RP:New Recruit
This is a Warrior's Guild RP.
Logistics
Who
Where
Snowless Training Yard
One would never know this patch of land once held the bloody remains of innocents killed long ago, for all have been cleared away and given proper burials nearby so that this area could be reborn. And reborn is has been, transformed from a battered street to a wide yard fenced in by a low, black stone wall. The yard sprawls out on either side of the iron gate that serves as an entrance, and the expanse seems to be sectioned off into four large rectangled areas by strange white lines drawn upon the ground--deeply embedded strips of marble, if one were to examine these closely. The ground itself is a peculiarity too, a soft, golden sandy surface without a single speck of snow upon it, as if the weather refuses to go near it. In fact, even the numbing chill in the air seems to be buffered while within the yard's boundaries. You suspect the four orbs of pulsing fluorite--white in the north, black in the south, crimson in the east, and cobalt in the west--that decorate the corners of the fence have something to do with this, riddled as they are with elaborate etchings of runes, sigils, and other arcane markings. Here lies the training yard for those learning the art of outdoor combat in Frostmaw, a blank slate to be altered as teachers see fit in instructing their students through the rigors of environmental conditions, for it takes no more than an adjustment upon the fluorite spheres to produce any arrangement of climates within their given battlefield. Rain, sleet, arid desert, howling wind, or boggy swamp, the four fields are infinitely mutable in their existence, as is to be expected of an institute devoted to the art of combat around the world. To the west looms an immense building, even by Frost Giant standards, with behemoth double doors of a darkly colored pine bearing the stern facade of Aramoth, God of War, chiseled across their collective front. One can safely assume this is the training academy proper, where various dojos, studios, and classrooms can be found, and unimaginable lessons attended by eager students of the art of War. A sign reading "Royal Academy Coming Soon" is here.
What
Owen meets Esche who introduces him to Lionel and a duel is set to allow entrance into the Warrior's Guild
Scene
Owen stands off away from the crowd away from any of the instructors or classes going on. The lone child looks to the stump in front of him and inhaled quietly. Without waiting a movement the child drops into a warrior stance placing his left foot behind him and bending both knees. His hand falls onto the hilt positioned on his belt, gripping the blade he unsheathes the katana and swings in a single motion slashing at the ropes bound around the stump. Grunting he attempts to pull the steel wedged between the layers of rope, finally resorting to placing a brown snow covered boot on the stump and pulling free, after a few attempts and a final grunt he pulls with all his strength only to fall on the snow packed ground with a hard thud.. the sword still logged into the stump.
Esche sips his tea, but not gladly. A pained look takes his smooth, shaven-headed elven features, not just from the news he’s been given but from the subpar quality of the tea itself. “Instructor Trepe, you would have me chasing ghosts while a high dragon continues her rampage?” Trepe, tall and slim, purses her lips in frustration but remains silent. “I understand your concern,” Esche continues, standing up from his seat in his spartan administrative office. Esche isn’t the executive overseer of the Royal Academy of Aramoth, nor the Warrior’s Guild headquarters which have been folded into its facilities, but with Lionel away on frequent missions and Queen Hildegarde tending to matters of state, he isn’t far from it. The instructors have taken to calling him ‘Professor’ behind his back, which Esche has found odd but agreeable. He peers out through his window as the morning’s class practices their drills. “I wish we could delegate all available resources to the investigation.” Esche’s tone is low and sorrowful. “Kahran must be fought on every front,” Trepe urges. Esche doesn’t look away from the window, but he nods. “Yes. But the ruins of that bordertown are no longer a front. If it was destroyed by Kahran’s forces, or even if it wasn’t, it is no longer a place we can protect. We have failed in that duty, but we cannot fail in protecting Frostmaw’s outer reaches from the dragon. It…” Esche pauses, narrowing his emerald eyes as the distant shape of a child collapses beside a tree stump. “Ser?” Trepe asks. “We’ll table this discussion for now. I will return.” Once outside, the elf takes graceful strides across the snow, bowing a handful of times as the recruits and their trainers each bow upon his passing, until he is away from them and nearer to Owen. “Greetings.” He smiles. “I am Esche. What might your name be?” He holds his long arm out to assist the boy.
Owen slaps the ground hard. He looks to the man offering the hand and grasps hold of it pulling himself up. He looks over the elf and lofts a brow. He speaks in a language common to the frost elves, “I'm Owen. Sorry to disturb your class..” He says walking back over to the sword stuck in the rope and with a hard pull he dislodges the weapon and sheathes it “If you need this station you can have it” the language though different then sylvan dialect, had similarities enough to be understood if only vaguely.
Esche’s own native dialect is rather far removed from either Sylvan or Frost Elf, although he’s fluent in both and he rarely speaks a word of his own tongue outside of incantations. He smiles pleasantly at the boy. “I see no reason to prevent you from your chosen task, Owen, and I’ll say it plainly to my associates so that there is no misunderstanding. Might you be hungry or thirsty, however? Perhaps we can speak further over a meal. There may be things this academy can offer you beyond one mere tree stump, if you have the will to hear them out.”
Owen softly shakes his head “ I appreciate the offer however….” as his words move to politely decline the offer his stomach rather rudely argues to accept with a noise loud enough to be understood even over the noises of battle practice. After being rudely interrupted by his own body he flushes at his cheeks and lowers his head. “If it's not too much of an inconvenience it has been a few days since my last meal.
Esche eyes Owen’s stomach inquisitively at its rumbling, then reverts his gaze to the boy’s face. “It is my modest understanding that children must on average consume an even more rigorous supply of nutrients in order to grow. Which is to say, I will be seeing to your sustenance from this day forward.” Well, Esche, the end times may be approaching but it seems you’ve just adopted someone. “If you’ll follow me, please.” He extends his arm in humble invitation, bowing slightly despite what is probably a tremendous difference in age. Once they’re inside, kitchen smells will assail their nostrils. Partridge on an open fire, with onions and peppers roasting beside it. Candied bread and milk and cheese is on the table, too, and several hungry recruits are digging into it already. “Please take a seat, Owen. And tell me, what brought you here?” Esche smiles.
Owen cautiously accepts the offered arm moving inside. Past the doors the young frost elf sweeps the room from wall to wall, making a note of all that occupy the room and more importantly, their armor and weapons. His caution fades the moment he smells the sweet bread. If today is the day to die.. might as well die full. Dropping down into a chair he quickly reaches in grabbing one of the sweet rolls not bothering to place it down he moves it to his mouth and takes in a big bite. After a gulping swallow he looks at Esche “To be honest, I can't even say.” he continues in the language of the frost elves. I've just been wandering around I came across the stump as the sun started to rise, and started to do my normal training I haven't seen a stump with rope on it before and wanted to see if I could cut through it. You see how that endeavor turned out” he moves the bread to his mouth again taking another giant bite while reaching with his other hand to grab another.
The rest of the meal is served, causing no small flock of people to head inside and take their places at the long wooden tables. Some chatter about this thing or that -- much is said about worries over when and where Kahran will strike next, and whether Lionel O’Connor’s gamble in trusting Blut with sensitive information on that front will pay off -- while others choose distant seats and retreat to paperwork or books. More than a few of these sweaty, tired folks eye Owen briefly, but most smile sincerely at the boy thereafter. Even if they had reason to doubt his intentions, he’s with Esche, and that’s good enough for them. “Fascinating,” Esche replies. “Well, perhaps that is a strong word for a tale of someone who simply happened to be here for no great purpose, but I saw your form through the window. With time and proper training, I believe you could make a fine warrior as you mature.” He laughs awkwardly. “Of course, who am I to say? A mage, through and through, I.”
Owens eyes fall upon the rest of the meal however his hand keeps reaching for the sweet rolls occasionally grabbing a slice of red cheese but mostly the rolls. Keeping his head down to preserve the idea he doesn't speak the common tongue he only reacts when his mother tongue is spoken. He speaks softly choosing to use synonyms to mask the commonly understood words of his people. “It may be by Commander Aramoths will that I had stumbled upon your school.” he nods to the statue of the titan in the room. “Or by chance it is simply dumb luck.” A hand dips into the bread again grabbing two this time.
Lionel appears, having finished his ascent up the ladder which leads down into workshop and then straight into the galley. That was his choice, of course; he wanted ladders installed for multiple rooms, chief among them being wherever he can grab a bite to eat. And that’s precisely what he’s doing when he waltzes impatiently to the table and plops down beside Esche. “Hey.” Between mouthfuls of dead bird, he adds, “what’s with the kid? Hi, I’m Lionel.” Esche sighs, embarrassed. “Owen, it would be my pleasure to introduce you to Lionel, who is technically in charge here.” Lionel’s still chewing when he chimes in a bit more with, “what do you mean technically? Hi, Owen.”
Owen moves his hand down to the katana sitting at his waist gripping the handle tenderly as the man sits down. He remains still foregoing even the sweet bread in front of him. Keeping with his native tongue he replies “my name is Owen Frostbourn. Thank you for opening your doors to me and the others that call your halls home”
Lionel squints. He knows enough of the language to get by as a listener, if only barely. "Oh, you're quite welcome, Owen." He tilts his attention back to Esche once more. Esche, who is finishing his meal and reaching for more of that tea he finds so terribly mediocre. "Owen wishes to train," Esche says lightly, but the elf's words seem to hold a weight to them, for Lionel appraies Owen all over again. "Oi," he starts, sighing. "I'm not much for sparring kids, but... hey, Owen," Lionel says, back to squinting already. "You want to be a recruit for the Warrior's Guild? Is that what you're saying? You're free to use our training equipment without joining. And I should note, we uh, we normally don't start things quite so young, but... since Esche here seems to have taken a liking to you," he pats Esche on the back, who seems startled, "I guess I can make an exception. Only thing is, uh... if you're saying yes -- if that's uh, if that's what you want to do -- then technically we've got to have ourselves an entry spar for you so I can evaluate your training needs. Wooden weapons, mind you, but it still feels a bit... what's the word, Esche?" Esche ponders. "Abusive?" Lionel nods. "Aye. That may be it. So methinks I might have one of the younger recruits take you on instead."
Owen grins the caution and timidness fades. Alas for the first time in awhile the young frost elf reverts to the common tongue. “With all due respect commander,” the tone much more confident and directed. “A spar, even with wooden implements, with one of your younger members against me would be abuse to them. I appreciate the teachings here, however don't discount my experience or skills to my age. Only yesterday was I sword to claw with an ice devil. Given we are having this discussion you understand that outcome. I do wish to join the guild and if a contest is how I will do that. Then a contest I will take.” he reaches in to take another sweet bread roll taking the last from the basket in front of the trio.
Lionel and Esche exchange glances. Esche’s is plain; Lionel’s is furtive. “Ah, what the heck,” the commander says, but only after a final forkful of seasoned bird. “A point’s a point, and I hear-tell you’ve got one. Alright then, Owen. We’ll spar, you and me.” He reaches over the table to extend his hand in a shake.
Owen extends his hand reaching across the table looking Lionel in the eye; he nods directly. “I look forward to it.” he looks to Esche and reverts to his native tongue “I understand it's wooden weapons, do you have a wooden katana as I'm not trained in the broad sword style.” he grabs a few more
Esche nods, answering before Lionel can. "We have mockups for virtually every form. You'll be accommodated as best we can muster, and if our present best should not suffice, you'll have something fresh-made. I am looking forward to seeing this spar of yours, Owen." He smiles, although a hint of sadness mars his feature. Perhaps he's worried for the boy, despite Owen's insistence to the contrary.