Comparing Swords [Duma/Donovan C Support]

[Donovan]

The green clad mercenary grinned wildly as he met with his new companion early in the morning. Ever since he saw the long haired swordsman cut through the scores of bandits like a knife through warm butter, Donovan had been intent on getting some lessons from the sword master. The mercenary looked at his new blade. It was of a Sacaen design, newer and sharper than his father’s old sword, so the mercenary felt like it would be less likely to get stuck in any enemies. But the blade was a little longer and thinner than he was used to, so he was glad to have a chance to practice with it before a real fight.

Over his time traveling with the Giant, Donovan had become a much more proficient fighter. They’d tackled threats big and small. Where he’d previously been unable to hold his own, the mercenary was now able to take on a number of enemies at once, his attacks were brutal and efficient. After all, he’d been learning from Perun. Strength and force were the Giant’s way. But strength and force tends to end with the mercenary getting hit more oft than not.

But Duma was different. While plenty strong, the sword master had skill and speed unlike anyone he’d ever seen before. For lack of a better word, the man was an artist with the blade. So when he’d agreed to train Donovan whilst they were traveling, the mercenary was determined to become as competent a fighter as he could.

“Thanks for helping me out, Duma. I know I’m probably the least experienced member of our little band and I don’t want to hold anyone up in a fight. I own you a barrel when we reach Lycia, your favorite drink.” The mercenary laughed hardily, of course, as he planned to lead the group through his mother’s tavern if he could. He never said he’d actually pay for the barrel!

[Duma]

Duma got the last of his things ready before departing with Remus group. Duma yawned slightly. He had woken up earlier then usual to squeeze in some extra training for Donovon. From what he could see the young mercenary had obtained a new sword that was a different make and style then what he was accustomed to. Duma was accustomed these Sacean style blades in both using them and having being used against him.

"Not a problem Donovon. We are working together from now on to protect our charges. If training you helps to keep you alive so that they are better protected then I am happy to oblige." He nodded softly. He had arranged a quick training dummy make out of stick and straw.

"I do not think I can drink a barrel of drink. So I shall settle for a good mug and dinner if you do not mind." Duma spoke in between setting up the training area and checking his belongings. Once he felt everything was in order did he turn around and face the mercenary.

"Perun has told me tales of your adventures and of your growth. I want you to show me even more growth. I warn you I am not an easy teacher. But I will teach you to survive." He spoke with a bit of a smirk. Duma would be training him in a similar manner that he learned. Duma walked off for a moment and spiked the dummy down into the ground.

"First, I want to see how you weild your new blade. So strike at this dummy. And I will determine what we do next afterwards."

[Donovan]

The mercenary shook his head and chuckled. It’d been just he and Perun for too long, he forgot that most normal people can’t drink a barrel. As the sword master finished setting up the dummy, Donovan made sure he had all of his sparse belongings packed. His spare set of cloths, father’s broken sword, and whet stone were all in place. As were his emergency rations and vulnerary.

"First, I want to see how you wield your new blade. So strike at this dummy. And I will determine what we do next afterwards.”

Right. Time to get started. Duma had wedged the dummy into the ground, its stick and straw ‘arms’ awkwardly standing upright. He gripped his sword in his right hand and thought for a hair’s breath before deciding how he would strike. With a sudden, ferocious burst of speed and, the mercenary took a step forward with his left foot, rotated his sword arm, and swung the blade upward at the dummy’s right arm. Had it been his father’s sword he may have cleaved it off, through sheer force, but the new sword was longer than he was used to and he stepped too close for full power. Stepping with his right foot, he dropped his opposing knee, and swung his new sword into the belly of his inanimate opponent, raising his shield arm over his head as he did. He felt he judged the distance better the second time.

Pulling his sword out, the mercenary leapt back away from the dummy. He didn’t feel like Duma was the type to want to see a bunch of frivolous attacks. Donovan’s greatest weapon was his ability to read people, and he was pretty sure Duma was keen enough to know how to direct the mercenary from that. Besides, a cut to the stomach like that was a killing strike, he wouldn’t bother to continue hacking away at a corpse when on a live battlefield.

[Duma]

Duma observed Donovan strike at the dummy. The mercenary had swung his sword in a upwards diagonal slash. The swordsman could see that the new weapon was too long for him and he misjudged his step. However he did hit his mark and it would have ended the life of his opponent. There was another thing he noticed that was a bit off with Donny's strike and that was he packed too much raw power into his stroke. Sacean blades are lethal but light. They are meant to be used in a bit of a graceful manner not to be swung into battle like an axe. Other wise the blades chip prematurely and diminish the life of the weapon considerably. A swordsman needs to have the right balance of power, skill, and speed when wielding a blade of the nomads. But he did like that Donny raised his shielded arm over his head to defend himself from what could be a counter attack. It meant that he was thinking in terms of the battlefield and not in terms of training. Which was both good and bad. In training one can afford to make mistakes and learn from them in relative safety. The battlefield afforded no such luxuries.

Duma raised his hand.

"Stop." He had seen enough with the one blow to determine what to do next.

"Your swing, footing, and perception need some work." He spoke with a bit of a sigh. He couldn't be too hard, after all the mercenary was new to the weapon.

"Have you been self taught?" He asked with a bit of curiosity.

"Share with me a bit of your story, while I prepare show you a proper display." Duma approached Donovan and politely asked to use the new sword. Once, he was given the new blade Duma took a step back. He gave the sword a few practice swings, until he got a feel for the blade. Ah yes. This is a good weapon. He took a moment to examine the blade. The sharp end was in great condition whomever had this blade took great care. The sword did not feel "new", it felt as if it had seen many battles in it's day. He continued to swing it around taking great care not to injure himself or Donovan in the process. With each swing or twirl he got more of a feel of the blade. He began to understand where it's strong and weak points were. How it glided through the air, it's resistance, it's weight, how it would cleave through flesh, after the tenth swing he switched hands. And he repeated the process again until he had a clear understanding of the blade and how his sword arm worked with it. He turned and faced Donovan ready to show him exactly what the mercenary's new sword could do.

[Donovan]

Donovan was glad that his new instructor appeared to be pretty astute. “Mostly I am, yeah. Though my dad taught me a little before he died.” The mercenary scratched his head. “I guess there’s no gain to lying. I was raised on a trouper’s caravan. We were pretty successful all throughout Lycia, and on the fringes of Bern and Etruria. My dad ran the group and trained me in stage combat. When I was a teenager, we were attacked by bandits on the road, my mom and I built a tavern, and I started to train myself in actual fighting. I’ve been on the road for a year or so, started as a caravan guard, moved into bounty hunting. Now I guess I’m a caravan guard again.” Donovan chuckled. “But pretty much all of my fighting experience is self taught from me somehow managing to survive on the road.”

Whilst Donovan had been speaking about his fighting experience, the sword master had been looking over his new blade. Then the long, green haired swordsman started swinging the blade through the air. He looked like he was trying to get the feel for the blade’s weight and length. The sword moved through the air so quickly and effortlessly that Donovan could hear it singing. The mercenary was curious about where his new instructor had developed such impressive skill. “What’s your story, Duma? How did you become so adept with a blade?” The sword master turned and faced Donovan once he was done experimenting with the new found blade.

[Duma]

The more Donovan spoke about his life the more Duma began to understand the young man. He realised he would have to harp on him over the basics at least for now. Being self taught meant that one could develop their own unique style of fighting that fit them. Something that they are comfortable with, but it left them vulnerable. He was reminded a little of Vincent and his unpredictability. That boy was wild with a sword but any person who had been properly trained could stop him with the right counter. He noted his last sparring match with him had knocked that idea into him before he left the plucky mercenary to do business in Ilia.

"I see. Unfortunately, I have not seen many staged battles in my life so I do not know how well that transitions over to real combat. But if I were to guess there is great emphasis on dramatic movements, in order to keep the audience entertained. Such as large wide swings or flips, and clash of weapon with weapon. Then obvious or "loud" killing blows to show the spectators who and how the other was killed. Please correct me if I'm wrong." He paused for a moment, then took a step forward. Donny had also asked him how he had gotten so adept with a blade. Duma could had easily said he had learned by experience. But, since the mercenary had shared his story with him he would do the same. But first he had a performance of his own to do.

He took a stance. He had no sheath for the blade so Duma carefully had the blade carfelly poised by his side. His angle and stance told how he would swing the blade. It was to be the same upwards diagonal slash like Donovan's. He cleared out all mental distractions, his focus was on his target. He was silent. Quickly, he ran forward the once he was close enough to the straw dummy he slashed at it. His strike was quick, presice, fluid, and quiet. The blade passed through the straw dummy like a hot knife through butter. The dummy was cleaved in two clean pieces. Duma cheated a little since he set up the dummy he knew where one of the weakest points were. Right under the right "armpit" of the dummy and the top part of it's left "shoulder". It was one of the reasons why it's arms were slightly lopsided. He wasn't going to tell Donovan that though. The blade still sliced through all of the material. With his task finished he picked up one half of the straw dummy, returned to Donovan, and gave back the blade.

"I hope you could see what I was trying to show you. Usually when I teach it is to children. These children are taught patience. Sometimes my lessons go to hot headed people who do not understand patience. When I tell them to hit the dummy they become frustrated and blame the weapon's 'lack of sharpness'. Until I show them that... Well this.." He held up the top half of the dummy. Despite it being in pieces the dummy's bucket head still has its unique happy face.

"But you seem to be more level headed then most young adults. So I suppose the demonstration might have been a moot point. But that is a good sword, I couldn't resist taking a swing with it." He had a small smile.

"Long blades like this one need a good balance of control, skill, and power. Too much force with the wrong angle and the blade will get stuck... Like yours did earlier. Misjudge your strike and you could chip the thin edges. Long blades are designed to cut through flesh with ease, so you can cripple your foe faster. Then move on to the next opponent without losing too much momentum." He took a moment to step back. He sighed a bit.

"Hmm, as for my origins I can tell you as we do some swinging reps. Since, I broke poor bucket head over here. You are in dire need of some.." He tried to think of a more delicate way of saying it.

"Well.. a refresher of some basics. Your father had begun to teach you but his death was premature. And thus your lesson in the basic skills were cut short. That is not meant to be taken as an insult, it is clear to me you have some talent. It just needs refinement." Like a gem still trapped within stone. Once removed and polished it sparkles.

"Every warrior has a style they like to use with their technique. The foundation for those techniques are the basics or fundamentals that one is usually taught." He took a space next to Donovan and drew his own sword. Duma's blade was similar to Donovan's in the sense it was katana like, but different. His sword had a thicker top and slightly thicker blade. Which made blocking and deflecting things a bit easier but more force had to be packed into his swings to make up for the difference in edge thinness and weight. The blade was riddled with small gashes as if it had been scarred by many battles. Although well worn the handle, blade, hilt, and metal was in good condition. The blade had a nice clean shine to it.

"For example, my style of sword play is like the Saceaen style with bits of Eturian thrown in. And yours appears to be more freelance like Lycian mercenaries with a mix of Bernese power and defense. Or probably Perun's tactic of brute force has rubbed off on you. But I digress, with proper understanding of basics you can refine your skill and incorporate what you have picked up into your style." He then showed how to do a basic stance that most sword fighters did.

"Mimic my stance and we shall do fifty swings. This will help you gain familiarity with your new weapon. Your arm will want to try to default to a style it is more comfortable with. Like the one used for your thicker, heavier, broken blade. This is called muscle memory. Do not let the memory control your arm. Learn the differences between your weapons so that eventually both are second nature. You must think of the long sword like an extension of your arm instead of something you poke with." He was getting a bit long winded but these things needed to be said before the blades started swinging.

[Donovan]

"You are right about that. Stage fights tend to be dramatic, larger than life. When I was in my first real fight, I learned that lesson pretty quickly.” Suddenly the sword master had cut the dummy in half. Cleanly in half. The man picked up the dummy’s top and handed Donovan’s sword back to him. The green clad mercenary looked down at his blade, somewhat awestruck at what it was capable of in the right hands.

“I know what my strengths and weaknesses are. Only a dead man denies them, and I’d rather not kick the bucket like bucket head. If I felt like I didn’t need instruction, I wouldn’t have asked for it.” The sword master described how the blade should be used to it’s full potential. It all made a good deal of sense to Donovan, yet he’d never thought of a blade in such a simple straight forward way before. Looking down at his sword, he understood that it was more than a tool. If he wanted to reach his full potential, it’d have to become a part of him.

Donovan listened intently to Duma’s descriptions of how important the fundamentals are and how each nation had its own style of basic combat. "It makes sense that I would have a mostly Lycian style, since that’s where my father and most of the troupe were from." Perun’s brutal attacks were also quite a part of the mercenary’s style after a few months on the road with him.

Copying the green haired swordsman’s stance, Donovan began swinging his blade as he was instructed. At first he did so slowly, so as to make sure that his form was perfect, as Duma had warned him of slipping into old, bad habits. But as he became sure of his movements, he began to go much faster. Donovan had never had any real formal training from an actual fighter, but he was a very fast learner. It was how he’d managed to survive on the road. He learned the importance of defending yourself whilst attacking, of targeting opponents arms before anything else, so as to remove their ability to kill you. And when he set his mind to it, he could be an exceptionally dedicated student. There was even a point where he’d wanted to learn how to be a healer - though his parents shot down the idea of him studying such magics as it would lead him to Etruria.

After they’d finished the 50 swings, the mercenary’s arm felt like it had been truly used for the first time. The style that Duma was having him use was much more powerful and graceful that the old form he’d been using. “It feels like I was using a whole different group of muscles,” he chuckled to his comrade. “But I can really feel the difference in my swing. It’s like I haven’t been using even half my strength this entire time I’ve been a sell sword.”

[Duma]

As the two started to do repetitive swinging, Duma observed Donovan form. He corrected his errors then saw that his swings were getting faster after a while. While there is nothing wrong with wanting to swing the blade faster but when it is a training session like this he wanted to see some more uniform swings. Duma's swings were more precise and spaced evenly so his arm got a full work out. He did owe the young man a story. At about the 20th swing he started talking.

"Once upon a time, in Lycia a set of newborn twins were found by a young mercenary couple touring through the ruins of a bandit encampment. The couple took the kids, brought them back to Eturia, raised them as their own." His voice was calm with slight monotone. Duma still kept his focus with his swinging and breathing. His mind kept count of his swings.

"I was one twin my sister the other. We grew up in a guild that was on the Sacean Eutrian border. Mom was a swordswoman from Ilia, Dad was a mage from Nabata. When I was old enough mom taught me the basics of sword play. Sis leaned magic. Together we helped the guild with jobs while learning or respective crafts. If she were still alive and returned to her prime, mom could beat me in a sword fight hands down." He had a small smile. His mind recalled the image of his adoptive mother. A lovely woman with pricing blue eyes and long pink hair. He kept swinging.

"Fast forward a few years of training, travel, trials, .... Another word that starts with the letter T. Sis and I left our home to adventure on our own. We learned the good and bad of being away from the guild. We had many victories and many defeats. But we never stopped learning. Our parents passed away due to illness some time during our 17 or 18th year. I lost sis in Nabata a few years back. Went back home to the guild a broken man. Our uncle, suggested I leave to travel the world. Get a clear head find a purpose. Sacae was what really snapped me out of my slump, the nomadic life felt so simple. And I learned much from the tribes." He was at his final swing.

"Been traveling and honing my craft ever since. It's been five or six years now I think." He wasn't really sure.

"Doesn't mean I've just been stuck strictly in Sacae. I've set foot in all the lands at least once." He shrugged. Then took a few breaths to regain his energy. Donny made a comment about how his arm and how he could feel a difference in his swing.

"Good. Glad you feel a difference. Now switch arms and give me fifty more." He had a bit of a happy tune. Even though the reaction to that request is usually shock, or the ever present "what".

"Do not swing so quickly. Time your swing. Keep it precise or you lose out on resetting your position. Which only gives you half a work out." He spoke while taking a stance. He switched his grip to one that favored his opposite arm. He waited for Donovan to do the same.

"After that I think we can call it a morning. We need to eat and finish off other preparations. I will continue to instruct you as we continue our journey with Remus. No doubt the red headed mercenary would want to join us in training. So there will always be someone you can practice and train with."

[Donovan]

“I understand what it is like to have parents from such clashing culture. My mother had been a cleric in Etruria until my father’s troupe came through her town and he wooed her straight from the clutches of the church. I’m sorry to hear about your family, though. That’s never easy.” The mercenary knew how hard it had been to lose his troupe, who were as close as family to him growing up. He could only imagine the pain of losing one’s twin.

“I’ve been pretty much everywhere, myself. Except the Isles. The desert just might be the worst excuse for a climate I’ve ever seen. Sacae is pretty nice, though.”

The mercenary wasn’t really sure how to practice his swordplay with his shield arm. He’d never tried it before. “Uh… Sure.” He switched the sword into his off hand and began to swing it, much slower than before, trying to make sure that the blade went exactly where he was supposed to. It was very difficult. But he followed the sword master’s direction and traced his weapon through the art with as much precision and care as he could.

“So are you named after the god, then? Duma?” The mercenary had always loved the story of Duma and Mila. He always felt like it was one of the greatest tragic stories ever told. “My parent’s would always perform that play if the show we were putting on started to fall flat.” The green clad mercenary felt like his left arm wasn’t going to be much use with a sword, no matter how much training he underwent with it.

[Duma]

Again Duma watched Donovan practice swinging with his other arm. The shielded arm. He could tell by the subtle expressions in his face that he was unaccustomed to swinging with that arm. Once he had finished the repetition Duma spoke again. Duma frowned slightly at the mention of Nabata. Duma was not fond of the place as a whole. The memories of the place were hard on him. The sand was a nightmare and to top it off it was the place where he lost Mila.

"Nabata is awful. The heat is killer. There is very little water. No civilization for miles. Plus the sand gets everywhere. It took weeks to get the grains out of my hair. I swear sometimes I can still feel it if I run my hands through my hair." He ran his hand through his hair just to be sure.

"But the people that live there are hardy. They are strict teachers and some of the best people I've come to meet. So.. I suppose it is not all terrible." He thought on it a bit more.

"You might be thinking... why did I have you train with the other arm? Like I said i'm training you to survive. Some day you might find yourself with out your shield or your other hand would be occupied and you need to strike with the opposite hand. I know it's difficult. It's uncomfortable. But the result is worth it." He nodded then put his sword back in it's sheath.

"These training sessions will be twice a day. In the morning like this and another in the evening. Provided the days we do train are good and we aren't preoccupied with other things on the road." He tried to think of anything else to add with regards to the lesson. If he had the time he would continue the lesson by having them both run around to test endurance. But there was little time and this was not the place for it. Donovan then began talking about his name. Duma knew he had been named after a god in an old fable but he had no idea the legend was known well enough to be preformed as a stage play.

"Hm, yeah. It was mom's idea. She thought it was fitting. Sis was named Mila. Growing up with that name was hard. You have no idea how many times I was picked on as kid because of it." The names started to come back to him. Duma the dumbass. Dumby. He sighed.

"Mom was a sucker for good fables. So she would sit us down by the fire every night and tell us all sorts of legends. Then Dad would quiz us on our knowledge. Perhaps that could be something to do with the two children..." He realized what he was saying. He had a light blush then cleared his throat.

"Uh.. right. So you guys turned it into a play? I didn't know you could do that. I know mother would sugar coat some of it since we were her kids. But now i'm curious to hear it from another. 'Another side, another story' type of deal."

[Donovan]

They’d finally finished the second repetition. It seemed to take twice as long as the first one. “I was wondering why you wanted me to practice with my off hand… But it definitely makes sense. I’ve always been able to talk myself out of most really bad situations. And that isn’t going to last forever. I’d rather be prepared for anything — that way I won't be surprised.” The mercenary replaced his sword its sheath and folded over to stretch his back out. While Duma ran through the regimen the pair would take on, Don went through some stretches to help his body cool down. The troupe had always done so after an action heavy play and it had become a bit of a tradition.

“That all sounds good to me, Duma. Who knows, maybe by the end of this trip, I’ll be able to take you on in a fight.” The mercenary remembered how excellently the sword master had fought in the other day’s battle. “Well… Maybe not.”

Then Duma said something that peaked Donovan’s interest. His twin’s name had been Mila. The green clad mercenary had just met a girl named Mila, not too long ago, working on a beast hunt. She was a mage. And she did look a little like the swordsman in front of him…

But the actor remembered how Duma had reacted to Donovan bringing up Nabata. Everyone was excellent at something. For Duma, it was his skill with the blade. For Don, it was his ability to read body language and inflection. Every movement and word choice helps tell your life’s story. And for someone who grew up being trained to read and tell that story on stage, it was easier to piece together that story.

It could be a coincidence. Could be that Duma’s twin survived. But Donovan didn’t know for sure and it wasn’t any of his business, either — so this was just another secret he’d have to keep.

The mercenary was glad Duma moved on to talk about myths. “My parents loved legends as well. They’d always try to collect bits and pieces of local folklore anytime we passed through an interesting town. Dad liked to turn them into plays. He said he would spread the world’s stories to the four corners of the world. The story of Duma and Mila was one of the first plays he wrote. Though, I’m sure it’s not entirely accurate to the legend. Plays and stories do need to take on a certain… extraordinary dramatic license. I’d be happy to share what I remember of it. Though, it’s been a while since I performed that play.”

[Duma]

"Take me on?" He smirked. Little did Donovan know that there would be plenty of sparring matches between teacher and student during the trip. Probably so much so that he might even get sick and tired of it. Duma thought about weather or not he should tell Donovan that. Or perhaps he would leave it as a surprise and wait to see the reaction on his face. After all I am going to need some sort of entertainment on this trip.

"Well, yes. We shall call that a final exam when we get to it." He replied calmly. He listened more to Donovan talk about his family. It reminded him alot of his own. Perhaps it was time for him to bite the arrow and send a letter back home. Just to check up on the old gang. I'm sure they would have some choice words for him for dropping off the face of the earth for 5 years. But that was his problem and he would have to deal with it sooner or later.

"Folklore is a beautiful thing. I know plenty of legends. Perhaps I could help you fill in the gaps with some of them. The children could join in too. And Remus and Perun could share with us their legends and stories. This seems like it would be an interesting trip." he walked over to his things and gathered them.

"Right then. I've still got a bit of business to attend to the village. Final farewell to the chieftain. I do not want to be rude to him especially since he let me stay here for a week before running into you guys. Or.. you guys running into us." He shrugged.

[Donovan]

The pair of swordsman finished the first of many morning training sessions and grabbed up the few possessions that they kept on hand whilst traveling the road. As his new instructor began to head off to thank and say goodbye to the village’s chieftain, Donovan wondered how many the sword master had killed in his career. And then he remembered the first man he’d slain himself. the mad acolyte who’d been the first bounty Perun and he had ever hunted together. That memory more than any other made him feel sick to his stomach. Purely because it didn’t feel right to kill a man who’d already been beaten.

Shaking away thoughts of past demons, the mercenary shouldered his satchel and headed off toward where his lumbering giant of a friend was just waking up. They’d all need to work hard to survive this trip.

---

After training with Duma for the week or so that they’d been on the road, Donovan was beginning to feel more sure of his swordplay. While he recognized that he was no where near the sword master’s level, Donovan felt like he had control over the sword, like he’d never understood before. No longer was he using pure brute force to attack.

He’d only seen such progress because Duma was such a skilled teacher. Furthermore, Donovan had a suspicion that his instructor may have been going a little extra hard on him. While it left the mercenary exhausted and sore pretty much every day, he felt like he'd be able to contribute as much as his allies, the next time they were attacked. Or at the very least, his sword wouldn't get caught in any bandit's body anymore, and no one would have to pull his head out of the fire.

After finishing the final swing with his shield arm, Donovan turned to his instructor and scratched his head before nonchalantly asking, “So how do you think I’m progressing, Master Mullet?” Donovan had been trying to find a nickname for Duma ever since they’d started getting more comfortable with each other, though none were sticking particularly well. He enjoyed the sword master’s company. He hadn’t had a mentor since the massacre of his troupe.

[Duma]

Master Mullet? I suppose it’s better than Samurai X. He sighed. He didn’t mind the nicknaming too much, it was just that today he had woken up and his hair wasn’t a much of a mullet. It was a braid. The kids got a hold of it sometime during the night and left him like that. He supposed it was better than the pigtails. The swordsman finished his final swing along with Donovan’s. He sheathed his blade once more.

“You are progressing well. I’ll go get old bucket head and...” He made motions towards the wagon then saw bucket head getting a makeover by the children. They were adding straw hair and drawing with charcoal some other features. They were even using their old cloaks to give it clothes.

“Never mind… Guess I’m going to be bucket head.” He took a deep breath to help his heart return to its natural rhythm.

“Consider this a bit of a what are they called.. uh.. pop quiz. I want you to strike at me. This will serve as a lesson for us both. I get to practice defending and you get test out your growing skill on some live steel. I won’t attack you. It’s too early for me to do that just yet. Do not worry for my safety.” He began walking a fair distance away. He gave ample room for Donovan to do a running strike if he wanted. Duma did a few more simple breathing exercises to prepare himself. He wasn’t sure what Donny was going to do so he needed to brace for everything. After a bit, he drew his sword flipped it over so the blunt side faced out and took a defensive stance. He opted to use the blunt side, just in case his instinct took over and accidentally struck at Donovan. Not that was much of a concern, with the healer in the group, but he was better safe than sorry.

“Ready!”

[Donovan]

The kids had become very used to the crew over the past week. Owain and Amelia had found their perspective adventure companions in Kitchi and Perun. They’d even gotten so comfortable with Duma that they’d braided his hair. Now Don wouldn’t say it was a bad look for the sword master, but… It could be worse, I suppose. They could’ve given him a full make over like they’re doing to BucketHead. Donovan laughed wildly at the children’s games. A small part of him wanted to go over and join them. After all, should his sparring dummy not be given the weapons and armor befit a warrior of its caliber?

Then Duma said something that surprised Donovan more than anything the sword master had told his pupil before. It was time for the pair to spar. “Well, I’m glad Remus is here with us. And even more relieved that you’re not going to be doing any attacking.” He laughed and shook his head. “Here’s to a new adventure,” the mercenary muttered under his breath.

As Duma paced away, Donovan had thought over everything he’d learned about fighting from both Perun and Duma. Power and grace. Force and skill. Best thing to do first in a fight is go for your opponent’s arm. If you take away their ability to wield their blade, then they are either no long a threat or much easier to kill.

“Ready!” The mercenary was about 4 yards from his mentor. Step one, close the gap. Since he was fighting without his shield and didn’t have to worry about Duma returning his blows, Donovan decided that he would go for a more attack oriented approach than usual.

Charging forward with both hands on the sword, Donovan swung swiftly down at Duma’s sword arm. His blade no longer crashed through the air, it flew. Dropping his back knee to the ground, Donovan followed up his attack with a slash at the legs. It was mostly the same attack that he’d first used on Bucket Head. But after having some actual training with the basics from a real sword master, Donovan’s attack was substantially more skilled, graceful, and powerful than his first attempt had been.