The troops milled about the courtyard, chatting with one another and awaiting the arrival of their Captain. Their platemail armor, chain coifs, and weapons were polished, but showed signs of extreme wear and tear - the result of vigorous training sessions that had become more and more prevalent as of late. Tim Dunca watched on from the forge as the healers arrived... most neophytes with almost no training at all. He chuckled silently to himself, glad that he had chosen the life of a craftsman rather than that of a warrior paid to die. Nope... he was quite happy as he was. Satisfied with crafting the implements of war, he did his own part to help his kingdom, but safely from behind a forge and anvil. No fires of war or smell of rotting corpses here in his shop, only the happily crackling fires and smells of melting ore filled one's nose. Tim brought his smithing hammer down hard over and over onto the glowing red hot slab of metal, held fast to the anvil by warped and worn tongs. Soon, with his amazing ability and grandmaster craftsmanship, this simple slab of soft metal would protect a soldier from a puncture wound to the chest from a spear, or help slough off a blow from a hammerpick. He plunged the piece into the water trough next to him, plumes of steam hissing and billowing up around him.
Tim wiped his brow as he took a look at his latest creation. It was of an excellent quality, one he would be proud to add his mark to. Only the finest of his pieces of armor and weapons bore the mark of Tim Dunca. The rest were smelted back into ingots to be remade again. Tim pounded his maker's stamp into the upper left shoulder of the tunic and hung it to cool and began to work on the leggings. He was swamped with orders from Lord British himself... he would have to create another fifty of those tunics within the next day or two to keep up. It would be too much for any of his apprentices to do; they were still learning the trade and would be far from able to keep up. If only he had more Grandmaster smiths at his disposal, this would be a snap! "Hmmm..." he wondered aloud. "I bet I could enlist the help of other grandmaster blacksmiths not on British's payroll... and pay em myself somehow..." He scratched his head and decided to think about it later. Right now, this order demanded his attention far more.
In his silent musings, Tim had failed to notice that Captain Krynn had arrived and settled his troops. "Afternoon, boys. Glad to see all of you could make it. I apologize for having to set the usual time back a bit, but have no fear. This session will be just as brutal as any..." Krynn smirked at his troops. He had completed his repairs thanks to Tim's repair deeds and looked imposing in his full suit of platemail, dents and scratches removed and shining as bright as a phoenix. "Yesterday," he continued. "We concentrated on advanced tactics. No more hack and slash or mindless pounding on one another. This week, we take that one step further. We'll do our usual drill, but after that, it will be a duel to the death. And that's what war is all about, isn't it gentlemen? The last man standing wins... and so shall that be our focus today." He paced back and forth in front of the ranks. "Drop formations and find a sparring partner for your drills. I want you to practice what you learned yesterday with one another: Anticipating the other's moves, practicing when to strike, and when to defend. That seems to be your weak spot. A strong offense is good, but it can always be countered with a strong defense."
Britt Fox came forward to assist in the sparring groups. Krynn nodded to his second in command as Britt barked orders to the men. Groups of two and three began to break off and soon the sounds of metal on metal echoed throughout the courtyard. Krynn began to walk amidst the men, observing silently what each was doing, the mistakes they were making. He found what he was looking for in one of his younger soldiers, a man named Pyros.
"Everyone, hold your weapons and stay your advances!!" Krynn bellowed. The clanking ceased abruptly. Krynn stared silently at Pyros for a brief moment, watching the man twitch nervously under his gaze. "Pyros, step forth, boy." Krynn thought he could almost hear the man nervously gulp as he pulled his prized sword from its sheath. "Stand and defend yourself. Strike back if you've got the chance..." Britt handed Krynn's helm over, and the Captain donned it effortlessly. Krynn dropped into a perfect battle stance, Pyros mimicking the motion nervously. The other men encircled the duelers, anxious to see their Captain in combat.
Krynn struck first, and hard, but Pyros was ready and deflected the blow with his kite shield. "Good!" Krynn exclaimed. Krynn circled to his left, sword at the ready to either strike or parry. He swung hard again, slashing at Pyros' exposed shoulder, but again, Pyros defended correctly, letting the sword glance off the top of his shield, and thrust forward with his own sword. Krynn sidestepped and scored yet another blow to his young soldier's shield. "Excellent!" Pyros' hand began to numb under the hard blows to his shield and he began to feel his grip loosening. Fearing that he could no longer hold his shield properly, he went on the offense, swinging forth with a barrage of strikes that forced his Captain to parry and retreat awkwardly. Just as Krynn tripped over a rock, Pyros had begun a monster thrust that would surely score him a victory over Krynn. But instead, he paused to allow his Captain to regain his balance. And thus nearly lost his life.
Krynn had merely pretended to trip on the rock, and when he saw his soldier hesitate, he almost smiled. Krynn righted himself immediately, bringing his armored knee up hard, making solid contact with Pyros' shield. The man's hand, already numb from the earlier blows, dropped the shield clumsily. Krynn swung around hard, crashing his hilt into Pyros' sword hand. The young soldier yelped in pain, dropping to his knees from the sheer force. When he looked up again a second later, Krynn was towering over him, viking sword poised at his throat. He had been defeated... |
