"Welcome, my young friends."
The bright morning sun sparkled on the speaker's impeccably polished armor as he addressed the gathering before him in the little circular plaza. Perhaps fifty of Danel's youth were arrayed beneath the small wooden speaking platform, staring up with mixed expressions at the speaker.
His hands clasped behind him, he surveyed the varied crew with a wry smile on his stern face. His dark brown hair, kept relatively short, ruffled in the breeze as his gaze swept the crowd. More than half of them were looking somewhat bleary-eyed today, an aftereffect of their last night of freedom, he imagined.
He spoke up again, in a deep but not imposing baritone. "Most of you know me, by reputation if not personally. For those that don't, never fear: you'll get to know me soon, probably better than you'd like. The name is Gohren, and I'm this city's Master-at-Arms."
Raising a hand, he beckoned to an aide waiting patiently just off the platform. As the younger man hurried over, he spoke again. "You all know why you're here. Since this city was founded, every generation has spent its time serving in the militia, and more importantly, learning how to defend themselves and if need be, their land."
He shifted slightly, lifting his arms and moving from side to side as his aide busied himself with Gohren's armor, unfastening buckles and undoing straps. "More than once in our history, this has been a tradition that's served us well, and the proof of it is that we're still here, when so many of our allies have fallen to the ravages of time and outside savagery." He shook his head, a little sadly, as if remembering comrades lost.
The aide took the breastplate from Gohren's chest, and the armsmaster rolled his shoulders and flexed his wrists. Without his armor, he was revealed to be a smaller man than most would expect - not by any means small, but clearly, his nickname of "the Wall" hadn't come from his size.
He stepped down to the plaza floor and clasped his hands behind his back again. "Now then. I'm sure some of you think that this training is unnecessary. Maybe you've learned something of combat from your parents, or maybe you simply think that such things are beneath you. If that's the case, then here's your chance to get out of it."
He grinned then, and it was a very different expression than the fatherly smile he showed the trainees before. There were more teeth in it, and a glint of steel in his eye. "We have another tradition here in Danel. If you can prove to the armsmaster that you don't need his training, then you may be excused from your year's service. For me personally, that means one thing." He gestured to the platform behind him. "If any of you think you can make me say uncle, or get past me and up those stairs, then by all means, step forward and you'll get your shot. Don't be shy now, if you're feeling particularly confident, we can use whatever weapons you'd like." He nods to his aide, who removes a canvas covering from a rack that displays a wide variety of weaponry. "Take what you need, if you don't have your own." He raised an eyebrow then, and waited.
The students exchanged glances. Most took a step back, not trusting that wolfish smile - but a few remained, eying each other and the armsmaster with equal parts bravado and caution.
Asa bint Aangul was among that fifty, but not among the beary-eyed.
When many stepped back, she stepped forward.
"What is the word, we are to make you say?", she asked.
"Uncle.", came the reply.
"May I be excused?", she asked, smiling.
"No.", came the answer.
She was not sure if she imagined a smile on Gohren's face.
But she wore one.
And stepped back.
Basher looked to his right and then to his left there were a few familiar faces in the crowd, Arthur and Asa among them. He stretched some and rolled his shoulders, realizing most were backing away from Gohren.
"Alright," he spoke up finally. "Will this go quicker if I martyr myself?" Stepping up to the older man's challenge Basher pulled a hefty looking club from his back and gave it a few practice swings. "Go easy on me old man." He knew what Gohren was doing, of course. He wanted to demonstrate to the prideful young men and women of the town that they did not know a damn thing about fighting.
He hefted his club and darted forward, swinging low but quickly recoiling, pulling the club toward his chest and thrusting it forward instead.
Arthur was grateful that Basher had taken out drinking two days ago rather then one. He had slept off the ill affects of the day yesterday, waking only long enough to eat a small piece of bread, all his stomach could handle. When he woke this morning, he felt refreshed and invigorated, ready to meet the day. Unfortunately his stomach betrayed him for completely different reasons today. He was nervous. All Arthur had been able to eat before coming over to the meeting place at the crack of dawn was another piece of bread.
At the moment, Arthur was one of the less noticeable people in the crowd, save for a few small things. He wore his clothes as he normally did, a vest, a white collared shirt, and black cloth pants, as well as some new leather boots his father had given him and a sling on his shoulder that was suspiciously the same color as the pants he was wearing. But then he was also wearing several small things that would seem odd to another person who had never seen Arthur's gear. Small bags filled with metal balls. Powder horns that were crudely but solidly made from Arthur's own design.
Oh, and of course on his back he wore something covered in a big piece of cloth that was dotted with black spots. It was longer then any sword and made metallic clicking noises whenever Arthur moved a little. He drew more then a few odd looks when he came into the plaza like that, clicking all the way.
He watched Gohren speaking, impressed and even a shade jealous by the easy way he spoke in front of so many people. The man knew how to speak to a crowd, something young Arthur had never learned. He only hoped he would get the chance to demonstrate his weapon soon. The knot in his stomach was killing him.
Of course, when the man offered the chance to earn their way out of the training, Arthur almost jumped at the chance. Almost. The fact that he would have to fight Gohren instead of simply display ones prowess definitely brought his step forward to quick halt. Instead, Arthur quickly stepped back. Even if Arthur's weapon could, through a mixture of surprise and effectiveness, earn him that pass Arthur wasn't going to risk the injury it could cause to Gohren. Not that Arthur could even guarantee hitting the man.
So, instead, Arthur watched Baxter's attempts, wondering what his friend intended to do.
Gohren watched Basher step up, a mixture of satisfaction and amusement in his eyes. As the young man swung his club back and forth, Gohren moved not at all, save a slightly quizzical turn of the head.
A bold one this year. The Ames boy, I think...Not even going to wait for a signal to start, if I haven't - there we go.
Basher's first quick swing came in, and Gohren didn't bat an eye. His arms stayed at his side, and for a moment, it seemed that maybe the young tough was going to pull a fast one when he suddenly switched direction, jabbing forward. At the last instant, though, Gohren's arms came up and with a twist faster than the eye could follow, suddenly the armsmaster was resting the club on his shoulder.
His fingers drummed on the handle as he eyed Basher. "Not a bad try, son, but you're gonna need to put some more emphasis on your footwork. That sort of shot always works better from the side." He tossed the weapon to Basher's feet. "Care to try again? Or perhaps someone else thinks they can do better?"
One or two of the trainees who'd stepped forward edged their way backwards, but a few grinned at each other and slapped backs, trying to egg someone else on to try their luck.
"No sir, I know when I'm beat," Basher said as he rolled the club onto his foot and kicked it up into his waiting hand. Stepping back into the ranks of the recruits, he joined Arthur's side and rested an arm on the shorter boy's head.
"You ain't gonna give it a shot Arty?" He asked, "I bet that contraption of yours could knock the old man on his arse." He had seen Arthur's device a few times in operation but never tried it himself, not after one of the precursor models had exploded when the trigger was pulled. Basher's weapons may be brutish in comparison but at least they did not run the risk of driving shrapnel into his face.
Basher stole a surreptitious glance at Asa. He had figured out Gohren's goal as soon as the subject was brought up and volunteered to get the inevitable demonstration out of the way but a loss was a loss and still rather embarrassing. If anyone else stepped up to fail as well, he would feel a bit better about it.
"I don't think that would be a good idea." Arthur admitted with embarrassment, not liking the fact that what he was about say would sound like bragging. "If I tried, I might hurt him. Or worse... Besides, I don't want to skip this training. If there's anyone in our city that can get my idea some backing it's Gohren and I need him to learn to trust me as much as my invention, or he'll always have doubts about it."
Arthur seemed to completely miss the fact that Basher was leaning on his head. But then again, the bookish 'Arty' was more then used to Basher's 'antics'. "You did pretty well. I thought you almost had him. I don't think anyone will get any closer then you either. Those that are left look too sure of themselves."
"Oh!" Excitedly, Arthur turned away from what was happening up front to look up at Basher. He was pretty sure he knew what was going to happen to the remaining kids who tried so he wasn't missing anything. "I managed to solve issue with the sight! Turns out the heat had deformed the barrel a little. I made a few adjustments so it should..." Arthur continued to talk about the technical aspects of his device as those who remained to challenge Gohren did so. Most people would probably be lost, but perhaps Basher had picked up enough of the lingo to follow what he was saying.
The rest of the little demonstration played out like most everyone expected it to. The little group of bravos went after Gohren, one by one, some with weapons, some with outlandish tactics, but all of them went down unceremoniously. Each one, while dropped hard, was given a hand up and a few words of encouragement or advice. No one tried twice.
One moment did stand out - a trainee picked up a greatsword from the rack, and Gohren, for the first time yet today, took up a tool of his own. A shield as tall as he was, engraven with Danel's half-circle sigil. As unwieldy as the sheet of metal looked, Gohren moved as if the weight trouble him not at all, and he deftly deflected the trainee's ungainly swing and slammed the young man to the ground with a quick movement of his shoulder. He helped the young man up, and both returned their weapons to the rack without another word.
When the last went down, scarcely half an hour had passed. Gohren nodded, hands clasped behind his back once more, as he surveyed the now much quieter group.
"Well. Now that we've assessed what you can't do," he chuckled, mitigating the harsh-sounding words, "Let's find out what you can. Rahn, lead the way, if you please." His aide nodded, and gestured silently for the group to follow him as he turned away from the plaza, heading down the city's gentle slope to the bottom of the hill. As the group files past, Gohren's gaze lingered on a few, exchanging nods with any who met his eye.
Arthur, after conversation with Basher dried up, had taken out his journal and begun doing some math by the time the 'presentation' was over. It took a few moments to slip his book away and catch up to the group, namely his only friend in it Basher, but when he did he noticed Gohren studying those filing past. At least, a few of them. He tripped before he could see if he was one of the few, causing quite a commotion as his cloth shrouded device clanked against the ground, but quickly got back to his feet with an embarrassed shade of red now coloring his cheeks. He would mutter a thank you to any who had offered him a hand up, but was too busy checking to make sure the cloth was still securely wrapped around his musket to give anyone proper thanks. As much as Arthur wanted to demonstrate the weapon, he would be fool to give up the element of surprise in any situation, especially this one. If he was going to sell the idea he had to wow Gohren.
Asa had watched the... sparring? Testing? Certainly not 'fighting', with an intelligent interest. Ata's big friend was clever in a fight! But Gohren had seen this, too, before, and had the great club in hand almost at once. Which was enough for Basher. So yes, clever.
Others weren't so clever, or thought they were, but Gohren had seen all that before, too. Soon the group of trainees was headed down the hill. She was some steps too far to rush to help Ata when he stumbled, and his machine clattered on the ground, inside its shroud. She met Gohren's eye just after, and mouthed silently, "He's very clever. Very clever.". Ata was clever, and he'd put a lot of art and time and burns into that... shroud. She guessed Gohren had never seen that before. Whatever 'that' was.
After the episode with the missing pants, she wasn't even sure Ata had seen it, yet.
Basher knew enough about metal and seen enough demonstrations to follow along in the conversation. Some of it was a little outside of his experience but Arthur rarely had to explain a concept to him more than once. He understood metal stress and heat interactions well enough and could offer ideas on reducing weight or increasing durability but beyond that was solely Arthur's domain.
When Arthur tripped up, Basher waded through the others put himself in the way of the other recruits. Being perhaps the largest one in the crowd he parted them rather effectively while Arthur collected his things. Keeping an eye on his friend had been a duty of his ever since his mother had forced him to sullenly agree to helping Arthur translate some old texts. In the end, once he got through Arthur's awkwardness the two of them rapid became friends. Birds of a feather and all that.
Eventually, the little group got to their destination - the training grounds for the militia. Over a few acres of hardpacked dirt and straw set aside for this purpose there were spread multiple obstacle courses, training dummies, sparring rings, and ranged targets, enough to allow for many more recruits than were gathered here today.
As the group arrived, the grounds were mostly empty, although here and there a member of the militia was running through a workout or solo training. When the trainees moved up, the soldiers took note, and started to move off, some laughing or shouting comments; apparently, the area was to be clear for the raw recruits today.
From behind the little group, Gohren's voice rose again. "First, take a look around. This is going to be your favorite place the next couple of months, so you may as well get to know it." The group started to mill about, unsure of where to head first, and Gohren called out, "When you think you've got a grasp on what's what, make your way over to the dummy area."
Arthur appreciated Basher's help. Before having met the larger young man, the noted 'crazy' bookworm had been an easy target for the few bullies in the city. Since meeting the man and befriending him, however, Arthur seemed to have a lot less trouble. It was in the rare moments when Basher had to actively do something that Arthur remembered why, and he was grateful for the friend. Granted, Arthur still found ways to get back at Basher for using his head as something to lean on, though half the time the young man spotted the tricks.
When they were finally led to the area that would be their 'favorite place' for the next few months, Arthur looked around the area quickly for several moments, taking in all that he was seeing. A few questions came to mind about the more interesting training devices, but eventually Arthur was able to puzzle out what most of the stuff was for. Once they were directed toward the dummies, Arthur briefly wondered how many of these raw recruits had ever actually handled a real weapon. There was Basher, himself and the one who picked up the greatsword perhaps but aside from that?
With a shrug, Arthur readjusted the device wrapped in cloth hanging on straps over his shoulder and follow the larger youth, Basher, expecting him to know more about how to deal with big crowds.
"Excuse me, sirs?", Asa said to two of those clearing from the field for the recruits. "I am to learn what is what. ... what is that? I am to go to the dummy area, but I do not wish to be one. You clearly are more informed. May I request your information, your advice?"
Basher did not necessarily know more about crowds but people made way for him more readily than they would of for Arthur. In his youth, he had gotten into more than a few fights with more than a few of the people here and they still remembered the bruises he had given them. Even now, when his mother did business, he was often sure to stop by later and have a chat with those she did business with. With certain people he was someone to avoid.
Basher unslung his club again and leaned on it when they made their way to the dummies. Here, he, supposed, the recruits would actually display their talents for Gohren.
After learning what the alumnae would share, Asa also made her way to the 'dummy area'. She was not yet ready to embrace the title, though she did acknowledge to herself it might be deserved. This brought a faint smile to her face, that some took for confidence, others, for foolishness.
She made her way to those most known to her. "Ata. Basha.", she said brightly, "So, soon, we hit things. And, I suppose, they will hit us?"