures. After all, I intend to survive to reap the benefits of being a knight of the Iron Rose." Not to mention his blood-boiling dream the other night. Would that Edwin rotted in the darkness forevermore.
Serenity rolled her eyes. "If you wish to survive, do you wish to do so with a magical shield? Ensorcelled armor? Boots? Do you wish to run through the air? Be hidden from sight? Mimic the barriers of wizards and witches?"
The lantern flickered, shadows distorting in the firelight.
"Your goals are obvious. Now make them concrete."
"Something not so obvious at first. There's little point in having tricks that the enemy will see from a mile away." Renar took a moment to consider, one hand scratching his chin.
"The smith likely won't take more than one order from myself at a time, considering he's plenty of other work to do for the Roses. So let's start with something that either expands my arsenal or makes what I have more effective. I've been looking into the runes of keen striking and haste. That, or something a tad more esoteric. If I'm looking at some of these correctly, it'd be feasible to combine the runes of activated light and sound to disrupt the enemy, correct? But that also bears the risk of friendly fire, of course."
"Keen strikes are good. Haste only helps if your mind can keep up. And light and sound..." Serenity let out a laugh. "If you don't bind it to a thrown weapon, it wouldn't end at simple friendly fire. At best, you'd end up deafening yourself."
At worst, you'd be fighting undead, so that would be all that it would do.
"Fair points. The latter was more of a pipe dream, anyway. I use the occasional throwing knife, but having to retrieve a specific one in the midst of or after a battle would be needlessly tedious. Keen strikes with a minor haste effect, then? I'm certain my mind will be able to keep up with a stronger effect once I've done more training, but that's of no comfort in the immediate future."
"A rune of Returning would help with retrieval and add a second vector of attack." Talented knife-throwers could accomplish that with skill alone, but they exclusively accomplished that with curving trajectories. A dagger that flew forwads and then backwards though, was something far less expected. "Your proposal is otherwise fine, yes." Unimaginative, but not every weapon needed to be legendary.
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"Though I had expected you to desire something more along the lines of enchanted pockets, filled with infinite sand."
"Have I mentioned that actually worked on Lady Lilia? I'm almost disappointed by that." Renar smirked ruefully before shaking his head. "Storage capacity would be appreciated, but I'll make do with what I have. It's not as if there isn't plenty of dirt to go around. In any case, I'd prefer not to be reliant upon any one gimmick."
The bastard flipped through the tomes until he found the runes he sought. "Your consultation has been appreciated, though I'd hope I'm not holding up your own research too much. I don't suppose you'd deign to share what you were looking for tonight?"
"Ah, right." Serenity snapped her fingers. "Get a rune of Durability too. Doesn't matter how powerful your enhancements are if a sufficiently precise strike can chip the inscriptions and destroy the entire system."
Of course, even if Renar had forgotten it, she doubted that old dwarven master would simply exclude it. Such things were standard, perhaps even expected. Any immortal-slaying Paladin would have the bare minimum, after all, of a weapon that would not break no matter what duress it endured.
"And it's on the spine. I'm studying more styles and techniques."
"Understood." Renar nodded, jotting the appropriate runes down on his diagram for later. Keen Strikes, Minor Haste, and Durability. More would be pushing the stability of the runic matrix on a mundane weapon. Three would have to do for now. "My thanks. You've saved me no doubt hours of trouble." He stood up, starting to stack the tomes to return to their shelves.
"Techniques, eh? I'd noticed you've started to accumulate trophies of your own. Working them into your repertoire?"
"Yes."
It was a memory that carried both pride and hatred that snagged upon her mind. Recent insults, no matter how grand the achievement and result, nevertheless stuck so easily to one's mind.
"Did I ever tell you that Damian's a piss poor duelist?"
...Who? Renar stretched his mind to days back when Serenity and Gerard had discussed the battle in the tombs with himself and Fionn. The only ones there of note had been the Demonbreaker, the witch that got away, and...ah. The vampire. That narrowed it down.
"Yes, I'd suppose borderline-immortality allows one to get away with mediocrity in certain areas. Though I share your seeming offense. Hundreds of years to spend and not striving for mastery in anything you do? Truly, age is wasted on the long-lived." He definitely wasn't insinuating displeasure with certain others. Not at all.
"Human history outlives the immortal soul, and unlike immortality, knowledge is attainable within a lifespan."
She was slipping into old habits again.
"That is to say, next time I face him, I'll outduel him with a common sword and take his head." A smirk. "And I'll do it without having lost my arm first."
"Hah." Renar smirked back, taking the stack of tomes into his arms. "I wish for your success, then. It'd certainly be something to see, at least. I'll certainly strive to do similar, myself. To our mutual victories, then?"
"Nothing in this room to toast with, but I'm expecting to be the first you cross blades with after you get your new weapon."
Fire burned, within lantern and within the lioness's gaze.
"And you know what I feel about wishes, Renar. Cut that crap."
"By all means, make me, if you can." He riposted, striding off to return his books to their proper places.
"All of the above, actually," Fleuri replied to Lilianna's inquiry about how he'd improve himself. "The dream made me rather keenly aware of my shortcomings and weaknesses. Then when I was pitted against the Mirror Knight, he demonstrated to me my own form without the flaws and vulnerabilities. He didn't just beat me at my own game, he made it his game."
"Then, not more than a few minutes ago, Lein showed up with a peculiar guest. A servant of the Witch-Knight, a rabbit-eared swordswoman from far-off lands, come to observe and instruct, on her mistress' behalf," he continued. "Lein suggested that I spar with her for a demonstration. She moved her sword so quickly that it caused gusts of wind so sharp that they scored the stonework, as a mere side effect." Fleuri pointed to the spots in the training yard where the wind had marred the stone and cracked wood.
"I don't know how well her specific sword movements will translate to the weapons that I use, but it really put into perspective what's possible if one puts enough work into mastering swordsmanship and refuses to accept the limitations of what they think is possible for them, and that's something I clearly need to work on."
Would Lilianna be offended or bothered by the praise of the foreigner's sword mastery? Would she have any interest in testing herself further against this outsider? Fleuri hoped that he hadn't unintentionally offended the senior knight in his praise of the rabbit woman's skill.
So rather then letting her shield be forced away, Serenity took the blow and answered with a swing of her shield.
There wasn't any time to evade. The distance simply didn't permit it, no matter how agile she might be. But it was no time to panic.
Not only was it simply a sparring duel, but panicking in battle was how one lost.
Fanilly released her sword with her right hand, keeping the hilt gripped in her left. While she took the blow to her right arm, wincing slightly as she felt it a little even through the padding, it wouldn't disarm her when the sword was no longer there in the first place.
A short, shallow swing, simply to maintain the threat as best she could, though she was aware it would hardly be likely to hit, coincided with the rest of her motion. She moved with the impact, leaving the ground entirely for a moment-
-And skidding across the training yard, landing on her feet. Swiftly the knight caught herself, and as soon as she was able to resume movement she was, sprinting to her opponent's left this time and returning her right hand to the training sword's hilt.
This time, she started with a swing from her right, similar to the blow she had attempted before... only to abruptly transition to a swing from the left just as the wooden blade would have become a threat.
The purple-haired maid swiftly rushed into the closet, first reaching up to take the box supported in the hundi knight's hand, and placing it out of the way on the floor, before reaching up to quickly slam both hands on either side of the box balanced on the broom to prevent it from toppling to a disastrous end.
Removing it from its precarious position, she bent down and placed it beside the first box, grabbing the broom now. Given it had the least potential to end in catastrophic consequences, it had been the last item she chose to remove from Lein's person. Now, at least, there was nothing stopping the hundi from just releasing the shelf and landing on the floor, with both boxes and the broom no longer proving a hindrance.
Still, the maid had been greeted with an incredibly surreal, unexplainable image, one that she couldn't place any possible explanation to.
"I don't mean any disrespect, Sir Lein, but what was that?!"
In his trusty and comfortable oak chair, Steffen laid his head on one palm and the other holding a white quill, occasionally slipping the paper he was writing on onto a stack of them, moving almost automatically just from muscle memory. He had lost count of how many times he had to fill this document out just this quarter, so much so that he wanted this form pinned on the training yards for members to do it themselves. But given certain ‘individuals’ they had in the Roses - a certain opportunistic Hundi, mischievous rogue, lazy vampire, or just people who would just plain forget about due process - he wasn’t sure if this was such a good idea.
Finishing the last of the form, Steffen cracked his knuckles, twisting his wrists a couple times before rearranging the pile neatly and heading out to Sir Renar’s office. The Ingvarr knocked on the door upon seeing the light from beneath.
”It’s me.” Steffen said.
"Enter," Renar glanced up from his desk, tucking the letter he’d been drafting off to the side. Fortunate that it was Sir Steffen, which meant that the following conversation would likely be something of substance, even if it was just regarding the day-to-day administration of the keep.
”The broken training equipment is documented. Can you write the smith the order to make new ones?” Steffen said, peeking in from the door. ”Also, if you don’t mind me asking, what happened to that order about the squeaky door in my office?”
"Very well," Renar nodded in response to Steffen’s first request, reaching for another sheet of parchment to do as he was asked. "Who was it this time? If it was Fionn or Gerard again, I apologize on their behalf. They tend to underestimate their own strength at times. As for the door," He sighed, dipping his quill back into the inkwell.
"The request to oil the hinges has already been sent in. If it’s not been done by now, either someone’s marked it as low priority or the culprit has intercepted the message. Knowing Lein, I give it even odds."
”It’s both. But that’s fine, if it’s for the cause of improvement.” Steffen entered the room and handed those aforementioned documents to Renar. ”You should bet money on that odds. He did cause the door to be that way, I’d imagine he’d do that too just to annoy me.” Steffen rolled his eyes, but the Ingvarr sounded more amused than angry.
Renar matched Steffen’s rolled eyes with his own as he took the documents, though his tone sounded more exasperated than anything.
"I will never understand why our better archers all seem to have inane personality defects." He groused, scanning the sheets over briefly before setting them down on his desk’s inflow pile.
"Have I complained to you yet about Dame Cecilia getting exceptionally drunk in the Knight-Captain’s presence? I swear she emptied an entire cask of wine on her own. At that point, it was too much to conceal in the bookkeeping, and I’d had to inform the kitchen staff."
Steffen burst out a laugh as he stroked his cheek. ”Really? That’s probably more than I could on any given meal.” Though given that he rarely ever drank in his life, it was hard to accurately determine his limits.
"And unlike you, she isn’t seven feet tall." Renar remarked wryly. "In any case, while you’re here, I’d like to ask a favor of yourself as well." His eyes narrowed slightly as he began to explain.
"To be frank, you’re one of the only knights in administration that bothers to give me the time of day. My birth status does me little favors with several of these parchment-pushers that see no field action. If I could trouble you to deliver some of these requests and suggestions I have, I’d be very appreciative."
”I don’t know if my status is that much better, having none of that noble blood to come along, but I’ll gladly help.” Steffen nodded with a small smile. ”Is it alright if I ask what those requests are?”
Renar grinned slightly in satisfaction, gesturing towards the half-drafted letter he’d set aside.
"Merely some thoughts as to how to speed up the flow of paperwork among Candaeln’s administration. Less extraneous requests, shortened orders, abbreviation for common forms. And frankly, better an upjumped commoner at times than a bastard. You’re here unquestionably on merit and valor."
”Hmm, alright. Yeah that makes sense.” Steffen simply agreed, taking the letter, thinking nothing much of Renar’s requests. ”Though to be fair, you did do your part on merits as well. Just that the blood in your veins even spilled for Thaln is not enough for some people.”
”Though, just prefacing it, it’s still going to be quite a difficult proposal, with all the traditionalists and all. I know it’s just mundane paperworks, but who knows how many of the traditionalists in our court are motivated by laziness.” Steffen sighed. ”I wish we’re a bit more progressive sometimes. For this, and…well…people like you, getting stained by that.”
"I’m aware." Renar said in response to Steffen’s first few statements. "The state of things isn’t something that any one person can change, even if the crown decreed it so. Royal proclamations don’t change how people think, and they can always fall back on any number of excuses to keep the status quo as it is. Creative interpretations of the law are something I’m rather familiar with." His tone was cold, though turned wry at the last few words.
"Frankly, any dreams I had of the state of things improving died with my boyhood. All I can do is rise as high as possible, no matter what stands in my way. And what of you? As I understand, you aren’t Thalnan by birth. I’m not quite fool enough to believe that crown and country are what binds every knight of our order, but what compels you to stay, outside of a better life than you would have had otherwise? Which is quite a good reason in itself, honestly."
Yeah, Steffen couldn’t blame him for that. The society they both lived under created the kind of person he was. Still, he hoped that at the end of the day, his ambitions came with good intentions after all was said and done.
He leaned onto the wall nearby, crossing his arms. ”Yeah you can say that. I’ve never been into what my ‘compatriots’ are known for: a life of constant fighting. It’s…unfulfilling.” He shrugged apathetically. ”Now, I know, it sounds oxymoronic that now I’m in the knights doing the fighting, but life finds a way to ruin peace. At least here, I’m fighting for a purpose.”
”I guess that makes us sort of opposites?” Steffen let out a light-hearted chuckle. ”N-Not in that sense. Just goal-wise I suppose.”
"Don’t concern yourself overmuch about the matter." Renar waved a hand dismissively, unconcerned. "My goals stand at opposites with many knights. You share more in common with most of our fellows than I do, at this point. If I were talking to Fionn about this, he’d give me grief over it." To say nothing of the damned dream. Blasted Merillia, and that shade of Edwin.
"But that does make sense. You have no opposition to fighting, you only seek to derive purpose from it. How noble."
”...Thanks, Sir Renar.” Steffen rubbed the back of his neck in response. ”It’s more a lesson learned.”
Going back to the topic about Renar’s ambition though. ”For your ambitions. For the state of things right now, what do you expect to rise to? Baron? Count? And what do you want to do once you get there?”
Renar pursed his lips as he considered how to answer the question. After a few moments, he deigned to speak.
"Currently? Any landed title. More to prove certain naysayers I have wrong than anything. In truth? I’d not put too much thought into what I would do should I achieve that goal. Getting there will be difficult enough as it is."
Spite-driven apparently. It is certainly a motive, just not something Steffen would want to see in a person. But then again, from Renar’s shoes, after having been beaten and dragged through mud his whole life for something he couldn’t control, it’s understandable.
”Because it might entail more work and responsibility than what you would bargain for. And also you can’t be proving everyone wrong all your life, right?” Steffen said, lowering his voice again. ”You don’t have to decide what you want to do right away though. Everybody has a dream first and consideration later. Just, I guess, sleep on it.”
Renar narrowed his eyes at Steffen’s words, well-meaning as they might have been. Fionn all over again. Goddesses save him from this sort of concern.
"Your consideration is duly noted." His tone turned glacial. "I am more than aware of what goes into managing and administering lands." And like hell he couldn’t spend his life defying fools. It was what had gotten him this far in the first place. Though it went unsaid. There wasn’t any point in needlessly antagonizing the man. Pressuring him into backing off the topic, though? Absolutely.
"To both of our modest ambitions, then, Sir Steffen." Renar’s face locked up into passive formality. "I’ll be certain to get those forms of yours sent in to the right places. Now if that will be all? The hour grows late, and it’s soon time to sleep on certain considerations."
A rather cold response, he could sense, but Steffen harbored no ill-will against that. If his experience with himself ever told him: doubling down on telling the unwanted what to do would just deepen the wounds.
”To both our modest ambition, Sir Renar.” Steffen gave the man a friendly two-fingered wave. ”Thank you, that should be it. Yeah, get some good rest. Who knows when the Knight-Captain would want us bashing undeads again.”
Another wave sent Renar’s way before the door was closed.
Lein massaged his prosthetic arm as if it was of flesh and blood, shaking off the painful cramps that was sure to be bound. But he was not out of the woods yet. What did this purple lady say - Alaree, Tessa, a trap? Gah, Lein should've known better. Still, it seemed that she didn't yet catch onto the wine yet, so he still had a bit of weasel space.
He was clearly in an apparent position of authority to the maid, so perhaps:
I was fulfilling my obligations in my knightly duties, until I was beset, as I see now, by your entrapment. I'll forgive this trespass, Miss Maid, but just this once.
No, that made Lein sound far too much like Serenity, and he should avoid such haughtiness lest he suddenly have a sneer permanently stuck on his face.
I'm deeply sorry, I was heading by and I noticed that -
Pfft. Lein couldn't even finish that line of thought, he was sure that he couldn't match Steffen's intonations in earnest.
No. Lein was familiar with most of the lower level staffers in the castle (and they toward him, most often accompanied by knowledge enough to suspect foul play), but the maid standing before him was new. A new arrivals, or likely some specialized member. Either way, Alaree would have to take the fall for this one.
"Alaree, huh? She know about your, ah, surprise, by chance? Asked me for a favor, see."
Amid puzzled conversation I open the door to the maid's quarters, oblivious to whatever trivial controversy was current in session. I open my mouth to speak only to be distracted by the situation in question - none other than previous agitation Ser Lein, apparently being questioned by one of the maids (Who I sorrowfully admit to not recognising).
Instead I emit little but idle silence, disgracefully hovering by the door to the quarters and attempting to piece together what on earth Lein was up to. A thought crossed my mind that he could simply be a pervert.
"Whatever you would be most comfortable with, Lady Lilia," Nicomede smiled, and returned Renar's courteous nod. "The last thing we need is any needless injuries. But an old tutor had a motto that took a long while to sink in. There's no such thing as useless knowledge. Anything you would be willing to demonstrate would be informative."
"The aim is a little different with a lighter blade, Sir Segremors," He added, taking a half step back with his right and pivoting to be able to address the two other knights as well. "Like Lady Lilia just remarked upon, a rapier can't always strike decisively against an armored opponent. In that case a disabling strike against a less armored joint might help to pave the way for that finishing blow. Even then your sword is down, and you can't defend as easily."
"For a sword like yours a disabling strike is a waste of an opening."
"Against an opponent in armour, he'd be doing similar. Looking for exposed areas. Halfswording and using it like a spear for extra control, or outright turning it around and using it like a hammer. Swords like the two of you have, in normal hands, might be easier to beat aside—but you can just as easily evade the beat, come back around, and use the point control afforded by your weapon's inherent balance to seek out armpits, holes in visors, and under-protected necks easier than we can, in some ways, if they don't think to simply push your blade aside with a gauntleted hand."
Fionn narrowed his eyes at Nico. Surely this had to be some sort of trick.
"Beyond that, Lilia's comment towards armoured opponents was about her magic, not purely the blade work."
"But part of a broader point about the normal limitations of a rapier, as I said." Nico disagreed politely, raising his eyebrows slightly. He hadn't expected this sort of pushback on a fairly minor point— perhaps he disapproved of Nicomede's comment during his teaching moment? "Against an opponent in proper plate, of course he can't cut through it any better than I can."
"That being said, of course he does have certain weightier options that I don't just as I have some quicker ones that he doesn't." Hadn't he essentially said as such? Maybe he'd missed something in their exchange earlier? Still, Fionn looked as though he expected an ambush. "But many of our opponents aren't in plate, or even wearing armor at all. And even enchantments used during forging change our expectations about durability, so I'm not sure it's as simple as separating swordplay from the arcane."
