[Tortoise District] A dance between lions and dragons (Elite Longsword)

[Cyrus Marius]

L3 Longsword, Self-Mod Approved

TS: 34th darkening of Optia, in the season of Summer, Era XIV PF

The descending suns bathed the sky in a vibrant, brilliant orange light, shot with streaks of crimson and gold as the rays played across the lingering cloud formations. Old men stopped to watch and appreciate the natural splendor, and young children ran laughing down the street, playing at some local game or another. Their youthful eyes fell on the figure of a young legionnaire walking down the street, garbed in the clothing of the exotic Kemite city, yet immediately identified as an outsider by the thick, flowing mane of golden hair that cascaded around his broad shoulders. The children ran before him as he walked, but it was playful and in good nature, and the soldier smiled as they laughed and played away the last hours of the day.

The man was already waiting for him at the Shisa Gates when Cyrus arrived, languidly leaning against a tree that ornamented the Tortoise District. He was full-blooded Kemite, a veritable scion of their race, with skin the color of honey and eyes so dark brown that the appeared black in the fading daylight. He was slender of build and stood perhaps five and a half feet in height, entirely bald except for a tightly woven braid of black hair, streaked with premature silver, that extended from the back of his skull and hung below his waist. He was garbed in a lightweight, loose-fitting robe of fine white linen, and in the black silken wrap around his waist rested one of the finest katanas that the young soldier had ever seen. Pitch black silk over pearl-white rayskin decorated the hilt, the metalwork chastened with gold in places, and the wooden sheath that housed the weapon was masterfully laquered in a swirling pattern of black and blood red.

The Kemite smiled broadly as Cyrus approached, and bowed his greeting to the blonde warrior.

"Greetings, Cyrus Marius." The man spoke Common well, though his Kemite accent was very strong. "You are right on time for your lesson."

Cyrus returned the nod as he came to stand before the man, his left palm resting on the smooth pommel of Karvaaka that hung at his left hip.

"Greetings." The soldier's azure eye appraised the swordsman briefly, but the man seemed unassuming and peaceful standing beside his tree. "Are you the one they sent?"

The man smiled again and nodded.

"Yes, I am Hiro of the Durai'Torek, and I am here to teach you the art of the katana."

[Cyrus Marius]

The Kemite's dark eyes then drifted downwards, and fixed on the eldritch Karvaaka that hung at the legionnaire's side.

"You wear a blade in the style of the eastern Imperial warriors. Tell me, Cyrus Marius, are you familiar with this blade's use?"

The young soldier nodded evenly in response,

"Yes, I was trained by the Imperial Legions out of Aelyria Prime, and further schooled in the Thibalt method of dual-sword fencing by the Jaedaxian virtuoso, Jaques Douveau."

Hiro smiled warmly again, and he crossed his arms before his narrow chest as he continued to lean casually against the tree.

"The famed Imperial Legions and a Jaedaxian fencing master? I am certain the knowledge they imparted to you was both valuable and wise." The man's nature was unlike many warriors the young soldier had met; he was poised and polite, and entirely in control of himself, and a feeling of peace and serenity eminated from him, rather than the aggression one might imagine. "If you wouldn't mind me asking, why then did you visit the Darui'Torek pagoda, and request a teacher in the art of the katana?"

Cyrus' lone azure eye then drifted down much as Hiro's had, and came to rest on the Kemite's magnificent katana. The weapon, so unlike the spartan, utilitarian arms of the Legions, was as beautiful as it was deadly. Silken wrap over pearlesque rayskin, gleaming gold against a blackened steel tsuba, the sword was obviously of the highest quality, a masterpiece of craftsmanship and artwork.

The soldier's gaze then returned to the Kemite's smiling countence.

"Because, I would know what you have to teach."

"That is a good answer." Hiro's smile had broadened, and he seemed to positively beam with pleasure. "A very good answer."

The Kemite then looked around at the throngs of people that navigated the Tortoise District, his dark eyes flicking from one face to another as his expression became thoughtful and contemplative.

"We can not begin our lessons here, the display would not be appreciated by the weary eyes of these fair travellers. If you would still learn from me, Kenshi, then seek out the solace of the Garden of a Hundred Pools. Arrive before the sunlight, meditate on why it is that you seek this knowledge, and I will find you."

Cyrus' eyebrow rose at the strange word, and he spoke as the diminutive Darui'Torek was turning to depart.

"Kenshi?"

Hiro looked back over his shoulder at Cyrus and smiled broadly again, his dark eyes warm and friendly as they held the young soldier in their gaze.

"It means student; student of the sword."

[Cyrus Marius]

~The following dawn~

The only sounds present in the gardens at this hour were sounds of the waters in the pools, running along their paths with an almost musical chime to them. A few contemplative souls could be seen roaming around the grassy areas and gazebos, but for the most part, the place was serene and still, a perfect location for reflection and introspection.

Or, perhaps, for lessons on how to kill a man.

The young soldier reflected on this idea as he strode from all those visible in the dark garden, seeking the quietest, most solitary glade he could find. Soon enough, the legionnaire came across the perfect spot; a wide, flat expanse of soft grass, surrounded on three sides by a large, curving body of still water. Low hanging willow branches hung from the trees that lined the grass just before the pool began, nearly touching the ground in length, and providing a natural curtain from view of the rest of the garden. It was here that Cyrus, dressed in a black hakama and white, sleeveless tunic, stopped and began his meditation.

Never formally schooled in the standardized methods of meditation, the discipline through which magi achieved their spellcasting state, his style of meditation was a reflection of the purpose which it served. It was the meditation of a warrior.

The young soldier took Karvaaka from the belt around his waist, still housed in her black leather sheath, and sank to his knees in the center of the glade. He then rested back on to his heels, so that his long legs were folded beneath him, and he made his spine as straight as a spear with his head perfectly level and his eye closed to the world, and across the tops of his thighs he rested his sleeping longsword with his palms face down atop it. The position was not a natural or comfortable position, and the tension and pain that it caused would only lesson with familiarity and practice. It was these sensations that a warrior must become entirely familiar with, must struggle against and learn to master, and centering oneself through the discomfort of this particular meditative stance made one more able to reach the same tranquility and control when engaged in strenuous activity.

The young soldier began breathing deeply, controlling his inhaling and exhaling with all of his focus and attention. The concentration took his mind from the pain and the discomfort, and it helped him focus beyond it, unwaveringly fixed on the deep, steady breaths that he took. He was clearing his mind, quieting the questions and thoughts that raced through his swift brain.

The Kemite's earlier question still rang in Cyrus' ears, asking again and again why it was that he sought to learn and increase his proficiency in swordsmanship. Could he not already kill a man? Journey to the Umblat, and ask the souls that bear his mark about his lethal prowess. Yet, was that why he pushed himself harder and further with every day that passed, just so that he could better learn to take a life? The soldier reflected back on a defining experiance of his young life, the ritual of the Sanguine known as the Zali'mau, and of how his fierce warrior's instinct had driven him more to protect those under his care, rather than simply shed as much blood as he could manage. It was this need to protect that had lent an impossible strength to his limbs and skill to his attacks, and he had battled as savagely as his Virkyn companion in the bowels of the crystal Citadel.

Was that what drove him? Cyrus could not say, but upon reflecting so deeply on the concept of protection, he could not keep the image of Elizabeth and Benjamin from comming to mind. He saw them as he had last seen them in life; terrified, reaching for him through the shadow that had been cast over thier lives. He remembered how helpless he had felt, how utterly and entirely unable he had been to prevent the deaths of the two people that mattered most in his life, and of how the burning need for vengence had fueled and satiated him for so long. Still, his desire to learn and better himself predated the deaths of his beloved family, and no matter how much their loss and what it bred in him drove him forward, they were not the root of his drive to learn either.

Other memories returned to him then, of enemies young and old, strong and frail, that had fallen before his sword. He recalled a furtive youth, crossing blades with a young legionnaire recruit, and of the expression on his face when Cyrus' sword parted the soft flesh of his throat. The soldier then recalled the image of an wanted criminal, an actor on stage and on bent knee before him, and the distinct sound that had been heard when Cyrus' sword cleaved his heart in twain. Others still came to him, and with the memories, came the rush of pure dominating aggression and exhileration that came with the kill. Try as he might to deny it's temptation, the victory brought out life and power within Cyrus that could only be found in blood-drenched combat, and found it's most powerful climax in the utter destruction of his foes.

The duality was both maddening and empowering.

Suddenly, a soft footstep approaching broke the soldier's meditation, and his lone azure eye flashed open and fixed on the figure of Hiro that stood several yards out before him. The Kemite was dressed as he had been earlier, white robe hanging around his thin frame in the breezeless glade and katana thrust through his black waistcloth, and he still wore the same smiling expression on his countence.

"Greetings, Kenshi." He began, his voice barely breaking the serenity of the garden environment. "Now, we can begin."

[Cyrus Marius]

Cyrus nodded as the man spoke, and he watched his body language as the Kemite strode to meet the kneeling soldier in the center of the glade. He walked casually, with small, measured steps and his arms hanging strait at his sides, stirring faintly with the rhythm of his stride. Hiro's dark gaze found something of interest amongst the low hanging willow branches, and he cast a fond look at the darkly beautiful foilage, his expression filled with a peace and serenity that Cyrus had himself never known in his brief years.

As Hiro came to stand where the young legionnaire knelt, he pulled his katana free of his waistcloth and carefully arranged his robes about his person, methodically and deliberately assuming a practiced meditation position. The brown-eye'd Darui'Torek saw Cyrus studying the different way he assumed his position, and the broad, warm smile returned to his countence.

"This form is known as the Lotus, and it is among the first positions for meditation imparted." The Kemite made no mention of Cyrus' form, for if it was incorrect or amatuer he had the grace not to say so, and if he recognized it, he did not care to acknowledge it.

"Let us begin at the beginning, for I often find it a good place to start from." Hiro continued smiling as he spoke, and he brought his katana around to rest on his lap. Cyrus did not yet reply, and instead shifted his gaze to the arrival of the resplendent sword. The Darui'Torek's hands gently rested upon the laquered scabbard of the weapon, though the index finger of his right hand softly, almost unconciously, stroked the soft silk that comprised the wrapping on the weapon's hilt.

Hiro followed Cyrus' gaze and looked to the sword in his lap, and he began to speak again.

"First, you must know the sword, before you learn it's use."

[Cyrus Marius]

"This," The Kemite began, now pointing to the hilt of his weapon with the same index finger, "is called the tsuka, and it differs in construction and materials than your Imperial weapons. The tsuka is crafted of a wooden core, and around this is added same', or the cured skin of ocean rays imported from costal regions. Over the same' is a wrap of silk or cotton usually, called an ito, though leather is sometimes used. The metal base of the tsuka is known as a kashira, while the section just beneath the handguard is known as the fuchi, and the handguard itself is called a tsuba. These are usually simply strong, weather resistant steel, and they often contain a picture or theme that corrosponds with the spirit of the sword and the character of it's wielder. Do you understand so far?"

Cyrus nodded but did not speak, his mind absorbing the names and details of the katana that Hiro had pointed out for him. The dark-eye'd Kemite nodded as well in return to the soldier's confirmation, and he slowly inclined his head in Cyrus' direction.

"If you would then, Kenshi, please describe the construction of your own sword in much the same manner as I have just described my blade."

The legionnaire's right hand came to rest on Karvaaka's supple leather-wrapped hilt, still resting across his folded knees, and his azure gaze fell to the weapon. He knew an eastern longsword's construction inside and out, and though he had never disassembled his eldritch weapon, his familiarity with the particular style of sword was more than sufficient to name the weapon's construction and materials.

"This weapon's name is Karvaaka," Cyrus said somberly, his eye lingering on the sword. "The hilt is crafted of a single piece of ivory, molded and sculpted to rest comfortably in the wielder's hand, and tightly wrapped with a layer of soft, virgin leather to ensure one's grip. The pommel is of a type called a 'scent-stopper' in the East, so named because of the blugeoning capabilities possible with it, and the pommel is faceted like a gemstone. The solid and secure crossguard keeps the swordsman's hands from sliding up the blade in a dedicated thrust, though it's gentle curve upwards towards the tip speaks of an aesthetic value as much as it does pure efficiency. Finally, the bulk of the metal to form the sword's hilt is ardentium, refined and forged in a manner as yet unknown to myself."

The soldier then fell quiet, and his gaze returned to Hiro, awaiting the next words to pass through the Darui'Torek's broad, beaming smile.

[Cyrus Marius]

The Kemite swordsman seemed pleased with Cyrus' description.

"Good, very good." He said, "Your weapon is magnificent, Cyrus Marius. If you do not mind my asking, where did you come by it?"

The young soldier felt a lump rise in his throat at the question, and he lowered his gaze to the eldritch longsword again. His finger ran across the tasteful gemstone set into the center of the crossguard, and in his mind, the soldier was taken back to the evening Karvaaka had been gifted to him. He had journeyed to the Khardran mountains on a Rhagrhnd vision quest, and the spirits of his people had appeared to him to beseech him follow the path that fate had led him down. His mysterious mother had appeared to him, and even more signifigant still, the shades of his slain lover and child had appeared as well. Cyrus could still remember their faces, their luminous and incandescent features that looked upon him with such love and pride, and it had been his beloved Elizabeth, the light of his life, that brought the weapon to his hands. It was her gift, her love, and his destiny.

"A friend," The young soldier finally managed to say, his smooth voice tinged with emotion that he could not hide. ""A friend gave her to me." By habit, Cyrus often referred to his longsword as female, an unconcious association with the woman who had given it to him.

Hiro's brown eyes widened slightly as a mildly shocked look crossed his Kemite features.

"A friend? Truly, you are blessed in the realm of friends then, Cyrus Marius. I recieved a lovely collection of tea for my last Naming Day celebration, a fine and thoughtful gift to be certain, but an ardentium weapon it is not." The Kemite smiled again as he finished speaking, his tone light and kind, and again, Cyrus could not help but reflect on just what sort of warrior this pleasant and jovial Kemite truly was.

"Yes, I am blessed in my friends." The young soldier replied, his thoughts going to the soldiers back in the Sherian, still under the shadow of war with the Orcs. He would be going back to them soon, but he would return a more schooled and skilled warrior then the one that had journeyed so far west, and the savages of Ire would then learn to fear the sound of his name.

Hiro smiled and nodded, and his brown eyes returned to the katana in his lap.

"Come; we will continue. Next, we move to the blade."

[Cyrus Marius]

Hiro placed one hand on his katana's tsuka and the other on the weapon's sheath, and in one smooth motion he had drawn the weapon from it's laquered wooden home. Even in the pre-dawn darkness, the steel gleamed bright and keen, as beautiful as it was deadly. The blade was shorter then Karvaaka's, being perhaps between twenty-eight and thirty inches in length, which when combined with the almost twelve-inch tsuka, gave the weapon a distinct appearance and unique handling properties. Hiro stared at his own blade for a long moment after freeing it from it's scabbard, and after the moment had passed, he turned his dark gaze back on Cyrus.

"The blade, Kenshi, is the heart of the sword. It is a reflection both of the craftsman who made it, and the warrior for which it was intended." Hiro's voice grew somber as he spoke, and the warm light in his eyes dimmed slightly. "This particular style of daito, or long blade, is known as the shinogi zukuri, which is among the more common types of katanas seen. The thickness of the blade, also called the niku, determines how stout a target can be attacked with the sword. The edge is differentially hardened by applying clay during the forging process, and this creates the distinct wave pattern along the edge that we call a hamon." Hiro extended his sword arm, and presented the katana between the two of them. "If you look close, you might see the pattern of ripples and bands within the steel. Do you see them?"

Cyrus' lone cobalt eye had little trouble identifying the ripples in the steel that Hiro spoke of; it was a technique used in the forging of weapons in the East as well, though it was often reserved for ore with increased levels of impurities, or for combining the properties of different steels to achieve the desired results. The young soldier nodded his affirmation but did not yet speak, trusting that the Kemite swordsman would continue with the lesson.

Hiro smiled, pleased with Cyrus' powers of observation, and he fondly looked to his own katana's blade again.

"The pattern is called the hada, and it often serves as a sort of signature for the artist that made it. In more ancient times, the act of pattern-welding served as a means to create fine steel from the mineral poor land that we had at our disposal. Now, the technique is more aesthetic than anything else, though the traditions of sword making are as sacred as any other in Kemite culture, and most quality smiths will still go through the process out of respect and a sense of artistic craftsmanship, rather then purely utilitarian reasons."

The Darui'Torek's eyes then moved back to Cyrus' visage, and the warm, friendly smile returned to the Kemite's face.

"Now, please describe to me your own blade."

[Cyrus Marius]

Cyrus nodded, and like Hiro, placed both of his hands on Karvaaka and smoothly drew the blade from the black leather sheath. If the Darui'Torek's blade gleamed upon being unhoused, then the legionnaire's positively flared with arcane life, immediately illuminating the area in which they sat with a luminous, silver-white glow. After the initial burst of radiance, the glow within the blade subsided to a more muted, subdued illumination, but still pulsed slowly with a life of it's own none the less.

The Kemite's eyes widened again, and he gasped in undisguised surprise and admiration. Even upon first glance, there was something unique about the eldritch sword's blade. It almost looked like smokey-dark crystal, so razor thin that one could fancy that they could see through it to the other side, however it also shone with the unmistakable gleam of ardentium. The blend had created ripples in the blade similar to the pattern-welding of Hiro's katana, however Cyrus surmised that the blending had occured through some ethereal or arcane means, for the pattern of bands and ripples continued down it's length in swirling circles and nova shapes, incredibly fine and perhaps impossible to accomplish with human hands. Finally, runes were deeply graven into the blade along it's entire length, spelling out in their ancient language the enchantments that lay housed within the weapon.

"This particular style of sword is known as a 'long sword' by Imperial standards; it's blade reaches nearly three feet in length, and the hilt is primarily designed for one handed use." The legionnaire began pointing at each section of the blade as he continued speaking, the glow comming from the sword reflecting brightly in his lone eye. "It has what is called a 'diamond' profile, giving it an equal cutting edge on both sides of the blade, and strengthening the central line of the sword to better allow for thrusting. The edges are not especially harder then the spine, as they are on the katana, and the balance is further out on the blade, perhaps seven to eight inches rather than the katana's four to six."

Cyrus looked away from Karvaaka and turned his blue eye on Hiro, who sat quietly watching and listening. The Darui'Torek was nodding slowly, his expression the calm, patient look of the teacher when hearing the pupil recite the day's lesson. It seemed that the Kemite was quite familiar with the style of sword, if not one as unique as Karvaaka herself, and he was testing Cyrus' knowledge of his own weapon rather then simply exchanging details about each other's arms. The legionnaire let his sword rest across his knees again, and he waited silently for the Kemite warrior to respond.

Hiro took another moment to stare in admiration at Karvaaka's blade, then he shook his head slightly and the warm and friendly smile returned to his countence.

"By Torek, that is indeed a magnificent sword."

The Kemite then returned his katana to it's sheath, prompting Cyrus to do likewise with his sword, and Hiro's eyes found his again.

"Now that we have explored these weapon's differences, Kenshi, tell me now about their similarities."

[Cyrus Marius]

"Similarities?" The legionnaire asked, before glancing back to Hiro's katana. "Well, of course, they are both classified as long blades, and both could potentially be used in one or two-handed gripping styles. The katana's curvature aids in the slash, as the longsword's taper and stiffness aids in the thrust, but both weapons are entirely able to perform either manuver with equal efficiency. Their weight is comparable, and though the balance differs on them, the difference is not so much as to demand a deviation from the basic applications that all weapons of their classification share."

Cyrus made a wry twist of his lips, trying to discern anything else that the two swords might have in common. He was only now learning about the distinct sword of the Kemites, but he was a swift learner, and there was only so much that could differ between swords of similar proportion and purpose. He did not have to ponder for long however, for Hiro smiled broadly again, and nodded in agreement with his words.

"Very well observed, Kenshi. As you have noticed, the differences lie primarily in the aesthetics of the weapon, while the similarities reach far deeper then fittings and wrappings. Both weapons are intended for the same purpose, and as such are designed with that purpose in mind. Each carries with it the personal touch of it's creator, but beneath that, they are very much like siblings; born of different parents perhaps but family none the less."

The description cast another shadow across Hiro's smile, but the Kemite immediately recovered his geniality and gracefully rose to his feet, his movements as smooth and liquid as a great feline. Following his lead, Cyrus also stood from his kneeling position, brushing stray blades of grass from his black hakama as he rose. Both men held their sheathed swords loosely in their right hands, and their gazes met as both finally stood straight and tall in the secluded glade.

The Kemite spoke first, "Now that we understand how similar the weapons are, do you believe that you would be able to follow my instruction with your longsword?"

Cyrus smirked slightly, unable to stiffle the momentary flare of arrogance and pride that rose to meet the Kemite's words.

"Absolutely."

"Good," Hiro responded, smiling in response to the soldier's smirk, "because one can only teach so much with spoken words. We are here to learn how to use these deadly beauties, are we not? Would you be willing to show me what the Imperial Legions and the Jaedaxian fencing master taught you, Kenshi?"

[Cyrus Marius]

Cyrus nodded but did not speak; the time for words was over.

The two men turned away from one another and strode several paces away, each swordsman's step lightly falling upon the grass as they walked. Once a sufficient distance from one another, the two men turned towards each other, and their eyes met across the dark, still glade. The young legionnaire was the first to make his move, bringing Karvaaka up and out before his chest, and slowly unsheathing the longsword again. The radiant light that eminated from the crystalline steel blade pulsed slightly faster than before, as if eager and ready to match blades with the Darui'Torek before it.

Hiro, for his part, remained as calm and as still as the reeds that decorated the water's banks. His white robe hung limply around his rail-thin frame, and his long ponytail rested across his right shoulder, hanging well below the black waistwrap that still housed his menacing katana. His expression had lost some of it's previous geniality, however it still contained an element of peace and serenity that seemed an indelible part of the Kemite's character. Would the veil stay up once battle had been joined?

The legionnaire would soon find out. He cast the battered leather sheath off to the side, lone sapphire eye never leaving Hiro's countence, and smoothly began to transition to his fighting stance. While he had become very fond of and familiar with his style of dual-sword fighting, and of course, Karvaaka's arcane gifts suited the style perfectly as well, the legionnaire was not at all unschooled in the use of a single blade. Karvaaka was no true bastard sword, however her hilt extended just beyond six inches in length, not counting the pommel, and so Cyrus was able to fit his left hand just beneath his dominant right hand on her black leather-wrapped grip. The hand position felt somewhat strange at first, as if gripping a club or other such blugeoning object, but remembering the lessons he had learned about finger placement and the application of pressure against his palms, the soldier was able to shift his grip around until he found a comfortable and secure way to hold the longsword at the ready before him.

The Dauri'Torek smiled slightly, and nodded at Cyrus' initiative.

"Good, Kenshi. Make certain that your thumbs are aligned along the top of your sword's hilt, one behind the next, and make certain that your fingers are firm enough to maintain control of your weapon but relaxed enough to manipulate with the most subtle of gestures. Yes, just like that. Next, do not lean forward so, your hips and shoulders should be aligned so that your center of gravity is better controlled for shifting at a moment's notice."

"Now, Kenshi, attack me. Now!"

[Cyrus Marius]

For a moment, Cyrus hesitated, lone cobalt orb fixed upon the small Kemite man before him. Hiro had as of yet drawn no weapon, nor had he adopted any combatative stance of any kind. However, his attention was focused entirely upon the soldier standing across from him, and after a heart beat had passed, Cyrus advanced like lightning upon his foe's location.

The Darui'Torek did not stir, did not even so much as blink as the six-foot soldier swooped down upon him, golden hair stirring behind him and Karvaaka flashing in the dim morning light. Cyrus had raised his longsword high above his head as he advanced, held in his two-handed grip, and when in range for her deadly blade to strike home, he swung the sword in a vicious downward diagonal slash aimed at the Kemite's upper body. A part of Cyrus' mind that was detatched from the fight at hand noticed that Hiro had still not moved, and that his dark eyes barely seemed to see the gleaming blade that streaked so unerringly towards him. For a moment, the soldier felt a flash of panic that perhaps the man had underestimated his skill, and that he would be struck down in an ill-formuated lesson of some kind.

Nothing could have been further from the truth.

Just before Karvaaka's razor edge would've made contact with the light linen of Hiro's robes, the Kemite suddenly shifted his torso backwards in a motion so blindingly fast and fluid that Cyrus' lone eye widened in shock and surprise. His longsword's blade whistled harmlessly through the empty air, and Hiro immediately sprang back into position, his expression entirely as it had been a moment ago, as if he had never just dodged the dangerous strike.

Recovering from his momentary awe, Cyrus responded with a combonation attack, swinging his blade in a figure-eight pattern with a speed and authority that tempted the line between practice and combat. Again however, Hiro defended himself with incredibly dexteritous movements of his body, combining his mobile and shifting upper body with quick and precise footwork that simply took him out of harm's way without having to yet physically intercede against the threat. The young soldier swung savagely and repeatedly at the Kemite man, not uncontrolled or unstyled but ruthless none the less, and still, never once did Karvaaka's blade come near to connecting with Hiro's flesh. He was simply too good.

After one particularly ferocious swipe, the Darui'Torek suddenly pushed off his rear foot and lunged himself into Cyrus' proximity. In the same motion, he had shot his hand forward and grasped ahold of the soldier's right wrist, using the strike's momentum against the legionnaire to twist the limb painfully. Cyrus could feel his ligaments and tendons strain under the sudden and incredible pressure, and with a snarl of pain, he was forced to let Karvaaka drop from his spasming fingers, and he sank to a knee before the Darui'Torek as the man continued to wrench his arm and control his posture.

[Cyrus Marius]

Just as the pain was becomming unbearable, Hiro released the young legionnaire, and Cyrus immediately clasped his throbbing limb to his chest. Hiro stood above him, looking down upon him with that same kind, warm look that seemed so alien on such a proficient warrior, and he produced the barest ghost of a smile. Cyrus could only gape up at the Kemite as he rubbed his sore wrist, impressed beyond questioning by the Darui'Torek's display. With the smallest, most subtle of gestures, Hiro bade the soldier retrieve his gleaming longsword, so that they may continue with the lesson.

Cyrus continued staring at him for a brief moment, but he swiftly grasped Karvaaka again in his dominant hand and after rising to his feet, turned and strode several yards away to repeat their exchange. Though mildly embarassed and chagrined at how quickly Hiro disarmed him, the soldier was only that much more driven to learn what the warrior had to impart, and the more skilled a combatant he proved himself, the more rapt a pupil he would have in the fiery legionnaire.

When he turned back to face Hiro, the Kemite extended a hand and commanded Cyrus wait a moment before attacking again.

"Your passion is commendable, Kenshi, however it's great strength can also be a great weakness. You are schooled in how to kill a man, that much is plain to even a novice's eye, but is that true skill? You swing your blade much like a lumberjack, a demon bane to the still and helpless trees of the peaceful forest perhaps, but a warrior he is not, for his trees do not attack in return."

"If you would, resume your ready stance."

Cyrus did not respond, but instead immediately complied with Hiro's orders. He returned to the stance that he had adopted earlier, holding it for inspection or correction from the masterful eye of his teacher.

Hiro would not dissapoint, "Extend your arms slightly, so that your elbows are only slightly bent with your hands level with your belly, and your sword's tip level with your plane of vision. Raise your chin slightly... yes... perfect. Now, the next time you attack, utilize and control the combined fluidity and power of your entire body. Pull with your left hand to create the force you desire for your strike, and begin with the muscles of your back and midsection, so that all the power contained in your upper body is at your disposal. Finally, guide the strike with your right hand, so that the blow generated by the power contained within you will land upon the desired target."

Cyrus nodded once, a rogue lock of gold hair falling across his visage, and with a small flourish of his blade, the soldier advanced on the Kemite again, sword gleaming poised and deadly above his head as he charged.

[Cyrus Marius]

Again, the Darui'Torek did not move, but instead waited for the strikes to come towards him. It was a mentallity entirely different from the young legionnaire's; where his aggression and lustful drive to meet his opponent blade to blade propelled him forward like a demon. But this small Kemite man seemed an untouchable fortress of agility and coordination, his lean hand never once so much as brushing the silken wrap of his katana's tsuka in order to defend himself from Cyrus' onslaught. His expression never even so much as lost it's peaceful, tranquil look, so naturally and reflexively did Hiro respond to the attack.

Cyrus was learning swiftly however, and gradually, he came to learn that Hiro was allowing him to acclimate to swinging and attacking with the sword in the new style of combat, before engaging the legionnaire in return. Already, the soldier could feel the increased power that came with using the entire trunk of his torso in the swing, power enjoyed by those massive swordsmen who studied the titanic art of the greatswords and claymores. Karvaaka lacked her cousin's signifigant reach and weight advantages in this realm, but being the middle child of the sword family, her proportion made the longsword usable in many various types of combative application, if only Cyrus took the time and effort to explore and learn their nuances and techniques.

Following in the style of combonation attacks that he had learned from Douveau, Cyrus transitioned from one strike to the next with it's corr