[originally published December 1, 2013]
She drew her axe in a rapid movement, swinging it around in an arcing loop and replacing it on her belt hook as her other hand had already begun reaching behind her to slip the bow from her back into a ready position. The young warrior repeatedly switched from bow to axe, and axe to bow, focusing on making each exchange a single movement.
After several minutes of warming up,
Bastian appeared for the morning's training.
Unlike when she was a child, Callista now relished the opportunity to
face her master each day in combat. At
seventeen years of age, she had grown to nearly six feet in height, corded in
lean muscle. Contrary to her teacher's
earliest taunts, she had long since lost her childish awkwardness and now moved
with speed and agility startling for her size.
In any case, sparring was the
highlight of the day in comparison to the dozen menial chores she had to do
around the grounds of the small dwelling.
After lunch, she would have to go to the southern rampart and repair the
fence so the goats could not slip through.
She frowned.
As she stood at the ready, Bastian
reached into his enchanted satchel and drew forth the day's first set of
weapons. Callista smiled grimly.
Greatswords.
As they sparred, Callista carefully
conserved her energy, utilizing the large two-handed weapon as a shield as much
as an instrument of attack. Years ago
she had used the blade as a battering ram, tiring quickly, and always received
a severe beating as a reward. But she
had learned quickly. She had also
learned to keep her red rage contained until the time was right. It was still too early in the day for her to
unwind it a little, but she knew the time would come before her exertions were
over.
As the morning progressed, they
switched from the heavy blades to up close fighting with long knives, and then
to quarterstaves. Some days they fought
with obscure polearms. On other days
they fought with no weapons at all. But
everyday they fought, and every day her skill level grew.
After a moment's rest, Bastian moved
off and drew two slim blades, wielding a rapier in each hand.
The young half-orc tossed her
quarterstaff aside disdainfully and pulled her battleaxe. Before she had fully readied herself, Bastian
had sprung at her, both blades whirling and attacking from inconceivable angles
almost simultaneously.
After several moments, the
swordmaster would bark out a command, and she would exchange axe for bow and
fire arrows at painted targets Bastian moved around the grounds each day. Before she could even think, Bastian would
then press in on her again, forcing her to draw her axe and resume the
melee. After several more such
exchanges, they paused again.
As Callista drank from her waterskin
and stowed her weapons, her aasimar instructor once again reached into his
satchel and drew forth a blindfold, tossing it to her. As she had every day in the past, she would
cover first one eye, and then the other, as her teacher attacked.
At another sharp command, she slipped the blindfold over both eyes, and knew that Bastian would be on her immediately, trying to apply one submission lock or another on his blinded opponent. Going on nothing more than instinct and her sense of touch, the half-orc fended off each attack against her, until the attacks no longer came and Bastian called for her to put aside the blinding strip of cloth.
The aasimar then moved in as Callista brought her axe up to the ready and the weapon play began again where they had left off.
She dodged and weaved furiously,
blocking where she could, and even counterattacking as the opportunity
presented itself. They fought on and on,
ranging about the training field, each trying to find the advantage that would
decisively end the contest. In time,
they began to tire. While the teacher
possessed the vigorous, celestial blood of the heavens, it was the student who
was the sturdier. She was descended from
the mountain orcs of Vaasa and was as hard and tough as the stones of her
homeland.
When she sensed that the advantage
was hers at last, she released the red anger she had kept in reserve deep
inside her and redoubled her efforts, hammering away at the century-old
aasimar. At the end, she knocked aside
his slowing blades and lunged out with a frontal kick to his chest, blasting
him backward off his feet and flat onto the ground. She quickly pounced on her prone target and
proceeded to put her foe into a joint lock that had him tapping her shoulder so
she would release the painful hold.
Bastian smiled inwardly as he stood
up, dusting himself off. The young orc
needed no further training. She was
ready for the Black Mountain and the trial that awaited them within.