Memory019: FR -- SWORDPLAY
Feb. 4th, 2015 05:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
justariderGame Received: Cutie Velvet's personae memory game, Day 429, noon
Team Played With: n/a
Memory Form: a multicolor alphabet block, and comes with a note: Ask "What is a memory?" to use. You can use it five times.
Captain Mapstone dipped her pen into the inkwell, but paused before signing off on the sheaf of
papers before her.
"Is there anything else you wanted to add to the report?"
"I think that's all." Karigan hoped the captain didn't detect any hesitance in her voice.
"I know it hasn't been easy regurgitating those terrible events over and over, but the king
appreciates your efforts to provide a detailed and accurate record."
Karigan nodded, glancing down at her hands folded across her lap. She had stood before the king
and his inner circle three times to be grilled about the delegation's journey and its disastrous end.
The king's advisors thrust question after question at her.
Why did you believe the clearing was unsafe?
Where were you when the fighting broke out?
Why do you think the Eletian wanted to speak to you?
Why didn't you join the main body of the fighting?
The king questioned her more quietly, more gently than his advisors, as if more sensitive to what
she had endured. More than he spoke, even, he listened. He listened intently to her answers, or
perhaps "intensely" was a better description. He sat there on his throne, his chin propped on steepled
fingers, his eyes focused on her as though he could
discern more from watching her closely than by simply listening.
The questioning had gone on for hours each time, with no one any more satisfied than when they
had begun.
Now Karigan sat in Captain Mapstone's quarters going over the whole thing once again. The
captain hadn't exactly grilled her, after all she'd been present during the other questionings, but she
wished to verify the events as described in Karigan's written report.
Every time Karigan had to revisit that night of terror by the cairn, images of carnage flashed back to
her. So did images of broken shackles on a funerary slab, and the wraith pointing its bony finger at
her, its voice rasping, "Betrayer."
She tried to answer the questions as thoroughly as possible, but one thing she did hold back, even
from the captain, was the failure of her special ability during the battle. She didn't know why she
didn't-couldn't-bring it up. Maybe it was shame, or maybe she felt the problem would rectify itself
in time. Maybe she was too frightened to admit aloud her ability had failed her.
There had been a time when she wished her ability would go away forever so she could have the
life she planned for herself, but now that it had, it unnerved her. Something had changed, and
whether her lack of ability was a personal failing, or something else was going on the world, it
couldn't mean anything good-could it?
For now she would keep it to herself. There was no use in getting anyone overly concerned in case
it was nothing. "Karigan?"
She shook herself from her reverie. "No, Captain, I really can't think of anything else to add." She
hoped the captain interpreted her long silence as a pause to go over events in her mind, as if
searching for something new.
The captain nodded in satisfaction and signed off on the
report. With a tinge of guilt, Karigan knew the captain would not call on her own ability to check
the honesty of her words. She trusted her Riders.
The captain set her pen down and turned to gaze squarely at Karigan. "I want you to know how very
proud the king and I are of your actions while you were with the delegation. Major Everson was so
impressed with your comportment during the ride home, he has offered to sponsor you into the light
cavalry."
The distaste must have been so evident on Karigan's face, that Captain Mapstone, absently fingering
the ragged brown scar that slashed down her neck, said, "I take it you're not interested."
"If I had a choice of going anywhere, I'd return to my clan," Karigan replied, "but I don't think the
call would let me go. Not even to join the light cavalry."
Captain Mapstone looked positively relieved-she'd actually been worried! Her hand fell away from
her scar. "I would hate to lose you," she said in a quiet voice. "I think you have developed into a
fine Green Rider."
Karigan tried to look anywhere but at the captain. She glanced down at her hands again, over at the
map spread on the captain's worktable, its curling edges held down by a half-filled mug of cold tea
and a crust of bread, and at the shelves on the far wall piled with books. Pleasure and guilt both
warmed her cheeks. Pleasure at receiving a rare bit of praise from the captain whom she respected.
Guilt of being unworthy because she had never truly embraced being a Green Rider.
The captain sighed. "The business of the kingdom does go on, and so does the king's
correspondence. If you are feeling up to it, I'd like to ease you back into the work schedule. No
strenuous or lengthy rides to begin with, just some simple, short-range message errands to help you
catch your wind again. What do you think?"
"I'm ready." Karigan had been back a couple weeks now and was itching to return to work.
Currently she had too much free time to think about things, those terrible things that had happened
to the delegation. The loss of her colleagues who were also friends.
Captain Mapstone smiled. "Excellent. I'll let Mara know.
You are dismissed."
Karigan decided to stroll about the castle grounds to stretch her legs after her long session with
Captain Mapstone. The wind blew through her unbound hair. The afternoon sky was fair, but the
clouds and a change in wind direction indicated the weather might take a new tack by daybreak.
She wandered by the barracks of the regular militia, and the outdoor riding arena where horses and
riders alike were trained. Sometimes contests of fighting and riding skill were held here, where
various divisions of the military competed against one another. The competitions were friendly, but
serious. No division wished to experience the
dishonor of losing.
Some members of the light cavalry were currently using the arena to exercise their horses. Karigan
shook her head, unable to imagine herself in the deep navy uniform and wearing a helm with a
ridiculous red plume. Even if the Rider call released her, she had no desire to serve with a bunch of
aristocrats, who during their escort duty of the remnant delegation spent their evenings in their
tents, sipping brandy and being attended to by servants, while the delegation's survivors-many
exhausted and injured - slept fitfully on the bare ground.
No, she could not serve with a group for which she held so little respect.
She walked on, passing stables and more barracks, the parade field, and the quartermaster's
storehouses. All the while, the castle stood tall and imperious to her left. The
castle was huge, and its grounds vast, once garrisoning hundreds upon hundreds of troops and
other inhabitants Those days were long ago, in less peaceful times.
Though the grounds were fairly quiet, she did find two men in sword combat practice on a field set
aside for such training.
They raised puffs of dirt about their ankles as they scuffed around one of the small, worn practice
rings. To Karigan's surprise, they did not use simple wooden practice swords, but true edged steel
blades. She paused to watch, transfixed.
One of the combatants was Arms Master Drent, unmistakable even from this distance. He was a
huge hulking man who had something of the look of a groundmite about him, with thick features
and hair cropped close to his skull. Mere mention of his name was enough to instill fear in the
stoutest of trainees. Even after swordmasters finished training at the academy, they must face Drent
if they wished to join the elite ranks of the Weapons. Drent oversaw one of their final cullings.
The arms master fought as fearsomely as he looked, and his size did nothing to slow him down.
Blades blurred in a rapid cling clang of blows.
His opponent, dressed in black trousers and a white shirt that allowed free movement, did an
admirable job of keeping up with Drent. His back was to her, but she could still admire his grace,
and the shirt did nothing to conceal broad shoulders strong enough to block Drent's blows. His
footwork was pretty good, too.
Then Drent feinted, and drove his blade so swiftly and at such an angle that the trainee's sword flew
right out of his hand.
"Must I go back to basics with you?" Drent shouted. "How many times must I go over it?"
Karigan grimaced at Drent's tone. It was severe enough
to make anyone want to slink away into a dark corner and hide, yet his trainee didn't even flinch,
not even during the demeaning upbraiding that followed.
"Fastion," Drent called, "I need your assistance for a
moment."
Karigan was surprised to see the Weapon emerge from the shadow of a nearby maple. Weapons
excelled at hiding in shadows. The trainee must be a swordmaster he was
mentoring.
Fastion and Drent exchanged some words she couldn't quite make out, then Drent turned in
Karigan's direction.
"You there, come over here."
It was like being struck by lightening, having Drent's attention on her like that. She wanted to
shrivel into, her boots. When the trainee turned to look, too, she nearly fainted. The man whose
physical form she'd been admiring was none other than King Zachary.
"Come here now."
One did not dare disobey a direct order from Drent of all people, unless they wanted a verbal
flaying. Karigan's legs trembled as she approached the practice ring and bowed to
the king.
"Fastion's job is to guard the king," Drent explained, "and as he rightly pointed out, he can't put his
full attention to that duty if he's practicing with the king. Therefore," and Drent's little eyes stabbed
into her, "you shall help illustrate what is being done wrong, and how to correct it."
Karigan glanced helplessly at Fastion, but the usually stone-faced Weapon gave her a tight smile
and a wink-a wink!-before melding back into the shadow of the maple tree. She groaned inwardly.
The king passed her his longsword, his eyes glittering. The sword was hElty, much more so than
what she was accustomed to. She adjusted her hold higher up on the grip to
make it balance better, but she knew, even though her arm had mended well since the battle at the
clearing, it would tire quickly.
"Now here's what I want you to do," Drent told Karigan He wrapped his massive hand around her
wrist and directed it in the movement of the feint and angle he had used against the king. Karigan
licked her lips in concentration, trying to memorize the feel and motion of the technique.
"Got it?" Drent asked.
"Yes, sir, I think so."
"You don't think. Yes or no?"
Karigan just wanted to crawl away. "Yes."
"Let's try it then. You will attack me using that technique, but we'll go slowly so the boy can see his
mistake."
Karigan was surprised by Drent's disrespect, but it didn't seem to faze the king. She did as instructed
and went through the sequence of moves, Drent all the while explaining why the king's block failed.
"You met the angle all wrong. Your sword was too high. Now let's see what it looks like done
correctly."
Karigan and Drent went through the entire sequence, again slowly, but this time the arms master
demonstrating the correct block.
"Got it?" he asked the king.
"Indeed," the king said with a wry smile.
"Good. Then you show me. Girl, you will"
"Rider G'ladheon," the king corrected.
"Hunh?"
"She is Rider G'ladheon."
Drent hacked and spat. "Rider G'ladheon, you will attack the boy, full speed."
"What? I " But he's the king!"
Drent rolled his eyes. "Gods have mercy. Of course he's the king." He passed his sword over to the
king. "Girl, Rider, you will commence the attack."
The king smiled encouragingly at her. "Don't worry about me, so long as you are wary of the blade
edges."
Karigan unsuccessfully tried to brush away her apprehension. She had never practiced with edged
weapons before, and she feared that a single slip could seriously maim the king.
"Ready yourselves," Drent said.
Reluctantly Karigan faced the king, the sword feeling like lead in her hand.
"Begin."
Karigan brought up her sword in reflex, touching off with the king's. As they commenced the
sequence Drent desired, Karigan's own timid moves were matched by hesitant ones from the king.
All the strength and power she had observed in his earlier swordplay was now lacking. With some
surprise, she realized he was concerned about hurting
her, too.
Drent groaned. "Stop, stop, stop. Pitiful, absolutely pitiful. Girl, you are not doing your sovereign
any good by being gentle with him. He won't learn to defend himself with this pitiful tapping."
Then he turned to the king. "And you shall respond in kind. If you do not, then she will draw blood
and I shall have to hang her from a tree. Now. Harder,
faster."
Karigan swallowed, but as ordered, launched into her attack. A spasm of surprise rippled through
the king's expression as he stepped up to catch the blow. If it was her speed or strength that
surprised him, it quickly faded from his features, which became angled with concentration.
About halfway through the sequence, the weight of the sword and Karigan's previous injury took its
toll. Her initial speed slackened, and her movements felt jerky. Pain stabbed through her arm from
wrist to elbow to shoulder. Grimly she bumbled through the sequence, the king's swordplay
flawless, and his control precise.
Karigan raised her sword to absorb the king's final blow, but pain like jagged edges of glass
grinding in her elbow stole all strength from her arm.
Unable to block the final blow, the last thing she saw was the edge of King Zachary's blade hurtling
at her face with unstoppable momentum.
Team Played With: n/a
Memory Form: a multicolor alphabet block, and comes with a note: Ask "What is a memory?" to use. You can use it five times.
Captain Mapstone dipped her pen into the inkwell, but paused before signing off on the sheaf of
papers before her.
"Is there anything else you wanted to add to the report?"
"I think that's all." Karigan hoped the captain didn't detect any hesitance in her voice.
"I know it hasn't been easy regurgitating those terrible events over and over, but the king
appreciates your efforts to provide a detailed and accurate record."
Karigan nodded, glancing down at her hands folded across her lap. She had stood before the king
and his inner circle three times to be grilled about the delegation's journey and its disastrous end.
The king's advisors thrust question after question at her.
Why did you believe the clearing was unsafe?
Where were you when the fighting broke out?
Why do you think the Eletian wanted to speak to you?
Why didn't you join the main body of the fighting?
The king questioned her more quietly, more gently than his advisors, as if more sensitive to what
she had endured. More than he spoke, even, he listened. He listened intently to her answers, or
perhaps "intensely" was a better description. He sat there on his throne, his chin propped on steepled
fingers, his eyes focused on her as though he could
discern more from watching her closely than by simply listening.
The questioning had gone on for hours each time, with no one any more satisfied than when they
had begun.
Now Karigan sat in Captain Mapstone's quarters going over the whole thing once again. The
captain hadn't exactly grilled her, after all she'd been present during the other questionings, but she
wished to verify the events as described in Karigan's written report.
Every time Karigan had to revisit that night of terror by the cairn, images of carnage flashed back to
her. So did images of broken shackles on a funerary slab, and the wraith pointing its bony finger at
her, its voice rasping, "Betrayer."
She tried to answer the questions as thoroughly as possible, but one thing she did hold back, even
from the captain, was the failure of her special ability during the battle. She didn't know why she
didn't-couldn't-bring it up. Maybe it was shame, or maybe she felt the problem would rectify itself
in time. Maybe she was too frightened to admit aloud her ability had failed her.
There had been a time when she wished her ability would go away forever so she could have the
life she planned for herself, but now that it had, it unnerved her. Something had changed, and
whether her lack of ability was a personal failing, or something else was going on the world, it
couldn't mean anything good-could it?
For now she would keep it to herself. There was no use in getting anyone overly concerned in case
it was nothing. "Karigan?"
She shook herself from her reverie. "No, Captain, I really can't think of anything else to add." She
hoped the captain interpreted her long silence as a pause to go over events in her mind, as if
searching for something new.
The captain nodded in satisfaction and signed off on the
report. With a tinge of guilt, Karigan knew the captain would not call on her own ability to check
the honesty of her words. She trusted her Riders.
The captain set her pen down and turned to gaze squarely at Karigan. "I want you to know how very
proud the king and I are of your actions while you were with the delegation. Major Everson was so
impressed with your comportment during the ride home, he has offered to sponsor you into the light
cavalry."
The distaste must have been so evident on Karigan's face, that Captain Mapstone, absently fingering
the ragged brown scar that slashed down her neck, said, "I take it you're not interested."
"If I had a choice of going anywhere, I'd return to my clan," Karigan replied, "but I don't think the
call would let me go. Not even to join the light cavalry."
Captain Mapstone looked positively relieved-she'd actually been worried! Her hand fell away from
her scar. "I would hate to lose you," she said in a quiet voice. "I think you have developed into a
fine Green Rider."
Karigan tried to look anywhere but at the captain. She glanced down at her hands again, over at the
map spread on the captain's worktable, its curling edges held down by a half-filled mug of cold tea
and a crust of bread, and at the shelves on the far wall piled with books. Pleasure and guilt both
warmed her cheeks. Pleasure at receiving a rare bit of praise from the captain whom she respected.
Guilt of being unworthy because she had never truly embraced being a Green Rider.
The captain sighed. "The business of the kingdom does go on, and so does the king's
correspondence. If you are feeling up to it, I'd like to ease you back into the work schedule. No
strenuous or lengthy rides to begin with, just some simple, short-range message errands to help you
catch your wind again. What do you think?"
"I'm ready." Karigan had been back a couple weeks now and was itching to return to work.
Currently she had too much free time to think about things, those terrible things that had happened
to the delegation. The loss of her colleagues who were also friends.
Captain Mapstone smiled. "Excellent. I'll let Mara know.
You are dismissed."
Karigan decided to stroll about the castle grounds to stretch her legs after her long session with
Captain Mapstone. The wind blew through her unbound hair. The afternoon sky was fair, but the
clouds and a change in wind direction indicated the weather might take a new tack by daybreak.
She wandered by the barracks of the regular militia, and the outdoor riding arena where horses and
riders alike were trained. Sometimes contests of fighting and riding skill were held here, where
various divisions of the military competed against one another. The competitions were friendly, but
serious. No division wished to experience the
dishonor of losing.
Some members of the light cavalry were currently using the arena to exercise their horses. Karigan
shook her head, unable to imagine herself in the deep navy uniform and wearing a helm with a
ridiculous red plume. Even if the Rider call released her, she had no desire to serve with a bunch of
aristocrats, who during their escort duty of the remnant delegation spent their evenings in their
tents, sipping brandy and being attended to by servants, while the delegation's survivors-many
exhausted and injured - slept fitfully on the bare ground.
No, she could not serve with a group for which she held so little respect.
She walked on, passing stables and more barracks, the parade field, and the quartermaster's
storehouses. All the while, the castle stood tall and imperious to her left. The
castle was huge, and its grounds vast, once garrisoning hundreds upon hundreds of troops and
other inhabitants Those days were long ago, in less peaceful times.
Though the grounds were fairly quiet, she did find two men in sword combat practice on a field set
aside for such training.
They raised puffs of dirt about their ankles as they scuffed around one of the small, worn practice
rings. To Karigan's surprise, they did not use simple wooden practice swords, but true edged steel
blades. She paused to watch, transfixed.
One of the combatants was Arms Master Drent, unmistakable even from this distance. He was a
huge hulking man who had something of the look of a groundmite about him, with thick features
and hair cropped close to his skull. Mere mention of his name was enough to instill fear in the
stoutest of trainees. Even after swordmasters finished training at the academy, they must face Drent
if they wished to join the elite ranks of the Weapons. Drent oversaw one of their final cullings.
The arms master fought as fearsomely as he looked, and his size did nothing to slow him down.
Blades blurred in a rapid cling clang of blows.
His opponent, dressed in black trousers and a white shirt that allowed free movement, did an
admirable job of keeping up with Drent. His back was to her, but she could still admire his grace,
and the shirt did nothing to conceal broad shoulders strong enough to block Drent's blows. His
footwork was pretty good, too.
Then Drent feinted, and drove his blade so swiftly and at such an angle that the trainee's sword flew
right out of his hand.
"Must I go back to basics with you?" Drent shouted. "How many times must I go over it?"
Karigan grimaced at Drent's tone. It was severe enough
to make anyone want to slink away into a dark corner and hide, yet his trainee didn't even flinch,
not even during the demeaning upbraiding that followed.
"Fastion," Drent called, "I need your assistance for a
moment."
Karigan was surprised to see the Weapon emerge from the shadow of a nearby maple. Weapons
excelled at hiding in shadows. The trainee must be a swordmaster he was
mentoring.
Fastion and Drent exchanged some words she couldn't quite make out, then Drent turned in
Karigan's direction.
"You there, come over here."
It was like being struck by lightening, having Drent's attention on her like that. She wanted to
shrivel into, her boots. When the trainee turned to look, too, she nearly fainted. The man whose
physical form she'd been admiring was none other than King Zachary.
"Come here now."
One did not dare disobey a direct order from Drent of all people, unless they wanted a verbal
flaying. Karigan's legs trembled as she approached the practice ring and bowed to
the king.
"Fastion's job is to guard the king," Drent explained, "and as he rightly pointed out, he can't put his
full attention to that duty if he's practicing with the king. Therefore," and Drent's little eyes stabbed
into her, "you shall help illustrate what is being done wrong, and how to correct it."
Karigan glanced helplessly at Fastion, but the usually stone-faced Weapon gave her a tight smile
and a wink-a wink!-before melding back into the shadow of the maple tree. She groaned inwardly.
The king passed her his longsword, his eyes glittering. The sword was hElty, much more so than
what she was accustomed to. She adjusted her hold higher up on the grip to
make it balance better, but she knew, even though her arm had mended well since the battle at the
clearing, it would tire quickly.
"Now here's what I want you to do," Drent told Karigan He wrapped his massive hand around her
wrist and directed it in the movement of the feint and angle he had used against the king. Karigan
licked her lips in concentration, trying to memorize the feel and motion of the technique.
"Got it?" Drent asked.
"Yes, sir, I think so."
"You don't think. Yes or no?"
Karigan just wanted to crawl away. "Yes."
"Let's try it then. You will attack me using that technique, but we'll go slowly so the boy can see his
mistake."
Karigan was surprised by Drent's disrespect, but it didn't seem to faze the king. She did as instructed
and went through the sequence of moves, Drent all the while explaining why the king's block failed.
"You met the angle all wrong. Your sword was too high. Now let's see what it looks like done
correctly."
Karigan and Drent went through the entire sequence, again slowly, but this time the arms master
demonstrating the correct block.
"Got it?" he asked the king.
"Indeed," the king said with a wry smile.
"Good. Then you show me. Girl, you will"
"Rider G'ladheon," the king corrected.
"Hunh?"
"She is Rider G'ladheon."
Drent hacked and spat. "Rider G'ladheon, you will attack the boy, full speed."
"What? I " But he's the king!"
Drent rolled his eyes. "Gods have mercy. Of course he's the king." He passed his sword over to the
king. "Girl, Rider, you will commence the attack."
The king smiled encouragingly at her. "Don't worry about me, so long as you are wary of the blade
edges."
Karigan unsuccessfully tried to brush away her apprehension. She had never practiced with edged
weapons before, and she feared that a single slip could seriously maim the king.
"Ready yourselves," Drent said.
Reluctantly Karigan faced the king, the sword feeling like lead in her hand.
"Begin."
Karigan brought up her sword in reflex, touching off with the king's. As they commenced the
sequence Drent desired, Karigan's own timid moves were matched by hesitant ones from the king.
All the strength and power she had observed in his earlier swordplay was now lacking. With some
surprise, she realized he was concerned about hurting
her, too.
Drent groaned. "Stop, stop, stop. Pitiful, absolutely pitiful. Girl, you are not doing your sovereign
any good by being gentle with him. He won't learn to defend himself with this pitiful tapping."
Then he turned to the king. "And you shall respond in kind. If you do not, then she will draw blood
and I shall have to hang her from a tree. Now. Harder,
faster."
Karigan swallowed, but as ordered, launched into her attack. A spasm of surprise rippled through
the king's expression as he stepped up to catch the blow. If it was her speed or strength that
surprised him, it quickly faded from his features, which became angled with concentration.
About halfway through the sequence, the weight of the sword and Karigan's previous injury took its
toll. Her initial speed slackened, and her movements felt jerky. Pain stabbed through her arm from
wrist to elbow to shoulder. Grimly she bumbled through the sequence, the king's swordplay
flawless, and his control precise.
Karigan raised her sword to absorb the king's final blow, but pain like jagged edges of glass
grinding in her elbow stole all strength from her arm.
Unable to block the final blow, the last thing she saw was the edge of King Zachary's blade hurtling
at her face with unstoppable momentum.
