Sereth couldn’t help it; his grin was face-splitting. If he was three hands taller, with long drooping ears, one might have mistaken him for an Ogier. As it was, there was little mistaking a black coated man with a silver pin, but that was a whole other issue. Now, why was he grinning so much harder than normal? He’d sent for Edvar, a man he’d decided to take under his wing. Teach him all that he could, and there were so many other things besides Saidin that he could teach Edvar. Today, he had selected History. What history exactly, Sereth hadn’t decided upon. Still, the boy would walk away with a grander knowledge of what made the world what it was today. That he was sure of, or rather he hoped for. There was always the option that Edvar wouldn’t care… Well, Sereth had his ways to get around that as well.

First order of business however, was setting up a place to learn. He’d decided on the clearing by the forest, it was familiar to both of them. Still, it was hardly a grand classroom, with no place to sit but the battle ravaged ground. As such, Sereth embraced the source. Riding those currents of molten ice, and fighting down the vile taint were second nature to him by now. Still, it never lost its feeling of exhilaration. He doubted there were many other things that could feel this wonderful. All of that however, was of little consequence to the Dedicated, as he began to weave.

For the hundredth time, he wished he were stronger in Earth as he raised twin blocks of clay about five feet away from each other and another four and a half foot block in the center.  They’d do for his plans, as he wove air razors, cutting the slabs of soft clay into the shapes of chairs, each with a slightly arcing back, to follow the spine and an indent in the seat. Lifting the soft clay gently, he wove fire into them to harden the back and bottom. Using water to draw out the moisture from the back and seat, while adding a hint of fire, he created mobile, comfortable seats that would mold to the user. They even had proper neck support.

Taking a deep breath, he cut away huge slabs from the table, giving leg room underneath, and making the entire construct rest upon a thick column in the middle, and supporting the table top with air, so it didn’t curl under its own weight. Repeating the trick with fire, he fired the table.  He wondered briefly if he had time to cut a map into the top, but when he looked up, he saw Edvar approaching. Sighing, he took the slabs of cut, still soft clay, and moved them a good ten foot away, setting them into a crater, weaving a mesh of  water to keep them soft. He might have use for them later.

Releasing the source, he waved to his student. “Greetings!” Sereth motioned for him to take the left seat, while he moved for the right. Settling in, he was satisfied to feel that the chairs were, in fact, quite comfortable. He took the opportunity to catch his breath, while the soldier settled in. “I do hope you like the seat, we’ll have to take special care not to touch these when we practice.  Sereth briefly embraced the source, to push his chair forward, and then released. Finally satisfied with his position, the dedicated rested both elbows on the table, and clasped his hands. “You are well on your way to learning Saidin, and from what I can tell, you are also learning the sword. You are becoming exactly what our Lord Dragon Reborn wants us to be; perfect weapons. Still, I want you and I to be more, much more. I will teach you a portion of what I know of history. I thought it might be fun, to let you ask questions though, what regions history would you like to know? Oh, and ‘none’ is not an answer.” He gave Edvar a wink, and continued. “If it is within my knowledge to do so, I will answer any questions you have. So, ask away, soldier. It’s an order.” Laughing, he waited on Edvar to respond.

Raithgar stepped through the clearing, thoughts of Anton lodged in his young, battle hardened mind. The Tracker had repeated often that he wanted to leave; still, it came as a surprise to wake and find him gone. All of it mattered little; that was the past, this is now. He had asked Peace favor Anton's staff, and that was all Raithgar could do. It was time to move on, and learn exactly what was happening to him.

A tall man greeted him; taking Raithgar's hand into his own. On first impression, this John Dunbar seemed strong, confident, and polite. Familiar traits to the true bred Shienarian. "I'm sure you know my name, but just in case it is Raithgar Urion. I am honored you have accepted me as a student." It never hurt to return pleasantries. Especially not with a man he was sure could tear him apart.

Finally, he was offered answers. "Well, if you insist. What exactly is happening to me? I've noticed I see better in the dark, can smell food a league away, and I swear I can hear mouse steps. I can tell its all related to wolves, from these flashes that keep on popping into my head. Most importantly, can I ever return to Shienar? The Blight has grown restless, and I swore an oath to protect these warm southern lands. I do not intend to break an oath I swore on my hope of Rebirth and Salvation." His tone was neutral, and he worked hard to keep it that way. He wished not to reveal the myriad of emotions that flew through him. Anger, fear, sadness, hope, all of it buried beneath those golden eyes.

Dedicated:

Name:

Learning RP: Saidin Related - 5(myside), http://forums.dragonmount.com/index.php/topic,26394.0.html

Other Learning - 5 (myside),

http://forums.dragonmount.com/index.php/topic,26490.0.html

Using Saidin: Number of Posts, LINK

Inter-Divisional RP: Number of Posts, LINK

Asha'man Duel: Number of Posts, LINK

Sereth slammed his shield down, hard. To his surprise, Edvar had actually managed to release the source before it was needed. Still, he kept it in place. Sereth would take no chances of the man channeling in this condition. Walking over to the exhausted man, he knelt and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You did wonderful. The fact that you threaded a couple flows is simple astonishing, just how long have you been channeling?" Sereth's ever present smile returned to its normal self, all memory of that fox grin gone. As Edvar answered, Sereth nodded. "Makes sense that you have the skill you do. Alright, as promised, I will show you some basic weaves. You are shielded, you won't be able to touch the source. Still, you can learn them by watching."

Sereth wove air and fire together, outstretching his hand to the far left. The weave snapped into place, and a fireball was thrown. "Simple, yet it may very well be the most common weapon used. Followed by lightning, if you have the skill." This time the motion was a simple snap of his fingers, weaving earth as a tracer and fire and air to build the electrical charge. "The trick with lightning, make the flow of earth touch what you want to shock." "Now, there are three very effective wall techniques, air, fire, and earth. Depending on what your strongest element is, it may be best to use that one." With that, he spun all three at once, A tight wall of fire sprung up in front, its pillars of flame only reaching five feet. Earth moved to the same height, a solid sheet of rock. Air simply coiled on itself, solidifying. "Fire may be best, as I assure you, there are precious few better ways to stop charging trollocs." A laugh rolled of his lips.

"The best thing you can do, is experiment. We will teach you the more complex weaves, if you can learn them. Healing, more devastating ways to kill, and more subtle. How to defend and attack enemy channelers, and even bonding if you wish to learn it. For now, you deserve rest." He motioned for the man to stand, and led him to town, letting Edvar set the pace. When they pulled up to the squat building that was the soldiers barracks, Sereth motioned to the black uniform they had never gotten around to dressing him in. "From now on, wear the coat. Rest up, you will need your strength for tomorrow, soldier." With that, he turned on his booted heel, and went to that in.

There was a slab of mutton he was dieing to sink his teeth into.

Sereth looked at the mass of spirit, and chuckled. "Very good, you managed to make yourself a new bowl. Might be useful later in life. Now, let’s be rid of that little tangle of spirit." Quickly, he wove air and fire, and sliced the weave. "I don't like to leave weaves around." Okay, so he might have been showing off a bit, but hey, it was a useful lesson none the less. "Now, Edvar, you have been on the road a lot, I presume? You ever been stranded, and needed to fix a tunic, cloak, or some other article of clothing? I ask, because you are about to work on your control. Specifically, you’re going to do something I like to call 'threading the needle.'" A fox grin spread over his lips, and he looked down at the small mesh of spirit on the brazier in front of him.

"It is simple, in concept. Though in truth, it is difficult. Especially for inexperienced power wielders. All you have to do is move your flows into the gaps that are in my spirit weave, and out another. Then, while holding that, put in another element, in a different gap. I'll show you." He pulled forth a strand of fire, and wove it into a gap around the base of the brazier, and out the other side. Then, he wove air into the top, and out the bottom right. He let the weaves dissipate, before looking back up to his student.

"I'm going to warn you, wielding two separate flows of the power is more than twice as hard as one, and three is more than twice as hard as two. So be careful, and I'll be watching. After you complete, or fail this task as it may be. I will show you some basic weaves, and then to your barracks. You'll be grateful for the rest, I assure you." Sereth prepared several cutting flow, and inhaled. He wasn't quite so nervous Edvar would find a way to kill him this time..."Begin."

Sereth nodded, feeling the man's strain from holding the source. He will be strong... probably as strong as you are. He didn't bother wondering why he sometimes thought in the second person. The sickening feeling in his stomach, and the pure life running through his veins were answer enough. Don't let him be as strong as you are... End it. Sereth closed his eyes, silencing the voice with an effort of will. "Now, we will begin teaching you to do more than warm a bowl of soup."

Sereth pulled a strand of fire from the torrent of Saidin, holding it before Edvar, and did the same with the other five. "I do not know if you can see me weaving, but it matters little. Either way, I have just drawn out Saidin, and split the main torrent into the five elements it is made of. These are fire, earth, water, air, and spirit. I'll show you a quick demonstration of each." With earth, he lifted a small pillar that would come up to the men's knees at best, "Earth." He used the air to hack slices away from the stones, "Air." Weaving a tight ball of fire, he set it into the newly formed brazier, a small ball of flame resting in its center. "Fire."  He wrung water from the air, squelching the flame, and putting droplets on the dull stone. "Water." Finally spirit, "This will be the hardest, you may have to concentrate, but look for the strands of spirit, as I weave it." With that, he wove. Not so deftly as most, but he would first circle the edge of the brazier, then have the strand arc up, forming a cross about six inches above the center. He kept weaving, making a sort of fishnet weave of spirit. "This doesn't do anything, but we may use it later." He tied off the weave, not wanting to forget it.

"Now, you've held Saidin, the power, for a while. Now examine, look, prod, and feel it. You should find that instead of one flow of power, there is instead five, as I've shown you. Concentrate on anyone, and draw it out. One at a time. Then, bend it with your will. Wrestling it into submission, and do something with it. I don't expect anything spectacular, and do not worry if you mess up. I won't let you die on the first day." His somber tone brightened, even allowing a laugh to spring from his lips. "Light, I lit myself on fire my first time." Sereth wove a shield, "Don't worry, if you see this weave of spirit. If things go bad, it will just cut you off from the power, temporarily at that. I will teach you it later." With that said, Sereth inhaled. It was always nerve wracking showing new recruits how to weave for the first time.

"Begin."

Sereth shook his head that smile of his only growing. He was almost the same way, so eager to start, that he hadn't thought of the consequences. "You will start very soon, don't worry about that one Edvar, and once you begin, you'll never stop. Until you’re so mad you have to be put down, or your flesh rots from your bones." He had to make sure the new soldier new the side effects of tainted Saidin. "That of course, is if you manage to survive actually learning how to channel." Sereth turned to face the bar, looking longingly at it. "Now, I suppose you don't want to put this off till you get a bit of food? No, as eager as you are you probably wouldn't touch it." Throwing his hands up, he sighed, "Oh well. Now, come come." Knowing he'd follow, Sereth walked out the door.

He walked through the town swiftly, soldiers not fully engaged in Saidin parting for him, and he parting for Asha'mon. "Alright, a rule of survival. The more decoration a man has, the more you should worry. It means two things, he is of higher rank, and has been channeling Saidin longer. That means he is better, he is most likely stronger, and well, perhaps a bit mad." He pulled to a stop in front of a small building. Men of all ages, nationalities, and creeds entered, leaving with Black Coats. Some had pins on their lapels, "This is the Tailors, maker of these fine black coats you see all around you. The coat means he channels, the pins his rank. No pins, he is a soldier, a raw recruit, and you shouldn't worry to much. A silver sword," he pointed to the pin on his own coat, "Means dedicated, and should be treated as one. Basicly, from dedicated onward, you take orders from. A silver sword means you get it done as soon as possible, a sword and dragon, which means a full Asha'mon by the way, means you sprint to do it. If ever given an order from one with embroidery on the sleeves." His hand stretched, pointing to a man entering the shop. "It had better already be done, understand? Good. Now, to get you a coat."

Sereth stepped inside, finding a bit of a portly man inside, he nodded respectfully. "Just here to pick up a coat." The nod was received, and he went to the end of the rack to find one of the largest sizes. Finding something appropriate, he collected the other parts of the uniform. Shirt, breeches, boots, all of it. Handing them to Edvar, "Here, take this, and try to treat it well. These are of a particularly high quality." That accomplished he left the shop, leaving the new Soldier to follow, carrying his gear.

The Dedicated led him a fair distance away from the Farm, to an open field, bordered by trees. An incredibly large and straight oak stood along the edge, and Sereth looked at it admiringly. "This is one of my favorite spots on the Farm. I'll often come here to practice by myself." His swooping arm encompassed the huge craters, burn marks, puddles, and wind torn field. Though, the forest was left untouched by the carnage of the land. "As you can see, I practice a great deal, and it can get rather messy." Sereth held up his hand, signaling for the Soldier to stay where he was, and stepped forward.

Then, he embraced the source.

Weaving Earth into the ground, he lifted a boulder the size of Edvar out of the ground. Wrapping it in flows of air, he lifted it and spun it in a slow, lazy circle. "Now, this is a bit of the Power of Saidin. I want you to understand, that this is life, and it is powerful. Yet it is," he paused, weaving fire and air violently into the rock, causing it to explode, and only a wall of air stopped it from impaling them both, "quite dangerous." Sereth turned then, eying Edvar up and down. "I'll start you off on the path to controlling Saidin. First, I assume you know you can channel?" Again he paused for the response, getting it, he continued. "Good, now I want you to embrace the source, just a trickle at first. Then increase the amount, slowly. When the pleasure of channeling turns to pain, stop. If you don't, you could lose the ability to wield the One Power, permanently. You understand? Good. Begin."

Sounds good Ata, Sereth is open to learning just about everything about everything.

Sereth let a satisfied smile spread over his lips, as the silver slash rotated into a gateway. Oooh, a new soldier maybe? He touched the silver sword on his collar gingerly, not so long ago he was of that rank. Stepping in front of the familiar gateway, a few feet back to avoid getting barreled into, just in case this was an emergency. Then he saw the office in the Stone, and he knew his suspicions to be correct. When the initiate stepped through, Sereth's eyebrows raised. My my, he is a big one. Still, Sereth was hardly intimidated. They used a different strength here.

The Dedicated was dressed as he always was. His long brown hair pulled back and restrained with a length of black silk, to keep it from his plain blue eyes. His sideburns were shaved clean, though around his mouth a neatly trimmed beard was present. A hand reached up to stroke it in the manner of all great thinkers, dragging his thumb and pointer across the sides, while the middle traveled up his chin to form a triangle. He wore a black silk coat, without a wrinkle or a drop of sweat to ruin it. In fact, he wasn't sweating at all, which was, perhaps, the single greatest treasure of reaching the level of dedicated. Of course, the silver sword pin was on his collar, polished to a perfect sheen, reflecting every bit of light that hit it.

"Hello, I'm Sereth, Dedicated of the Black Tower, and formerly of Camelyn, as if that mattered around here." A chuckle rolled off his lips. He knew how most soldiers were, particularly nobles. Above all, nervous. Normally quite intimidated by the torrent of life beating in their skulls. As for nobles, well, they thought daddy’s silver spoon meant privileges. Though by the look of this one, Sereth doubted that would be an issue. Still, better safe than having to suffer through that whine.

"Now, I'm sure you’re curious about this place. This is, as I'm sure you know, the Black Tower, but more often than not, we call it 'The Farm.' To be honest, I never bothered to ask why." Another short laugh and he nodded to the Saldean on the other end of the gateway, and watched as it rotated shut. That business done, he returned his attention to the rather large man in front of him. "Here, your stripped of anything that you once were, it doesn't matter if you are beggar or king, treat the others of your rank well, and your superiors with a great deal of respect. Some of us go a little mad with the power." Sereth tossed him a wink, while deep within his mind the dedicated heard a chuckle. Quickly, he stifled it, no time for madness. He was being a tour guide.

"Oh, how rude of me! What was your name again?" He waited a second for the response, "Alright than, Edvar. I'll cover the basics in the Inn, if you'd follow me." He turned on a booted heel. Explaining a bit as he went, "Alright, the Inn is just about the only place we have to relax around here. You can get a cold drink, and a hot meal if you’re lucky, though the initiates, or soldiers as we call them, that’s you, I presume? Hardly ever get served. Personally, I suggest you learn to cook with the power, it’s quick and if you don’t you run the risk of starvation." They came upon the large wooden structure, and Sereth motioned for Edvar to halt. "Just one moment, got to report that have a new one." He walked to a man with the same black coat, with both dragon and sword on his collar. In addition, he had detail on his sleeves that marked him of particularly high rank. That accomplished, the dedicated motioned Edvar into the Inn, and rejoined him.

"Now, any questions?"

Raithgar, me wanderer.

Greetings and all that, now if you'll excuse me, time to gorge myself. -mounds on the chilli-

He seems a bit iffy, but I'll approve him.

Due to reasons that for the sake of civility should be left unnamed. Ya'll know what I'm talking about anyways, but yeah. What do I do now? o.o;

-holds up a sign-

"Will mentor for attention"

Just thought I'd throw myself out there. ;)

Hmm, I don't see anything wrong with him. SO consider him FL CC'd.

Raithgar's Arrival((Open))

http://forums.dragonmount.com/index.php/topic,24024.0.html

give me my WS 6 you crazy woman ?

He looks good, consider him CC'd.

Vincent was led around the city by the nose, taking note of every twist and turn they passed, ingraining it all into his strong memory. When they came upon a simple black wall, his paranoid mind flashed a simple thought of her betrayal, before he was grabbed by the arm. Perhaps taking her by the hand wouldn't have been so bad? He mentally kicked himself for overlooking the opportunity.

As soon as he stepped in, a smile crawled over his face, looking at the weapons and armor. He wondered, would be one day wear a full plate? He doubted it; movement was to important to him. That breastplate however... He brought his eyes back to Tizrah, chuckling. He wondered how many other women would have brought him here, given free reign? He couldn't name one.

"Good day to you as well, Master Jinn." He noticed the man's leg, but paid little heed to it. The man was his senior; and Shienarian, a land filled with great warrior. "And yes, prodding, I suppose thats one way to put it." He let a laugh roll out of him, eying Tizrah for a response. "I must say, you've quite a selection of excellent weapons and armor here. Though in truth, I've little eye for quality goods." His hands hands reached for the two blades; dirk and bastard sword, sheathed at his waist, and patted the hilts. "I couldn't tell you if these were power-wrought, or made from the iron of a sickle. Mind answering that question?"

The grizzled man let off a peel of laughter, "Well, I doubt they are of the power, but let me have a look; I'll tell you if a village boy was having fun with his first hammer." Vincent complied, drawing the dirk and holding it out for Jinn's inspection; who promptly took it. "Not bad Vincent, but there is better work out there. Still, don't expect it to shatter to soon. It is a fine blade." Vincent nodded, expecting as much. His father couldn't afford an armor of Master Smith's blades; but he wasn't the type of man to purchase cheap goods. Especially if they were ever to be used in the Queens own defense.

"Now, Jinn, I'm afraid I've led a terribly boring life in Camelyn, you though. You must have an interesting story to tell? I've always wondered what to believe about the borderlands, and the only other witness I have is Tizrah." He smiled, and waited patiently for the grizzled veteran to respond.

Hmm, not sure how I want to do this one. I mean, yeah, he does have a bit of a weak chin, but he's just so cute n' young... We shall have to see.

And yay! I get to learn how to talk Sereth out of the situations he talks himself into. =) Now to go pick a talent... and some facial hair.

Hey, my little ashie Sereth has completed his reqs to get a dedi-bear, and I was wondering if I had to wait and get a big ol' stamp of approval, or if I could start RPing him out as a dedicated, higher strength, status, get me a mentee (maybe a goatee, haven't decided), or what?

Arcon could have swore, wishing Sweeper would make up his mind. Was he going to leave Arcon with his jaw clicking or not? Judging by the latest popping noise, Arcon was betting on yes. Still, compared to other injuries, a musical mandible  was far from the top of his complaints. Looking at the obstacle course; neither was a missing eye. His eye examined every inch of the refitted Merry Pauper, all six of the stations guarded. He'd learned a valuable lesson in his little spar with Mr. Sweeper; he was far from the strongest man. So, he had to rely on more than the strength that some others might get by on; at least until they got to the hammers. By the Great Lord, were those men or shaved Trollocs? With Mr. Sweeper as his instructor, he could never be sure.

He eyed the weapons rack thoughtfully, longer than any other part of the course actually. He knew he'd take a sword, but which one? Longsword seemed the most balanced, and the combination of being fairly light weight and a bit longer would help the small man. Still, he didn't think it'd be enough. Then the Carhieren part of him kicked in, specifically the scheming little bastard part. Oh, how father would be proud! Except for the part where his son was a channeling darkfriend aboard a pirate ship, not to mention about to wield weapons among brutes. Still, the idea in itself, that he'd like. He toyed with his shirt and coat sleeves, adjusting the laces on his shirt, as a smile crept over his face.

He watched as Sweeper called off names, and to Arcon's dearest surprise, and eternal gratitude, he was in fact not first. Instead, it was an Andorian, tall, wide of shoulder; a former blacksmith's apprentice. Arcon was hardly surprised when the wide man chose a hammer; a big one. He approached what Arcon had affectionately deemed the Corridor of Pain, and entered; and immediately got jabbed in the stomach, and then chopped on the head.

He glared at Sweeper as he called his name. So, that was his game? Show the difficulty of even the very first challenge, and then call Arcon. He approached the weapons wrack from the side, running his hand over weapons, and picked up a long sword in his right hand, and flourished his left. He had no doubts that some of the men saw what he'd done, but those whose views were blocked would be in for a surprise. With this done, he walked over, and stood twenty paces from the entrance to that Corridor of Pain. Then, time started.

Arcon 'sheathed' the blade on his belt, and then he full on sprinted towards the boxes; yes, the boxes. Not the corridor, and jumped. The Acolytes fingers barely wrapped around the top, and he scrambled to climb up. His boots hammered into the crates, trying to supply the power to get up there. As he kicked his fist leg over, a hand reached and grabbed him by the coat. Arcon felt himself being pulled down and growled, throwing his lower arm out, and slamming the larger man's fingers into the box. He heard a satisfying yelp, and ran atop the crates. He leaped down at the end, rolling to ease the fall. He flexed his already sore hands, and willed the pain of supporting his entire, admittedly small, body on just the last two sets of fingers away. They worked fine, and that was good for the Dreadlord. He could have thanked Sweeper for forcing him to climb the shrouds every day; instead he thought he'd do his damnedest to make sure the man never reproduced.

Now, station two. Mission: get that bloody rock. He didn't have a daring feat of agility to get past this one, no, he knew he'd actually have to swing the lathe at his waist to find the rock. So he drew it in that practiced manner he'd been taught. Arcon advanced, throwing the first controlled, head splitting, slash. It was blocked squarely, and laughed; perfect. Arcon continued to press the attack, rotating his blows in predictable fourths of a semi-circle. Each blow blocked with a solid thwack as the lathes collided. Now, on the blow before the pattern restarted, the man countered; perfectly baited. Arcon sidestepped as the man lunged, and swung at the man's lathe from the outside with a one-handed downward chop. His left pinky pulled the lace of his shirt, and a dagger with a loop around the hilt appeared in his hand. Arcon got cocky; he actually drew his hand back and slapped the man across the face with the wooden instrument. Arcon knew he wouldn't be the only one with a popping in his head after that one. Quickly, he searched the crates and found the red stone. Now came a hard part; he didn't have a plan for the below decks, as he didn't know what to expect.

He eased himself down gently, the dagger stowed again in his shirt sleeve. Instead, he cradled the red stone in his left hand, and his sword in his right. The first man appeared, wielding dual shamshirs, and laughed. "Come here little boy..." Arcon grinned, "No." The pirate's head cocked, and the Acolyte pitched the red stone and got him in the groin. As the man fell, so did the hilt of Arcon's longsword. To put him out of his misery, of course. Its not like he got any satisfaction out of hitting the man. With this, he fished out the stone, and found the drift wood, placing it gingerly.

He turned, and two more faced him. Arcon let out a sigh, and dashed behind a crate the wall. He thanked the great lord for small mercies, as he noticed the slight gap between the ship, and the crate. He squirmed his way through, trying to be as silent as possible. This extra path let out by the latter, and he quickly ascended, leaving Sweeper's goons to wonder what exactly just happened, while the Carhieren brushed off his outfit of black woolens. Now came a rather difficult part, station four. Hammers of Hell.

Okay, now, he was faster, and judging by the fact that it looked like each of these men's grandaddies had hooves, probably smarter. Plus, they were close together; that gave him an idea. He wish his old man was here, to kiss him for dragging the boy that the dreadlord had been out to those shows. He rushed at the men, keeping his eyes out for how they'd hit the charging target. As he thought, at least one oaf was prepared to chop Arcon down like so much oak, and his arms raised into a horizontal slash. As the blow was swung, Arcon ducked down into a roll, and then sprung back up. As he did so, he heard perhaps, the most satisfying sound of his life. Crunch He didn't have to look back to know that Trolloc A had just slapped Trolloc B in the face with his hammer. He even resisted the urge to turn, he was too busy flying towards the shroud and climbing like the spider he once fancied himself to be.

Once he reached half way, the Acolyte stopped to catch his breath, panting from the exertion, and looking up. It was one of the bastards who'd shot him with all those blunt arrows. Oh, Arcon was going to make him pay for that one... He climbed up, and as soon as his fingers went to shroud walk, they were crunched by a wooden sword, and retracted. He suckled them, and shot the man a death glare, then he realized he was in range. Right around the time he got jabbed in the head by the wooden sword. He fell a bit, but managed to get his leg tangled to stop himself, and do a sit up before a hammer hit the air where his head had been. Using those strong legs and toned abs, he even managed to get vertical again, and reascend the bloody thing.

He sat, just out of reach, plotting. "Oh, look at that angry look in your eye, why don't you come up here and do something about it." Oh, that was the final straw. The man shot at him, hit him (twice), and now wanted to poke fun at him? Now Arcon didn't just want to beat him, he wanted to humiliate him. So, he quickly brought both feet up, only a single rung beneath his hands, and flung himself up; his sword aimed for the man's stomach. He heard the thud as his momentum was transferred, and those spidery arms lashed out to grab the rope again, laughing as the man fell. Pulling himself up, and looked down. Time for station six.

Going over the other side, he took a few steps, and noticed all of the remaining obstacle crew in between him, and the bow. Arcon looked around, no cover. He'd have to actually fight his way through. His dagger drawn, and unhooked. For once, Arcon Dadread had absolutely no idea how he was going to get through this. Seven on one. The first one came at him; a simple long sword in hand. Arcon blocked it sword to sword, giving quick thrusts where he could with his dagger, but the man was just out of reach. The second was approaching, so Arcon had to finish the first up quickly. When the next attack was launched, it was going for Arcon's left, and so, he blocked with the dagger and slapped the man hard in the face with his long sword. The Pirate stumbled a few steps away, disoriented. To Arcon's great disappointment, he wasn't out of the fight.

He felt the sting of wooden blade on his right arm, and gritted his teeth, willing his fingers to hold their grips. Perhaps his cockiness had prepared him for this, because his fingers did indeed hold their grip. Still, it was numb, and for a second he couldn't raise it. He brought over his dagger, and parried while he felt his sword arm's strength returning, giving ground as he did so. Desperately, he crossed blades squarely instead of deflecting, and launched a kick. His barefoot caught the man in the midsection, knocking the wind out of him. The all to familiar hilt-to-skull came down. This one, he was confident, would not be getting back up.

He knew he couldn't continue like this; he was winded, sore, and out-numbered. Still, he hadn't any idea what to do. The last six closed in on him in a semi-circle. He held up his blades defiantly, and waited, his mind racing. Arcon took a deep breath, and did the only thing he could think of. He charged straight forward, catching the center man off-guard. Still, there was far to much ground to cover to take advantage of it, so he threw his dagger. It flew true, but instead of hitting a vital area, it hit the man in his arm. No doubt it'd leave a nasty bruise, but the real treat was that his hand involuntarily spasmed.

As the man fumbled for his sword, Arcon rushed past, laughing as he thought he'd make it. That damned old man had tried to torture him at every turn, and he'd conquered his greatest challenge to date! Defeating a large chunk of the man's guards, and finally making it to the end of this damned obstacle course! Using wit where muscle wouldn't work. All of these thoughts ran through his mind, when he realized his idea had caught on. Trolloc C's hammer whirled through the air, and hit him flat in the back. Arcon Dadread tumbled head over heels, rolling and bouncing around like a rag doll. He slammed into the front of the ship, and lay there.

When the dreadlord woke up, he wondered if that had counted as a win.

They look good. Consider them FL CC'd.

Arcon watched as his classmates took Mr. Sweeper's blows and fell one by one. He took each lesson to heart until finally, it was his turn. He held the 'sword' in front of him in both hands. He took a measured step forward, and started an overhand chop, which was blocked side stepped, forcing Arcon to block a horizontal slash squarely. He was actually slid by the force of this Ox of a man Mr. Sweeper. He made a mental note never to do that again.

The First mate didn't stop, as a horizontal slash went to cleave the boy in half. Arcon slid to the side and advanced a step and swung at the man's right arm.  Sweeper released one hand from his blade, and turned the downward cut into a sweeping stroke at Arcon's legs; which he jumped over. Arcon could guess what was coming, and the second his toes touched deck he sprung back to avoid being shoved over and pummeled. Arcon continued to retreat, slapping away blows as needed, and circle the deck.

To be honest, Arcon was amazed at the endurance of Sweeper, chasing him around and attacking. He doubted he'd wear the larger man out, and so he needed to launch his counter attacks. He batted away a jab by Sweeper, and countered with one of his own. He felt the point tap the man on the chest; but he had underestimated just how much longer Mr. Sweeper's reach was, and as such it was hardly a solid blow. His gallant effort was rewarded by the hilt being slammed into his arm. The covered socket tingled with the memory of those bloody arrows, and it was because of that training that he managed to hold onto his sword, and retreat.

Still the first mate advanced, and launched a horizontal slash, one Arcon had no doubt would knock him out for a good long while if it connected, and he rose his blade to block. Instead of taking it squarely however, he knocked it to the left, and launched a counter meant to slap Sweeper in his own favorite spot to hit Arcon, the jaw. Instead, he inhaled sharply as the hilt of Sweeper's lathe crashed into his ribs; and the blade proceeded to slap him upside the head sending him spinning onto the deck.

When he looked up, he saw something repulsive; not one, but three Mr. Sweepers. Even his taint hardened stomach almost lost it at that. He rose to one knee, and was slapped again. At that, the dreadlord in training decided he liked the feeling of the deck beneath his face and stayed there, until Mr. Sweeper turned to grab another student, and Arcon launched himself to his feet and hit the massive man in the back. The return elbow didn't give him a choice in the matter of staying down or not.

Vincent did stumble back, and it took a large amount of willpower not to scowl at the woman. Instead, he nodded his head, the closest he could come to apologizing; well, at least when he didn't feel he'd done anything wrong. He decided he didn't like this woman, but still respected her. So, as she spoke of punishments, nothing new really, and training, that was new, he again simply nodded his head. "Yes mistress." He kept his tone controlled, doing what he could to stifle all of the emotions and thoughts that he had.

As they toured through the barracks, he made a note of where he was to sleep, and the other people there. Quite a few sported numerous scars, and walked with their weapons as if they belonged there, an extension of their muscled bodies. Vincent thought he wanted to be the other way around; himself an extension of the blade. The Kitchen's aroma was enticing, the mixture of meat and vegetables bringing water into his mouth. Then he was brought into the Mistress of Trainee's very own office. He took in every detail, and then looked again to the woman who belonged here. "If I may ask a few questions?" This time he chose an inferior tone, though in truth his body didn't match it. "Will I be put to classes, or be assigned a mentor, or some mixture?" He waited for either a tongue lashing, or an answer. He thought he'd receive both.

Raithgar was put on the defensive, and eventually blows started to rain in from that damned staff. He felt a few stings, but the man held back. He wondered briefly how that staff would fare against an opponent in full plate, and wondered briefly if it really was wise to take off his armor. Then, an actual lesson was being taught, and thoughts of the bulky armor disappeared.

It all made sense, especially when hammered home with the example. He resisted the urge to say something cocky; right now he hadn't the right to it. He'd earn it though; a safe bet even for a beggar's last copper, and then the blows started.

Overhand slash came down, and Raithgar's sword came up, and angled the staff to the right. He noted the location of his blade, that was to say up high and on the inside of Anton's weapon radius and thought briefly of launching a counter. Instead he held his blade for the next blow, and this time deflected it to the left with a bit more force. He wanted to measure his opponent, to see what kind of techniques could be used to overbalance him. Unfortunately, the tracker was solid, and Raithgar doubted anything less than hitting that staff so hard he actually ripped the man off the ground would do the trick. He'd seen men die from Thakan'dar steal from such techniques, but in truth he'd seen more muzzles chopped in half.

The blows kept on coming in, and Raithgar did what he could to deflect them as the speed continued to increase. For a long while he managed to deflect and with that movement get his sword into position to slash. Eventually though the man's blows rained on him to quickly, and it was all he could do to bat them aside. He was all to conscious of how vulnerable he was low at this point, and gritted his teeth, in a melee this would spell his doom. A sword of black steal would have gutted him while he defended a sickle blade high. Then he felt the wood connect with his shoulder, and let out a grunt. "I need to improve my speed if I am to ever hope to beat you." A grin spread on his lips, he was having fun after all, and he waited for the next lesson.

Soldier

Name:Sereth

Learning Saidin: 2(Reqs met)-  [ATT: Sereth] to insanity and beyond... er, to learn saidin too!-http://forums.dragonmount.com/index.php/topic,24346.0.html

Non Saidin Learning: (reqs met)-Black fading to Grey ((Attn: Arette))-http://forums.dragonmount.com/index.php/topic,23203.0.html

Free Roleplay: (Reqs met) 

Accepting the truth (Sereth's Arrival)-http://forums.dragonmount.com/index.php/topic,22347.0.html

Thread Two (reqs met)- Guide to avoid the pitfalls (attn: Sereth)- http://forums.dragonmount.com/index.php/topic,22664.msg592002.html#msg592002

So, do I get a shiny new pin now? ^^