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Caydock

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Growling to himself, Rowan stalked into the hut, ignoring the perplexed look that his mother, who was baking a loaf of bread in a tiny oven in the western corner, gave him. Nicodemus had given Rowan the day off, but he was in the forest searching for game to kill. Jonathan the merchant was due back on the morrow, and it was nice to have furs to sell for a little extra pocket padding when winter swung around. Jonathan usually circled all the surrounding villages in around one or two weeks’ time.

Without speaking, Rowan went to the easternmost corner and picked up his sword, which was sheathed in a metal scabbard. Slinging the connecting strap over his head, where it could rest comfortably on his shoulder, he turned around and walked right back out.

Rowan continued onward this time, bypassing the road and heading into the bordering forest. No sane hunter would hunt this close to a village, where a stray arrow or stone could kill someone unintentionally, so he knew that he was free to make all the noise he pleased, as long as he stayed on the fringes of the woods.

He drew the sword from the scabbard and winced as the grating sound of metal on metal reached his ears. This was growing ridiculous. He would be the laughingstock of the tournament if he did*’t get his hands on a leather scabbard soon. But then he had to be honest with himself; he would be the laughingstock no matter what kind of sheath he brought. His crude clothes and villager look would guarantee the scorn of all participants.

Purging the discouraging thought from his mind, Rowan set the scabbard to the side, leaning it against the trunk of a massive oak. He then held his sword out at eye level, checking for signs of rust or other damage. The inspection was completely unnecessary considering that he had used the sword only the day before, but he felt the need to do it whenever he was about to practice; the custom was ingrained in his brain.

30-Jan-2011 00:00:37

Caydock

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The sword was, surprisingly, a magnificent weapon, with a perfectly balanced hilt and blade. A rivulet ran down the middle of the sword, for the purpose of channeling blood, although it had been long, if ever, since this blade had tasted the fluid of battle. The sword was one of the only two things that Rowan owned that were worth any money. Both Victory and the sword were gifts from his Uncle William, a deceased officer who had served with the Royal Guard before dying in the line of duty. In his will he had left most everything to his sons, whom Rowan had met only once in his life, but strangely enough, considering the stormy relationship between Nicodemus and William, he had left his backup horse and backup sword to ‘Nicodemus’s son.’ It appeared that William was unwilling to forgive his brother for past disputes but did*’t mind giving his nephew a share of the family fortune. Unfortunately the secondary blade was not delivered with a sheath, forcing Rowan to buy a cheap metal one from Jonathan a few years back. And it had cost him his entire life’s savings, too.

Gripping the tightly wrapped pommel firmly with both hands, Rowan positioned himself in a battle ready stance, with the blade held horizontal in front of his chest, and stood, frozen, for a full minute, breathing deeply, familiarizing himself with the environment. When he judged that he was ready, he took one more full breath and spun into action, movements he himself had invented flowing easily and naturally.

With incredible speed, Rowan swept from one motion to the next, chopping saplings in half, shearing bushes of their leaves and relieving apple trees of their burdens. After he had carried on this way for over one hundred feet, he whirled suddenly, dancing lightly on his feet and ducked low, whirling the sword at ankle level in a semi-circle before straightening and continuing his fluid pattern.

30-Jan-2011 00:01:02 - Last edited on 31-Jan-2011 20:25:45 by Caydock

Caydock

Posts: 6,279 Rune Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

When he reached his original starting point, Rowan turned once more and charged ahead fiercely, swinging his weapon in deadly figure eights. He pivoted on one foot, blocking an imaginary attack and ducked low, spinning to confront another invisible assailant. With a quick two-step run, the sword held defensively, Rowan jumped, turning a full summersault in the air, swinging the blade in a crushing overhand that would have brained any helmet-clad enemy and killed any bareheaded foe. He landed softly and held the sword out vertically in the worldwide symbol for salute while sweat streamed down his red face.

"Bravo."

Rowan spun on his toe, sword slashing, in the direction of the voice and realized that, for the second time in a week, he had been surprised by the same man. Orothian stood next to a tree, watching him and nodding in approval.

“Orothian!” Rowan said angrily, “don’t sneak up on me!”

“I did*’t do any sneaking. I made more noise than a moose crashing through the woods. You were too intent in your practice, which, might I add, was very impressive.”

“Thanks…I guess.”

Orothian shrugged and stepped out of the clump of trees that he was standing in. “So I came by to see if you had decided to join the tournament. Judging by the ferocity of that session, I assume you have.”

Rowan nodded confirmation, “And my parents have agreed to it, but they said I have to pay my own way in. I honestly have no idea how to make any money. Everything we make by trapping furs goes straight to buying supplies from the merchant, so there’s no future in that. I can’t help anyone with home repair or anything like that because…well…” Rowan lifted his hands and shrugged, “you know.”

"I do."

“Any suggestions?”

Orothian tilted his head, “I might. Depends on how willing your parents are to get rid of you.”

“Get rid of me?” Rowan said, his brow wrinkling, “how so?”

“I mean by lending you out to someone for a week or so in order to help them with their business.”

30-Jan-2011 00:02:16

Caydock

Posts: 6,279 Rune Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Rowan was growing excited, “You?”

Orothian snorted. “Me? Does sitting at home and hunting animals sound like a fun way to spend a week? It seems that’s all you do anyway.”

“Somehow I get the feeling that that’s not what you do all day.”

“Never mind what you think. The important thing is that you need to make money and I have a solution. Can your parents spare you for a week or two?”

“I’m not sure. It depends.”

Orothian sighed, “Can you give a yes or no? Just so I can tell my idea?”

“Then yes,” Rowan replied.

“Well I think this should work,” Orothian said, pacing back and forth, “yes, if they agree, it will.”

Rowan was fit to burst with anticipation, “What’s your idea?”

The forester grinned, “I say we send you off with Jonathan the merchant.”

30-Jan-2011 00:04:32 - Last edited on 30-Jan-2011 00:05:11 by Caydock