Learning Basic Cinqueda (sort of) (self-mod)

[Thuntir Halvard]

Timestamp: Second Cycle of Ponutis, Winter of Era XIII P.F.

Balash Dankov was waiting for Thuntir in the Citadel courtyard. He was, by the standards of the city watch these days, a veteran, but of late Thuntir had noticed him drifting off during meetings, and he'd been complaining more than usual for him (which was a fair amount to begin with). He obviously needed a break, and Thuntir was the man to give it to him. In exchange for some of that experience lurking inside his head, of course. Thuntir had convinced the human to give him some basic tips on how to use the cinqueda he'd found in the armory several months back, in exchange for a few ales and a promise to work some shifts for him so he could get some of that R&R that humans seemed to need such copious amounts of. Truth be told, even Thuntir's dwarfish constitution began to flag after one or two particularly demanding patrols (one incident last cycle stood out where he'd had to yell at a couple of street vendors for what felt like an hour before they finally stopped threatening each other), but he wasn't going to admit that to anyone if he could help it.

Balash was a slender, unshaven man who probably kept a cigarillo planted firmly between his lips even when he tucked in at night. A lot of my comrades have that habit, he reflected, wondering what drew men to tobacco so readily. It wasn't something used in the Nightlands, since, questions of importation aside, frivolous generation of smoke could be dangerous in some poorly-ventilated areas and was heavily discouraged. By contrast, Balash's scented smoke drifted gaily up toward the sky that was just beginning to darken with the coming twilight. "Let me see your weapon again," the guard said by way of greeting when Thuntir approached. He obligingly slid it from its sheath and offered it to the Nexian. He'd taken a look at the cinqueda before, when the two of them had made their deal, but he went over it a lot more thoroughly now: examining the fullers, testing the flexibility of the blade, running a thumb along the edge, taking a few experimental slashes and thrusts, and even pulling out his own shortsword and comparing it alongside.

"It's not the same as what I use," he grunted when he'd finished doing everything he could think of to the cinqueda. "But it's not entirely dissimilar either. This will be your first lesson, and it's one everyone who claims to be a fighter ought to know. Know your weapon, and your enemy's. Both your armor and his, too, if you've got any, but weapons are more important at the level we're at. Some are pretty versatile. Some aren't, and are only good at a few things and bullocks at everything else. I think your weapon is more one of the second than the first." He held up both blades as he continued. "You see how your sword is a bit shorter than mine, and broader? It's also slightly stiffer, and has a greater taper. I imagine that it's used pretty much the same as a shortsword - otherwise I wouldn't even bother being here - but its strengths aren't quite the same. See, most shortswords are pretty versatile things, good for both cutting and thrusting in close quarters, though the thrust is really where they do the best. Yours is more specialized. That taper puts the weight of the blade closer to the hilt, which makes it feel lighter, but also means there won't be much force behind any cuts you make with this overgrown dagger. The unusual width is there just to make a stab-wound bigger. The edges are sharp, so you can slash, but that's probably not going to give you any deathblows." He handed the cinqueda back to its owner.

"And make no mistake, if the knives come out and someone's trying to stick you, aim to kill. Someone who's fighting to 'apprehend' their enemy is vulnerable to someone who's fighting to kill. Maybe one day you'll be good enough to pull off stunts like that in a real combat, but right now, farting around and holding back will make you dead. We don't need to risk ourselves to spare the lives of lunatics and murderers.

"All right, let's get to some basic blade-handling while we've still got some light left in the day. As I recall, you've been toting that thing around for a few months now and you've had a run-in or two during that time. But I'm going to start with the raw basics anyway, b'cause I don't know what you've picked up and what you haven't. Show me what you think a good stance is." Thuntir felt slightly affronted that his instructor would downplay the incident with the Manticore to the status of 'run-in,' but then again, Balash had actually managed to survive the massacre at city hall as well as the pirate attack (without sleeping through it as Thuntir had, to his continuing shame), so it wasn't like the human hadn't dealt with his share of crises. He assumed what he thought was a pretty good fighting stance and waited for the inevitable rebuke.

[Thuntir Halvard]

Balash looked over Thuntir's mock fighting stance with a critical eye for several moments. "Okay, I see you've figured out that your hand position isn't the same as on that mace you cart around. Good. You've got your thumb braced against the back of the hilt for more control, and you've got the blade angled forward for a thrust."

The human put his hand on Thuntir's right arm, prodding and probing its muscles. "What are ye doing?" the dwarf asked, perplexed and slightly affronted.

"Finding things out, greenhorn. See, I just found out you're too stiff. You need to relax a bit more, or you're not going to be able to react quick enough. Now, why don't we..." and with that, Balash's shortsword flickered out, red evening sunlight glinting from the steel, and battered aside Thuntir's weapon, then shifted back to prod him in the stomach.

"'ey!"

"I told you to relax, but you've still got to have strength when you need it. If I can push aside your blade with a shortsword, any fool with a longsword could do it easy. Now, this time you know I'm coming, so be ready for it. Use your sword to guide mine away from you. You don't need to knock it aside, just turn it away with the flat of the blade. Oh, and keep your legs farther apart." This time when the blade came, the dwarf attempted to intervene. He suspected that Balash slowed down his swing on purpose, but he still failed to position his sword properly, and his trainer's weapon whistled past, clipping the crossguard of his cinqueda but otherwise unimpeded. "That's okay," Balash said, apparently in response to Thuntir's look of frustration. "You'll get the hang of it. You just need to learn where to put the point. Try again."

That attempt turned into a third, then a fourth, as Balash took multiple swings at the dwarf, intentionally turning aside the ones that he failed to parry, which was most of them. Still, repitition made anything easier. On the fifth swing, Thuntir managed to force Balash's sword to strike his own and run along its back to the crossguard. On the eighth, he managed to catch the sword on the crossguard for a moment. On the ninth, he guided the sword inappropriately and felt the cold sword-edge bite into his knuckle.

"Oh, feth," he swore as blood trickled down his hand.

"Sorry. Still, it's a lesson. That crossguard is there for a reason. How's it look?"

"Isnae so bad. Just a scratch. Th' bleedin' makes it look worse'n it is." The dwarf was beginning to wonder if training with live steel was a good idea.

Balash grunted. "Yeah, hands always bleed. Well, you should get that fixed up, and it's about dark anyway. Might as well call it quits for the day. You don't want to start your patrol with a messed-up hand."

Thuntir noticed that he was right, the suns had disappeared over the horizon, and he was due to start on his beat any minute now, and was supposed to stay there until well into the morning, to cover for Balash. He was pretty sure he was going to be having jealous thoughtts about the veteran guard's ample sleep about the twelth hour into things. And he was going to meet here again to train when evening rolled around again? "Ah, let's make it th' day after tomorrow for th' next lesson, aye?"

"Suit yourself. See you then."