Arrival
Lothair permitted himself a small frown. Tar Valon. Fabled. Majestic. Lies. Chill pre-dawn air sent his dull black hair whipping about his face. It had been a monumental journey. The better part of three summers had passed and it was only now, dressed in torn bespoiled clothing that his fatigued gaze espied the iconic beacon that had made his heart soar all those moons ago.
The White Tower stood in the distance. Its pinnacle reached into the sky, framed by golden fingers of sunlight softly flowing across the skyscape as a new day began. Perhaps, had the realisation of this moment not boorishly devoured his energies and time, it may have been a more pleasant experience.
Sallow skin encircled faded brown eyes. Eyes, which at present felt much akin to the gravelly surface beneath his feet. "Common" life had not done much for the young noble. The deep seeded desire for vengeance ran, if not cold, a few degrees less than it once had.
Some time later Lothair paused beneath the gates of The White Tower. Head cocked slightly to one side he pursed his lips thoughtfully. His legs were slightly bent, alleviating slightly the now constant pain in his blistered feet. Seeing no better way to go about things he cautiously approached the first uniformed person he could find and wearily but bluntly stated,
Richard heard the laugh from across the training yard and started toward it. He recognised that laugh. It was the sound of a man who had heard something so unbelievable it struck him funny. Rounding the hedge line, he saw a Tower Guard stading in front of a young man.
Judging by the way he looked, the boy had been on the road for a long time. He looked road weary and malnurished. But above all, Richard could see the flame of desire in his eye. The look that said he wanted something bad enough to kill for it.
"Guard," he barked, cutting the laughter short. "Did this man ask to join my ranks?"
"Yes sir, but he, um, well, he..."
"You don't get to judge who is worthy to be a Warder, I do. Now get back to your work. Boy, follow me."
Richard didn't even look to see if the brown eyed lad followed him, he just started back towards the training yard. This one had desire. Richard planned to mold him personally, even if it took more time then it should. He had nothing but time now.
A feeling of triumph came over him, and he knew Anberlin must feel it as well. A softer, loving feeling was sent to her as well. The other night had been the ultimiate bond. If only Yellows married, he would be in heaven.
"What's your name son," Richard asked, hearing the young mans foot falls behind him. "Don't much care for training nameless boys."
He knew he was blunt, but he needed to break the boy first. Only then could he be molded as a warder should be.
Re: Arrival
Any person(s) aspiring to the level of aristocrat--no matter what step on the ladder they may occupy--has cultivated, even perfected the art of condescension. After all. How would a lesser person be aware of their insignificance if they were not shown? Lothair shot the guard the most superciliously tolerant look he could muster (given the circumstances) and broke into a run to keep stride with the bigger man.
Lothair was not short, almost reaching the six foot mark. What he was, was underfed. Were that not the case, he would still have had no hope in matching the girth of the silently authoritive man he was struggling to keep up with. Instead he was slim and he contemplated quickly just how much effort it would take on the part of the hulking giant, whose footsteps he was dogging, to make one Lothair two Lothairs. Not much, he mentally conceded.
After the days and nights spent in reaching this point, the sudden surge in activity took on a surreal quality. In a trice, from quiet susurration to explosive movement. It left him breathless and treating the proverbial water.
"What's your name son, don't much care for training nameless boys."
What was his name indeed? Lothair, yes, but he could not chance meeting anyone with the knowledge of his family's downfall. He doubted highly that without noble bearing he would be readily recognized but the name "Arnau" and the fate of those who bore it may have spread further than anticipated.
"Lothair," after another momentarily pause he added, "... Sir."
To make a swordsman from a raggamuffin
Richard nodded, still not looking back at Lothair. A few good meals, a nice bed, and a few sets of clothes would put this overly skiny lad into fighting shape. It looked as though he was used to hardship. He would likely last the training.
"So, Lothair" Richard said, leading the boy into his office. He seemed to use it more then Arigan had. Though he was rarely found in trees either. "You wish to become a Warder? Why is this?"
His sharp greeen eyes slid over every inch of the lad, looking him over as a man inspects a horse. The boy was skinny, likely from too many days without meals, but he definitly had the build to weild a blade. He could also still see that desire in his eyes. He also saw, under all the defeat that life had layed on the boy, that fire that made men do great things. Richard wanted this skinny boy to stay, but he wasn't about to let him know that.
Re: To make a swordsman from a raggamuffin
Lothair smiled. No malice. No mordant elitism nor superiority. Genuine. Pleasant. It had been some time since such a sensation--joy!--had smoothed the harsh lines of misplaced arrogance---misplaced but inherent!--and the lethargy of unaccustomed effort.
His own experiences in the harsh clime of the "working class" had left his ruling class presuppositions soured. Those few representatives with whom he had acquaintanced taught him much. It seemed that lack of possessions was compensated by fierce pride and self-reliance. The fewer possessions. The fiercer the pride!
He respected them. Envied them. Life as an Arnau meant contest; testing and clashing of strength. It was not without hardships. Unclean hardships. The travails of others were refreshingly innocent in their intensity. The inductive mind within him urged respect while that ingrained characteristic, the inculcated egocentrism screamed, "peasant!"
Lothair finished his ablutions quickly. Longhair ligated at the nape of his neck. Clothed in simple garb he left the spartan quarters he called home for his first day of weapons training. A two week reprieve had eased much. Both the ailments of the soul and those of the body. Still underweight, hearty meals--regular hearty meals--had done much good.
Finally the realisation of his dream was at hand. The exculpation of his blood! Lothair's brown eyes sparked with a feverish gleam: an inner fire so potent as to threaten true palpability.
Edited by: Circumstantial Victim at: 11/4/05 3:40 pm
Re: To make a swordsman from a raggamuffin
Richard stepped out in front of the horse shoe of boys and men who were to begin their training today. He wore something between a smile and a cruel sneer on his face, his green eyes peircing in their gaze. He started to pace back and forth in front of them and then the fun started.
"Welcome to the Warders. your next three weeks will be all work and no play. I even think I saw you staring at a girl at the fence, and I run you. You mess up on a sword form, and I run you. You don't sharpen your blade, I run you. I see you late to training, I run you hard. Waders gain extreme endurance through the bond, but just cuz you get more doesn't mean you shouldn't have a base."
Richard kept pacing. He knew his topknot was bobing as he walked, but he didn't care. It was time these boys learned about being a warder. It was his job to teach them.
"Your bodies will be broken down. This is garunteed to happen. Don't worry, I won't kill you. Any of you come to my office with less then a broken finger, and I'll run you. Any major sparring match will have a member of the Yellow Ajah present for healing. Anything more then scrapes and bruises and she'll fix it on the spot."
He saw one boy starting to stare up at the Tower. Time to set an example for the others. He loved this job.
"You, what in the Light are you looking at! You will pay attention to me when I'm talking!" Richard moved through the others and got right in the boys face. He contorted his face into a rage. "You get your feet a running. You've got 5 laps around the yard. You do that again and it'll be one lap around the island. NOW MOVE!"
Richard smirked at the Master Gaidens he had with, and then turned back on the other students. He motioned to the gaidens and they started to produce training blades for everyone.
"These are training blades. They will never leave your side. I know some of you do not like the sword style, too bad. You will get a better choice in a few more weeks. Today we'll teach you to keep them sharp, and there will be an inspection every morning. Clean it, care for it, this is the only friend you have."
Re: To make a swordsman from a raggamuffin
Lothair recieved his sword gratefully. It seemed unnatural. Foreign. Unwieldy and yet compaigns were lost and won, often by a single stroke. It was for this very skill that he so desperately craved and no minor difficulty would interfer.
Lothair mental supressed all errant thoughts. Maintaining complete focus on his instructor as his tutor had taught, many summers ago. Impertinent thoughts were weights, he believed, engaging in any activity that required focus while possessing them in tow would only drag you down.
Re: To make a swordsman from a raggamuffin
Richard shook his head and looked around the small classroom. For the life of him he could not figure out why some people had such a hard time with sharpening a blade while others seemed as they had done it for years. This was the frustrating part of teaching them. Yelling was easy, though he was good at teaching too.
"No, see, you angle the blade...."
"Not so fast, the heat will take the temper out of the blade...."
"That's about perfect. Now just take your time......"
Finally, they broke for lunch. He had seen minor cuts and scrapes all over. Before they left, he gave them a quick announcment.
"Alright boys, good job. Some of you picked this up easily. Help those who did not. As I said, an inspection every morning. For those of you who have minor cuts and such, Master Gaiden Vlamos will be in the chow hall for you to get bandages from and such. Pay attention to what he does. We're only bandaging you for a week. After that, it's on you. Now go get chow. For those of you who can't run on a full stomach, eat light. We're going around the island when you're done. Anyone who needs me can find me in my office."
Richard turned and slipped into his office. He chaecked on Anberlin via the bond to see if she was still ok. A bit of frustration, but nothing out of the ordinary. He sighed and leaned back in his chair for a quick rest. It would be fun to see who lasted for the full run.
Re: To make a swordsman from a raggamuffin
To say that Lothair was a natural would be a pleasant delusion. To say that he even successfully sharpened the blade would be a lie. The truth was far more sinister. The blade had sharpened him. It's bloodied edges gave the distinct impression that they would like to, anyway, given the chance.
Lothair had slipped. At least half a dozen times. That is to say, six. Each one had left a tear in one of his hands. Much like a paper cut... only more mess. By the time Richard called for a halt Lothair's looked as though he had fended off some ferae naturae animal--possibly a bear. Likely something bigger--or had tried to. It wasn't exactly flattering to look at. It didn't compliment his skills either.
Happy to leave the lesson intact, if a little disappointed by his own results, he decided it would be a wise idea to pay a visit to Master Gaidin Vlamos. A thought reinforced by the blood running freely between his fingers.
Re: To make a swordsman from a raggamuffin
Richard looked up from the paperwork on his desk at the knock on his door. He ordered the man to come in and there stood Master Gaiden Vlamos. Richard couldn't help but grin.
"How bad were the casualties?"
"Not as bad as the last group. A few of them look like they faught their blades rather then sharpen them."
Richard chuckled and nodded. It was a good day to be teaching. He stood up and started toward the door, giving the man a few last second instructions.
"Make sure the sparring goes well this afternoon. The run around the island should be enough to weed the new recruits down sufficiently. After that I'll give them the night off. Minus a few quick room checks. Thanks for your good work Vlamos. I appreciate it and so does the tower."
Vlamos nodded and followed Richard out of his office. They talked about nothing for a while before heading out to the hall. There were all sorts of young men eating there. It was easy enough to pick out the new recruits. They looked a little scared and most of them had a bandage or two on their hands.
"New Recruits, put your dishes away! You will be outside in five minutes! Last one out will do a lap around the yard before starting our run. MOVE!"
The whole place erupted into chaos as the recruits scrambled to get outside. One got bumped a bit and bounced off of Richard's chest. He started to apologise profusly, but Richard didn't do anything but stand there. He could even see a few of the recruits nearly ready to become warders stiffen up, having flashbacks to the times they were running for the door.
Richard move out to the cluster of recruits. All of them were there. He chuckled coldly and started towards the gate. He could hear the jostle and clank of training swords in their scabbards.
"Keep up recruits. I'm an old man. You better not fall out. Light help the man who falls out."
Re: To make a swordsman from a raggamuffin
A multitude of feet snapped steady rhythm against the earth. Scabbards and training swords banged into hips adding a counter beat to the harmonic flow. It would have been pleasant but for the excruciating torment.
Lothair was unconvinced that this kind of physical strain would create a basis for anything. More likely it was that he would drop in his tracks and die. It seemed the most attractive option at this juncture.
Time's passage was ambiguous beyond the point of interminable and his body felt as though it had been beaten with rocks. With that lunatic instructor at the helm he did not discount it as a very real possibility if he "fell out."
Pure determination now governed his movements. With a conscious mind filled with aches and pain Lothair attempted to focus his awareness in some new direction. A direction not encompassed by the discomfort. Vengeance at any cost he had once vowed. Those words now seemed genuinely stupid.
Richard grinned as his boys came huffing and puffing back into the training yard. They had only done half the island, but none of them seemed to be in a shape to know half from upside down. He smiled a half grin to himself and let them double over and rest.
"Nice job lads. I didn't know how many of you would make it. You've taken some good first steps to being warders. Be back down here tomorrow morning with the sun. Dismissed. Go get some food."
Richard strode back to his office. A morning formation with sword inspections. A quick punishment run for those who failed, and then more instruction. He had a good class. Some needed practice, but he anticipated all of them graduating.
He leaned back in his chair. Maybe this job wasn't so bad after all.
Re: To make a swordsman from a raggamuffin
Lothair limped. Not the generic limp of agony. More the generic limp of a desert camel suddenly finding its legs in short supply. A contorted, gnarled hobble. An effect produced equally well by dancing on live coals.
The run (a bold declaration of optimism), had been unpleasant. Mildly. In most other circumstance the young "noble" would have made a point to complain. In this particular instance it would require energy he rather doubted he had. Better to shuffle to his quarters and sleep. If he made it to his quarters.
Re: To make a swordsman from a raggamuffin
Richard was out on the grounds an hour before dawn, his color changing cloak hiding him deep in the shadows that lay heavily across the yard. One by one, the Master Gaidens and recruits found their way out to the yard, bleary eyed and ragged. He had run this group hard yesterday, but they were still on their feet.
"Good morning lads," Richard said, stepping forward to the group. Some of them gave a fierce start, but most were too meary to notice him appear from seemingly nowhere. "Inspection, just like every morning. Draw your blades and let me see them."
He walked down the line looking each blade over smoothly and quicky. Some were materfully sharpened, and he couldn't help but wonder what these boys did growing up. Some were so poorly done, he nearly laughed. Most through were just sharpened. Not beautiful, not mangled, just sharpened.
The mangled blades went for a few laps around the yard and then back for some remedial training. Everyone else, got to continue with the days lesson.
Re: To make a swordsman from a raggamuffin
Despite all evidence surmising otherwise, Lothair indeed made the return trip to his quarters. Eventually. His first day of novitiate training was over; thank the Creator! He was beginning to suspect that the price of his vengeance would be higher than expected. He would see the training through. If for no other reason than pride.
The spartan quarters were shielded by midnight gloom but were nontheless ridiculously inviting to a fatigued Lothair. Collapsing onto his small sleeping pallet he found relief from the molten agony of his overworked muscles in the sleep of exhaustion.
Morning came all too soon and it was with a keening groan that Lothair dragged himself off his pallet and shakily to a stand. Almost. Legs that had not recovered the previous night's exertions protested loudly: sharp pains lancing his ankles and heels.
There was nothing for it. While the pain could not be shrugged off it could be tolerated. For now. Ablutions (and sword sharpening) completed he quickly made his way to the yard where he found that though his weapons maintainence was barely up to scratch, it did not gain him the misfortune of yet another run.
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