Here's to Jack!

[Wayfarer]

It was a nice afternoon, or so Marden decided as he lifted his drinking jack to his lips and took a swig. It was a pleasant heat, one that suffused him as the sun made it's way towards the horizon. In stark contrast to this, the air screamed with the weaves that were being woven by his fellows of the Black Tower as they tried to master the one power. He tried not to think about that overly, if at all, it was bad enough that everyone around him was a constant reminder of what he had lost.

 

Still, he had a purpose and for that Marden was grateful. The worst thing was a man without a purpose, worse still a man without purpose who was missing a piece of himself. Dalinarius had spoken to him about one of recruits who had taken on the black coat in the hopes of eventually earning that dragon pin. Serge Karminov, an Illianer, had developed a block. Since he couldn't channel for the meantime, it meant he was free to pursue his study in weaponry. Besides, perhaps with a bit of effort the block could be broken.

 

His musing was cut short as he noticed someone approaching his house. About his height, blond hair and beard, probably blue eyed too but Marden couldn't tell at the distance. Looked a bit bulky, like someone who had done a fair bit of work, but the face looked like it belonged to a child it was that soft. As the man stepped onto the porch, Marden put his jack on the table as he looked up at who it seemed would be his first student.

 

"Who're you and what are you doing here?"

 

 

Marden Veniso

Weaponry Consultant

 

 

Light but it hurt to see so many doing with ease what he could not. Such were the thoughts running through Serge's head as he passed through the grounds of the Black Tower. To think that such a simple gift, control, would be denied him. Of course, he had never been in control of his own life before, so why should he suddenly expect things to have changed? Only now it had changed, he was cursed now. Tainted. Perhaps it was a gift after all, this block of his. Perhaps he could live his entire life never channeling again. It wasn't as though he had asked for this, had sought it out. The thought brought a smile to his face. Perhaps.

 

But then, he felt that emptiness inside him again. The one his teachers said came from touching saidin, from the pure force of life within it. Apparently, once that feeling had been experienced, a man would long for it ever after. Serge didn't know, but he did know that the man he had been sent to see might be able to shed some light on the subject. Marden. A man who had once been a soldier, as Serge was now. But a man who had been captured, and gentled by Aes Sedai. By the Red Ajah. Already Serge had learned that name. And had heard the fear and contempt with which it was spoken.

 

He shook his head. Best not to let his thoughts wander. He'd been instructed to keep a tight rein on his thoughts, his emotions. And Aes Sedai could certainly incite strong emotions, especially in a man who could channel. And in any case, he'd been instructed to make himself useful for the time being. Until they could figure out what to do with him. Useful! As though working on the docks in Illian hadn't been useful! No. Calm. He must remain calm, controlled.

 

The smile returned to his face. At least he would be learning the sword. That would be something! He had dreamed, as a boy, of one day joining the Companions. But for now he would settle for knowing enough not to hurt himself.

 

In the midst of that line of thought he heard a man call to him, and stopped, glancing just ahead. The man was drinking! It was not yet midday! And worse yet, he seemed dirty. Ill-used was perhaps a better word, because his clothing didn't seem to be in poor repair, just worn. And the man himself was slight, almost wiry. And that face! Serge certainly wouldn't be soliciting him as a partner any time soon. Besides, those braids and beard marked a borderlander, who were never nearly as much fun as the Southlanders anyway. He didn't wear the black coat of an trainee, but that didn't mean he wasn't a new arrival. Surely, though, a trainee would know better than to be drinking in the morning. But the man had called out to him, rude though it may have been.

 

"I do be Serge Karminov, soldier of the Black Tower. I did be sent to find one Marden Veniso. Do you be knowing where he may be found?"

 

-Serge Karminov

Soldier of the Black Tower

 

 

Gazing at Serge's face, the sudden and sharp spurt of anger was clear for the man to see on Marden's face. Or rather, not so much the face but the eyes, there was far more turmoil behind them than one would normally come across. Of course, one rarely came across a 'gentled' man. Draining his jack, Marden thumped it back on the table as he looked up at the man. "I am Marden Veniso, soldier. Since you're on your feet, you can go and get me a refill and bring it back here. Now."

 

Shock didn't begin to describe what Serge felt at being told that this *thing* in front of him was once a man who could channel. A man who had sacrificed himself to save the Lord Dragon. But the shock quickly turned to a smoldering rage when he was ordered-no, sent and dismissed, like a common stableboy-to refill this man's flask. He was a dockman no longer. There was no way he would stand for this sort of treatment. But he was also a soldier. And ordered to obey this man. So carefully, disdainfully, he took the flask from the man's outstretched fingers, careful not to touch his hand. This close, it was clear that he *was* dirty, fingernails nearly black with grime. And he went, returning quickly once the task was done. Wishing only that he had a place to wipe his hands clean after.

 

Taking the jack from Serge, Marden forced himself to drain it in a single go. Slamming it on the table, the table in turn went flying as he kicked it into Serge, knocking the man over. Leaping over the table, his blade was cleared of its sheath and its point was at Serge's throat before the man even realised what had happened. His arm was shaking, not from the effort but from the anger that coursed through him. His face possessed the same blankness as before, but the eyes revealed all.

 

"While you're down there, listen up. Before I had my ability ripped from me, I risked my life and my sanity to develop my powers that allowed me to kill or cure with equal ease. I sacrificed them, and part of my soul, so that my fellows could escape with Dramon Calgar. Despite missing a part of myself, I'm still twice what you'll ever be, you little bastard."

 

"Since you choose not to channel, I am to teach you weaponry, so that you may actually be somewhat useful. As of now, I own you, every single part of you, and you will do what you are told. Furthermore, you will not do so in a way that expresses even the slightest bit of disrespect towards me, for Creator help me I'll take any such disrespect out of your sorry hide."

 

Letting the sword tip rest on Serge's right cheek for a moment, Marden left it there as a threat to mark that pretty face. Part of him at least, the other part wanted to mar the man's pride. As close as they were now, Marden could see the kind of care the man took with himself. Immaculate, it was as if this pretty boy spent his entire time trying to create such a neat little image. A scar would do nicely, rob him of his joy, the same way Marden had been robbed of his.

 

Yet, that couldn't be, not yet anyway. Replacing the sword in its sheath, Marden turned around and righted the table, putting it back where it was. Picking up the Jack that had gone flying, he threw it at Serge as the man got up, catching the man in the shoulder, yet the man managed to catch it in a fumbling manner. Heading to his seat, he spoke as he sat down as he spoke. "Now lets try that again, get me another drink."

 

 

Marden Veniso

Weaponry Consultant

 

 

Serge hit the ground hard, not entirely sure what had happened. There had been a brief moment when he thought he had seen true madness in Marden's eyes, and then the man had thrown a table at him! Well, kicked, actually, but he didn't think the distinction was important right now. What was important was that the wiry man had also managed to get a blade to his throat. Light, but the man was quick! Serge had never seen anyone move like that. It was as though the man committed himself totally to every action, not caring that if he made a mistake then Serge could be killed for it. It was exactly the attitude Serge despised about the men of the Black Tower. Filthy borderlanders most were, ready to start a fight over nothing. Hadn't he done exactly what Marden had asked? Really, he'd gotten his drink. If Serge had been able to channel this man wouldn't have dared to do such a thing. But no, nothing was worth that price, was it?

 

At that moment, Serge also became aware that the man's arm was shaking. And that served to focus his attention quite well. One slip. All it would take is one. Serge looked into Marden's eyes, saw the anger there, the hate. And as he listened, his outrage faded. Slowly at first, but as the tirade continued, more quickly. Replacing it was pity. The man was mad, and it was not the madness that came with touching saidin. And in some way, he was jealous. To think, someone would be jealous of Serge Karminov! The thought made him want to laugh. And he had been put under the authority of this madman. That thought made him want to cry.

 

The smile that had begun to slowly twitch, unbidden, at the corner of his mouth was stilled as Marden moved the tip of his sword slowly upward, hovering over Serge's cheek. He could see it, just below his eye. Oh Light! What was the man going to do now? If he had been still before, he was stone now. Before if Marden slipped, it would have been his life. Now, he would be disfigured, scarred. Light, anything but that!

 

And then the sword point was gone. Marden left him, righting the table, and Serge rose slowly, dusting himself off. It would take hours to get all the dust out of this black wool. And then Marden threw the flask at him again, hitting him in the shoulder. Serge shot a resentful look at him. That had been on purpose. The man could have at least waited until Serge was some semblance of put together. Really, the rudeness of those around him was simply shocking. And now he was being sent again. At least this time he didn't have to get close enough to smell the man.

 

He went, pausing when he was out of Marden's sight to check his throat and cheek for blood. There was none, thank the Light, but that didn't mean Marden wouldn't try again. Serge shuddered, fearful of what the little man could do to him. Finishing his task quickly, he went back to Marden, handed him back the flask. Light, how much could the man drink in one morning? And how was he supposed to teach Serge to fight if he was drunker than a peddler on Sunday?

 

-Serge Karminov

Soldier of the Black Tower

[Wayfarer]

Half an hour and a couple of jacks later, Marden felt like he was in the mood to begin with the day's lesson. Sliding out of his chair, Marden wandered inside and helped himself to another jack's worth of ale before going back to the porsch. Downing it infront of Serge, who was still standing because Marden hadn't given him leave to sit, he tossied it onto the table before grabbing Serge's shoulder and pulling to the grass before his home none too gently.

 

"Well, here's what we be doing today since it be your first lesson." Butchering the Illian accent quite deliberately, Marden shoved Serge a few paces away before speaking on in his usual voice. "Hit me. If you can land a single decent blow on me, you can get your own pick of an instructor." The look on Serge's face seemed a bit confused, so he decided to speed things up. This was admirably achieved by stepping forward and slapping the man across the face as he could, forcing Serge to take a few steps back.

 

Serge raised a hand to his face in surprise. The man had actually struck him! Hard! With no provocation whatsoever. And for all the alcohol he had already consumed, Marden hadn't been simply been flailing around. Rubbing his cheek gingerly, he could feel that there would be a mark later. Which only served to anger him. How dare this man mar his features? Serge had his eye on a lovely Cairhienin who wouldn't look twice at him with his face bruised.

 

Fortunately for him, he had been in a brawl or two at the docks. Well, in truth those had been more gangs of men set upon him than anything else. But he had managed to break a man's arm once. But that was because he had been pushed and toppled over onto the other man, rather than any sort of deliberate skill. Stepping forward again into place, he swung a fist at Marden, aiming for the other man's head.

 

Stumbling to one side out of the way of the swing, Marden drunkenly wove around the man, stepping clear of everything the man threw at him. As he did so, he kept up a verbal barrage, about the man not looking so pretty anymore and being so dainty he couldn’t even put down a man who had drunk more than Serge could ever hope to handle. The effect was an enraged man who thought less and less about themselves as he tried to simply touch Marden.

 

As Serge threw a massive roundhouse, instead of stepping back, Marden stepped forward as he twisted falling back first into Serge. Knocked off balance, Serge fell backwards and Marden ontop of him. Rolling clear, Marden almost got clear when Serge managed to grab one of his hands. Rather than try and tug free as such, Marden took hold in turn and as Serge began to crawl over to Marden to land that blow, Marden used his grip to help spin around on the ground his, upper leg lashing out to clip Serge solidly across the face.

 

Getting to his feet as the man lay on his side like a stunned mullet, Marden was very deliberate about what he did next. Planting his foot solidly into the middle of the man’s chest, Marden turned and walked off back to the porch and got his jack again. It only took a moment to refill, and by the time that was done and on the porsch once more, Serge had begun breathing again. Wandering over, Marden took a swig from his jack, standing over the man he'd kicked the fight out of.

 

"Your lesson is concluded for the day. What we draw from this is that you can't even beat a man who's pissed more today than you can drink. Make no mistake, I am better than you, even when I let you take the first swing. Tomorrow we will begin addressing your many faults."

 

"Now get out of here." Kicking the man's leg solidly, Marden turned away and wandered into his house, shutting the door behind him. Tomorrow they would be the dawn of a new day, and a new life, for Serge.

 

 

Marden Veniso

Weaponry Consultant

 

 

Serge got to his feet slowly, breathing heavily. Light! He didn't think he'd been beaten so soundly in years! Certainly not since the night he had recieved the thick scar on his shoulder. And he was sure that if Marden had used a weapon rather than simply his fists it would likely have been worse. He used his tongue to check the teeth on the left side of his mouth, sure that some of them must be loose. But they all seemed to be fine.

 

His face, on the other hand...His face was on fire. There was simply no other word for it. A quick probing with his fingers revealed no cuts, but did make him wince a bit at the sharp pain. Bruised for certain. And above where his beard covered too. His leg, which had borne the brunt of Marden's parting kick stung as well. That Cairhienin would never give him the time of day now.

 

He walked back toward the kitchens slowly, trying not to limp. Marden was good, he had to give the man that. A grudging respect for the other man's ability, even if the style was crude. And the teaching method certain left much to be desired. Was Marden just going to continue beating him until he was able to fight back? Certainly not! Well, hopefully not. One never knew with a wild animal. Even when they seemed half-tamed they retained a tendency to bite. And Marden was by no means even half-tamed. If anything his 'gentling' seemed to have made him even wilder. How sad.

 

As he came close to the kitchens, he saw the lovely Cairhienin just outside. The man took one look at his face and clothing and made such a face that Serge winced again. Well, so much for that. Serge's frown deepened as the man hurried back into the kitchens, unwilling even to speak with him now. He could at least have offered sympathy. No matter, there would be others. There were always others.

 

But the not-quite-encounter had served to rid Serge of his appetite for now. He returned to the soldier barracks instead, to spend the remainder of the day in solitude. Or as much as could be found sharing one's living space with nearly a hundred others. He dreaded going to sleep that night, knowing he would have to face Marden again in the morning. And likely for many mornings thereafter.

 

-Serge Karminov

Soldier of the Black Tower

 

 

"Get up!"

 

The kick that scored Serge's arm was only somewhat restrained, and was enough to make the man jump up with a start. It was barely light, and Marden would be only a rough outline to the man that had started up in his bed in shock. Shock was a well deserved reaction, and would be for the weeks to follow. He owned the soldier's life for that time, and he had complete freedom to do what was deemed necessary. Life as Serge knew it had now come to an end.

 

"Get your things, you no longer live here, you are to meet me infront of my house in the next ten minutes."

 

Lifting his leg back, Marden's foot shot forward and knocked the man who was sitting up in confusion off his bed. Stalking out of the Barracks, Marden was at his home in a few minutes and pouring himself his first drink for the day. It was watered down a bit considering the time, and also because of how the day would start. Waiting in a seat on the balcony, his feet up on the table, it wasn't long before his student had arrived with everything he owned. Telling the man to dump it on the balcony, Marden got to his feet and grabbing Serge pulled him away from his things.

 

"Since you're as useful as a broken pan, here is where we shall start. You run with me until I say drop. When I say drop, we begin pushups and you do not stop until I say run. We get up and run again until I call drop. This continues until I say stop, and if you don't keep up with the pace you shall feel my boot before you get your first meal."

 

"Run!"

 

 

Marden Veniso

Weaponry Consultant

 

 

Light!

 

Serge started awake, shying away from the pain in his arm and flailing about as he tried to figure out what exactly was happening. It was normally dark in the barracks, and he could just make out a shape next to his bed. He had just time to realize that it was moving, twisting around, before he was hit squarely in the chest by Marden's foot. And what did the man mean that he no longer lived here? Surely they weren't just turning him out to fend for himself. A brief stab of panic coursed through him. And then he heard Marden say to meet him outside his home in ten minutes time. And then panic of a different sort set in.

 

Ten minutes? Who could reasonably be ready to do anything first thing in the morning in ten minutes! Serge threw on a pair of breeches and a shirt, taking much less time than was usual, and combed his hair with the same speed. Disgustedly, he decided he didn't have time to trim his beard before going. He gathered up his few posessions - a change of clothes, his black coat, a small shaving glass and razor, and a few other small personal items - and made his way to Marden's house.

 

When he arrived, he saw Marden on his porch. After placing his things on where they were unlikely to be disturbed, he followed Marden down the few steps in front of the house. Did this mean he lived here now? That couldn't be right! It was bad enough that he had to sneak around now to find time and place for his partners, how much worse would it be under the eye of Marden all the time? Of course, there certainly was more privacy here. Perhaps...

 

"Run!"

 

And so it began. Serge ran beside Marden for nearly a mile, circling the grounds of the Black Tower. He kept pace easily, long hours at the docks being good training for this sort of thing. When Marden called drop, Serge dropped, loosing count quickly of the number of pushups he was doing. Then again the running, and the pushups, and the running again. His legs gave out before his arms, as he tripped in a rabbit hole and went sprawling. True to his word, Marden gave him a swift kick and growled something that sounded vulgar. Serge rose, his sweat-soaked shirt and breeches now covered in dirt as well, and stumbled after Marden. Twice more he tripped, but managed to remain upright before Marden told him to drop, which he gratefully did. But it wasn't long before his arms began to give out as well, and with that came the kicks. But by now, even the pain wasn't enough to make him go on.

 

-Serge Karminov

Soldier of the Black Tower

 

 

Laying in a final kick of disgust, Marden used his foot to roll the man onto his back. Impressed he was not with his student's performance, but he would mould the man with time. He had all the time in the world to do what was needed, and it would be a long time before Marden was done with what passed for a man from the southern lands.

 

"You have one hours rest, ten of those minutes may be spent at breakfast. The rest of the time is to be spent on the front porch, be it napping or whatever else it is you wish to do."

 

Leaving the man on the ground, Marden retired to his home for breakfast. He would let Serge have an escape of sorts for the meantime. This in turn gave him an opportunity to face his own test of courage, a bottle of milk that sat on the table infront of him in his home's common room. While he wasn't that drunk, mixing milk with alcohol was always a terrible test. Yet he had at least one bottle a day if he could, and he was going to manage it. Seizing the bottle in one hand, the other sat on the table as if to brace himself as he tilted the bottle back.

 

Setting the bottle back down, Marden doubled over as he almost retched. Forcing himself to his feet, he began walking around the room while swinging his arms. It made him feel worse, but the only way to push through it was to become worse to become better. As much as Serge needed the hour, Marden did, light help him but he hated this morning ritual.

 

So it was that Marden emerged a little later than he had said he would with a mug in one hand, and a pair of lathes in the other. Tossing one at Serge, the man had turned just in time to see it and catch it in a fumbling manner. Little wonder, the lathes were lined with lead to give them extra weight. Taking a swig from his drink, he pointed with the lathe remaining in his grasp to the muddy ground infront of the porch.

 

Wandering over beside him, Marden watched Serge for a moment, studying him with a look that bespoke a disgust for what stood before him. "Follow my movements as I show them, we'll start with a basic five point drill. Each movement has a number. But first, feet, stand so."

 

Leading with his left foot as it pointed forward, the right foot pointed out to the side with the distance between the two being comfortable as Marden kept his knees slightly bent. Watching as his student adopted the stance, his lathe was quick to lash out in order to put his student's technique in order. Soon enough, Serge was ready to continue.

 

"Hold your sword back like so, ready to swing. Keep the tip pointing high and the lathe leaning slightly back. Remember, footwork moves with swing. One!" Stepping forward with his right foot so it took the lead as his left foot pivoted to turn outwards, Marden slashed down and to the left. "Two!" Pulling the blade back and high on his left side, it fell down to the right in a second slash as he pivotted on his right foot, the left foot taking the lead once more.

 

"Three!" The first manouvre was repeated. "Four!" Rather than draw the blade back and high, Marden slashed upward and across the body as he stepped forward so at the end of the swing, the lathe was parallel with the ground and pointing forward.

 

"Five!" The thrust carried forward as Marden stepped forward. Turning to see Serge's poor mimicry of a thrust, he brought his lathe down on the man's knuckles, knocking the lathe clear from Serge's grip.

 

"Idiot! Never, ever, straighten your elbow. If you haven't killed the man with the first inch of steel, what use will another three or four do? Fah, pick up your lathe. Now, One!"

 

 

Marden Veniso

Weaponry Consultant

 

 

Those ten minutes spent at breakfast were exactly what Serge needed. As he slowly rose, he could hear his muscles scream in protest. But a walk to the kitchens at a gentle pace would be exactly what he needed to keep those same muscles from cramping later. Light! He had never worked this hard at the docks! More concerned with filling his stomach than how he looked while doing it, for once, Serge got his food quickly, and returned to Marden's porch. The meal included a pitcher of water, which he was sure would be needed before this day was over.

 

When Marden finally emerged from his house, he threw a wooden sword at Serge, who made his best effort at catching it, nearly dropping the thing. It was far heavier than it looked. As Marden pointed to the ground in front of the house, Serge reluctantly got up and went down the stairs, limping slightly. Those kicks certainly had landed squarely, no matter how drunk he was.

 

Doing his best to copy his teacher's stance, Serge thought he had it about right until Marden's lathe flicked out in a light blow that nearly knocked him over. Unlocking his knees, he swayed with the next blow, but stayed upright well enough. Marden nodded, and Serge found that he was pleased with his teacher's approval, small enough as it was.

 

As Marden moved, Serge watched, and then tried to imitate him. Moving his right foot forward, he awkwardly slashed down with his lathe. Then up and down to the right as he stepped with his left. Again he pivoted on his left, slashing down. He twisted the blade, swinging upward, and thrusted on five. Not well enough, apparently, as Marden knocked his blade away and yelled something about his elbows. As though he had time to think about his feet, arms, and elbows too.

 

Picking up the lathe, he tried again. And again Marden knocked his weapon away. Again. And again. His knuckles were beginning to throb now, but he pushed on. Again.

 

-Serge Karminov

Soldier of the Black Tower

 

 

It was nearly dark by the time Marden was finished with Serge, for training at least. The man had dozens of bruises for his trouble, but Serge would become stronger for them. The more bruises one get, the more the body got used to it until one no longer bruised. Or at least bruised less as the body hardened. Either way, Serge wouldn't be the soft southron that he was now by the time that Marden was finished with him. If the man survived anyway.

 

"Grab your things, bring them inside."

 

Leading his student into the house, Marden showed him to a sideroom. While originally intended to be a study, the tiny room instead accomodated a bed and a single nightstand. Other than that, it was completely bare, and cramped as well. "Leave your stuff in here, go and fetch dinner from the hall. I mean for both of us, from now on you eat here. Go on, get!"

 

Giving Serge a boot to the backside to send the man scurrying, Marden went out onto the porch and took a seat. The man wouldn't be happy, but Marden was going to cut down Serge's contact with other people as much as possible. It was going to be just the pair of them, and Marden really was going to own Serge for as long as was necessary. Ah well, at least he had someone to do all the chores now, especially if the man's obsessive neatness also went to his surroundings.

 

With dinner served, the meal was quiet with Serge so tired and Marden unwilling to speak. Besides, it wasn't so easy for Serge to hold a conversation from where he sat on the ground, whereas Marden kept to the table. Afterwards, Serge was sent straight to bed, though the man seemed quite thankful for it. Marden turned in shortly afterwards, after finishing a nightcap. Tomorrow would see the training resumed....

 

 

"GET UP!"

 

Marden struck Serge across the chest with a cane as he roared at the man to get up. As the man started out of his bed, Marden stepped forward and pushed with his left hand, shoving the man half off the bed. Thwacking Serge on the buttocks in turn to get the man moving, the man was at his feet quickly enough.

 

"No more sleeping in, get ready and outside, now. You take any longer than is necessary I'll string your manhood up on the door, MOVE!"

 

Lumbering outside as he left Serge to the chaos he had left him in, Marden made his way outside into the dark. It was a little before dawn, so while it wasn't completely dark, the grey still made it hard to see. Serge would learn to be up and ready by this time, or he'd be broken and either way he'd still have to be up. It wasn't long before Serge was out, and so they began with the run and push ups. Serge didn't make it as far as he had the previous day, but that would change with time as the man developed some stamina.

 

Breakfast was quick and silent as they sat at the porch. After it was done, it was onto more lathe practice but instead of spending the entire day on it, Marden finished it with lunch. From there, they spent the day mixing between more fitness and strength training with the more interesting unarmed fighting.

 

"The whole body is a weapon, hence why we say that the sword is an extension of the body. Every part of your body can be used; feet, shins, knees, shoulders, elbows, hands, head, teeth, all of it. Any dainty woman can use a blade with a bit of practice, a real fighter uses everything at their disposal. There's no honour in a fight, only a victor, and if you aren't the victor then most likely you're dead."

 

"Stance is similar to when you're using the blade, find the balanced point, one foot before the other. Clench your fists and hold them up, be sure to keep your left before you far enough to act as a guard and keep your right back a little but still up. Always keep this guard up, you let your fists drop and you're begging to have your teeth knocked out."

 

"Now dance about a bit, keep on the balls of your feet like I am. Footwork is important as is movement, without them you'll be on your arse in a moment. Yep, right, stop moving for a moment, we're going to work on punching for today. There's the jab, a quick punch from your guard, a full punch where you commit to the blow, roundhouse to get around someone's guard, and the uppercut to get under someone's guard to either catch them on the chin or more like to hit their ribs."

 

"Lets see what you have, best way to learn is by doing. Do I need to slap you again?"

 

 

Marden Veniso

Weaponry Consultant

[Muirenn]

Serge jerked away when he felt a hard blow to his hip. He flailed as he was roughly pushed out of bed, struggling to keep his balance. And again a blow struck him. Marden was actually beating him! No contact with others of any sort, he took his meals on the floor, and now this! He didn't know if he could bear it any longer! But then, what choice did he have? He certainly didn't have long to ruminate on such thoughts, because the cane hit him again, and he stumbled again trying to get out of the way. Within minutes he was dressed and ready for Marden's lesson. He didn't think he'd ever taken so little time to groom himself. How could anyone live like this?

 

After a quick breakfast, Marden put Serge through a series of drills, not letting up until just before midday. Serge's torso was a mass of bruises. Everytime he had fallen, Marden had simply pulled him to his feet. Finally, when he could not stand up, even after several swift kicks to the ribs, Marden declared that it was time for lunch and walked away. Serge lay there for a few minutes more, struggling to catch his breath before attempting to stand once more and lumber over to Marden's porch.

 

After nearly half an hour, which seemed all too short by Serge's reckoning, Marden decided it was time to begin again, this time with unarmed fighting. He tried to copy what he saw Marden doing, moving on the balls of his feet. But even drunk, Marden was much more graceful than he would likely ever be. He simply had to much bulk to move that quickly. But Marden pronounced his try well enough and moved on to different sorts of punches. Unfortunately, he decided to demonstrate them on his unwilling student. And he had not taught Serge how to properly block. Serge was knocked over in moments.

 

Everytime he was knocked down, Marden waited for him to get back up, occasionally adding a kick for encouragement. As Serge became more and more tired, his blows became more wide, his guard more open, which only allowed Marden to get in more shots--to the body, to the head, to his arms and legs. And occasionally a kick for spite. Eventually, Serge once again reached a point where he could no longer stand. But Marden did not stop. The cascade of blows continued until Serge could feel himself losing consciousness. He could do nothing to stop the man. He reached out, grasping desperately for something, anything, to make the blows stop and found saidin. More desperate than he had ever been, he grabbed hold of saidin and channeled, Earth and Fire exploding just behind the weaponsmanster. And again just to his left. Serge heard Marden's loud curses, but the blows had stopped. He released saidin and fell into darkness.

 

-Serge Karminov

Soldier of the Black Tower