Studying the Blade [Ranulf & Soren]
Starter for @headsantails
The grip of the sword was unnatural in his hands, which were more used to cradling the spine of a tome.
Soren took a deep breath. The racks of training weapons along the sheltered border of the sparring grounds all held the same tier of weapon, which he supposed he’d already known before inspecting them: wooden, weathered, and dull. However, procrastinating and pacing with pointless analysis was no use. So there he was, holding a sword for one of the first times in his life with the intent to actually use it. He positioned the wooden blade out from his body, both hands around the hilt. He weighed the balance in his grip, unsure of what he was even trying to gauge.
This wasn’t playing to his practical strengths whatsoever. It could be seen as a total waste of time. While someone like Ike had years of practice, muscle memory, physical strength, and a warrior’s intuition, Soren’s only boon was being light on his feet. Even after lessons, he couldn’t possibly see himself charging into a genuine battle with a sword— it made little sense to hand a squirrel a claymore.
He closed his eyes. Negative self talk, insecurity, none of it would help. Truthfully… he hadn’t anticipated that the idea of taking up something like a sword could feel so intimidating.
Perhaps he could learn something totally new as an adult.
Magic had always felt like an innate part of him, a skill he had no choice in learning. It was as second nature as walking, and had been drilled into him even earlier than speaking. With his real talent being so second nature, the idea of having to consciously, painfully learn something he had no inclination for and couldn’t just read out of a book was unsettling. Soren shook his head, yearning to clear it from unwanted dregs of the past. This would be nothing like his childhood. It was purposeful; it was of his own free will to take up a sword (but also, mostly, an annoying aspect of the academy curriculum).
“Why this is required for me to be ‘certified’ to pick locks, I have no idea,” he muttered. Soren shifted the sword to his right hand and let his arms hang at his sides, at ease. He ventured out into the sunlit training grounds, intent on finding a practice dummy or—
Soren blinked, quickly recalling that Ranulf was indeed an instructor, and there he was, right before his eyes. His expression remained blank while he internally scolded himself for being so withdrawn inside that he’d forgotten that a combat instructor might, indeed, be at the training grounds. There was no hiding the sword in his hand, or what an odd sight it must be to someone who knew him. Soren glanced down at it. He pondered simply leaving and saving himself a load of embarrassment, but…
“Pardon me. This is part of what I’m supposed to train with, for academic qualifications.” This could be useful. “I don’t suppose… you could…” Soren stumbled. Ranulf could likely send him flying across the length of the arena like a cricket ball if he wanted, and it wasn’t like they had the best history of old bossom friends, mostly because of Soren. This was a terrible idea, but he could also think of no other teacher who he’d personally seen in combat and knew to be such a qualified expert in hand to hand combat. “Well, laguz don’t use these, but combatants rarely are up against their identical weapon type on the battlefield anyway. Would you mind imparting instruction, and perhaps sparring? I would appreciate it.”
He didn’t know if holding a sword or asking Ranulf for instructions felt more bizarre. Soren wondered how visibly he was out of his depth. Swords are just large knives, and less suited for throwing.
Soren could already taste the dust of the floor below.
