Ulric slowly exhaled in the House Treny training hall, drawing his Rapier and moving his free hand behind his back. There was no training dummy, no sparring partner, no wooden target for him this cold evening, just the very air itself. He felt the comfortable weight of the blade in his hand, a solid friend that had been a gift to him on his appointment to the house guard and he all but slept with the weapon, so much was it a part of him now.

In a single fluid motion, he lunged, extending his leg behind him to increase his reach, then withdrew and lunged yet again. Perfection, absolute focus on his craft, was something that the weapon masters of the house had drilled into him time and time again and he was not about to shame them with sloppy footwork. Again and again he repeated the extensive motion, continuing to literally drive the point into a non-existent home.

He wasn't the best, not yet anyway. He had heard of heroes going forth and coming back with treasure and stories... of men who could split boulders with their axes and of those to whom the night was a second home. But he knew that with time, focus, and dedication, he would be able to prove himself of value and worth to a house that was of an arcane bent.

A bead of sweat formed on his forehead as he continued to lunge and recover, but he ignored it. It was a point of his technique to continue on for as long as he could. Part of him wanted to cavort, to tumble, to roll... but the lunge needed work and so he focused time and time again, driving the glittering steel into the air time and time again.

Time passed, marked by the slow movement of the sunlight across the floor, but Ulric continued to focus on what he perceived as a small weakness in his technique. Anyone could pinpoint a target on a board, it took a little more skill to strike a dummy without it clouting you in the back of the head, and of course, sparring partners were always there with their own techniques, tactics and tricks.

He drew himself up into a standing stance once more, then flicked the Rapier forward before rotating his wrist in a feint then attack. Once more, he went through the drill, seeking to pour the knowledge into his muscles so that when the time came for the technique to be called upon, it would be as seamless as possible. His life would depend on it... along with the lives of any that he was with.

Finally, his body starting to shake, he knew that he had reached the end of his endurance and he sheathed the Rapier in it's scabbard and walked slowly to the door. It had been a productive session he felt, but self assessment was always tricky. He knew it would take someone else to properly evaluate him, but for now... he had a meal to have and work to do.

He walked out of the hall and saluted one of the house guards who came to attention as he passed. He was still getting used to his position as a Captain of the House Guard of House Treny. But he knew with time, it would be as natural as breathing. And the art with the rapier would continue to grow... he smiled as he walked into the barracks of the house to have a meal.

It was another day, another gap between duties where Ulric had time to train. His meeting with Lala weighed heavily on his mind as he walked toward the practice dummy in the training hall. He drew his Rapier slowly, deliberately, then drew himself to attention. The Blade held vertically in front of him. He then dropped into a stance, the blade angled slightly, the tip aiming toward the eyes of the dummy.

He then flicked the tip of the Blade toward the arm of the dummy, catching the point in the centre of a red dot, causing the arm to swing around swiftly. Equally quickly, Ulric dived and rolled through the arc of the baton that swung at where his head had been, and he snapped a thrust upward toward another red dot under the arm of the dummy. But as he moved, his thoughts tried to betray him. Was this what it had been like for Lala? The need to drill day after day? No, he’d said it had been the strictest of disciplines…

The mechanical dummy swung downward and the baton slapped into the ground where Ulric had been a heartbeat before. Ulric stands from where he had rolled, his grey eyes locked on the dummy that slowly reset itself. He snapped out a strike with the tip of the blade toward the centre of the dummy and ducked under the resulting blow that came through; the tip of the blade seeks another red dot, but the intrusive thoughts return. Iron Monk - a title of respect, clearly he earned it. I am only a guardsman of the house effectively… Distracted, he is off with the strike and the speed of the baton is faster than he can move and he is sent sprawling ten feet away from the dummy.

Ulric picked himself up slowly, rubbing his arm where the blow had landed, bruising him through the armour. Tightening his lips, Ulric moved once more toward the dummy, his gloved hand tightening on the grip of the Rapier.

“Temper yourself, Ulric,” an even voice said from the doorway. “Remember your training.”

Hearing the voice of the weapon master in the doorway, Ulric nodded slightly out of reflex without even looking, and exhaled slowly once more.

Focus. he thought. See your target, know your target, be aware of the return strike. Once more he snaps out a strike and weaves out of the way of the baton as it speeds past him, missing him by a hair. And once more he targeted the red dot he could see, scoring a palpable hit. The Baton swung back but this time Ulric caught it perfectly with his free arm as a parrying manoeuvre. The loud clack echoes through the hall and he flicks a strike once more to an exposed red dot, weaving out of the way of the blow once more and hitting a different red dot. He arcs the blade to strike over the baton even as it swung back to hit him.

The final trigger caught by the tip of the blade, the dummy slumped slightly and the baton bounced off the leather armour with a soft clack . Ulric rubbed his sore arm where he had taken the blow and turns to walk out of the training hall. The weapon master is standing there with a neutral expression, his arms crossed across his chest.

“It is good to see you aren’t neglecting your training, Ulric,” he said evenly. “You’ve still much to master with the rapier, especially if you are going to dance around like that.” Ulric nods.

“I know, Master,” he replies. “But I will continue to grow and expand my knowledge.”

“You do that, and one day, you’ll be as good as you think you are,” The weapon master replies, then walks into the training hall and resets the dummy as Ulric sheathes the Rapier and makes his way to his chambers to rub some ointment onto the bruise.

Ulric walked into the training hall, carrying his fencing mask with him. It was almost a second home for him, and this time, it was not empty. Several young men and women were practising with quarterstaves and daggers, though a few were using swords as well. Ulric folded his arms and watched the training of those present. Mages, sorcerers, scions… all learning the basics of combat to aid themselves and protect themselves. Mixed in were a couple of rogues and even a cleric. Not for the first time he was struck by the diversity of the House where Learning was everything. Where Learning was Life.

Finally, he made his way to a sparring circle and pulled his gloves on, followed by the fencing mask. He drew the rapier and exhaled. He moved slowly around the circle, his stance defensive initially, then he flicked the blade to one side, before another flick to the other side. He drove his point home into mid air before withdrawing and driving the point home once more into mid air. Even as he withdrew, he spun on his heel and stuck at the air as if someone was passing by him.

Time and time again, he thrust and struck, carrying a parry with a riposte. He was young, but there he knew that there was potential to grow, to improve, to shine. He still did not fancy his chances against a more seasoned opponent, not yet anyway, but he knew that he would at least be able to give such an opponent a good run for their money before he could defend others no more.

Focus, he reminded himself. What will be will be. Training will help prepare you for it. He stamped his foot on the ground and flicked the blade up as if driving it into the throat of an enemy, then pulled back with a phantom parry and riposte. Again and again he reset himself, and again and again he went through the pointed manoeuvres, practising the drills that had been taught to him so that they could and would remain second nature to him.

The others pay him little to no attention - he is after all, just a martial Treny seeking to find his way in a house where the arcane is the way to truly gain in standing. And yet, there are no scornful looks thrown his way or haughty attitudes heaped upon him, for even a sorcerer or a psion can run out of spells or powers in a day and then it becomes the duty of those of the blade to protect and defend.

Finally, shaking slightly from the rigorous training, Ulric resheathes his rapier. He removes the fencing mask and pulls off his gloves even as he walks to the exit of the training hall. Just another Treny. For now…

It was another point of focus, another aspect of the expectations on him especially with the upcoming Grand Ball, and Ulric for this time had a partner. Of course, dancing formally was needed to have a partner. And he needed to be ready for whatever may come. He squares up with his teacher and, with a quartet in the background, bows to her.

The music begins and she places her hand on his and they begin pacing through the steps of the formal dance that was likely to be present. It was a noble's ball after all, and his steps were not as polished as they would need to be to properly represent the house.

His footwork remains focused as he keeps time and tempo, leading through the motions, putting out of his mind the rod the teacher had behind her back to rap his knuckles if he mis-stepped too badly, but his training had been paying off. It was his own passion for dance that had led to this, he had not trained as a rapier swordsman to dance, and yet, it was something he enjoyed as much as the art of the blade.

Slowly they walked through several paces, turning from a Pavane to a Waltz, from a Waltz to a Basse Dance…. All focusing on style, grace and footwork. It was a drill not unlike his sword play where inattention, even for a moment, could spell disaster. And the cutting wit of some of the more experienced nobles could wound even deeper than his rapier.

And so, he focuses and practices diligently with his tutor when not involved in duties or sword play. An hour passes, then another before his tutor announces they are done. She looks at Ulric who bows respectfully to her. She curtsies to him before departing as the musicians pack up and depart as well, leaving Ulric alone in the room, one hand resting on the pommel of his Rapier, his thoughts lucid yet racing.

Whom should I attend with? Will I be found wanting there? Will the others look down on me as I have not yet made a name for myself, only being a Captain of the Treny House Guard? he exhales, finding focus and comfort in the solidity of the pommel of his Rapier. All will be well. You will have at least one friend there in Lala, if he is present. With that thought, he turns on his heel and walks out of the room, heading to his chambers to change into his travelling clothes and leather armour to begin his duties.

It was a rare moment that Ulric hit the books, but the drubbing he had received at Lala’s hands had demoralised him a little. And so, he turned to study in the Great Library for the time being to recentre himself - studying the basics of Noble etiquette to make sure he didn’t embarrass himself too seriously at the ball. He knew it would take some time for everything to sink in, but this was something that at least, would not land him flat on his arse.

He had started with his own house, familiar territory soto speak, before he moved through to House Ferency and their basic history and customs. He remembered when he was very young the argument his father had conducted with a visiting Ferency nobleman about slavery, but not the details. Now it seemed, the Ferency house was doing very well over all. He smiled as he leafs through the pages of the house.

He turns to House Sterker, and settles down to read more about their culture. One of the newer arrivals in Duirt, their support for the King had made things a hot button with various factions. He turns to House Nakil, one whom he had been warned about and starts delving more into their public face.

He closes the book after a good half hour and sits back in his chair, his leather armour creaking slightly. The military houses were definitely ones to be aware of, and he knew that he would have to watch his step around them lest he be caught in a duel with a more capable swordsman. The Mage houses were also to be wary of, lest he be seen as a political pawn in the games of strategy that the house elders played.

Feeling calmer once more, Ulric stood and walked the books back to their places on the shelves and walked out into the cool air, making his way back toward the House once more. Part of him wondered if he could speak to the Weapon Master about honing his skills further in the art of the rapier… and he nods to himself in affirmation. While embarrassment was a part of training, he would use it to hone and grow. And so, he set out with renewed purpose once more.

“Pay attention, Ulric,” the voice of the weapon master was stern and strict, but not cruel or callous. “You wish to master the rapier, then you must learn to master yourself and improve your capabilities in doing so. Now, pick up your blade.” Ulric, who was rubbing his wrist from the fifth strike to nearly exactly the same place that had caused his practice blade to clatter to the floor, did as he was told.

Ulric moved once more, his left arm behind his back, striking at the weapon master with the tip of the metallic practice rapier, only to have the strike parried with ease from the weapon master. The Wepaonsmaster flicks a strike at Ulric’s leg that the younger man is not able to avoid and the thwack is clear. It had been in a location again that had been a focal point of many of the previous weapon masters strikes.

But Ulric was learning. He was starting to move quickly to try and avoid the strikes, learning from experience. More than once, he passed on making a strike to improve his defence and the click of the steel on steel was a welcome relief to hear. He darted through the warded area of the weaponmaster to find a better vantage position to strike from and was rewarded with not just a swish from the weapon master missing him but a palpable hit on the side of the weapon master.

“Good, good,” The weapon master said. “About time you landed a hit. We are done for the day. Go and see the healer about your bruises. Your training is progressing well.” The two straightened and saluted each other with a fencer’s salute, then the weapon master walked out of the room, setting the blade with the other practice blades. Ulric exhaled slowly, treasuring the rare praise from the weapon master. It was not often that such a reward was given and he was going to savour it.

Perhaps a drink at the Golden Lion to celebrate, he thought. Deciding for it, he walked to the weapon rack, hung up the practice blade and made his way to his quarters to have a bath, then change into his noble clothes to better present himself while he was out.

Ulric was seated at a table in the Golden Lion, dressed in his blue green leather armour and fine travelling clothes, his ever present rapier at his side. To one side, a goblet of amber elven wine sat nearly completely untouched. In one gloved hand, he held a letter of recommendation that he had received. The weapon master apparently thought it worth the time to hire a specialist to aid in Ulric’s training and they would be expected in a day or so.

Ulric set the paper down on the table in front of him and sipped his wine with a thoughtful expression. A specialist. He knew that if the weapon master was choosing to bring someone else in, then something big was brewing indeed. He picked up the letter and read it for what felt like the umpteenth time. There was no hidden context or clues that he could decipher from the missive. It simply stated that within two days, he would no longer be training under the weapon master, but under a specialist rapier fighter and would report to him for daily lessons when not on duty.

He rolled the letter up and slid it back into the scroll case it came in and set it to one side, then sipped his wine contemplatively. He wondered idly what this specialist would teach and how they would differ from the weapon master. He knew that every teacher had their own style, but it would be imperative that he could adapt to the new teaching style.

Will I have to unlearn everything that I have learned? he thought contemplatively. Will they drill me to refocus my skill? He shook his head slowly, seeking to put the thoughts out of his head and sipped his wine once more. Part of him envied Lala, being able to be as cut free from family responsibilities as he carried himself to be. And yet at the same time, he is duty bound to protect the family - in avoiding marriage, he is married to the family. Ulric chuckles at the thought. I wonder if that has occurred to Lala at all? he smiles at the thought and finishes his wine.

He set the goblet down and exhaled slowly. He idly considered having a smoke of some fine tobacco that some of the men had said was available in the market square, but then decided against it. Best to keep a clear head after all, he mused. I do not want to embarrass the house. He stood easily and made his way toward the door, raising the hood of his cloak as he walked outside into the night.

Ulric paced slowly in the training hall, awaiting the arrival of the specialist that had been recruited to train him. He had done a little digging to see what he could find about this individual, and had come up with a few interesting facts. They had aided the South Voran king, but were not loyal to him or his army or rule - effectively they were loyal to whomever paid them. While they had ethics and a moral code, they followed their own rules more than the rules of others and for this reason travelled widely and extensively. However, they were not lawless - they just chafed at being given directions.

And this was the person that was to take over Ulric’s training. He suspected that there had been several heated discussions with his father about the nature and direction that the training was to take with the weapon master, and that the cost to retain the services of this person had not been cheap. His hand rests lightly on the hilt of his rapier as he continued to pace slowly, unable to fully relax. Lala would have laughed at him with his nerves he suspected. Others in the family had simply scoffed, declaring like it was spending good money after a failed project.

“Are you trying to wear a hole into the floor?” a delicate, feminine voice asked from behind him. Caught a little off guard, Ulric turned to look at the speaker. A woman with short blond hair and blue eyes dressed in some sort of military uniform, with a rapier at her hip and wearing white gloves with a white cloak was watching him with a smile. When Ulric stopped pacing, she smiled again. “I guess not then. I believe you have been expecting me. I am Alin Bardye.”

“I have been expecting a specialist to train me, yes, but I had not been given a name,” Ulric replies with a slight bow. “I am...” Alin waved her hand, cutting him off mid sentence.

“I know who you are, Ulric Treny,” she replies, “And by the time I’m finished with you you’ll have the right to add Sir back to your name.” She drew her Rapier and Ulric noted immediately there was a faint glow to the blade. “We are going to ensure you have the basics in my craft, and then from there, I will train you in the art of the Duelist. It will be a hard path, but your weapon master feels that this will be an advantageous development for you. And we will not be using practice blades, you need to learn how your own blade feels when defending against attacks and delivering attacks. Now... prepare.”

Alin Bardye

Ulric watched Alin Bardye over the tip of his rapier as she watched him over the tip of hers. They had been sparring for over an hour now and he was covered with tiny bruises without having been able to land a single blow on her. He could feel a trickle of sweat slowly roll down his face, while Alin Bardye was calm and collected.

She moved in a whirlwind of blows toward him and Ulric worked hard to parry the blows as best as he could and to counter attack at the same time - his strikes were not only parried but counterstruck effectively with a speed that had made even Lala’s flurry of blows seem slow. It had been this way for the last hour and Ulric was starting to feel his muscles cramping slightly.

“You’re doing well Ulric,” Alin Bardye said , lowering the tip of her rapier. “You’re starting to use your mind in defense as well as simply using your feet. This is good to see.” She saluted him calmly and Ulric returned the salute, sheathing his own blade as she sheathed hers.

“Thank you Alin Bardye,” Ulric said with a slight bow. Alin Bardye smiled and turned, walking out of the training hall, pausing at the door and looking back at Ulric.

“Make sure you don’t neglect your dancing lessons either Ulric,” she remarked, “you will find that fluidity critical in developing your skills further. Especially as you learn to move through an opponent's area of threat.” Ulric nodded once more and then she was gone. Ulric walked to a chair and sat carefully in it, pulling his gloves off and examining the small bruises that he had received from Alin Bardye’s rapier. They were red and would purple quite nicely in the coming days. He stood slowly and made his way back to his rooms for a hot bath to soak the pain away.