War for Auros: Origins

Sythigen 1

Sythigen

He lifted his weapon, then struck once, twice and again into the straw-padded wood. With a careful grip, he held his gleaming cudgel and brought it aloft, and back down upon the head of the soldier. The impact snapped the dummy in two, it's head and torso sent into a patch of grass.

Sythigen picked up the splintered thing and threw it on a pile the others he had broken. "I think that's enough for today; you're snapping these things like twigs" said his trainer, chuckling hoarsely, "I'll see if the carpenter can't get us some dummies made of stronger stuff." He was a medium-sized man with a scarred lip.

"You taught me well." Sythigen stated, sheathing his mace in its holder.

"This is progress, Sythigen. Some of the noble lads I train - they wouldn't even be able to pick that thing up. It's a fine weapon, and you're a fine fighter. You're more than ready to make the trip." His voice was broad, but he was as sharp as a blade. 'The best duelist in Rhysea', they called him. Though that was before an unfortunate incident with a horse ended in his broken hip. Now he just teaches loutish noble boys how to swing a blade without severing an artery.

"Good. I'll set off tomorrow, then. After first dawn -- that is, if Threigan gets here in time."

"Threigan? That daft sod?" said Aleyn gruffly. "Tell him I want to see him inside a tavern. It's about time we caught up over a flagon."

Sythigen laughed, "his chief haunt is the Broken Chalice. If you know him, you know that he drinks mead like water and treats women like wounds - tenderly, but he never seems to want to see them ever again."

The old man guffawed. "That about sums it up." They both smiled in earnest. "Anyway, Sythigen, you're in good shape. With a bit of luck I'll see you and Threigan when - if - you return." He patted Sythigen's shoulder and limped across the courtyard, out of the ground gates.

Seeing that Aleyn had gone, Sythigen took the cudgel from his waist again and held it up against the orange sun. He cupped one hand around the glassy bulb, and then daubed the golden pommel on the end of the haft. Through the clear veins and rivers of crystal running through it's body, a warped and glinting reflection was sent back upon him. Mesmerized, he stared, until a shadow arose.

"I hope you don't rub your woman like that." A shallow voice interjected. Sythigen sheathed his mace and turned towards the familiar voice. A man with dashing brown hair, striking jade eyes and a smile on his face which resonated quick wit and mischief stood before him. He smiled.

"You took your time." He said.

"Fashionably late. You never did catch on, did you?" His face was irritating.

"I'll tell you what's fashionable," Sythigen handed his weapon to him.

Threigan was taken a bit aback; his eyes glazed over as they searched gold and gemstone over. He ran his fingers along the ripples and curve s and tested its balance.

"I'm envious." He laughed. "It's bloody heavy."

"Oh, can't those twigs you call arms hold it?" Sythigen knew he was asking for trouble.

Threigan's jade eyes were ablaze. "It's a shame your jokes are like your weapons: flat, pointless, overdone..."

Sythigen scowled. "So speaks the pauper's envy."

"Oh, believe what you will - I'm not poor. I have my own company now. The peons work for me." He flushed grandiosely.

"I know. It is still in you though. You don't wear wealth well - you never will. But come now. We need to plan our route across Ghosphum. That is unless you've been slapped by so many women that all your navigational sense has been knocked out of your head."