IABD 54: Training

The ghouls hadn’t tried testing the wards with force of numbers again, but they hadn’t given up on trying to get to their prey either. After that failed headlong charge, they had changed tactics, using guile and low cunning instead of numbers.

Every few nights, a small number of ghouls would leave the abbey under cover of darkness to circle the homes of their quarry. Some would silently probe the area, testing for weaknesses in the magical barriers. A few would try slipping over the walls—belly crawling along the stone—but were always met by stone spikes, caught by gusting winds and turned to ash by flame. 

Any who avoided the wards would then scatter through the darkness, only to return a few nights later with a different tactic; they would fling sticks or stones over the walls, or try digging beneath them, or move the layers of stones around the outer walls of the hermit houses.

No matter what they did, Polla’s wards would punish them with wind, fire and stone. Yet, they would keep trying.

Night after night, Matthias would be roused from sleep by the sound of flames and screeching, which always ended in the silence of death. Night after night, he would charge from the hermit house, sword and hammer in hand, ready for the persistent monsters to breach the wards.

Night after night, he hadn’t had to.

The wards never failed.

They didn’t even falter.

No matter what the ghouls tried, penetrating Mistress Polla’s magic was doomed to failure.

And every night, Matthias would look toward her house, finding her floating behind her wards, wearing that ghoulish smile of satisfaction on her face.

It was a cruel smile yet comforting at the same time.

It was a smile that spoke of absolute confidence.

One morning, as she swept the ghoul’s ashes away with a single word, she said something under her breath. Something that Matthias barely heard.

“No matter what they try, they will only end up as kindling on my pyre,” the mage had said with pride.

The words might have disturbed some folk, but for Matthias? They made him feel safe. After all, it wasn’t unheard of for a member of the Stonebreaker family to relish repaying cruelty with greater cruelty, it was natural.

And as the nights went on, he’d grown less bothered by the ghoul’s unrelenting attempts to get inside their homes. It wasn’t to say that he’d fallen into a state of comfort; each time the wards went off, he would jump from his bed and rush outside with his family, watching ghouls or whatever they’d attempted to toss over the walls, burn.

But when he eventually returned to his bedroll, he would fall back to sleep much quicker and easier than before.

He was getting used to the wretched ghoul attacks, and that wasn’t all he was growing used to. When he’d first come to Windstone Abbey, the miasma had turned his stomach, reaching down to his very soul. After enduring it day after day, the stench of death and magical violation had lessened, now it was no more noticeable than background noise living in his thoughts.

The scent was still there, and it was still unpleasant, but he no longer had to constantly and actively push his mind through the odour.

Now, he regarded it as just another aspect of this place…and one that was helping his training.

It did not take many nights for him to be able to curl four fingers on one hand.

A few nights later, he was able to curl five.

In less than a week, he was able to master curling every finger on both hands at the same time while also engaging in Life Energy Circulation. He built on the repetitions, starting with one, then two, then three, and so on.

A week later, he’d reached twenty.

Another week brought him up to fifty.

The weeks passed in a blur as he focused all his energy on circulation while increasing the amount of movement he could do.

His mind was completely focused, and every day he was coming closer to his goal.

###

A month had passed since they had arrived in Windstone.

A month of breathing in that terrible stench.

A month of ghouls and interrupted sleep.

…and also, a month of growth and freedom.

To most, this ill-fated abbey would be a prison.

But Bregindoure Stonebreaker knew what a true prison was; a prison had been his entire world until recently.

This place was not a prison; it was simply a different kind of freedom.

And Bregindoure enjoyed any kind of freedom.

For the eldest of the Stonebreaker siblings, it had taken time to adjust to his new surroundings; so much had changed for him so quickly, just in the space of a couple of months, that sometimes he wondered if he would wake up and find himself back in the tower.

It seemed unreal at times, like a dream and a nightmare all at once.

During those first days here, though he was loathed to admit it, he was afraid and angry.

The ghouls seemed endless, hungry and determined to feast on the intruders to their domain, and Bregindoure had quickly learned that there was nothing he could do to stop them.

During that attack on the very first day they’d arrived, it was all he could do to fend them off. He had fought side by side with his younger siblings and—to his displeasure—found himself relying on both Matt and Dagma to get him through the fight...in one piece.

He was strong, and he knew that, but he didn’t know how to move his body properly: after all, most of his life had been spent reading books, trying to meditate his way into manifesting the Rune of Clarity, and looking out the window while daydreaming about a whole wide world beyond the forest around his home.

He had developed his muscles, building his strength up by doing pushups, leg work and so on, but there wasn’t enough room in the small cell in his tower to even learn how to run properly. He hadn’t been permitted to have weapons, he wasn’t even allowed a razor, never mind a sword. According to Ecklund, trees were for looking at, not for climbing, as far as Bregindoure was concerned. He hadn’t even seen a pond before Bear’s Head, never mind swum in one. He’d been woefully lacking in most skills, because of being locked away.

It was ironic in a way; his exercises, the Rune of the Berserker and the blood of giants running through his veins had left him colossally strong, but despite all of that, he’d still had to rely on his younger brother and ten-year-old sister to fight those ghouls when they’d attacked them.

To him, it was humiliating—as the eldest brother—to feel so helpless, to be so helpless, thankfully, he was wise enough to know that this was temporary, that things would only remain like this until he learned how to move his body the way he wanted to.

And so, he’d directed much of his focus to that goal since they’d come to Windstone.

After the first few days, he’d developed a routine for himself.

He would get up before his other family members, except for his mother, then go outside to feel the sun and wind on his skin. Even the stench of the miasma was better than the eternal solitude of that tower.

Once he’d finished soaking up the sun’s rays, he would watch the abbey, looking for any sign of ghouls until the rest of his family got up, then he’d join them for breakfast.

After that, his training would begin.

His mother had taught him how to run correctly, leading him and Dagma on laps through the courtyard around the abbey. Along the way, she would work to correct their running form. They would do laps until she was satisfied with their progress, then return to their hermit house for weapons training.

As Beggahasta continued building his sister’s foundation up, she had started his training from scratch.

“The first weapon you will learn is the mace.” Beggahasta had guided her eldest son’s form, adjusting his grip on the weapon. “The reason is that it is one of the easiest weapons to use in the world. Once you can wield it properly, we can move on to more advanced weapons.”

“Should I really start with a mace?” Bregindoure had asked. “You just hit an enemy with the heavy part, right? Would learning a sword not better teach me how to move my body?”

“A sword is a fairly advanced weapon,” Beggahasta had told him. “When wielding one, you must consider edge alignment, when to cut, when to thrust, different guards, different positions, when to pommel, how to disarm, how to avoid being disarmed, how your cross guard can be utilised, binding an opponent’s weapon, which area of the blade to strike with, push cuts, draw cuts and the list goes on. It will be years before you can wield a sword properly.”

She’d tapped the mace. “Yes, you are right in that you only have to hit the enemy with the heavy part, which is simple. Simple is good. It will let you focus on the basics one would need for any weapon: the first being footwork. Footwork is the basics for all forms of combat. The second thing you will learn is how to swing, using your body to efficiently put your strength behind a blow. You will learn how to recover from a swing. You’ll also learn how to judge the reach of your weapon and arm. You’ll learn guard positions, parrying, dodging, rolling and more. There is a lot to be learned when starting with a simple weapon, the difference being that you will effectively be able to defend yourself far quicker and easier than you would if you were to spend years learning a sword.”

“There’s wisdom in that,” he’d agreed, gripping the metal cudgel. The Rune of Clarity burned on the back of his left hand. 

Beggahasta’s eyes fell on that rune. “Will that rune help you learn to fight faster?”

Bregindoure had frowned in thought. “From what I learned from Altaizar and the books he gave me, the Rune of Clarity will help keep my mind from growing tired, but I don’t think it will let me learn to fight any faster. What I would really need is the Rune of the Warrior.”

“Yes, that makes sense,” Beggahasta had said. “Then we shall focus on helping you develop that.”

A little off to the side, Ellian had been sitting near Matthias—who had his eyes closed, deep in meditation, moving his fingers under Polla’s guidance—but the youngster’s eyes were fixed on Bregindoure’s Runes.

“Erm, forgive me if this is rude, Bregindoure, but I’ve never met a rune-marked before and I find myself curious. What is the Rune of the Warrior?” he’d asked.

“It’s not at all rude,” Bregindoure had laughed good-naturedly, setting Ellian at ease. “The Rune of the Warrior is one of the very first runes that most rune-marked earn. It can manifest on those who engage in a great act of violence, or on those who have trained in the ways of a warrior. It enhances one’s strength, speed, agility, and skill in combat. One can learn weapons much quicker when you have it. But…it also tries to stoke anger, push one into violence. It does not influence the mind anywhere near as strongly as the Rune of the Berserker, but it can still drive some toward violence. The Rune of Clarity counters that, though.”

“I see,” Ellian had said, his eyes lingering on the Rune of the Berserker. There was curiosity and fear in those eyes.

Bregindoure said nothing.

“So then will you get the Rune of the Warrior when you finish training with your mace?” the boy had asked.

“Perhaps. From what I have read though, the best way for a rune-marked to earn the Rune of the Warrior is to defeat a ‘worthy opponent’. I’ll be lucky if I gain that rune through training, but in all likelihood, I will have to defeat something quite powerful.”

His eyes had drifted over to the abbey. “Like one of those ghoul trolls, or maybe one of the ghoul lords.”

Something inside him hungered for a true test in combat, thirsted for blood and demanded the rush of violence. That feeling was not being influenced by the runes of an unknown god; it was the desire of Bregindoure Stonebreaker.

He was raised by a warrior, born into a culture of warriors and had read a good deal about great deeds done on the battlefield. Runes or not, his future would be one of freedom and combat.

And he could hardly wait to embrace that.

“You can only defeat something powerful, by focusing on your training, Breg.” Beggahasta had taken hold of one of his enormous arms. “So here, follow my guidance: I will show you how to strike fluidly and plant your feet firmly. Whatever dreams you have, my son, it is my duty to help you reach them.”

“I want to be a warrior, to destroy and protect and achieve victory and gain spoils from battle,” he had assured her.

She had smiled. “Then that is what you will have. Let us learn the basics first. Before winter arrives, we will test your affinity for Life Enforcement.”

“Why not do it sooner?” he’d asked.

“Because I want you to learn how to move your body as it is now. What is easier: to learn how to move when the power of nature is reinforcing your life energy, making you more agile, stronger and more enduring, or to do it before. The answer is before. Think of it like climbing a great hill; the climb is hard, but running downhill afterward is easy. And besides, if you do not have the affinity for Life Enforcement, it’s better that you don’t discover that early in your training: a disappointment in the beginning is a greater anchor than one that comes after you have some accomplishments behind you. And regardless of whether or not you have an affinity, you will be a devastating warrior, my son. I will train you to be among the best.”

And so, they had trained.

For days they had practised, for weeks they had drilled and—slowly, but surely–Bregindoure had learned how to fight. With his sister at his side, he began to understand how to move his body efficiently and quickly.

He learned how to put power behind his blows and when to hold back.

The greatfolk practised his footwork extensively, learning how to run, how to quick step and how to move across a battlefield. 

Most of his daily routine consisted of eating, training and spending time with his family. Training was difficult at first—no amount of wanting to be better could overcome not knowing how to move his body, but over time it became easier.

His morning jogs were less frustrating as he began to understand the flowing movements of running. Bregindoure’s practise with his mace became easier as he learned how to execute his strikes and make his footwork smoother.

After a month, he was a far cry from being a warrior but—as the leaves continued changing colour, dropping from the trees, and a chill had entered the air—he had begun to feel like a different man, more comfortable in his own skin.

He watched his brother meditating, he was learning to move his body incrementally while circulating his energy.

“I won’t let you get too far ahead, Matt,” Bregindoure whispered to himself.

And then he continued training.

###

A month and a half had passed since they had arrived in Windstone.

Matthias’ skills were growing.

Now, he was not only able to move both hands while circulating his energy, he could also move both arms as well. He had to keep his movements slow and measured but with each day and night of practise, it became easier.

And already, he could see the benefits.

When visiting his Towers now, he found more stone forming along their foundations. It was slow progress—there would be many years to go—but it was progress.

“Soon, I’ll be able to circulate my energy while walking and moving; that’ll make things go even faster,” Matthias said, one morning, waking up in his bedroll. “But there’s other important things to worry about today.”

He looked through the window, watching the rising sun.

It was a clear fall day.

A good day for Bregindoure Stonebreaker to test his affinity for Life Enforcement.

###

Author's Note

So that little bit about not getting bad news early in one's journey actually comes from personal experience. I find that bad news early in a day used to KILL my work days, hence pushing it back so that accomplishments can cover for any sort of loss.

Alrighty, cya tomorrow!