Intermediate Longknife Training - Adamon (Private)

[Bladvyx]

Clouds covered up the rays of the three suns, despite the fact the weather had been splendid the last few brightenings. The ghastly weather seemed to reflect the emotions that Milthrandir was feeling at this moment - Though it was likely a coincidence.

Forcing a smile upon his lips, Milthrandir guided the Vysstichi to the knoll, which was devoid of any objects, save for the wooden crate near them. The sea elf stepped up to the create, fetching two wooden longknives, both containing metal to ensure that they had the right weight.

"Is there anything you would like to know before we begin?", Milthrandir asked Adamon, as he handed him one of the knives.

[Adamon Mylenthar]

Truth to be told, the circumstance that clouds covered the sky and consequently the three suns of Telath suited the vysstichi just fine. His crimson eyes were afterall rather sensitive, even after almost a pattern on the surface. The light simply hurt, not always a lot, but usually enough to make him feel somewhat uncomfortable. Sometimes it was just a slight, stinging sensation, while he thought that his eyes were on fire at other times, depending on what time of the brightening it was and whether there were objects that reflected the light, such as snow, glass or white walls, around.

Due to the rather ghastly weather the young man had pulled the hood of his blue velvet cloak back so that his face was fully visible. The sea elf who was about to train him did not seem to be all that happy about having to teach a dark elf, but Adamon just didn’t care, he did not care about glares or forced smiles. He had stopped caring a long time ago. As long as people let him do what he wanted, as long as he got his will, as long as nobody tried to kill him, he did not care about their attitude. He obviously could not change the world. He did not want to change the world, did not want to make people accepting of dracons, vysstichi and all those other evil races. They had their reputation for a reason. Vysstichi were at heart an evil race, and he one of the few exceptions due to his somewhat unusual past.

Wooden knives, that was odd. The young man looked at the weapon that the sea elf had handed to him and narrowed his eyes fractionally as if he found the thing rather suspicious. He had never fought with practice weapons before, but only with the real thing. His training had not taken place in a controlled environment, but outside, in the wilderness. He had gotten his skills in a most unusual fashion. Actually having somebody teach him to fight would be a first for him. He had trained in druidism at the temple of Carmelya in Diana, but this here would be slightly different. Drudisim was hardly aggressive, but a rather peaceful sphere of arcana.

“No, I don’t have any questions ...” he told the sea elf calmly and gave him a gentle smile. “I’d like to begin ...” With this he took the heavy cloak off and placed it on the ground so that he had a little more freedom, was not hindered in his movements. It would not do if he fell down because his cloak got in the way, but only be embarrassing beyond measure. “What are we going to do first?” Two crimson eyes in a youthful elven face regarded the sea elf expectantly, waiting for instructions.

[Bladvyx]

Milthrandir looked up in contemplation. Usually his students had no skill to begin with, and thus he could just repeat his tutoring methods with each of them. This was however, somewhat more difficult. He did not teach longknife too often, and this Vysstichi was somewhat skilled with the weapon already. But even while he was thinking, he preserved a cold, unwelcoming exterior, clearly unable to hide his contempt for the race of the Vysstichi.

"Let's begin by sparring. Show me what you can do, so I have something to work with. With these words he assumed a stance that would make him ready for combat. He placed the right foot in front of the other, while keeping most of his body weight on the left one. The grasp of his fist around the knife was firm into to turn his knuckles to a temporary shade of alabastar. Small beads of sweat, caused by anxiousness and anger, made it more difficult for him to maintain his grasp. Indeed he was ready to spar, but would he teach his student or hurt him?

[Adamon Mylenthar]

As the sea elf told him that they would begin with a spar, the young vysstichi only nodded. “Alright ...” he said. He swung the knife, just a couple of times to get a feel for it, to see how it was balanced before he settled into his stance as well. His feet were about shoulder length apart, with the right one in front of the other one. It would not do if they were close, he would be ill balanced and land on his back and have a knife through his heart whenever somebody attacked with a little force. His knees were slightly bent. Again that served to make his stance a little firmer and him a little less likely to land in a less than favourable position. His weight was for now pretty evenly balanced.

His hands were firmly wrapped around the knife, but not too firmly. He did not try to hold onto the knife with all his might, as if his life depended on it. His hold onto the blade was just enough to make it hard for him to lose it should the sea elf attack him. There was no sweat forming on his forehead or his palms yet, but chances were that he would be sweating by the time this lesson was finished if he really tried hard.

Having somebody ask him to attack was something new for the elf. All those times before he had not been asked but just been attacked, by a mad elf or a flesh eating, hairy ... thing. There had been no time for him to think about an effective and original attack, he had just drawn his knife and tried to aim at a place where it would hurt. When your life was in danger you did not really have time to think.

As a result he stood there for a moment and furrowed his brow before he twisted his torso to the side, just slightly to give the sea elf less space to attack. At the same time he lifted his hand and locked his eyes with the sea elf’s, gave him some time to wonder what he was going to do before he brought it down in a quick slash, from Milthrandir’s left shoulder to his right hip. Even in a real fight such an attack would not be particularly painful, but it would definitely hurt – and leave a nice hole in his opponent’s armor.

[Bladvyx]

Evidently, the dark elf was very fast, perhaps a worthy opponent, even for an experienced person, such as Milthrandir. With the grace of the elves, he brought his short wooden blade down in a perfect arc. With uncanny reflexes, the sea elf managed to intercept the wooden blade with his own, in a manner that made them form a cross in the air.

Reluctant to allow even one precious second to pass without a reaction, Milthrandir returned to attack. Whether he was mostly driven by his passion for combat, or his anger for the Vysstichi, only Ioannes would know, though the latter seemed more likely in this particular situation. In an equally adroit manner, he made an almost horizontal slash, aiming at his pupil’s left hip, though in an angle towards his right thigh. It was not a natural reaction for him to be so aggressive in his fighting style, and it seemed as though he had long forgotten what he usually taught his pupils about the balance between defence and offence, and waiting for the right moment to strike.

A fight worthy to observe, no doubt of that, even though Milthrandir, being the tutor should be the one to come out on top. Officially though, the purpose was obviously not who won and who lost, but it seemed that the anger nestled in the heart of the sea elf had changed that, at least for him... It was about more. In some strange way, he felt the need for retribution over this poor dark elf, who had not even met him, let alone wronged him in the past.

[Adamon Mylenthar]

Fast? The dark elf had never considered himself to be fast. He was average, maybe slightly above. His real talents lay in druidism, he was exceptionally talented when it came to drowning in self pity, but he was not really that skilled when it came to fighting. Most of the things he did were nothing more than natural reactions mixed with a strong sense of self preservation and perseverance and maybe a little bit of imagination. If Milthrandir considered him fast, he had never met one of the fighters of Silrosia, had never run into a sword dancer. In his opinion he was not all that fast, but when it came to grace he could definitely compete with any elf of Milthrandir’s kind. His movements were gentle, soft, perfectly timed. Adamon was not clumsy, and he would never be if he could help it.

A smile flickered across the elf’s dark face as the swords made contact with each other, generating a small sound as they did so. He looked at the wooden cross for a moment before he pulled his blade away again and put it down so that it was in about a forty five degree angle to his body. A pale white eyebrow curved in a tender arc, the corners of the vysstichi’s mouth twitched as if he was amused as he noticed how aggressive the sea elf seemed to be, how ... angry. All of Milthrandir’s anger towards the Hayan race seemed to surface all of a sudden, seemed to be centered around a young man who he had never met before now. Adamon actually did not mind the anger and the aggression all that much. In the end he would only benefit from it, learn more if the sea elf fought harder, if he did not hold back. And he had come here to learn after all.

Since he had already been in the process of bringing his knife down after Mithrandir’s parry, he was not particulaly bothered by the slash against his tigh now. He just flicked his wrist slightly, twisted his blade so that it came in contact with Milthrandir’s own knife, attempted to push the sea elf’s hand away, only a bit. He did not use too much force, just enough to drive the sea elf away a bit so that he could execute his counter attack, a simple thrust towards his belly. It was not a particularly fancy or complicated move, but it could be effective ... if he was successful. Most people found a knife thrusted straight towards their stomach fairly unpleasant, even if it was only made of wood.

[Minerva]

Clouded as his mind was by the ravaging needles of anger and hatred towards the vysticchi, Milthrandir still, quite unsurprisingly, remained the stronger, more capable fighter. The disparaging onset of emotions and prejudice may have hindered or staggered the man’s usually abilities and sills with the longknife, but these handicaps did almost nothing to visibly mar the fluid and calculated movements the sea elf exhibited as he continued unrelenting in his apparent mock fight against his ebony skinned student. His brow was furrowed deeply, even though his every motion was smooth and full of grace; it was clearly evident that he was not over-exerting himself in any way or fashion. Still, the hazy, irksome gaze mirrored in the sullen orbs of his eyes did nothing to disguise the loathing harboured there.

The blow against Adamon’s thigh did connect, but the vysticchi, unperturbed, successful managed to bat Milthrandir’s blade away from his person, despite the diminutive amount of force he seemed to dedicate to his retaliating strike. A follow up thrust to Milthrandir’s belly followed, a basic, unadorned move that lacked anything in the way of elegance and splendour. Those traits alone would not have ensured the action’s failure; the Thëlyri tutor’s current superiority in the way of the blade constituted as a major factor in guaranteeing the thrust’s downfall. With barely a second thought, or even a substantial amount of effort on his part, the sea elf batted away Adamon’s attack with an immensely forceful parry, one that possessed enough impact to send tremors of vibrations upwards through the length of the wooden device, towards the vysticchi’s dominant hand. A counter led Milthrandir’s blade to sweep upwards towards his opponent’s head, the tip of the harmless blade coming to rest a scant inch below Adamon’s chin. The wooden knife rested in its position for a few, pain staking moments, unmoving, unwavering, as Milthrandir appeared to debate within the confines of his mind just what to do next. He seemed to be relishing and revelling in the position he found himself now, delighting as he allowed the wooden tip of the fake sword touch gently onto Adamon’s neck.

“You’re dead, vysticchi.”

Satisfied with the outcome of the pretend battle, Milthrandir brought back his own weapon in a smooth, flawless arc to rest lightly to his side, the look of antipathy defiling his usually chiselled features remaining ever present as he took a brief moment to consider his student once more.

"You’re parry was good enough, Adamon, but the follow up wasn’t as distinguished. I’m more skilled than you, and could anticipate, and so parry your thrust towards me. Your low thrust in turn left your head and neck temporarily exposed, understand? There was no fluidity, no follow through in your strike. Following a parry with an upwards or downwards thrust to the head and neck, or to the thighs, would prove far more effective. I would then have to, in turn, either lower or raise my own weapon to block off your attack, leaving another part of my body exposed. Understood?"

Lowering the blade still clenched delicately within the palm of his hand, Milthrandir considered his student idly, although not without the underlying veins of abhorrence dwelling squalidly within his system.

"If you have no questions, attack me again, and we’ll see how you do this time round."

[Adamon Mylenthar]

It did not surprise the vysstichi that Milthrandir eventually turned out to be the more capable fighter even though things had looked extremely good in the beginning. The man likely practiced the same moves every brightening, taught students on a regular basis, worked out, was never out of practice whereas he ... he had only used the knife when he had absolutely needed to, once to kill the werewolf that had attacked him during the journey to Carmelyn and once to defend himself against a bandit in the Pegasi Woods. He did not enjoy violence or rather he was afraid to resort to violence, to brute force, afraid of fighting, afraid that he might come to enjoy it, afraid that somehow he might come to enjoy all the blood. He had born to two evil races and was afraid that some traces of his dark past lingered in his body, like a monster that was only waiting for the opportunity to surface and strike. Adamon definitely possessed a bit of talent, but he neither had the experience nor the skill of his teacher – and lacked his anger, his prejudice. The young dark elf was still calm and composed, as if nothing could touch him.

Milthrandir’s reaction to his thrust, the parry, had been forceful enough to send tremors through the wooden blade, towards his hand, made him shudder for a moment, frown before calm reclaimed his features once more. The vysstichi actually did not have a dominant hand like most people but could use both hands with equal ability, was equally strong and skilled with both hands, a rare trait that could quite possibly safe his life one brightening. As the sea elf swept his blade upwards, towards his head, the dark elf blinked – the only sign that he had realized that such an attack, such a mistake on his part would lead to his death in a real fight. But then again, he was a druid and would probably cover his body with stone or steal, get some manner of arcane protection if he had to fight for real. Things were never that simple. The corners of the vysstichi’s mouth trembled as if he wanted to smile, and then, as the sea elf moved his blade away he nodded.

“Maybe I would be dead now if this were a real fight ...” he replied calmly. “Maybe not. If this were a real fight, I would likely have taken some manner of precaution, worn armour. I have some skill with the arcane and would probably cast a spell on me to protect myself, some kind of magical armor ...” He shrugged his shoulders. “Still, I understand what you want to imply. My attack was not good enough. There were some flaws, some weaknesses. I realize that my fighting style could use some improvement, that’s why I am here, to learn from you ...” His words did not sound arrogant at all. His voice was calm, measured, polite. Adamon did not try to be more intelligent than his teacher, he was just stating his opinion, stating things that were up for debate.

He took a few moments to look the sea elf over before he settled into his stance again, tried to position himself so that he would not lose balance after a particularly forceful attack from the sea elf, took the knife into his left hand this time, a gesture that might or might not confuse Milthrandir, and then began another slash. this time from the right shoulder to the left hip, fast, with some manner of force, hoping that the sea elf’s reaction would be similar again so that he could repeat his parry and his counter and get things right this time. Maybe his movements were not as fluid and calculated as Milthrandir’s, but he definitely was not clumsy either. He just lacked practice, and that could be taken care of in time.

[Bladvyx]

Milthrandir assumed the basic fighting stance once more, preparing his pretend-blade for yet another round, hoping he would be equally successful. Evidently, it did not matter much to him whether his student learned anything or not. For a few seconds he dwelled on the fact that his student had switched hands with his weapon, but he chose to disregard it. It had been some cycles since he had last practised with the longknife, but it was not something that he easily forgot. He had a knack for weapons, and had always had that. Though one could easily say that he was devoid of any affinity for arcana, as he had once attempted to learn sorcery, failing miserably so. He was unbound, but without any ability to channel the arcane energies.

With an anger and hubris even more intense, if possible, than before, be warded off the attack of his pupil, still reserving some of his grace and elegance. But with total disregard to the saying “never underestimate your opponent”, he attacked again, slashing towards Adamon’s chest, something that would doubtlessly be very painful if effective. But even though his ability and speed was superior to that of his student, he had made the mistake of making an opening to an attack, giving Adamon the opportunity to strike, having blocked Milthrandir’s haphazard attack. His entire torso was open to a thrust from the Vysstichi.

[Adamon Mylenthar]

It was obvious that it did not matter to Milthrandir whether his student learned anything or not, but for a good teacher it should matter. A good teacher would do anything to make sure that his student actually took something from the lesson, even if said student was a vysstichi. A good teacher did not care about such unimportant details as somebody’s race, but only about somebody’s personality. Maybe Milthrandir would eventually turn out to be such a teacher, but for now he was nothing but an angry elf who had some skill with the blade. It made the vysstichi wonder why he had even agreed to teach him and not found an excuse. Had it been money? Anger? The desire to show the blackskinned fiend that those of the light were better?

The sea elf’s anger that seemed to grow more intense with every passing second only cast a gentle and somewhat sad smile on the dark elf’s face. A bit of anger was good, but too much clouded one’s judgement, made one vulnerable. It was not all that surprising that the sea elf managed to ward his attack off again, but the counter attack that followed certainly was. The vysstichi brought his blade up to parry Milthrandir’s slash, then lashed out towards the elf’s chest in a quick, forceful thrust, a forceful attack. Another very soft smile followed as if he wanted to tell the sea elf “I told you so!”

And then he did something entirely unexpected, reached out for the state of clara, tried to reach that certain state of peace and calm that was necessary to cast any spells. He extended his vis towards the sea elf, tried to establish a link with his teacher and projected feelings of peace, calm and love through the link. As an Apprentice Druid he had learned to reshape spells. The spell he was reshaping now, changing to suit his purposes was called Befriend Animal. The technique allowed him to change it so that it worked on elves as well. In the end all creatures were animals anyway, no matter whether they walked on two legs or on four.

Maybe all those gentle, pleasant sensations would help the sea elf with his anger problem, would actually make him care about his student, treat him better, try to teach him as best as he could. Maybe all those sensations would help him clear his mind and concentrate on what was really important. The vysstichi was not in the mood for angry looks.

OOC: I hope you don't mind the last bit. It just seems like something Ady would do to make the training a bit more pleasant ...

[Bladvyx]

Much to the dismay of the teacher, Adamon had proven successful. His wooden dagger pierced through the air ending in a thrust that would no doubt have claimed the life of Milthrandir, had this not been a practise battle. Still it was mildly unpleasant to be struck in the chest in such a manner, even with a wooden dagger. In an act of compulsion, forced by his reflexes, he bended forward, attempting to ignore the pain that this had caused. What am I doing? I should be quicker than this.., the teacher thought to himself, but then a much more important matter came to mind. This man is my student. A vysstichi, yes, but still my student. The wrong-doings of his ancestors are not his fault…

It was a difficult situation to be in, as it always was when one realized a mistake. Clearly his treatment against this vysstichi had been uncalled for, and if he wanted to be able to sleep at night, and rightfully call himself a tutor, he would have to amend his behaviour, he concluded. After a brief moment of his inner monologue, he approach the Vysstichi who had begun the prospect of entering the state of clara, freeing his mind from the material plane.

”I’m sorry… Milthrandir said, his eyes meeting the distant gaze of the druid. ”I have acted wrongly against you, for reasons that I would prefer not to discuss, but I can assure you that they have nothing to do with you… I’m sorry.” Adamon’s focus was obviously elsewhere than the grassy knoll of the training grounds, but the sincerity of Milthrandir’s words made them clear as crystal even so. Naturally, his ill feelings towards the race of dark elves had not magically faded by some act of miracle, but it seemed that he had finally gotten them under control. That the mistake he made in his fighting had made him realize his prejudices and presumptions.

[Adamon Mylenthar]

A light, strangely amused smile was visible on the vysstichi’s face as his wooden knife made contact with his teacher’s chest in a thrust that would most likely have killed the sea elf if this had been a real fight. As Mithrandir bent forward – obviously due to the pain that the strike had caused – the druid made a step backwards and regarded his teacher thoughtfully as if he was trying to reevaluate the situation and the elf’s skills.

As the sea elf approached him, the dark elf lifted his own head, tried to look into his teacher’s eyes. He did not know what was going through the man’s mind now, what he was thinking. He did not dare to guess it. Maybe Mithrandir was just thinking murderous thoughts, wondering how he could get rid of the blackskinned abomination that fate had thrown at him, how he could make it look like an accident. No, the expression on his face was not right for that. Milthrandir did not look like he was about to kill his student – on the contrary - he looked almost friendly.

Was he just witnessing the effects of his spell or had the sea elf realized how foolish and unproductive his attitude had been on his own? Either way, he released his hold on clara and returned to reality, to the material plane. “Everybody makes mistakes ...” was his reply as the sea elf told him that he was sorry. “I accept your apology. If I had been in your place I would have acted much the same way. I can at least partly understand where your hatred comes from. Most vysstichi are evil ... but I’m not, for reasons I would much rather not discuss now ...”

There was a hint of pain in the elf’s dark face for a moment, a hint of sadness and despair, almost impossible despair before the mask was put in place again. The vysstichi had gone through more than the sea elf could possibly imagine – and managed to stay alive through all of it, even if death had sometimes seemed like a blessing. The young man was far from the vysstichi who had suddenly realized that the things his kind did were wrong and escaped from the underground world they called home. He had never been underground, except in his dreams.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as the vysstichi stepped forward again and extended his hand for the sea elf to shake it. The other hand was still holding the knife, holding it firmly, as if he expected his teacher to strike now when it seemed that he was distracted. Sometimes paranoia was hard to get rid of. “I hope that the rest of our time will be a bit more pleasant ...” he remarked. “Maybe we will have time to sort those issues out the proper way once the training is over. But for now ...” He bowed slightly and readied his knife. “Could we continue again?”

[Bladvyx]

Milthrandir nodded, truly burdened by his feelings of guilt. But it seemed that he had finally realized that Adamon was not to blame for whatever wrong the Vysstichi had done against him in the past. "Yes... Let's do that", he said in a friendly manner, once more becoming to the person that his friends and family would recognize. "By the way, you have an excellent form. It seems you have quite the talent for this weapon. If I have to point anything out, I would say that you seem to be mentally occupied with some other matter. When you fight, you have to let everything else go. Concentrate on the moment, or you might not make it out of it alive." Verily, it was a very dramatic way to put it, but concentration was surely one of the most important things when fighting. "Each second, or split second even, might make the difference between life and death. As an elf...", he paused for a second, as if surprised that he had called the Vysstichi an elf. He did not regret calling him that, he had just never done it before "... As an elf you have the potential to be extremely fast, something particularly important with this weapon. I'm not saying that you are slow, but it is an important aspect to work on. You should practise your reflexes, and your physique in general, to improve your skills further. But let's warm up before we continue the lesson..." He assumed a moderate pace, as he jogged around in circles on the grassy knoll.

[Adamon Mylenthar]

Apparently the sea elf had finally calmed down completely and realized that the young man he was facing was not like the rest of his race. His behaviour was far from the one he had exhibited in the beginning. The dark elf had never thought that anybody could change that fast, that a man who had clearly hated his kind would come to the realization that his attitude was foolish so soon. Maybe there was hope after all, for him and for all those others that stubbornly refused to see that nobody was born evil, that you could not condemn somebody just because he belonged to a particular race.

“An excellent form?” the young man asked and arched a milky white eyebrow, chuckled softly. “I’ve never seen myself as a talented fighter ...” He shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t help wondering if you are just trying to humor me. I think I can still do better than now ...” For some reason he found it hard to accept compliments, had a low self esteem, constantly questioned himself. Compliments usually did not make him feel good but somewhat awakward. As the sea elf mentioned that he seemed to be mentally occupied with some other matter, the vysstichi nodded slowly, thoughtfully, let out a soft sigh.

“There are just too many things going on in my life at the moment,” he admitted. “A couple of months ago I was rather sick, and an old mage saved my life. In return for this he wants me to find a young woman and bring her to him. As it happens she has powerful enemies ... and then there is the fact that i recently found out about my parents’ death ...” He shrugged his shoulders again, as if all those things were not important after all. There were so many things going on in his life. He had quite possibly found a new home in Demios, a place where he would be accepted, but he would have to leave it again, if only for a while. There were vampires to take care of and a young woman who had begun to call him brother, dracons in Archadoon that wanted to be visited.

”I will try to let go ...” he promised Milthrandir. “I will try to forget everything else and concentrate on the task at hand ...” A thoughtful expression could be seen on his face. “It’s similar to clara ...” he murmurred. “What you just said. When I began my training in the arcana, my teacher told me that I have to be in a special state to be able to cast spells, that I have to empty my mind of all thoughts to be even able to perceive the energies ... Believe me, I know that a seconc can mean the difference between life and death ...”

As his teacher called him an elf rather than a vysstichi, the young man smiled slightly and murmurred a barely audible “thank you” only to ask the sea elf another question immediately afterwards, “How do I become faster? How do I train my reflexes? Will you teach me?” At the elf’s statement that they would warm up before continuing, he nodded and broke into a light run, tried to keep up with the sea elf, be at his side.

[Bladvyx]

While arcana was not a technique in which the sea elf was skilled, he knew of the prospect of clara. Completely clearing your mind. It seemed like a wise choice to do it in a similar manner to that of arcane meditation. The only problem this could cause was that an initiate usually took about ten minutes to achieve the blissful trance, while in a fight one would have to do it in mere seconds.

The sparkling blue eyes of Milthrandir turned to the Vysstichi, in a cordial gaze. "In spite of what you may think, you have a talent for fighting. And since you have practised arcana, it should be easier for you to clear your head. Keep in mind that you have to do this in about ten seconds, therefore you cannot use the same method as that of clara. You do not want to shift away from the material plane either, merely focus upon the present moment, and the fight at hand. Let the past and the future go", instructed the tutor, making gestures with the wooden long-knife as he spoke.

"Speed is a difficult thing to teach. I know of no techniques that can help you improve. Something that can help, is simply taking a run now and then. Improve your physique, and your speed and reflexes will improve at the same time. I'll make sure to work on it in this lesson", he said as he jogged around, warming up his muscles.