Hawking Kingdom, Corus-

Clack clack.... CLACK! The sharp sound of wood on wood sounds out as three men surround a fourth in broad daylight. Circling the man slowly as he stands in the center of an open air courtyard, the three men keep their lower body in constant motion. Balancing lightly on the balls of their feet, ready to advance or retreat at a moments notice, their coordinated movements scream experience, both in battle and with each other. With grimaces of intense concentration and grudging respect, they wield heavy pieces of dark wood which have been carved into the rough shape of a two handed sword. Large drops of sweat roll down their faces as they stare fixedly at the man between them, clearly indicating this battle had gone on for some time. Gradually the tension begins to rise as the three prepare for their next coordinated attack.

On closer inspection of the man in the center it becomes clear that calling him a man may be a bit premature. His long hair, the color of dark honey, is pulled tight behind his head and tied with length of white cloth, revealing a bright and youthful face. The young man is tall and fit, but not overly muscular, and his strong jaw line and good looks give him the appearance of a handsome, young, high born lord. Not to mention his deep green eyes that had weakened the knees, and the resolve, of a fair number of young ladies in the capitol. His posture is firm, yet relaxed as he waits for the three men to position themselves for their next assault. Sensing the movement of the man directly behind him begin to slow, he lowers himself slightly toward the packed earth floor of the courtyard into a defensive stance. Tightening his grip on his weapon he ceases any thought and completely quiets his mind. Taking in all five senses, he calmly exists in a world without distraction. His body and weapon become one, his mind attains clarity, and a look of serenity emerges onto his face. He is ready.

Standing at the edge of the courtyard Jacov Gremory watches his student's duel against the three battle hardened warriors. The sturdy old man with short cropped salt and pepper hair observes the fight with equal measures pride and concern. Missing his left arm just below the elbow, his body slowly failing with age, it had been nearly three years since he could even hold the boy to a draw in their training sessions. Thus he had been forced to call upon the personal guards of the young man's father, and Jacov's oldest friend, Lars. Jacov knew Lucian had long since gotten used to fighting two at a time, and so today he had decided to throw a third well paid and highly skilled man into the session. Lucian Deschain. Thinking his pupils name caused warm and vivid memories to run through his mind.

He had met the boy in that magical time in between when a child first learns to walk and when they first begin to talk. Never having children of his own he had quickly developed feelings of deep fatherly affection for him. His instruction began before he had even spoken his first word. The child would sit and watch as he moved his feet through different stances and movements and soon began to copy Jacov and follow along with his practice. The lessons continued and, all things concerned, events were progressing well, except for one point. By the age of four Lucian had still not uttered an intelligible word. He would point and grunt, he would shake or nod his head in response to questions, and he followed instructions to the letter, but if he was asked to speak or for a more in depth answer than a nod, the boy would simply shrug his shoulders with a stupid grin and look elsewhere. There was no physical explanation and no way to force him to speak, and so it was decided to simply continue on as if nothing were wrong. That all ended the day Lucian, four now, was presented with his first practice sword.

As the boy sat with crossed legs in front of him, Jacov began a long and droning lecture about the importance of caring for a sword. Ensuring that he covered all the points of safety and etiquette in careful detail, from just after breakfast until just before lunch the lesson had continued uninterrupted. After eating he had led the boy to the open air courtyard set aside for martial practice and presented the wooden sword to the youth hilt first. Watching as the boy took care not to touch the "blade" portion of the weapon, Jacov nodded in satisfaction and instructed him to turn and stand facing away. As his student did so, Jacov approached him and knelt, wrapping both arms around him and adjusted the boys grip until his right hand rested on the upper portion of the hilt and the top finger of his left hand was interlocked with the pinky finger on his right. He then aligned the child's thumbs so that they pointed straight ahead toward the tip of the blade. Having observed the way Lucian's wrists had trembled while holding the weapon he could tell it was slightly too heavy, despite being made an appropriate size for his age. This grip would unify his hands and stabilize his wrists, increasing his control in the short term while his body catches up to the weight of the of the wood.

With his aim achieved he stood and said to the boy "Hold the sword like this for now."

And that's when it happened. The boy spoke his first word. A word that would become the bane of his teacher's existence for the next 13 years. A word his teacher would hear in his nightmares too many times to count.

With a quiet, soft, and tiny voice, the boy had tilted his head to the side with a quizzical expression and asked "Why?"

Hold it like this. Why? Swing it like this. Why? Extend further. Why? Don't focus your attention to strongly on any one thing. Why? An endless procession of the same question, asked in the same manner, and the boy would accept nothing less than a complete and thorough explanation to whatever point had piqued his curiosity. Over time he had learned to speak normally, of course, but his overwhelmingly favorite word, by a large margin, was "why".

The shiver running down his spine at the thought of the accursed word snapped Jacov out of his reverie just in time to notice the tension of the combatants rise sharply, without doubt the assault of the guards would resume in the next second or so. Looking to Lucian he sees a serene and comfortable expression on his face which doesn't have drop of sweat on it.

"Hmph..." he grumbles quietly to himself "they're not even pushing him. Why drag it out, fool? Just end it."

 Just as the last word had escaped his teacher's mumbling lips Lucian felt the guard who had been slowly approaching from behind, dash forward and attempt a fierce downward blow to the back of his head. Utilizing the full range of his agility and reflexes, he swiftly spins around to his right, exposing his left and right rear flank to the other two opponents, and uses a sweeping over head chop to impact the incoming blow from the side, knocking it off course. Keeping the wooden blades in contact, he follows the momentum until the tip of the guards sword digs into the packed earth floor of the courtyard. Not wasting even a fraction of a second he immediately lands a hard back elbow to the guards nose, crushing it flat against his face in such a spectacular fashion that blood seemed to explode from the impact in all directions. Releasing his sword and letting out a very undignified shriek, the guard falls on his ass clutching at his flattened and crooked nose which is leaking blood faster than a punctured water skin.

Ignoring the spluttering and temporarily disabled guard for now, Lucian turns to his direct right and meets the horizontal slash from the approaching guard on his right flank. With no time to avoid or deflect the power of the strike, he can only stand there and receive the blow with his weapon. Bending his knees, locking his wrists and elbows, loosening his shoulders, and taking a half step back with his right leg, Lucian spreads the impact from the heavy practice sword to every joint in his body. A sharp intake of breath from the guard, as his sword is stopped abruptly in its tracks, speaks volumes of his shock, but Lucian has no time to capitalize on this moment as he drops and rolls swiftly to his left, narrowly avoiding the diagonal swipe of the third guard. Coming out of the roll on one knee he executes a back handed swipe to his right. A loud crack! sounds out as the blunt yet thin edge of the hard wood sword collides with the first guards head. The man goes limp and slips into unconsciousness, blissfully escaping the pain of his crushed nose. Standing quickly and taking two sprinting steps forward, Lucian hears the sound of whooshing air as two wooden practice swords slice through the space his body had just occupied. Spinning gracefully once again, his body slips into a defensive stance out of long habit, ready for the next attack.

"One down, two to go." Thinks Lucian with no good or bad feelings, easily maintaining his mind's state of clarity and serenity.

The two remaining guards look to each other out of the corner of their eyes, silently coming to an agreement, and nod. The next few seconds of the bout are a blur of ferocious chops, sly feints, and swift slashes as the two attempt to simply overwhelm Lucian with superior skill, team work, and experienced tactics. At first it seems this strategy will be effective as the two pressure the young man into furiously defending himself with all his might. But then the sound of a slap!, almost overrun by a muffled snap! Lucian had finally counter attacked, slipping past the unbalanced defense of one of the guards, his weapon had impacted strongly against the man's arm in the area just below the shoulder where the muscle is thin. The broken arm now hung uselessly at the man's side. Using the short moment when the broken armed guard retreated out of reflex, Lucian deftly parried a slash from the last guard and then viciously crushed the man's knee with a back hand swipe. With mind numbing pain coursing up from his leg, the guard fell flat on his ass and looked up just in time to see Lucian's sword veritably ripping the air apart as it slashed down toward his head.

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"YIELD!!" the terrified guard screamed hoarsely.

"Yield.." nodded the broken armed guard in a more normal tone.

Lucian had frozen the instant the first guard had yielded, his frame still as a statue, and his sword, held steady as a rock, had come so close to the third guards face that you could hear the stubble on the man's cheek scrape against the wood as he pulled his wide eyed head away from the weapon.

As he watched the skillful conclusion of the fight, Jacov's emotions fluctuated wildly. He so badly wanted to praise his talented student, but he had learned years ago not to praise the simple minded boy. One word of compliment and the idiot would be filled with a fiery desire to improve even more. Abandoning himself to training, he would continue without rest until his body simply collapsed from exhaustion. As a child it was assumed that this behavior was just another quirk to his already strange personality, but when the connection was discovered it was decided, for the boys safety, no form of positive encouragement would be given. Thankfully though, it seemed the child didn't need words of praise. His straightforward and honest character just needed to be shown the way and he would train diligently without encouragement. As these thoughts bounce through Jacov's mind, he sees Lucian relax and straighten his posture. Standing there with a goofy grin on his face.

"Good Fight!" he exclaims grin transforming into a broad and charming smile.

"Ye-Yes sir..." hoarsely grunts the guard still gritting his teeth in pain.

"Hhheeehh" sighing softly at his powerful but oblivious pupil he hollers out loud "Priest!"

Just after a thin priest in white robes trimmed with gold filigree steps through the arched entryway to the courtyard. Softly jingling in his decorative attire he walks swiftly to the unconscious guard, bending over him. A golden pendant in the shape of a five point star surrounded by a circle, the holy symbol of Anwar, dangles from his neck as he places one hand on the guards broken bloody nose and the other on the gash in his scalp. In quiet whispers he speaks his prayer to Anwar, beseeching His strength and blessing to heal the injured man. A soft white light gradually starts to appear, emanating faintly from the priest's hands as well as the holy symbol on his necklace. The light slowly intensifies before quickly dissipating and the healing is complete. The guard's eyes flutter as he emits a groan and brings his hand to his face, gently feeling along his already uninjured nose.

Satisfied the worst injury was seen to, Lucian walks toward a weapon rack at the edge of the courtyard and properly stores his weapon, then turns toward his teacher and casually approaches.

"Well?" he asks, smiling stupidly

"Took you long enough," replies Jacov gruffly "Toy with your enemies in a real fight, boy, and you'll be on your back, starin' at the sky forever."

Smile turning sheepish, the youth looks to the side and mumbles in a low voice "Nothing wrong with a bit of exercise."

Growling internally, Jacov puts on his most severe scowl, glaring at the boy.

"Lucian, what you did today was very disrespectful." he scolds

"Disrespectful?" asks Lucian head cocking to the side confused.

"That's right, boy. You toyed with those men for half an hour, lettin 'em tire themselves out on you. When you finally do attack, those poor men were so winded they were practically useless as you wiped the damn floor with 'em." continuing on in a very serious tone he says "Hear me Lucian, and remember. "If you must fight, win. Since you must win, do your best to win decisively" do you understand?"

Watching the boys face change expressions as he chews on the words of wisdom that were just imparted to him, Jacov is feeling every inch the teacher. Highly proud of his own insights and advice, he sees understanding and acceptance slowly claim his students face.

"Hmph," he thinks, ego beginning to swell "Seems this old dog still has a few tricks to teach after all."

But just then, the look of acceptance vanishes from the young man's face to be replaced by a mischievous grin.

"I hear you jacov, and will remember, but I don't think that the situation fits... how should i put it..." Lucian's face then twists into a severe scowl. His inner brow dropping low while his outer brows rose high and the sides of his mouth pulled themselves down into a deep frown with one side just slightly lower than the other. In truth it was a rather good impression of Jacov's permanently irritated expression. He then continues in a gravely serious tone, again quite similar to how Jacov had just been talking.

"Since they must fight me, my father pays them. Since my father pays them, I will do my best to use them to the fullest."

"Pffugh.. bleh.. glur..." sputtering in anger Jacov's eyes turn fierce as he jumps at the boy attempting to lay hold of him "Use my sage advice to mock me will ya'? Ya' shitty brat!" he bellows chasing after the fleeing Lucian. Swinging his good arm and trying to kick the disrespectful little punk in the ass, he finally gets lucky and trips him up.

Looking up from the ground at his enraged, one armed teacher, Lucian is laughing hard and smiling so widely it was surprising his face didn't split in half

"HAHAHAH!!.. Yield! Yield, Jacov!... I YIELD! HAHAHAH." says the boy laughing maniacally.

Sensing his revenge at hand, Jacov closes in and is just about to land a full forced kick to the ass when...

"Ahem..." a voice is heard

Looking up from their play the two see that the guards and priest have vacated the courtyard and in their place stands a young messenger. Over his shoulder to his hip a wide sash is hung in the gold and white colors of the royal palace.

The boy steps forward and Jacov experiences a sinking feeling. Somehow he knows that, for whatever reason the boy is here, something very important... even life changing has come to pass.

"Pardon the intrusion good sirs. I was told I might find the young master Lucian Deschain in this courtyard. Shall I presume that to be you?" he asks while looking down at Lucian still lying on his back in the dirt.

Raising himself up Lucian dusts of his tan training uniform and says "Erm... Yes, I am Lucian Deschain."

"Excellent." reaching behind his sash to retrieve a tightly rolled piece of paper, tightly bound with gold ribbon and white wax, and pressed with the seal of the royal palace, a soaring hawk with a serpent grasped in its talons, he Extends it to  Lucian "This message is for you."

Stepping forward Jacov holds out his hand to take the paper saying "I'll take it."

Retracting the message immediately the boy bows low.

"My humblest apologies, good sir, but my instructions are specific." says the boy "I must place this scroll directly into the hands of Lucian Deschain."

Without a word Lucian walks forward and holds out his hand, upon which the message is placed directly. Unceremoniously breaking the seal, he then passes the message off to Jacov without even so much as a glance. Jacov unrolls the scroll and begins to read as the messengers face pales upon seeing this series of events. A long moment passes as Jacov reads, re-reads, and then does it all over again, ensuring that there was no mistake in his understanding. Lucian, impatient and curious, finally sighs in frustration.

"Well?" he questions "what does it say?"

"Its a summons." says Jacov, not looking up from the scroll.

"For me?" asks Lucian head leaning "But I don't have anything to do with the palace. I've never even met any of those high lords and ministers.... wait. Who's it from?"

Jacov lowers the message as he fixes his students deep green eyes with a meaningful look.

"The King..."