He couldn't believe it. He was a knight. An actual knight. Haven had always dreamed for it but had never let himself fully believe that it could actually happen. It seemed that the turns in his life came quickly. Everything had been fine and then his mothers had split apart and he had found out of the crimes of his father. Now only a little over a month later he was a knight. A protector for their small band. It was such an honor, and one that the youth did not take lightly. Already one of their members had been brutally attacked. He would do all he could to fulfill his duty and make sure it did not happen again. That's what had brought him here, to Blackmoor Castle. Jade eyes looked up at the tall dark building. Even though he had been much smaller the last time he had seen it it was no less magnificent now.



Haven ascended the steps and walked into the musky darkness of the castle. He stood in the entrance for a few moments, allowing his eyes to adjust to the low lighting. With a small smile he noticed the suit of armor on the opposite wall, the first thing he had run to in here as a pup. How long ago that now seemed. He decided to go down the left hallway to start his search. As he walked he found himself going down a spiral staircase. One burnt orange hand went to the wall to steady himself. The descent took longer than he had anticipated, but luckily for him, he had made the right choice in directions. The armory spread out before him, weapons and armor were on every wall and table. Dutifully he went around checking blades, looking for the one that would suit him best.



As the Aatte knight ascended the steps, a smile of satisfaction adorned his lips. Finding a blade that was not rusted and that he liked the weight of had taken a long while, but it had been worth it. The sword he had chosen, a longsword, lay in its scabbard across his back. In his satchel he had also collected some whetstones to help the blade keep it's edge. He had no doubt he would have to spend some time sharpening it when he returned home. As he walked back out of the castle and into the light his hand reached back to pull the blade from the sheath. It needed to be polished, but still it glinted in the sun. "What should I call you?" he mused to himself. Every good sword needed a name.

Would dating this to the 29th be okay? And I made her bring her sword so that she could play, ^=^;;
500+


The woman had thought often of her weapons since her encounter with Catalyst. Yet, her days had been filled with many encounters, and only today she had been able to consider the blades. Often she had carried the Raven Spear, but very little had she carried the sword, aptly titled Badb. Earlier that morning she had taken the sword from its place in her den and had tested its weight in her hand. Even as she had held it, the weapon had sang to her, and for many moments she had simply listened to that song of war. Badb was quiet and hungry, but the blade was beautiful and clean, singing with that clear voiced hum. Upon finding the ancient Celtic blade, the woman had carefully placed the knot of the Raven’s head upon the blade near the hilt, and its pattern was held with dark lines, clearly and skillfully cut into the metal. It had been the same technique applied to all her weapons of consequence, to instill the power of her Dream and the soul of her Dream into each weapon she would carry into battle.

But now the woman, having practiced the familiar patterns with Badb, was once more familiarizing herself with the lands about her. Normally she would have left her weapons behind, but upon this day she carried the sword with her, its song singing softly as she held it. Scabbardless, the woman held it comfortably in her hand, feeling that martial song through the bones of her being. The white orbs were almost brighter as she moved with that effortless grace, pausing every now and then to investigate a place she had missed before. Her maw worked diligently, picking up the scents of both familiar and unfamiliar creatures—and yet she did not catch her father’s scent. She never did. It was a strange thing. And as if that thought had invoked his coming, the Raven crawed above her, high within the bright heavens before he plunged down, pulling up as he became level with her shoulder. And upon the rocky heights of the trenches, the Raven was easily able to accompany his Dreamer. A light smile greeted the bird, but with each coming, the woman’s inner warning grew stronger.

Never before had she seen the castle, though it would have been difficult to miss. The castle was one of the human edifices that was seen to be beautiful to her eyes. And this particular edifice reminded her of her own homeland, of Caledonia. For a moment, the woman merely stood at a distance, beholding the strange sight that seemed to come from her distant memories. Then her natural curiosity rose within and bid her to take a closer look.

The woad warrior chose her steps carefully and yet with that effortless grace that came naturally to her movements. The Raven followed silently, his wings beating occasionally with that quiet whisper. She had reached the steps leading to the castle when another emerged from within. The warrior paused, the woad bound ears pricking forward as her maw lifted, those white eyes almost fierce as she considered the male. He was not one that she had met before and so naturally she was wary, considering him as a possible enemy. And yet, as she waited, her sword still comfortably held at her side, he did not seem to poise a threat. But one could never know. And the orange hued male said something, but the specific words were lost for the pounding of the ocean. And for a moment she was silent, and it seemed as if it would remain so. Perhaps she should have said something, but her quiet timidity bid her to be silent.

Yeah that's fine with me



He turned the sword over and over again in the sunlight, marveling at its beauty. He would use this sword to protect his pack and those he cared about. He would use it justly and with virtue. Now he would be able to serve his king more ably. Names ran through the youth's mind, but nothing seemed to jump out at him. Perhaps naming it right away wouldn't be appropriate? Were you supposed to wait until you had used it some? He couldn't recall if the books or stories had ever mentioned that. Maybe he just needed more time with it to discern its proper title. Now he wished he had a horse. While carrying the sword in his lupus form would be doable, it was certainly easier in his two legged body. The drawback with that was covering distances took much more time that way. Were there any tamable horses even around? It would be something he would have to look into.



With the roar of the ocean crashing in his ears he didn't hear someone was on the steps of the castle. He still had his sword drawn and held out before him, not even thinking that it might look threatening if someone he didn't know were to come upon him. Then one way he turned his new weapon made the sunlight reflect into his eyes. Moving the sword down to his side and blinking his eyes was when he finally noticed the dark woman in the distance. She appeared to be considering him wearily and he gaze went back to his sword. "Oh! Sorry! I hope I didn't startle you," he said as he moved to place the blade back in the scabbard on his back. He offered the lady a sheepish smile. "I didn't see you there. I mean no harm, I promise you. Knight's honor." He placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head.

Oo, I like your signature~~~
Haha, aww, he’s cute, ^w^ And I said that he was taller than she was—I’m just assuming, so if he isn’t let me know, ^=^
500+


The orange hued wolf was quite indulged within the inspection of the sword. The woman, in turn, watched the boy curiously, her head titling ever so slightly. It was strange—a good sort of strange—to watch another transfixed by a weapon in the way this young man was. She wondered what sort of thoughts occurred in his head while he looked at it, wondered if they were similar to her own. But the black fae did not look down upon her own sword, instead keeping her eyes upon this stranger, yet uncertain as to what manner of creature this loner would turn out to be. Her gaze was intent as she hesitated there, unwilling as well to become involved without knowing this creature. If necessary, she would do so, but she would not simply attack an unknown creature. She wondered how her own blade would fare in such a battle. Badb was of Celtic origin and was shorter than the sword that was held within the orange wolf’s hands. But Badb, she believed, would not be disadvantaged.


As the sun glinted off the blade, the white orbs squinted briefly to ward off that blinding light that briefly sought to blind her. The warrior’s ears pricked forward, expecting an attack, for such a technique was often used to blind one’s opponents. And yet, when she lifted her gaze, her vision slightly hindered by that sudden but passing brightness, the boy presented no hostility. Instead, apologizing he sheathed the blade, swearing upon hospitality with his Knight’s Honor. A knight, the woman thought briefly. This boy must be a knight—she was but a simple warrior. And this latter display with the hand over his heart and the bow, the woman smiled, raising her blade as she placed her own fist over her heart and bowed in return. "In that case," the woman replied, "you are forgiven," and she rose, her words and display of utmost formality and respect. It was that display between warriors (and knights too, she thought, believing the two to be of different divisions) that was mutually understood.


Satisfied that this male did indeed mean no harm, the warrior ascended those steps with that fluid grace, her sword once more held comfortably in her hands. The Raven came to land upon her shoulder as it was accustom to doing, tilting its head to gaze upon the young man in question. She stood before him, and though he was young, his height was greater than her own, if only by a little. The woad warrior was curious of this young man as she was with all warriors that she met. "I am Cwmfen nic Graine," she greeted formally with a slight dip of her woad bound maw, "Adonis and Head Warrior of Dahlia de Mai." The white orbs sought the green eyes without challenge. "And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?" That light smile graced her maw with golden warmth, contrasting to the empty gaze of the one-eyed bird at her shoulder. His black beak clicked quietly as he watched unblinkingly the young man before them.

Thanks! ^^ Hehe yeah, I <3 my little knightly gentleman! And actually they're the exact same height!



He felt bad, having been waving his sword about in such a manner in the presence of one who did know him. Anyone who knew Haven would know that the last thing on his mind would be to use it to harm anyone, but she wouldn't. Hopefully she would understand and forgive his lapse. It was only when she moved her hand over her own heart that he noticed her sword. How interesting! It was so different from his own. Indeed, different than all the others he had come across in the armory of Blackmoor. It must be from a different culture. It seemed that she herself was from one. The blue markings across her pelt were mysterious and beautiful. At her acceptance of his apology he smiled at her broadly, his tail waving behind him. Already he could tell he liked this woman, she was unlike anyone he had met before.



Jade eyes watched as she walked the rest of the way up the steps, noting the fluidity with which she moved. He wondered if she was a knight as well. While he had never heard any tell or stories of women knights, that didn't mean that there weren't any. The way he saw it a female could be just as good a knight as a male. Though the Aatte youth did have a much greater respect for the opposite sex than many men did. Then an oddly marked raven came and landed on her shoulder. It reminded him of the bluebird that had used to follow his mother Anu around, though he had never seen such a large birth hold companionship with a wolf.



As she introduced herself he bowed again at the waist. "It is a pleasure m'lady." So she was a warrior. Perhaps she could help train him in the martial arts, if she would be so kind. "I am Haven Aatte. Majordomo and Knight of the new pack Cour des Miracles." The boy was proud of his position and he held it with honor. Smile still upon his face he looked again to the one-eyed avian. "And who is your friend there?"

Cool~ I’ll go edit that part, ^=^
500+


Cwmfen quickly looked over the boy, but she did not recognize any of his features. Indeed, she had only heard the name of Conri Church and had never met him or seen him or had him described to her. The only thing she knew of was that wolf was that he had but three legs. This boy before her, marked with orange and white, had all limbs attached. And the boy was quite polite, the woman noted, something that she held in high regard. He seemed as honorable as a warrior would be, seeing nothing tainted within those jade eyes. Inwardly, the woman nodded. She had heard of knights even while in Caledonia and their code of honor—chivalry, was it called? But this boy was young, and she wondered if he had mastered that code of honor and the arts of war. Her gaze briefly fell upon the golden ring held upon the bleached ear. It reminded her of DaVinci, she thought suddenly. But she knew that many wolves chose to do such a thing, not just DaVinci. The woman smiled in return for his deep bow.


The young man introduced himself as Haven Aatte, and once more it was not a name she recognized, nor was his title and pack. The woad bound ears pricked forward. "Cour des Miracles?" That soft melody tested those words, noting that it had a similar lilt as the name of her own pack. "It must be new—I have never heard of it," she continued with a smile. And if the pack were knew than that must mean that this boy’s rank of Knight was likewise a novelty. Perhaps he had been trained within the arts as a child. Or, the woman thought, and perhaps this was more likely, this new pack was in need of militant protection and so the boy had been placed within that rank. Regardless of the situation, the woman liked this boy and believed that he would do well as a warrior. Polite and honorable as he presented himself, she did not doubt that he could kill. All creatures had such a potential.


Haven’s query pertained to the pied bird upon her shoulder. The white orbs briefly regarded the Raven. "He is a nameless bird," she explained, "that is the emblem of my Dream." And for a moment, the warrior fell silent, as if in thought. The white orbs strayed briefly to the sheathed sword before they lifted to meet the jade eyes of this young knight. "A Knight, you say?" the woman continued with a light, golden smile. "How good are you with that blade?" Within those words was held a silent invitation. Her sword lay naked in her hands, but his was newly sheathed. And she invited him to partake in a sparring match with her. The woman thought of Ezekiel, though that golden boy had yet to heal from a wound that ran deeper than the skin. But the woad marked fae wanted to see what this boy could do, to get to know him through a fight.

It was a blessing that she had never seen his father or knew what the man looked like. Jac's speech and granting Haven his new station and title had pulled him out of the very deep hole that he had been in. The knowledge of what his father was and had done had been devastating to the boy. All his life he had striven to be something so good and with that revelation he had felt all those aspiration ripped from him. Perhaps he should not have reacted so harshly against himself, but that is what had happened. Someone bringing that shadow back over him would only have demoralized the boy. He didn't need that. He needed to be strong for his pack.



Haven grinned at the marked woman. "Yes, it's quite new. Already we have faced trials though. We may be small, but we have spirit." He knew now that his weaknesses were being revealed, but it was not in him to lie. He had only been knighted a few days before and knew little to nothing of combat. But as he had said of the pack, he had spirit. This was something he had wanted his whole life and now that it was in his hands he knew how precious a gift it was. He took his new place very seriously, hence why he had come to the castle this day in the first place. He may have been inexperienced, but he was eager to learn and work on his skills. He would not stop until he was proficient and he knew that would be his best ally in training.



The Aatte youth's head tilted slightly as she said the bird had no name. In his mind if a creature such as a bird decided to bond itself to a wolf then there was closeness of heart, but he did not see this in the pair before him. The mention of her Dream intrigued him as well. There were dreams like he had had, of being a knight, but it was obvious that her Dream was not the same. "Your Dream? What do you mean? If you don't mind my asking." Perhaps it was something deeply personal that she did not wish to divulge to someone she barely knew. Finally the question he had been fearing was spoken. His smile turned sheepish once again and one hand went to scratch the back of his neck. "Well, I'm afraid I'm a bit of a novice. I actually only just found this sword and have never fought with one before. Or...fought at all really," Oh, how silly he sounded now. "I know I don't know the ways of war and that probably makes me a poor knight, but I've held the ideals of this station close to me all my life and have striven for them. I just need to learn how to fight so I can defend those that depend on me." He hoped that Cwmfen wouldn't think him too foolish.

500+


"It will be such trials that will test the strength and loyalty of the pack," the soft melody responded, a light smile upon the woad bound maw. And with spirit, as Haven said, they would no doubt be able to conquer the tests that would be presented. The woman did not yet know that the trials of this pack had been presented by her own. Regardless, the woman would have stood by her word. Such a thing was the same with individuals, especially with warriors. If one did not fail, how could one truly succeed? The white orbs shone with a brightness. "Perhaps I will visit this Cour des Miracles," she continued as if thinking aloud to herself. The woman tried to make an effort to at least visit each packland, and as Adonis she believed that such a thing was part of her duty. And thus far, each pack had been visited, save, of course, for this Cour des Miracles. Of course, several of the visits had occurred many months ago—it was no doubt ready to renew such a thing.


"I don’t mind," the alto melody assured. The young male’s curiosity did not surprise the woman, but she was not deterred or troubled by his query. "In my culture, the Dream takes a shape of an animal and is the guiding entity of the individual. They say that the Dreams see the future," she said with a mirthful smile, "but we can never understand the future if we do not understand ourselves." The latter statement could have explained any general observation and did not simply apply to Dreaming. "My Dream is the Raven, and perhaps fittingly so." And it was fitting in more than one way. The triple goddess that she followed, the Morrigan, was represented by a crow, often hooded. Her father had the markings of a pied or hooded crow. And the Raven, a symbol of Death, was the messenger upon the battlefield that took the souls of the newly dead across the river that divided life and death. "Not all warriors of Caledonia Dream, but some do."


The black fae smiled at the boy’s words, though not unkindly. It was not unheard of to place one as inexperienced as he within such a position; not surprisingly, many such individuals were slain in their first battle, which was unfortunate for many such individuals carried great potential. This boy also carried such potential, and the woman did not want to see such a rare boy killed so soon. "Already you have shown the qualities of a knight," the woman countered gently. "If you are willing to keep an open mind and drop all preconceived ideas of battle, the arts of war will come easily for you." It was a quiet warning that arrogance was dangerous, and the blade in her hand hummed quietly to her as if in concurrence. "I can help you," the woman said quietly, stepping back as the tip of the blade rose slightly, "but your success left to you."

He nodded at her words, for he knew they were true. A pack must face trails or they will never truly be strong and close. Now he knew the trial that his birth pack had faced at its formation, though he did not like to think of it. Perhaps that was why Crimson Dreams was so strong, because they had faced such an awful event but had pushed forward and made themselves strong. He hoped that Cour des Miracles would be as lucky as his original pack. At times he still had to remind himself that Crimson Dreams was not his home anymore, though he knew that he would always have a place there. "You should! I would be happy to show you around." Little did the Aatte boy know that Cwmfen was not on the best terms with some of his new packmates. He knew that Firefly and Svara had faced hardships, but had no inkling of the details.



Haven was glad that his question had not been intrusive and even more glad that she was willing to explain. He listened quietly, taking in her words and processing them with care. Her explanation was very deep and spiritual. Understanding himself was something that he was working towards now. When he had learned of his father's misdeeds his whole perception of himself had been thrown. He worried of becoming like his sire, of hurting the people he cared for most. Now he more or less believed that he would never do such things (though that fear would always linger in his mind) and he was working on figuring out who he was again. "I see. I think I understand," he said with a smile. "That is very interesting. I'm working on understanding myself. I just got out of a very...unpleasant time in my life." Unpleasant was putting things meekly.



He waited somewhat hesitantly for her response to his admission of inexperience, but at her words a warmth rose in his chest. She saw potential in him, and right now that meant a great deal to the young hybrid, especially from a warrior such as herself. It may have been easy for ones not of such a profession to see potential, but they did not know. She would, and he knew that she was not jesting and was being truthful. As to dropping all his notions of battle, that would be easy, for he had few if any. Arrogance had never been a problem of his thankfully. Haven's smile broadened as she officially offered to help him. "I will be forever grateful to you, Cwmfen." That said he set his bag on the ground and undid the buckle that held the scabbard to his back. He pulled out his longsword again and set the scabbard with his bag. He gripped the blade with both hands and held it in front of him, waiting for the lesson to begin.

500+


"I’d like that," the woman replied with a smile. And when the boy turned to his life, the woman nodded with understanding. "And that time was a test of your character." Even warriors must understand the self—it was very important. "I am still struggling with such a time," the soft alto admitted. Indeed, the presence of her father within these lands was ever a foreboding shadow within her mind. Briefly she recalled that her scent upon Ezekiel, who she had also been training, had caused the crow wolf to attack the boy. There was concern within the warrior, knowing that such a thing could also occur with this boy. But she knew also that she should not be afraid, and that fear would only hinder her path. She did not know what sort of troubles haunted this particular boy, but she knew that he must overcome it.


The woman smiled, and bowed her head briefly in reply. His gratitude would be enough for the warrior. Her tail waved quietly behind her like a black ribbon that moved in the soft breeze. As he set his belongings aside, Badb was raised, held in a single hand, and as if sensing the presence of the boy’s longsword, its song burst from the blade. The difference in the uses of the two swords would make it interesting should they have engaged in battle, as the longsword held the tendencies of hacking and cutting while her celtic blade was created for thrusting and stabbing. Nevertheless, the woman had experimented with longswords, and she was sure that she would be able to compensate for that difference. She would not mislead the boy. Even if she would not be able to keep the techniques completely within the style required of the longsword, she would make sure that he would be able to wield the weapon well enough to successfully engage in battle and succeed. A light smile graced her maw. Much of the training she had given had been given to wolves and coyotes not of her pack. She wondered when the time would come to train her own.


"Good," the alto melody commented, her eyes falling to the way in which he gripped the sword. "You don’t want to hold the blade too tightly, but you don’t want your grip to be loose either. It’s a delicate balance. You want fluidity but power as well." The black fae was still for a moment longer. Perhaps later, or, if he wished, another day, she would show him the uses of a shield—or perhaps, she thought, correcting herself, the longsword did not require a shield. Nevertheless, perhaps a future lessen could include the possibility of such a thing, for a shield was a weapon also. "You must remember that all parts of the sword is a weapon and not just the blade." She suggested. "The hilt can be used to hook the opponent or catch an oncoming blade. The pommel can be used like a club." The woman moved then, and while her blade did not have a cross-hilt, she created the motions in the air to visualize her words for the boy. "Why don’t you try it?" She invited, referring to the use of the hilt. Raising her lade, the woman brought Badb down upon him with a relatively slow speed and with control enough to stop the blade from hitting the boy if he missed.

That last moon had been a test of his character, though he didn't know if he had really passed. He had made it out of it and was doing well now, but it had taken him a very long time to realize the fault of the way he was acting. Honestly he couldn't even say why or what had brought on his decision that he needed to leave Crimson Dreams. The exact moment that he had decided that was clear in his mind, but the rest eluded him. Haven was surprised to hear Cwmfen admit that she was also facing a difficult trail in her life. The woman seemed so calm and collected he never would have guessed. "Well I hope you conquer your struggles. I'm sure you will," he said smiling. There was no question that she was not strong both of body and soul. Surely she would rise above her challenges.



The hybrid was incredibly grateful to her for offering to teach him. He wasn't sure if it was unorthodox to teach such skills to one outside of your pack. All the wolves he had met from Dahlia had been more than pleasant though and he couldn't see him ever needing to take up arms against them. Though he did not know that the man that had attacked Svara had been the second-in-command of the pack. That day had been so chaotic that even if he had managed to hear that information it had not stuck in his mind. But Haven would never be the type to go out looking for trouble. He would only use the blade when it was necessary. He valued life and would not spill blood without good cause.



Bi-colored ears were pricked forward to catch every word his mentor spoke. Grip the sword tightly but still keep some give," his mind repeated. Head nodded to show that he understood. Or at least he grasped the concept. How long it would take to master was impossible to say. Use all parts of the sword. The hilt and pommel, not just the blade. Jade eyes watched her demonstration carefully. "I see." As she instructed him to try and block her blow with the hilt he watched as her sword came down at him. He lifted the longsword and turned it, catching the edge of her blade upon the metal. "Like that?" he said, unable to keep some excitement from leaking into his voice.

500+


I will, the woman thought, or the price will be my life. But the woman was silent and simply smiled, a sincere gesture that was given to express the boy’s faith in her. Yet, her thoughts were serious—she knew what her father wanted, and she knew that he wouldn’t stop until he had it or until he was dead. The former was more likely, and the woman knew that one day she would be forced to face him. It would be that defining moment in her life, and she did not take such a thing lightly. Even if Corvus did not immediately kill her, he would keep her from the world, isolating her as he had done to her mother. That pied brute had the power to kill her body and her mind, but he could never kill her soul. That notion took some of her fear away, but there was nevertheless a fear that lingered in the back of her mind like a sickness that would inevitably overcome her—that was, unless she over came it first.


The boy’s movements were quick, responding immediately to her oncoming blade. And the intended technique was executed well, awarded by the unique sound of clashing metal and sudden silence. A smile graced the woman’s maw as her eyes, which had gone to inspect the junction of the blades, lifted to look into the young boy’s green eyes. With that proximity, the woman could see many things—that was part of the thrill of battle, to be able to see the eyes of the opponent—and she beheld nothing malevolent. "Perfect," the soft melody replied, commending him for his efforts and his ability to execute the needed technique. It seemed as if this boy would naturally pick up that which he now aspired to become.


"Now unarm me," the woman replied. She gave no particular instruction, allowing the boy to discover what must be done on his own. And there were many things that could be done. He could simply twist his blade, and if her grip was loose enough, the blade would fly from her hands. But if her grip was firm, he would have to work harder for his goal. With a longsword, it was okay to touch the blade (perhaps he should be referred to some gauntlets?), but she was not sure if he knew that. She could enlighten him later, but for now, he would need to discover things on his own. It was the best way, and the body would remember more easily. "If you can disarm your opponent, they are at your mercy. If you cannot," the woman continued with a slight pause, letting him know that not all things went according to plan, "My blade will still be locked with yours. Take control of the situation—kick me in the chest." It was always about control, and one would have to learn how to gain and maintain control in a battle if one sought to be victorious.

Shorter for the sparring



The clash of metal in the air seemed to awaken something in him. Something almost primal. Somehow his arms felt stronger, his whole body seemed stronger. She smiled and he returned it with one of his own. His gaze also went to inspect the way their swords were met. He stored that image to memory as well as the action of executing the block. It felt good to have gotten it on the first try. He didn't fool himself by thinking everything would be as easy, but it helped to know that he wasn't completely useless with the blade. Of course her strike had been slowed, slower than an actual enemy would strike, but he had still passed that first test of his skill. A long road lay ahead of him, but he was committed to follow it through.



Now unarm me. This time she gave no demonstration or instruction, but that didn't frustrate him. He would need to figure out on his own as well as be instructed. Battles were unpredictable, that much he knew, and being able to work through problems quickly was a valuable skill and one he would need. Haven's mind worked and his eyes narrowed slightly, staring at their met swords. Her words filtered into his head as his thoughts worked through how to try and unarm her. Take control of the situation--kick me in the chest. He hoped he would be able to unarm her without having to do that, but he understood. Controlling the situation was one of the most important things. Without it he would fail.



His hands keeping their firm grip on the pommel he twisted his sword to the side, trying to swoop the blade in a half circle towards the ground and twist her's from her grip.

300+


She could see his eyes narrow as he considered the situation. The woad marked fae pressed her blade into the lock, allowing her blade to sing audibly in the bright air as its edge scraped uselessly against the hilt. And then he moved, twisting his blade. Badb, caught in that hold, was taken with the longsword’s path. With that simple movement, her blade was taken easily from her grasp, the celtic sword clattering out of reach to the stone floor, the song it sung for the woman falling silent for their distance. Cwmfen was pleased with the boy, and in the silence she merely gave a curt, "Good," before she herself was thrown into motion. This spar, while for practice, was a spar nonetheless, and the warrior would do what she had trained herself to do. Of course, this spar was also to test the boy, to discover where to begin. Then the true training could begin.


Cwmfen did not bother going after her sword. With their proximity, there was still much that could be done even in the absence of the sword. If Haven had been quick enough to raise his blade to continue the spar, the woman would have moved in, bringing her arm up to either catch the blade near the hilt or catch the boy by the wrists, aiming a light but accurate punch in his solar plexus. But if Haven had not been quick enough, moving in the woman would have reached down, catching both of his arms by scooping her hand beneath his limbs and bringing it up to shoulder height, forcing his torso to twist. How the boy escaped from her, if he could, was left to his mind. The purpose of that attack would be to show the white and orange Knight that the sword, while important, was not everything. He would need to learn physical combat as well—and many techniques tended to overlap with similarities.

The sight of the sword slipping from her grasp as he moved his blade and hearing it clatter against the stone brought him more confidence. Once again he reminded himself that this was only a lesson. That in a true battle things would not come so easily and he would have to work harder for them. But he would remember these motions. He wouldn't be going in completely blind. A novice still yes, but not a completely clueless novice. He was issued a short compliment from his tutor and was about to respond when she came after him. The Aatte male tensed and his eyes grew wide. What was going on? Suddenly this didn't seem like a lesson, at least not the same way it had just a moment ago.



Instinctively his arms brought his sword back up to try and protect himself from her unexpected advance. However she gripped one of his wrists and her hit to his stomach hit dead on. It wasn't that hard, but it still knocked a bit of air from him and he doubled over slightly. Instead of trying to wrench his arm from her grasp though with the held hand he released the sword and used his free arm to raise the blade close to her neck. Haven wasn't sure if this was a lesson or not anymore, having never been instructed in this way, and a quiet fire burned in those jade orbs. It was not malicious and he did not want to bring any harm to her. It was just a silent warning in case this wasn't practice.

Hahah, Theory of Power from taekwondo, ^=^;;
500+


He is quick, the woman thought with approval, but he is not expecting. And that was why she was able to place that knock upon his torso. The mind, she thought once more, was just as important as the body, perhaps even more so. If the mind could overcome its own weaknesses, could focus upon a singular task, the body would be made to obey even where it should not be able to obey. It was important as well to expect everything, to be aware of all things that were happening. Footing was important, and the signals of an opponents body were important as well. It would be best for him to keep his eyes upon the eyes of the enemy, for the eyes would betray them if they were weaker than him. The periphery, with much practice, could watch the movements and allow him to respond immediately, without the thought that would make him slow. And he needed to become that well practiced to be a true Knight.


The boy had grown tense with surprise. His response to her attack was perhaps a little awkward, but it worked well enough. The woman did not respond in return, simply holding him there. A light, almost fierce smile met Haven. This short spar had been enough for her to know—perhaps they could start with some real practice now. Slowly the woman released him, stepping back and allowing him enough room to move. "That was good," the soft alto commended, "And your reflexes are fast." That was something that many lacked and had to work hard for. But that did not mean that they could be faster—and they would be. The woman walked over to her blade, kneeling as she lifted it from the stone and feeling its song leaping to life like a fire in her hand. The white orbs returned to the orange and white Knight with a quiet smile.


"It is important to become a master of the basics, for without them your skill means nothing." The woman took several steps back to allow the length of his sword the space required. She took her Badb and gripped it in both hands. With her arms partially bent, she lifted the sword so that the angled point was above her head before slowly bringing it down, keeping the blade perfectly perpendicular and within the same plane in which it had begun. "Start slowly," she instructed, and it became obvious that she wished the boy to follow suit, to practice this most basic of techniques. "Concentration, reaction force, breath control, balance and speed—these are the things that will bring you power." She breathed out every time the blade came down, and she repeated the technique ten times, keeping the slow pace, unhurried and patient. "They say that it takes three thousand exposures to completely master a technique," the woman said upon the tenth repetition. She paused then, taking her eyes from the path that had been carved from the blade. "You want your movements to be smooth and fluid so that when you combine them, they flow naturally."

Nice!



The moments they stayed in that pose seemed to stretch on forever and the boy's body felt like it had almost turned to stone. He was as unmoving as a statue as he stood there, holding the tip of his sword to her. Even at her smile he didn't not completely relax, though his eyes lost some of that fire. But then she released her grip on his other arm and his muscles relaxed. A breathe expelled from him that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. It had only be a test, a kind of lesson. As she moved away he dropped his sword and rested the weapon on the ground for a moment. Haven gave her a crooked smile. "You had me worried for a second there." But that surprise and worry had struck that lesson home hard. He could never let his guard down, even when he thought he had achieved some sort of small victory.



As Cwmfen retrieved her sword the Aatte youth took deep breaths to regain his composure. This wasn't for the faint of heart. He needed to be strong. For himself, but especially for those he protected. He needed to harden himself for the world of combat (though he didn't want to harden himself in social interactions, he didn't want to lose his identity). He nodded at her words. He would need to work on brawling with his teeth and claws as well. He would prefer fighting with the sword, but it would be necessary for him to know how to fight without it as well. As she had taught him, he needed to be prepared for anything. He watched as she raised her blade above her head and then gracefully brought it down through the empty air. The pupil listened to her words, storing them deep inside him as he had before.



Haven followed suit, raising his longsword above his head with both hands. He did his best to copy her movement, bringing the blade down in a slow and steady arch. She breathed out each time she brought her arms down and he followed that cue. He tried to think of it as if his arms were a lever that pushed the air from him as they moved downward. The number she gave was daunting, but he didn't doubt for a moment that it was true. Practice was the key. Without practice all the courage in the world would count for nothing. Even when she stopped he continued to bring his sword down in that steady motion. His mind focused on the movements of the blade and of his body, trying to memorize everything that seemed of some importance.

Keeping it short for training, ^=^
300+


"Good," the warrior said as she watched him. She lowered her blade but gave no signal for Haven to do the same. She walked by the boy, observing his technique and his practice. As the woad warrior stood behind him, she spoke quietly, loud enough for him to hear, but soft enough to not be a disturbance. "You need to control your mind. Know your sword well," the alto melody encouraged quietly, saying it almost as an afterthought. "Find the point of balance—visualize other attacks that can manifest from that point." There was another slight pause, her white orbs focused upon that blade. "You do not want to be out of control of the situation—that will only end in defeat. But you can only gain control if you trust your blade and know how to work with it."


The warrior stood back. "Good," she said again. "That will be enough." And with that she gave him permission to relax and end the practice of that simple technique. "You must learn discipline as well," the Caledonian-Korean continued. "Sit in a horse stance," the woman said, and she showed the boy what that was. She placed her feet a should and a half width apart, her feet parallel to her line of view as she sat with her knees bent at a right angle. If the boy had not done this often, his thighs would burn. "Hold out your blade so that it is level with your shoulders. Keep your arms out straight, and your sword steady." She showed him this as well, and she would do this practice with him, if only to show him that it could be done. "Let’s hold this for a hundred heartbeats," the soft melody suggested. That would be a good start.

Haven knew well enough that he shouldn't stop practicing this technique until he was instructed to do so. The youth felt a little self conscious when she walked around examining him, but he showed no sign, only focused on his movements. It was all part of the training. She needed to see how he was able to do the things she asked of him. He was nothing if not a student that wanted nothing more than to succeed. Control my mind. Know my sword. All of it was good advice, he knew. Practically everything that Cwmfen said he took to heart. "The point of balance?" he asked as he continued to execute that movement. It was probably something obvious, but he wanted to make sure that he knew what she was talking about.



As she said he could stop he rested the point of his blade on the stone, letting his arms relax as he held the pommel. He could feel a little bit of a burn in his arms, but it was hardly noticeable. His muscle mass was still building back up after that months of not taking care of himself, but this would definitely help with that. He would grow stronger than he ever had been before. Discipline. Of course. That was a large part of being a knight as well as a warrior. Jade gaze watched as she demonstrated the stance she wished him to take. His body copied her, spreading his legs apart and bending his knees. His arms brought his sword up once again. A hundred heartbeats? That would be no problem. Though not long after he thought that he could feel his legs begin to burn and his arms as well. Discipline, he thought to himself and he pushed the burning from his mind, concentrating on keeping himself steady and still.

300+


The boy seemed to concentrate deeply, listening to her words and yet retaining that focus upon the task at hand. His mind, it seemed, had already begun its path to becoming a Knight, and the mind was the true determining factor of a warrior’s might; it was the mind that brought the discipline of the body and through it skill, but it was also that which set the warrior’s path to that hardened life of taking a life when necessary. When the orange and white male asked a question, the woad warrior approved once more: his ability to ask the question so easily spoke of his modest pride. "The point of balance," the soft melody explained, "is simply the fulcrum. It is determined by both the bade and by the placement of the hands." There was a slight pause before the woman continued. "For this technique, you should feel that the balance of each stroke comes from the lower hand and from the pommel—all movement originates from that single balance point."


For a hundred heartbeats, the woman held herself, unmoving, in that position. Her body was relaxed, and her heart was slow as she counted for them. The woad marked fae easily held that pose, her own training having allowed her body to endure long moments of strain. Under pressure, under the needs of battle, such persistence could go on for hours—of course not without the aftereffects felt once the task had been completed. The white orbs watched the place ahead of her steadily as if seeing some far out place. And she remained that way until the hundred heart beats had passed. Only when that number had arrived did she shift, rising to her full height and turning to the boy. "This would be a good way to end your own practices—by clearing your mind." There was a slight pause. While the Warrior and the Knight had done very little that day, she felt also that there had been much. She was definitely willing to continue if the boy would want to, if she had taught well. "But if you wish, we may continue—there is still much that can be done." And, of course, much that could be learned.