Private Tales Fighting the Good Fight

[Nacht]

Ah, drills. He heard many gripes about them in hushed voices, but Nacht was actually thankful for them. However high stakes, life at the monastery could seem almost idyllic at times, so much so that it was easy to relax and just do nothing every so often. At least, he assumed it would be, but then came the exercises and such that kept him working and able to keep his mind off of the smaller things. Alongside other things and friends and such, his day became an almost constant stream of motion.

At this very moment, actually, he was standing at attention with the rest of his class. Syr Monte surveyed the scene and nodded his approval at the squires’ organization, his gaze only lingering on those few who had been fortunate enough to be paired with their friends and thus had less reason to focus. “Students, listen well! In this lesson, you and your partner will focus on attacking and defending respectively for two or three minutes. Then, switch and repeat the process that way. For those of you who know even the least bit of magic, it is prohibited.” the Sworn explained, crossing his arms.

There would probably be more afterwards, but this drill was fairly basic. Nacht grinned at the idea he now considered such an effort the norm, which was a good sign in his book. Expectation furthered acceptance, or so he had found in his own case. “Sitra! Glad to be practicing with you!” He said after turning her way. To his knowledge, she was even newer than him, which was kind of nice, since being known as the new kid was only fun for so long. Still, that was by no means an underestimation of her.

She seemed graceful and well-built, and rumor had it down that her former guard, a lady in golden plate, had seen her to the Monastery. Overall, surely more than some helpless damsel in distress. Since coming to the monastery, he had been appreciating that trope less and less in fables, and it felt good to do so in the real world as well. Taking position, he would wait. “Feel free to attack first, miss! I can handle myself, so no need to hold back at all!” He finished, mind moving more to focus on his stance for now.

Sitra

 

[Sitra]

There was always something happening in the Monastery, at least for the uninitiated. Tasks to either prove their worth or their humility. Normally it was some flavour of menial, mindless busywork that sent the squires scrabbling for brooms or cooking pots or bundles of firewood.

And of course, on the rare occasion that it wasn't busywork, it was a taste of genuine training.
​

Sitra would not lie to herself and say that she was not anticipating it; the prospect of receiving some practical experience to break up the monotony of fetching ingredients for the monastery's cook or sweeping away fallen leaves and whatever else the knights might've carried into one of the courtyards in Astenvale appealed to her, greatly. If someone decided to look closely enough, they might've even seen the faintest traces of excitement lining the features of the typically muted, introverted squire.

It was hard to say whether she imagined the other tasks to be beneath her, even she didn't know for certain.

But it mattered very little within these walls whether she was fond of menial labour, or considered herself above the tediousness of a squire's duties. All of them were equal in this place; nobility and commoner alike, and so she served, dutifully fulfilling whatever was asked of her until the day eventually came that she no longer had to muck out a stable or brush the cobwebs from a library's deepest, darkest corners.

But at least she wasn't alone. Her peers all shared the same hungry, eager glint in their eyes to finally prove themselves worthy of knighthood, and all the responsibility that came with those vows. The importance of knowing how to defend themselves; of knowing how to defend others. Her partner seemed no different, and Sitra tried her best to suppress a smile at the enthusiastic greeting. Syr Monte was still watching, and she did not want to be accused of wasting her time on pleasantries, rather than training.

And so she returned the greeting with a polite incline of her head, and smiled - if only a little bit.

When she collected a buckler and a dulled wooden sword from one of the racks, she wasted little time afterward in slotting her arm through the straps and tightening it to her non-dominant arm. As with everything else about the squire, her movements were a careful dance between practicality and a valiant attempt at maintaining the poise of a noblewoman. Or she tried.

The buckler wasn't so heavy, and she had her fair share of experience with wielding a sword, but poise was much less of a concern when it came to combat - even if it was only training - and so she didn't hesitate to shuffle it to the back of her mind when she turned to face her sparring partner, adopting an offensive stance with a foot forward and the shield placed at her forefront.

Only after she was finally satisfied with her footing, she parted her lips to speak. "I'm glad to be practicing with you as well, Nacht. But feel free to call me Sitra," came her quiet, vaguely amused reply to being referred to as 'miss'. She was not totally unused to it, nor did it offend her. But from a fellow squire? It was a formality that she thought to be unnecessary. At least when it came to her peers.

Sitra tucked and tamed whatever stray hairs slipped from her hair's caul. Now, she was ready.

"I will try not to hold back," she responded to his boastful claim, following the words up with a nod of reassurance that she already had no intention of going easy on her training partner. "Please tell me if I am going too far or if you need to pause, I will not hold it against you. I'd rather we train together without worrying too much about bruises and broken bones."

She might've laughed after saying as much, but she was also serious. Too many squires tossed their limits to the side on the sparring field, whether it at Astenvale or in Saknne, and there were always stories of sprained wrists and fractured skulls when it came to people who were a little too serious about demonstrating their skills in combat. Even at the expense of their partners. And she didn't know what Nacht was capable of, or at least not yet. Today she'd find out.

Then Sitra stepped forward, glancing at her footwork one last time to make certain of her positioning.

As well as to make sure she could still flex her toes in the tightly laced boots; the new leather was still stiff.

Uncomfortable.

With a final nod to make sure Nacht was ready, she struck. Even as she went on the offensive, she still held her buckler at an angle ahead of her to ward off any imaginary, potential blows while she pressed forward to deliver tentative, practiced strikes without all that much fanfare or tricks; the point was to practice their shield work for the moment. The rest of it would come after they were comfortable with the assigned partner

Not to mention, only after she assessed this Nacht. What was he capable of?

 

[Nacht]

“This has become the normal for me, not to worry. I’m excited to see if you can keep up.” He grinned teasingly. Sitra seemed like a confident person, which was necessary to succeed, or so he had found.

Should he not be weird or anything, there might even be a chance to make a friend. Of course, there were always the horror stories to consider of people in pain after stubbornly pushing themselves past their limits, but Nacht had never been the type to bull rush forward. There was no need to, not at the monastery surrounded by allies.

Yes, he practiced after class and stuff, but that wasn’t the same thing. As he readied himself to block, he noticed Sitra was checking her feet and such to make sure everything was in order. He momentarily shifted, shield at the ready. Happily, it seemed like his new acquaintance was significantly more confident with their strikes.

However, after a minute or so, Strike after strike and block after block, it began to feel a slight bit boring. Sitra was obviously testing him, for she had almost said as much. That meant that what he had to do was exceed her expectations for him. All his life he had been pale and thin, so not exactly impressive, but in battle his stature made for an advantage.

See, his body did not have much weight to move around, which made dodging and such easier. At this point, he had begun to pick up a pattern, which was rather easy considering the blows were coming straight on. The swords the squires trained with whenever they were instructed to were wooden, which significantly increased his willingness to attempt such a foolish tactic.

The next time a swing came for him, he deflected it sideways and stepped inside the sword’s range before he brought his other arm around to grab Sitra’s wrist. “Huh. Didn’t quite think that would work.” He said, his deceptively strong but at the same time restrained grip holding her sword hand in place.

He had worked hard to gain what little strength he had, and there was never a time he was quite afraid to use it. Stepping back, he would give an excited grin and raise his shield arm. “So, then, Sitra. Have I quite proven myself to you? Shall we add some variety?” He asked cheerily, the question spoken in a hopeful tone. There was no trace of a rhetorical question in his speech.

He had decided it would be nice if the lady squire was his friend, and hoped her answer would indicate the same.

Sitra

 

[Sitra]

Sitra allowed herself to be drawn into the rhythm and flow of the exercise. It was like a dance that only she could hear, and she was more than content to permit each subsequent strike from her practice sword to fill in the space between the relative silence of the sparring yard; there were very few words spoken aside from the occasional suggestion to a squire's form from the constant presence of the knight on duty.

It seemed that Nacht knew his way around a shield, at the very least, with her techniques and maneuvers being met in return by an enthusiastic parry. All in all, their training was textbook perfect. It wasn't anything noteworthy, no. But that was besides the point during a lesson only meant to impart the basics of swordplay through muscle memory alone.

It was a perfunctory exercise that served only for the two become comfortable with one another.

There were no wasted swings or openings in the other squire's defense, and from what she'd seen thus far, Nacht also seemed to have an excellent grasp of his footing. And for a moment she had allowed herself to be lost in the sequence of striking, blocking, then striking again without any particular thought behind the routine. She simply followed the pace that the two of them had set.

When Nacht had chosen for once to follow up on the offensive; she was almost surprised, and hadn't expected the restraint of her wrist by his deceptively strong grip, and she permitted it with little more than a graceful arching of her brow as her hand relaxed so that the practice sword hung loosely from her fingertips - pleased in some small ways to have an opportunity to relax the ache settling into her muscles.

Not that she was terribly pleased by the initiative, but neither did she chastise him for it. When Nacht had stepped back, so had Sitra, trapping the blade between her bicep and body in order to free both of her hands - for a brief moment - so that she could attend to that same ache she felt take root in her palm after the long, ceaseless minutes of practice. Her gaze tore itself away from the fingers she'd been using to knead at the tense flesh with small, circular patterns before returning to Nacht's own with a small laugh.

"Well, I won't deny that you've got initiative. And yes, you have, I am impressed." Sitra had spoken with a twinkle in her eyes, as if she was amused by something that she hadn't yet voiced. But she waited until after the leather glove she'd been wearing was replaced before speaking again. "I should have been paying more attention, but now I know better for next time."

A wry smile graced her lips as she finished, whatever frustration she once had was nowhere to be seen.

"I suppose it would've helped if I added more variety as well, so yes, let's try that."

That was the truth, for she was experienced enough to avoid being disarmed and her failure had bothered her at first, disliking how she fell into such an amateur mistake. But after looking into Nacht's guileless eyes she had soon learned to forgive herself, and had smiled at how earnest he had been with his interest in making a friend. Nor did she necessarily blame him for wanting to switch things up; she'd been caught up in the monotony of it all, and only after did she realize that he was right.

After she rolled her neck to the side, making a valiant attempt at lessening the stiffness that had settled there, she returned again to their original starting positions. Now that she had an idea of what made the other squire work - not to mention his willingness to break up the pace to try something different, she was far more comfortable with pushing the boundaries, if only a little bit, to see what her partner was capable of.

Speaking of her partner, she thought for a moment before saying: "I will follow your lead this time, alright?"