By early afternoon, the yard behind the guildhall rang with the lively clamor of combat training. This open space, enclosed by a low stone wall and packed dirt ground, was usually used by adventurers for sparring or testing new gear. Today, it was the Iron Wolves who occupied it fully. They had the yard mostly to themselves; many other guild members were out on jobs or resting, and those who remained were content to watch the renowned Graystone heroes practice. A few young adventurers even perched on the fence, whispering among themselves as they observed.
Erik stood at the center of the yard opposite Darius, both men stripped down to simple tunics and breeches for ease of movement. The day's warmth radiated from the sun above, tempered by a pleasant breeze that carried the smell of straw and sweat. Erik rolled his shoulders, loosening up. In his hands, he held a training weapon, a large, single-bladed greataxe made of wood wrapped in leather to approximate Erythrael's heft without the lethal edge. Similarly, Darius had opted for a blunted training sword and a wooden practice shield. They had agreed not to use their real arms for the full spar; broken bones in a friendly bout would be a poor send-off gift to themselves.
Off to the side, Finn was stretching his lithe limbs, his daggers sheathed at his waist. Lyra stood a few paces away from the sparring circle, her oak staff in hand. She had tied back her braid into a tighter bun to keep hair from her eyes. Despite her clerical bearing, there was a determined set to her jaw; she wasn't here to simply watch, but to practice alongside them.
Darius raised his sword in a knight's salute to Erik. "Ready?" he asked. His voice carried a restrained enthusiasm. Erik knew Darius relished these opportunities to teach and test in equal measure.
Erik mirrored the gesture with his axe. "Ready." He planted his feet in the stance that came naturally, slightly wide, one foot forward, balanced on the balls of his feet. His muscles tensed, remembering their forms. Across from him, Darius stood solid as a fortress, shield forward and sword poised to thrust.
"Begin!" came Lyra's clear voice, taking on the role of referee.
Erik moved first, a testing surge, not of raw rage, but of focused inquiry. The wooden axe whooshed through the air. Darius reacted instantly, his shield rising to meet the blow with a solid thunk. The force jostled Darius's arm but the veteran held firm, absorbing the blow with a grunt. Quick as a snake, Darius countered: he shoved the axe aside with his shield and stabbed his practice sword straight toward Erik's torso.
Erik barely twisted in time; the sword's dulled tip grazed his ribs instead of jabbing. He felt a sting even through the padding. Excellent timing. His defense flows directly into offense. Erik's mind filed away the observation.
Without retreating, Erik allowed the momentum of his dodge to whirl him around in a half-circle. He brought the axe across in a horizontal sweep. Darius stepped back, dropping his shield to catch the swing on its face. The impact echoed with a crack, and Erik saw Darius's boots skid back in the dirt an inch from the sheer power channeled. He can absorb the force, but not without giving ground. His foundation is solid, but not immovable.
Not giving Darius a chance to recover, Erik pressed on. It was no longer a simple brawl; it was a data-gathering exercise. He unleashed a flurry of strikes, chopping diagonal blows, sweeping cuts, feints, each one designed not just to overwhelm, but to test a specific part of Darius's defense. He watched how Darius angled his shield, how he shifted his weight, how his eyes tracked the arc of the axe.
He felt the runes within him respond. His Battle Sense hummed at the edge of his awareness, a subtle current of information feeding him insight into Darius's posture and balance. He could see the knight's next move forming in the subtle tension of his shoulders, the placement of his feet.
But Darius was far from a simple training dummy. He was a veteran of a hundred real battles. With a bark, he suddenly pivoted after parrying an axe strike, converting the defensive energy into a spinning slash of his own. Erik, caught for a fraction of a second in analyzing the knight's perfect footwork, was too slow to react. The blunted sword whooshed toward his shoulder. He managed to interpose the haft of his axe just in time. Wood met wood with a loud clack. The force jarred Erik's arms to the elbows.
He laughed, exhilarated by the knight's cunning. Darius grinned in return, a rare flash of teeth. "Don't get lost in your head!" the older man warned, pressing the lock, his sword pushing against Erik's crossed axe haft. For a moment they strained, strength against strength. Erik's boots dug furrows in the dirt. Darius was strong, disciplined. He shifted his weight suddenly, twisting. Erik, expecting a simple shove, was caught off balance.
With a thud, he hit the ground, rolling to absorb the impact. Darius's sword-tip hovered at his throat an instant later. A chorus of gasps and a few cheers came from the fence audience. Finn's voice rang out, half-laughing: "Get him, Darius!"
Erik lay there breathing hard for a second, then slapped the ground in surrender, a genuine smile on his face. "Alright, you got me," he panted.
Darius offered a hand and hauled Erik up easily. "Your offensive is improving," he said approvingly, clapping Erik's shoulder once. "But mind your balance. You think too much. Sometimes you just have to feel the fight."
Erik nodded, dusting his trousers. "Understood." He wasn't disappointed by the loss. The spar had been a success. The information was clear: Darius was a fortress of technique and experience, but Erik's own raw power, if applied with focus, could eventually wear down any wall.
They took a short break, stepping aside to let the others spar. Finn hopped off the wall where he'd been perched watching, landing lightly. "My turn, my turn!" he said, all eagerness. He drew his twin daggers, the real ones. Their slim steel blades gleamed wickedly, but Finn flipped them to hold the flats between his fingers, clearly intending to use them in a non-lethal manner. Opposite him, Lyra approached with her staff, chewing her lip.
The cleric looked hesitant. "Perhaps I should spar with one of you instead… I wouldn't want to accidentally hurt, "
"Oh no you don't," Finn interjected, wagging a dagger at her teasingly. "You've got reach on me with that big stick, and I saw you blast that goblin last week. I'm not underestimating you, Lyra." He gave an encouraging wink. "Besides, this is for practice. You need to know how to handle skirmishers like me, right?"
Lyra sighed internally. Her staff was a holy conduit, a focus for the Light's power, not a simple cudgel to be swung like a spear. Still, a wry secondary thought followed. Though, the ash wood is sturdy. Perhaps a good, hard knock on his head is precisely the sort of 'healing' he needs right now. The fleeting, uncharitable thought made her purse her lips to hide a smile.
She nodded, resolving herself. "Right." She slid her hands apart, adopting a ready stance the way Darius had shown her on prior occasions. Staff angled forward, one foot back. Erik had seen her use that staff primarily as a conduit for spells, but it was a sturdy piece of ash wood, more than capable of ringing a bandit's bell with a good swing.
"Take it slow," Darius advised, stepping into referee position. "Focus on technique. And stop if I say stop." They both affirmed, and Darius gave the signal. "Begin."
Finn circled Lyra lightly, daggers reversed in his grip and held low. His feet scarcely seemed to touch the ground; even out of combat, his rogue's grace was evident. Lyra kept him at staff's length, pivoting to face him as he moved, trying to recall defensive drills. Erik found himself unconsciously clenching his fists, wanting to shout pointers, but he held back. This was important for her, to find her own in sparring.
Finn feinted left. Lyra tracked him, swinging her staff in a warding arc that direction. But the rogue was quicksilver; he darted right instead, slipping past her guard in a blink. As he moved, Erik thought he saw the faintest trail of blue-white sparks flicker in the air where Finn had been, like static electricity on a dry day. He blinked, and it was gone, likely just a trick of the sunlight. Finn's other dagger tapped lightly against the sleeve of her robe, right over her bicep. "First blood to me," Finn quipped, dancing back out of range before Lyra could counter.
Lyra's eyes narrowed. Rather than flustered, she looked… determined. Erik recognized that spark; it was the same steely resolve she'd shown facing down horrors at Graystone. The gentle healer had grit when called upon.
Finn moved in again, confident in his superior speed. This time he opened with a direct rush. Lyra surprised him, instead of retreating, she stepped in to meet him. She swept her staff upward in a diagonal strike. Finn's eyes widened as the hard wood whooshed toward his forearm. He barely jerked aside, and though the staff missed his arm, it clipped his dagger, knocking it from his grasp. The blade tumbled to the grass.
A whoop came from one of the onlooking guild members. "Nice hit!"
Emboldened, Lyra pressed her advantage. She swung again, trying to disarm his other hand. Finn flipped away lithely, but Lyra kept at it, each staff strike controlled and purposeful. For a few passes, the two danced around each other in earnest. Lyra even managed to land a touch, a quick jab of her staff to Finn's thigh when he misjudged her reach. The rogue yelped in surprise and delight, rubbing the spot. "Oww, point taken!"
Erik and Darius exchanged pleased nods. "She's improved," Erik murmured.
Perhaps feeling confident, Lyra decided to invoke a bit of magic. She stepped back a pace from Finn and swept her staff overhead, chanting a phrase in the Celestial tongue of her faith. "By the Light, be still!" she cried. A pulse of radiance shot forth, aimed at Finn's feet.
But Finn was an unpredictable foe. Instead of dodging, he flung himself forward into a roll toward Lyra, the glowing tendrils of light grasping empty air where he'd been. In that heartbeat, Finn ended his tumble almost at Lyra's ankles. He reached out and tapped her shin with his dagger's flat in what would have been a nasty slash if real.
Lyra froze, looking down to find Finn grinning up at her from a crouch. She sighed and lowered her staff. "And that's why I'm not a front-line fighter," she conceded, though she smiled too, accepting his offered hand as he stood.
Finn brushed grass off his pants and bowed extravagantly. "Milady, you had me truly worried! I've only got one good dagger because of you." He retrieved the one he'd lost, sheathing them both.
"Not necessarily," Darius interjected as he came over. "Lyra, your defensive instincts are solid and you kept calm. Many spellcasters panic when a rogue closes distance. You didn't."
Lyra stood a little straighter at the praise. "Thank you, Darius. I've… been trying to practice. I don't want to be a burden if I'm cornered."
Erik stepped closer, catching her eye. "You're not a burden, Lyra. Never." A fleeting image of his old life, an empty apartment, a solitary existence, crossed his mind. He had thought strength was something you built alone, for yourself. He now knew how wrong he was. "Your faith, your light… that holds us together when nothing else can." He glanced at Finn and Darius, a new conviction in his voice. "We all have our part to play. We're stronger together, right?"
"Right," Finn agreed, slinging an arm around Lyra's shoulders companionably. "Though next time, try not to aim for my favorite dagger. This one has sentimental value!"
Lyra laughed lightly. "Perhaps if you stopped telling every barmaid in town that you singlehandedly slayed a necromancer, you wouldn't have so many sentiments to juggle."
"Ouch." Finn clutched his chest as if wounded, and the group chuckled. The ease and banter signaled the formal part of training was over.