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Training with Mentor (Logbook) - CrookedTarot - 03-19-2015
"I don't know about this, Mentor--"
The young woman, a slim Midlander with a pretty (though currently worried looking) face shook her head. She turned her large eyes to their trainer and gave him a pleading glance. "I'm just not cut out for fighting, really!" She shifted anxiously on her feet, looking down at the grass a moment. The three of them, Mentor and his two pupils, stood outside of the Astral Agency Company house, the two students currently armed with long training poles. Mentor had been given the task to make them combat ready should the need arise and he was firmly set on doing so--whether they liked it or not.
"Miss Polly, I understand your hesitation. It is natural to feel anxious about fighting, even in practice, but know that you are in good hands" Mentor had wanted to help her feel a little better and so had whole-heartedly permitted her to wear some of the training gear he'd found in the basement of the house, though the young woman had been more than insistent on wearing a leather helemt plus a cooking pot on her head. It wouldn't get in the way of her vision so, for the sake of the moment, Apollus had permitted it.
The Highlander watched the proceedings with more than a little cockiness as he stood by with his own training pole, stroking his full beard with his free hand. "I don't want to hurt a lady--" he remarked, his smarminess showing all too well. "I don't see why I'm here anyway. I know how to fight."
"Knowing how to throw a punch and knowing how to fight, I'm afraid, are two different things, Wichard." He kept his tone even and firm, not allowing the smugness to sway his focus now. "Besides, you will rarely be facing each other in combat--this is merely to gauge your effectiveness and give us a starting point to work from."
"B-but Mentor--!" Polly protested, fixing her pot-helmet anxiously. But Apollus Mentaurus remained steadfast in his stance. This form of training had never failed yet and it certainly would not fail now.
"Recall, Miss Polly, we are all currently under the employ of Ser Armstrong. I've been tasked with training the both of you and I do not mean to disapoint him. In the same token, I would imagine that refusal to undertake this training would result in being released from service." The young woman sighed at this point and nodded, conceeding.
"Are we ready then?"
"Like I said, I don't want to hurt you, little lady--heh, but then, maybe you should just worry about hurting yourself!" Wichard snickered meanly as he looked across the yard to the Midlander. He gave his beard another stroke before pushing off the fence and taking up his polearm.Â
"I--I--I--" Polly panted, then nodded, trying to hold her own weapon in the manner that Mentor had shown them. "R-re-ready--!" Her voice squeaked a tiny bit.
"Then begin."
Wichard, seeing that he already had the advantage of intimidation, sprang forward with a terrible roar and ran towards the young woman. Mentor didn't like seeing him bully the poor lass but they all were here for a reason--still, he would need to talk with Wichard about his attitude regarding the more untrained pupil--
A squeal of abject fright came from Polly as she saw the large Highlander come barrelling down towards her. With a flight of panic she threw her training polearm at him in an attempt to slow him down. He took it to the chest and moved to throw it aside when, cornered as she was, the young Midlander woman threw out a panicked kick--which connected with the thoroughly unprotected groin of her sparring partner.Â
Wichard went down on his knees in a moment, eyes bulging as his hands went to his sore 'wound' but Polly, now in a full grip of hysteria, wasn't quite finished. When he fell, is own polearm dropped from his grip and Polly had nearly taken it to her face- Hands grabbing it, she started swinging wildly, the padded end slapping the prone Highlander about the face and chest this way and that for a full three seconds before he collapsed and lay on the ground, groaning.
Mentor blinked, shocked. Polly, who was breathing heavily, looked on in equal shock at what she'd done, the humbled Highlander on the ground shuddering from the blow to his groin still. "Oh! Oh! I'm so sorry Ser Wichard! Are you alright!? I didn't mean--! Oh--!"
Mentor looked over the scene a moment as Polly tried to comfort the man on the ground who was obviously trying his best to not set Polly off on another panicked beatdown. While it wasnt the most graceful first lesson he'd ever given, it was one of the more-ground levelling. Gods willing, Wichard had learned his lesson. Of course it also taught him another important fact.
"Polly, I think--I think we'll start you on learning how to use a polearm for the time being.
Polly Fletcher had an incredible back-handed swing.
RE: Training with Mentor (Logbook) - CrookedTarot - 03-25-2015
It was always a traumatizing thing, Mentor knew, for a man to take a kick to the groin--it was more than just a matter of pain, though that was a huge part of it. It was also a matter of pride; to be laid so low so quickly over a kick that would, had it been anywhere else, likely wouldn't have hurt nearly as much was humiliating. It was this that made him understand completely why Wichard would want to keep his distance in combat and why he wanted to learn how to use a bow. Of course, there would be time enough for a change of curriculum later, but for now, yes, Mentor understood completely.
It was a clear day when he brought the pair out for another training exercise. Polly, as he had guessed, had taken to using a lance nicely, though she did seem to treat it more like a club or bat rather than a means to pierce, which was all well and good so far as it went but...well, eventually she would have to learn to stick the sharp end into the enemy. Twelves willing this was not something she'd ever have to experience in her lifetime but in the event she did, she had to shed the fear of actually using the weapon the way it was meant to be used.
Wichard was drawing back the bowstring for his fiftieth shot--Mentor had had him increase the number of actual arrows he fired each day by ten in addition to learning how to string a bow, collect arrows for re-use and of course working on his aim. But the arm strength was just as important and so, he wanted Wichard to fire off as many arrows as he could, disregarding aim (within reasons of course). As he watched the man from his own sparring spot with Polly, he gave a firm nod before turning to face his opponent, his own training lance raised. "Now, Polly, recall what we discussed last time. When it comes to using a lance, it is all about position--the weapon has some reach and so you have a distinct advantage over those that use a sword or knives. However, due to the nature of your weapon, you must be precise with where you strike--swinging the weapon like a maul will only carry you so far. Your to use the blade at the end to pierce through armor and locate weak spot--"
The zip of an arrow coming from the air caught his attention and in a moment he grabbed Polly and dragged her to the ground as a bolt struck from the blue and the arrow thudded into the soft earth of the Company's front yard.His first thought, fear of an attack, brought Mentor to his feet in an instant, Polly still on the ground looking terrified and shaken (probably more from the shock of being yanked around) and looked instantly to Wichard who stodd at his post, readying another arrod, his back to the pair. He grumbled something about 'Gods-damned arrows..." but that was it as he drew another arrow and took aim.
"Hold, Wichard--!" Mentor called, holding his hand up to stop the man. His eyes darted around again. There was no sign of an assailant--none on the rooftops and the rest of the quarter of the Goblet was relatively still and quiet. Where had the attacker come from...? "We are not alone. I would ask you an Miss Polly to return inside and wait for me to return."
"Hey no, if we're under--" Wichard started, but saw the arrow in the ground and jumped. "Gods! We're under attack!" His bow was at the ready and, at any other time, Mentor would have applauded such staunch courage. However, this enemy was unknown and so required caution above all else. "Ser Kayllen is within just stay inside and await any sign from me on the linkshell, please." He gave a firm look that brooked no quarter and so Wichard, after a moment of indignation, nodded and took Polly inside.
Moving back to the arrow, Mentor traced its arc by the angle of the shaft--it came from above, to be sure, and the highest point one could fire from would be the arch that led further into the Goblet. Leaving the garden he traced the steps up to the top of the arch but frowned when he found nothing--no traces of the assailant or even anyone else. His eyes caught the long metal pole that served to hold banners during festival times and he tilted his head. There was enough room between the banner pole and the brick archway to perch inside and fire--or possibly hang from the pole if one was confident enough and achieve the general angle. Perhaps...
Moving to look over the edge of the archway, he leaned sideways a bit to get a better look underneath--yes, definitely enough room to at least hang upside down and take a shot if one was skilled enough. The arrow was too large for a Lalafell to use (with any measure of ease at any rate) and so that ruled out that possibility. Returning to the base of the arch, he stood in its shade and looked up again.
This time, he noted something odd--a gash was set in the metal, and a large enough one to be seen even from this distance. Could it be the arrow had been ricochetted? If that was the case then the assailant was either very daring or very brash--even so, the arrow had almost killed someone so it could not be left to chance. He turned his eyes downwards from the metal pole and moved into the tunnel, encountering a large stack of shipping crates with the Flames insignia on them. The second highest of the crates had a similar scuff as the metal pole, a glancing blow from the arrow that had struck it and an angle that it and the box below it had created to continue its trip on and up to the metal pole.
"Incredible..." The perpetraitor was devious then. Or lucky. Or perhaps using magic--though a type of magic like this, Apollus had never heard of in all his life. His journey continued on through the tunnel and into the open square, tracing back the trip as it crossed paths with a second shipment--this one of steel plates being brought in, presumably for one of the houses being built. He shook his head in disbelief. This had to be some kind of record--there was no way, none, that this was done with magic. But the indentation told no lies. A shout from a little further up caught his attention.
"IT CAME OUT OF NOWHERE! I THOUGHT THE GOBLET SAFE!"
His pace immediately turned into a run as he walked through the water-covered path that led to the center platform. There, looking terrified and angry and disappointed was a willoy Elezen, bemoaning what appeared to be a pile of tiny crystals strewn across the cobblestone area. "Why can I not even travel in peace here! Gods, it's so unfair!"" Mentor approached the man and the other who was with him--in no time at all he found out the story. An arrow had flown from the recesses of the Goblet and struck his crystal he was showing to a customer in the hopes of selling the cluster--the arrow shattered the cluster, as it could be seen before continuing on its trip.
"Had I not been holding it, it might have killed me!" the elezen sobbed, though whether this was more about the lost transaction was left to anyone's guess. After some time he he managed to find out the general direct that the arrow had come from and turned to follow his course again. The queer thing was that it came from the direct he'd started at...
Following the road back, trying to keep as in-line of sight with the merchant as possible he found that a path could be made through the tunnel without wavering or losing sight of the man. Was it possible the attack was indeed meant for the merchant and not for the Company at all? This gave him some little comfort, at least until he wound up back in the yard again. He'd come back to where he'd started, brow furrowed in thought.Â
As he folded his arms and gave a low sigh, he managed, by sheer luck, to see something interesting. The dummy that was currently pincushioned with arrows here and there had a strange sort of formation in the bolts that protruded from its chest; they started at the lower right-hand side of the training target and then made a haphazard line to the upper left shoulder. His eyes narrowed and Mentor turned to the arrow that had nearly struck him (and the merchant) down. Moving to the bolt, he yanked it from the ground and looked it over, then over his shoulder again, then back to the arrow tip.
There, embedded in the arrowhead, was a fragment or two of earth-charged crystal. They glittered, amber in the sunlight as he turned it over in his hands before he looked over to the training dummy again. There was no way, on Hydaelyn's green earth that this was possible. None.
"Oi! Chief!" The door opened and Wichard stepped out, scratching his bearded chin. "I couldn't leave you out here by yourself with an assassin runnin' around--and you didn't call in so--" He stopped, blinking. "What is it over? You didn't have to clean up after me, I know to pick up my arrows, really!" The Highalnder moved forward giving a huge grin as he took the arrow from Mentor's hand and then, whistling jauntily, started cleaning up the other arrows in the yard.
All throughout the man's whistled-tuned cleaning, Mentor could only watch, quietly stunned and unable to really piece together how to say anything. He doubted the man intended to kill anyone--but he had nearly done so, twice, with the same bolt.
"A gods-damned record..." was all he could muster again.