Lyra Karant
Tipping Point
With the level of ability that Lyra had been spending her time honing, there was an absolute necessity that she therefore spend some time reflecting on the progress that she had made, as well as honing that progress to a well-sharpened edge such that it was inviolably practised. The necessity of such things was unfortunate, as far as she could tell. After all, she had sworn for a while now that she would be a healing and protective master, able to engage her enemies with little more than the hands that she was blessed with and the talents that she had. To be fair, thus far, those talents had worked wonders. She had spent quite some time assisting people all across Earthland to meet their needs, ensuring that the forces of good and light reigned supreme; Lyra could not help but consider the idea a success at this point. She had signed up to Luminous Rose for that very purpose and, along the way, she had discovered new magical abilities that she had never originally known. This, to her, was a complete success. Truth told, she felt that so much of her abilities were borrowed, and therefore she was thankful. The inheritor of a lacrima and the blessing of a demon that had granted her his powers, the things that she could do were simply on loan and not innately hers.
This, in some regard, needed to change. The pink mage knew very well that she was only delaying the inevitable, for the cold, hard reality of Fiore and beyond was the sheer fact that her enemies were numerous, and assisting others could not simply become a defensive fight forever. Shields and healing could only go so long. Eventually, during a fight, she would run out of mana and fail to protect her charge were she alone in the task that she was set; therefore, to that end, there was an unfortunate need to physically attack one’s opponents. It was regrettable, as far as Lyra was concerned. Fighting directly was not her way, though she knew it was sometimes the only way. Her encounters with her once-friend Rela had shown her that; bloodshed was in fact the answer for some people, and it was those people that proved the incredible necessity of combat to end the problem. Not for an aggressive purpose, mind - it was the fact that they would do nothing short of kill you in order to achieve that objective. Lyra knew that the only solution to that, once they started, was to end the confrontation. Bloodshed begat bloodshed, unfortunately, and once that cycle started the only solution was more. Breaking the cycle in the middle of combat was simply not an option.
So, to that end, Lyra was going to have to start improvising her way through the solution. She was considering the best way to deal with this, all whilst furthering her training; there were a multitude of options that were available to her that her fellow guild-mates and other contacts that she had made during her adventures. She had witnessed combat. She had witnessed brutal, bone-breaking training. She had seen the depths that those who were willing to teach would go in order to ensure the true strength of their students; Kyran, who had demonstrated both wind and flame techniques of his own devising to her had shown little regard for the safety of others and had harmed innocents in the pursuit of perfection. This was, in fact, one of the first moments that had tested her resolve to become a healer, guardian and protector. He had shown her that technique, some martial arts moves to follow it, and the conversation that had followed left little more than a sour taste in her mouth for what justification that he found to perform his hollow demonstration. Lyra had decided that day that such displays of force were both unnecessary and excessive, and to fail in her civic duty by harming a civilian wilfully was an unacceptable outcome for someone who strived to be inherently just and upstanding. That moment had been the first time that she had seen a wrongful display of magical affluence. At that point, she had resolved never to fall so far herself and use her powers to hurt another when it could be avoided.
So, to that end, Lyra found herself standing in the training room of the guild hall, that majestic palace gilded and rose-tinted; this place was built with beautiful oak floors, perfectly polished and prepared for training. In here could be found myriad implements of training and combat; everything could be found from weapons lining the walls upon racks, blessed and gleaming in their countenance, training dummies that had seen far better days with numerous patches and repairs made to tattered fabric bodies, and other things such as weights sitting upon racks, steps and mats designed for aerobic exercise and any other number of implements that would have been useful for anyone seeking to improve their physical condition. This place was in fact perfect for her to be able to spend time training and finding herself the path forward. Lyra knew, undoubtedly, that this was the right way and the right time. After all, to take but a single example, were she to encounter Rela again any time soon-- well, Rela was highly-trained, incredibly well-armed and knew how to put someone down faster than she could blink. In that case, Lyra stood no chance facing her in head to head combat; a blade buried between her ribs cared not for the wellspring of magical power that rested behind it. Therefore, if Lyra was going to be able to stand up to her, she was going to need equivalent or similar training to handle a weapon that could not only deflect the incoming blade but also riposte, answer the question that was asked of it, and protect not only herself but every charge that she was given.
Emerald eyes cast their way over the room, searching for… something. That something, at this point, was absolutely unknown to her. She wanted to observe the weapons resting upon their mounts, see what spoke to her, and then attempt to hold it and examine it closely. This was the only way that she knew. It had to be something that she could use and feel comfortable wielding for extended periods of time - therefore, a lighter weapon was something that could tick that box. Large blades did not suit Lyra in the least. Additionally, a two-handed weapon was out of the question - far too brawny, far too heavy, and too much focus on the destruction of the enemy. Something noble, nimble, dextrous. These qualities she could speak to.
Finally, Lyra’s eyes settled on a single weapon resting upon a rack. Its razor-thin blade, sharp point, hand-guard and genteel angles immediately jumped out at her. This rapier, a weapon that she at least could identify, seemed… right. Every step was lonely and echoed loudly against the wooden floors, the only noise in the room as she came to stand before it. Tender fingers reached down to grasp the blade and the handle. It was as light as she expected it to be. Well-polished and kept honed, this particular rapier was a craftsmanship paradise. It had been loved, freshly-oiled to keep it in good condition, and the workmanship on the fittings spoke to nothing but love that had created this weapon. A ruby sat laid into the hilt, where it sparkled brilliantly under the light, every facet carved with absolute perfection to be a myriad straight edges. Yes. Every moment she stared at this blade she knew more and more that this was the right kind of implement for her to be wielding. This was something that ticked every box: light to make up for her lack of physical strength; dextrous in order to allow her to demonstrate nothing but technical finesse, speaking to her need to practise and improve herself with every flourish; sufficiently decorative that it was not only aesthetically pleasing but spoke to her love of beautiful design and not sufficiently an offensive weapon that it was really good at causing gratuitous violence. This was it. This was the weapon. Lyra knew, in her heart, at that very moment, that wielding a rapier-- or something similar-- was exactly what she needed in order to flourish.
She turned the weapon over in her hands, examining it one last time. As she wrapped her fingers around the hilt to rest behind the basket guard, she carefully touched it such that it could manipulate its way around the air with nothing but a light touch. It was a good weapon. She liked it. Perhaps in the future she would commission the creation of a weapon that suited her natural abilities a little better, but for now this would do just fine.
Rapier, huh? came a sudden voice in the back of her mind.
That was unexpected.
”Yeah. Rapier. What do you think?”
Rhett, her conjoined spirit guide, was considerate of the option that she had chosen. Yeah. Good choice. Suits you just fine, actually, given how light and nimble it is. And, bonus points, you can poke holes into whatever you need to turn into cheese at any given time. Nice reach, very flexible, good for parry and riposte. Defensive weapon, more than anything. I think you’ll enjoy it.
Lyra smiled warmly at the choice. It was good to know that her initial gut feeling had been absolutely spot on with the rapier, meaning that she was entirely justified in her attempts to wield the blade. She knew it wasn’t going to be an easy path to follow-- after all, it meant that she was now prompted to study both magic and martial arts in equal measure-- but it was going to be necessary. Everything in her body told her that after this point, after the equilibrium of her magic training had tipped past its balance point, that she was going to be forced into situations where the defensive option was sadly not the correct answer. She was going to have to be able to fight. She did not relish that thought, not in the least. It was not her way. It was the way that, for some time, she had sworn against, but she was going to have to learn and adapt given the circumstances. It was true in her heart of hearts that battle was the unfortunate necessity of Fiore and the rest of Earthland. Other people, wild beasts, other countries-- these were all things far beyond her scope of control and even then she was not able to stop a war. Nor would she be able to sway entire countries. At best she could control herself and hopefully-- maybe-- influence others. This was how it had to be.
With a pause, she looked up to the roof. ”Are you familiar with the rapier?” Lyra asked of Rhett, suddenly.
Lyra Karant. Am I, a certified galactic-level weapons instructor, familiar with a basic pointy stick? What a silly question. Of course I am. You want me to walk you through the most basic parts?
The rose mage rolled her eyes with a smirk. Sometimes that voice could be a right pain in the backside, but he was absolutely right. Whatever qualifications he claimed to have, he was always able to back up with either a dearth of knowledge or with a take-over of her body that could provide a physical demonstration that allayed any fears or questions that she might have had. There was no reason to doubt him here-- not that she was planning on it-- and she was going to have him show her the ropes. If nothing else, she was going to try her very best to at least get a grasp on the weapon, both figuratively and literally. It was a start.
”Yes please.”
Right. First things first. This is your first weapon. You are going to have to deal with the fact that you are not fighting with hands and feet. This weapon is an extension of your body, and you will not be able to realise that fact until you’ve put in thousands of hours of training. It will be awkward and wonky. You won’t get used to that soon. You’re gonna look like a weird baby animal trying to walk. Okay?
That put a wrinkle in her nose. ”Okay. I… kinda get it.”
Okay. Good. Now for your first actual lesson - your grip is going to be a little awkward. It’s what is referred to as a pistol grip, or a ring grip. Take the hilt in your hand. Put your thumb and index finger up near the bottom of the blade.
Lyra’s hand slid up towards the top of the hilt, feeling the wood smooth in the palm of her hand. She did as she was bade, letting her hand do most of the work. He was right, it was a little awkward at this point in time.
Next. Your pinky finger needs to engage a little bit. It’s going to help you balance the sword in your hand. You do not grip with just your first two fingers. You can relax your third and fourth finger too. The ring grip comes from the fact that you’re going to be guiding the tip of the blade with the ring shape formed by your first two fingers, see?
That, too, followed suit. He was absolutely right. The sword felt like it was resting in Lyra’s hand naturally now, where she could guide the blade with little more than movements of her wrist. Was this what it felt like to hold a weapon? Did it come naturally with this sense of pride? She was starting to understand this fascination after all.
Good. Finally, your feet. Stand about a shoulder width and a half wide, front on. Then, point your front foot 90 degrees - that will be towards your target. Optimally, your back foot needs to point 90 degrees to the side. I know you’re left handed, so your right foot will be back. Get used to pushing off that foot. Bend your knees. Be light and pliable. Hips at about forty-five degrees. You won’t use much hip rotation with a rapier, at least. Tip of your blade at your enemy’s throat. You keep them threatened at all times, whether you have your sword in close or far away.
Lithe feet slid over polished floorboards, guiding Lyra as her instructor told her to do. It was a little wide for her liking, but she could see the advantage of reach here. With her weight centred between her feet, it almost felt… natural. Instinctively, she pushed her weight forward with her back foot, extending with her front - the blade lunged forward like lightning, skewering the invisible target that she visualised for just a second in time. The amount of distance she could cover, the speed at which she could thrust that sword - it seemed like the right choice.
Good. You get it.
In that moment, it seemed that she did. There was no brutish force required. There was speed, dexterity, quick reflexes and a mind that needed to be as sharp as the tip of the weapon. For the first time, holding an implement of destruction in her hands, Lyra understood why it was certain peoples’ choice.
For the first time, she understood that battle was sometimes the unfortunate answer to the eternal problem of life.
MEL @ WW
