Lady of War
13th of July 2006 A.D.
Looking across he hall at your father, dressed in the same heavy padding as you, so different from the shining mail he wears as a Knight of the Cross you are reminded of all the times you had trained with a weighted practice sword. A middling student, but not an extraordinary one and without the drive to make up for the last, not since you found your magic and resolved that being a sorceress would suit you more than a warrior with sword in hand. Well you had been a sorceress, you had woven your sells and you had failed then descended into a place of nightmares from there drawing a sword beyond swords.
The two of you move as one as soon as the harsh buzzer rings, demonic forewarning barely enough to keep up with instincts honed by years of experience.
Weapons clang once, experimentally, almost in greeting, a smile cut from left to right... then again, faster and faster, as you twist and turn the practice blade end over end, giving way, then lunging forward. The faux sword should feel heavy in your hand, it should feel clumsy and in a way it is, but you use the weight and the momentum it gives you, use the blind spots of the padded helms as you never had before... you manage to get a point, two, three past your dad's guard in return. But
points is all they are, you know. Had both of you been armed with steel and you intent to harm him the worst thing you might have given him through armor is a light bruise.
Pushing away hard from the last clinch you call: "I'll try attacking now!"
"Generally it's not a good idea to call these things Molly!" you can hear the smile in his voice.
"Maybe I'm lying," you quip as you circle looking for an opening... before giving lie to the those words, trying to jab and disconcert with quick thrusts that leave your wrist aching.
"That's bad form," your dad calls, parrying every strike. "You need to pull from your back."
"I heal
gunshots to the chest dad," you counter "I'm not gonna sprain my wrist swinging a practice sword around."
"And therein lies some of the answers we have come here to find," he says before calling time. "You don't fight like you are afraid of getting hurt, I don't just mean consciously, I mean unconsciously, you don't flinch the way people do when the sword comes near your and neck or when it looks like it is going to land heavy."
"Huh..." you lower your sword. "So I fight like a vampire, or like one of those beserkers is they were't to angry to know what form
is."
"You don't really have recognizable form either I'm afraid. Watch..." he quickly does a quick downward diagonal strike. Caught by surprise you just duck under the blow already bringing your body around for a full swing while his arm is extended.
"Most people use simple moves when caught off guard like a simple parry because those are the ones that are drilled into your muscles the most, not baroque full body turns. That looks..."
"What?" you ask when he cuts off.
"Seeing it in the mirror what it looks most like is stunt choreography, except with that you know where the opponent is going to be because it's staged. Are you
seeing ahead?"
You think of that for a moment then shake your head. "Nope, just doing just comes natural..."
"That which is grand and glorious most befits the flow of your sublime essence," Usum speaks up for the first time in the fight.
"Although I do get better at fighting when I show off," you relay to your dad with a half proud half embarrassed smile. "My power thinks understatement is boring apparently."
"Boring is probably not the word..." he muses, his own smile fainter as he thinks. "But if its nature is to give dominion than what better way to find it on the field of battle than to draw every eye. Still predictability even one so grandiose can be a weakness. Can you resist it?"
"Sure," you shrug. For the next exchange you mirror his style, restrained, almost mechanical, like he is transcribing a book into kinetic form. One strike goes through, but the worst it would have done is pushed your arm out of the way for a follow-up.
"You were mirroring me, a useful skill to start a fight with," he advises. "If the enemy thinks they know how you fight that is half the victory. Harder to pull off if they are using a different weapon of course since form doesn't translate particularly well."
"Er.. dad I think I can use other weapons..." you do not need Usum to tell you this one, you just know.
"Which ones?" he asks glancing at the bag he had brought. You know he has at least passing familiarity with all of them, from warhammer to rapier to bearded axe.
"All of them, if its a weapon made by craft and cunning, one meant to be held in the hand I know how to use it." Briefly the words feel foreign in your hand, like you are translating from some other tongue, but the feeling passes like a dream.
No matter where it came from it is clear you did not boast in vain. You can use every single weapon in there as easily as you do a broadsword. According to dad the way you try to fight with a dagger is 'suicidal', though that may be the nature of daggers and not your strange battle-insight. "I've never met anyone who fought with a dagger as their primary weapon, that is a hold out, an off-hand weapon at most," he admits.
"Still," he sets the dagger in question back in the bag. "That got us some answers and ones that should help put your mom's heart at ease a bit..."
"Dad," you draw out the word just a little. "Aren't you forgetting something?" you glance at the sword. "I haven't used any magic and you didn't get to see my new shield."
He shakes his head "Amoracchius' calling is not the salle d'armes."
"Does that mean the knights never train against one another using the Swords?" you ask at once.
"No, we do," he admits reluctantly
"I have magic fighting powers, you have in your keeping a sword that evens the field against anyone you fight, that sounds like the opportunity to learn some stuff doesn't it?" You do your best to keep your tone reasonable.
Judging from his expression you manage it, still he hesitates. "It could hurt you..." he trails off, perhaps not knowing how to make the point without hurting you himself.
"Because of the stolen hell power," you finish bluntly. "If you are willing to trust my insights and I will note they have not been wrong yet... what does not kill me I can heal in time, even
that."
Good job Molly, mention the word 'kill' to your dad, that is bound to make him want to spar, you are already kicking yourself but he just goes quiet for a long moment.
Praying you realize after a moment.
The answer he hears in his heart is the one you had been hoping for. Your father walks over to where he had propped the Sword against the wall and flings it on his belt, then with a faintly musical tone that sounds to your ear almost jaunty the Sword of Love springs forth.
How do you meet the challenge?
[] Head on
-[] Write in stunt
[] Caution has served you well so far
-[] Write in stunt
[] Write in
OOC: Michael is s a bit more skilled than you, but your rolls have been slightly better compensating. 
