================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Twilight < About 8:16 PM >
IC day is: Orgaladhad <Trees-day>
IC date is: 45 Echuir <Stirring>
Moon phase: Last Quarter <HIDDEN>
Earendil: Gil-Estel shines brightly barely above the horizon in the
western sky.
IC year is: Loa 17 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3041>
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RL time: Thu Oct 11 08:45:43 2007
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Training Field
On this wide field, boundry sticks and markers seem to rise up in a variety of patterns. Interspersed between all of these, targets, dummies, and other devices for training stand in various levels of repair. Taking up one side of the field, an archery range can be found. Along the opposite side, a long low hillock looking building that seems to be both a part of the hill itself and the trees as it is built beneath grass and branch, the only entrance jutting out between two thick roots of a tall mallorn.

Contents:
Galharth
Legarwin
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Stars begin to emerge in the twilight as day gives way to night. The few wisps of clouds that hang in the sky seem to fade into the blackness of the eve. A southern breeze blows, bringing forth the scents of the city flowers and the distant grasslands. Elven song mingles with the cries of nocturnal animals, creating a symphony of natures best sounds.

On the training field, other sounds are heard, laughter, calls of encouragement, and grunts of effort. It is into this that Tailor observes from the growing shadows along the edge of the field. From his waist hangs his longsword, but his hands firmly grip not the weapon, but his staff. "I wonder," he whispers to himself as he lightens his grip on his staff and adjusts his legs to maintain balance with one leg clearly weaker than the other.

Amidst those who are in practice stands one who appears to act as an observer though he makes comments on occasion. Legarwin's sapphire eyes pass over the archers and swordsmen that practice around him. With a slow, deliberate pace, he walks between the multiple lines, hands clasped behind his back. No expression is upon his visage as he studies the different forms and styles of those in training.

Stepping a little out of the shadows, and nearer to the line of folks training, the Tailor carefully places his feet as he lessens his dependance on his staff. His expression shows strained concentration, but so too does it show stubbornness. Holding his position for a moment, he seems to relax as he lifts his staff. Turning the long length of wood horizontal, he lightly tosses it aside.

With his support gone, Galharth's arms waver slightly as he clearly struggles to maintain balance, but maintain it he does. Satisfaction, and the fire of determination flicker in the ellon's cystal blue eyes, as he reaches for his longsword. Though his breath is growing heavy with exertion, he smoothly wields the length of steel. Looking up, he peers towards the Commander, and calls out. "May I join you in practice?"

As the familiar voice is heard, the Commander turns and faces the Tailor. "By all means, if you are physically up to it. I do not want the Healers chasing me down for training one who is not fully healed," replies Legarwin as he steps towards Galharth. "Have you tried any training since your injuries?"

"The injuries are healed," Galharth confirms, thought his voice is tight with concentration, "And nay, I've not trained since, for the strength in my right leg fails me." Shifting his weight with the weilded weapon brings forth a wince of discomfort. "While not perfect, I need to at least try, if you'll have me."

Legarwin gives a slow nod as he studies the Tailor. After a silent pause from the ellon, he remarks, "For your training, it may be best to have you practice combat with a weakened limb." There is another long moment of silence before the Commander says, "I want you to practice slashing diagonally. However, do so while only balancing on your good leg." The Aderthad then steps back to give room for the action.

"I fear it will be a long while until I see any form of combat again," Galharth says with a bitter smile. "While I'm not eager to ever see it again, I find it disquieting that I am of no use should all be called upon to defend the land." Rolling his shoulders in preparation, he nots to acknowledge the Commander's instructions.

Arching his arm out and upwards, the Tailor extends his weapon as he begins a downward motion. Balance is tricky, and he wavers whilst trying to keep his weight on his left leg. "Clearly I'll need to compensate until strength returns." he mutters in self loathing as he draws the Longsword back into towards his body after the downward slash.

"Feel free to move as you need to in order to keep your balance. As your weapon moves, your center of balance changes. Anticipate that change and compensate for it," says the Commander as he watches the movements of Galharth. Though is visage remains expressionless, his eyes reveal a sympathy towards the struggle of the Tailor.

Frustration is evident upon Galharth's features, and he looks not at the Commander but instead the ground. "My mind anticipates one thing, and this body betrays my thoughts." Galharth mutters as he stubbornly adjusts his form. Gritting his teeth with effort, the Tailor closes his eyes as his sword once more rises outwards, only to come down in an agressive diagonal slash. As before he wavers and is forces to hop once to maintain balance. "I had thought to learn dance as a means to gain strength and regain balance. Perhaps I need to think a bit harder on doing so."

"I would encourage you to do so. I, myself had learned to dance and have had greater balance and coordination since then," replies Legarwin to the remark of the Clothier. After a pause of silence, the Commander says, "You are not allowing your body to flow with the weapon. Treat it as an extension of your arm."

"I will do so, just as soon as I can corner Calsir." The Tailor says as he opens his eyes, and nods to acknowledge the instruction given, Galharth returns to the start position. With a tightened jaw, and determination reflecting in his eyes, the crafter sweeps the weapon out and upwards to begin the slash again. His right leg, however, seems to choose that moment to buckle.

Sloppy as it might be, he swings the tip of his blade suddenly downwards, completing not the diagonal slice, but instead a stabbing of the ground so to keep from falling. The ellon's face colors brightly with embarrassment. "Sorry," he mutters quickly as he readjusts his stance. With a quick jerk, the sword is taken from the ground and brought back to ready.

The Commander does not speak for a moment as he watches the positioning of the Tailor. "Clothier, you are not finding your center of balance. You are letting your weapon guide you as to where you go. Whether injured or in full healthy, you must always keep control of your blade." The Aderthad goes silent again as he appears to ponder in thought. "Let us finish our training for now. What I wish for you to do is see the Dancer and have her work with you on your balance. Request that you be allowed to use your longsword when practicing."

"You're right," Galharth says softly as he tucks his blade back at his waist. "I rely heavily on my leg, and it fails me." Limping to where his staff lays, he bends to pick it up, and with it he regains some sembalance of grace. "When next I see Calsir, I will be sure to make the request."

A soft sigh escapes the Clothier's lips as he looks back to the Commander. "While it didn't look like much, I do thank you for your time. I'm told that anything and everything I do helps to rebuild the strength lost. I will indeed gain full strength back someday. Only..." he pauses to sigh again, "...only, not today."

"Very understandable. And, in time, you shall have it back. Though it had taken more time than I would have liked, I was able to recover from my injuries." Turning back towards those others who are practice, the Commander begins to pace up and down the lines once again. Over his shoulder he calls, "May your health have improved upon our next meeting. Navarie, mellon."

As the Commander goes back to his duties, the Tailor watches for several long moments. Then, with a sigh of disappointment, he turns and hobbles off into the shadows, leaving behind the training field.