🎵: Dash of the Daring, Rise of the Iron Will, Babel's Harmony, Whispers of the Unseen
Another afternoon, another training session with Mac and Koren. The familiar weight of two practice blades settled in my hands as I faced today's challenge.
"Right," Mac called out, "we're mixing it up today. Koren's brought some friends."
I turned to see four other guards joining Koren, each with different weapons. Perfect—more enemy types for the dodge requirements.
"Remember," Mac continued, "focus on your rhythm. Those Rhythmic Strikes still need work."
The first guard stepped forward, a spear twirling expertly in her hands. Sarah, I think her name was. She started slowly, showing me the basic thrusts and reaches of her weapon.
"Feel the distance," she instructed, jabbing the spear forward. I stepped back, but not quite far enough—the wooden shaft caught my ribs. "See? Spears have longer reach than you expect. Again."
We spent the next twenty minutes on footwork. Step, dodge, step again. The spear's reach kept catching me, but I gradually found the rhythm—when to step in past the point, when to fade back from the thrust.
You successfully used Dodge!
"Better," Sarah noted as I finally wove past her guard. "Now let's speed it up."
The next exchange was faster, more intense. I tried to bring my blades into play, attempting to time my strikes between her thrusts.
You successfully used Rhythmic Strike!
The spear caught me in the shoulder, making me stumble. "Don't get overconfident," she warned. "Just because you dodged one thrust doesn't mean you're safe from the next."
We continued trading blows, my success rate improving but still taking hits when I mistimed my movements. The spear's rhythm differed from what I was used to—longer beats between attacks, but covering more ground. I had to stay light on my feet, constantly adjusting to the changing pace and angle of attack. Each thrust came with a different level of intensity, and I learned quickly that even a small lapse in focus could cost me.
After what felt like an hour with the spear (and several new bruises to show for it), I was already feeling drained when Mac called up the mace wielder. The shift in weapons promised a whole new kind of challenge. Built like a wall, Bron grinned as he hefted his weapon.
"Maces are different," he explained, demonstrating a slow swing. "We don't need to pierce or cut. Even a glancing blow can ruin your day."
He wasn't kidding. The first time I tried to parry the mace with my practice blade, the sheer force nearly knocked it from my hand. The second time, I dodged.
You successfully used Dodge!
"Don't try blocking these," Mac called out. "That's not what those blades are for."
Bron pressed forward, his mace creating tight, brutal arcs. I wove between them, trying to find the rhythm, but these weren't the clean movements I was used to. The mace had its own tempo—shorter, more brutal. Each swing was like a hammer crashing down, and I quickly realized that staying in one spot for too long was a recipe for disaster.
When it caught my thigh, even with practice padding, my leg buckled. Stars danced in my vision as I rolled away from the follow-up strike.
"See?" Bron helped me up. "Crushing force. Doesn't matter how sharp your blades are if you can't feel your arm."
I nodded, shaking out my leg. This time I focused on staying mobile, looking for gaps between swings. The mace's weight meant each strike had a recovery time—there was my opening.
You successfully used Rhythmic Strike!
"Good!" Mac approved. "Use their recovery time. But remember-"
Bron's backswing caught me in the ribs before Mac could finish. "-mace fighters train to use the backswing too," he wheezed through clenched teeth.
The more I dodged, the more I understood the importance of avoiding blunt force, as each hit not only caused pain but also eroded my confidence. There was no building up resistance to crushing force—only learning to avoid it. Bruises formed quickly, each one a reminder of my mistakes.
You successfully used Rhythmic Strike!
"Rhythm's improving," Koren noted from the sidelines. "But you're favouring your right side now. Bron, show him why that's a mistake."
The mace swept in from my left, forcing me to scramble. My dodge was awkward, but at least I stayed standing.
"Remember," Bron lectured between strikes, "maces don't need perfect aim. Close enough can still break bones. Distance is your friend."
After the mace lesson left me humbled (and bruised), the staff wielder stepped forward. Elena moved with a dancer's grace, her staff spinning in complex patterns. Unlike the brute strength of Bron or the precision of Sarah, Elena's movements were fluid and controlled, each step calculated to maintain balance and control the battlefield. Her style was less about overpowering and more about flowing seamlessly, making her staff an extension of her body.
"Staff fighting isn't just about hitting hard," she explained, demonstrating a basic sequence. "It's about controlling space."
I quickly learned what she meant. Where the mace was brutal force and the spear was about reach, the staff seemed to be everywhere at once. One end swept at my feet while the other threatened my head. It was like fighting two opponents at once, and I had to constantly adjust my stance to keep from being overwhelmed.
I ducked under a high strike, feeling confident.
You successfully used Dodge!
Only to have the other end of the staff catch me behind the knee. "Never watch just one end," Elena chided. "The staff flows like water—when one end moves, the other responds."
This was a different rhythm. The staff created circles of movement, continuous and flowing. I tried matching her pace with my blades, but each time I thought I had it, she would change direction, catching me off guard.
You successfully used Rhythmic Strike!
"Better," she nodded, "but you're still thinking linear. Staff work is about circles within circles."
She demonstrated by creating a defensive sphere around herself, the staff a constant blur of motion. When I tried to strike, the wood seemed to find my fingers from impossible angles. It was frustrating, but also fascinating. The staff wasn't just a weapon—it was an extension of her body, moving with a fluidity that I struggled to match.
"Stop trying to force your rhythm on the staff," Mac called out. "Find its natural flow instead."
It took thirty minutes of being peppered with hits before I started to understand. The staff's rhythm wasn't about single beats—it was continuous, like a waltz. When I finally began moving in harmony with its flow, things clicked.
You successfully used Rhythmic Strike!
"Now you're getting it," Elena smiled, right before sweeping my feet out from under me. "But never get comfortable. Staffs are versatile—we can change tempo at any moment."
The next series of exchanges left me gasping. Fast strikes blended into sweeping movements, overhead flourishes flowed into low sweeps. Each movement was a test, forcing me to adapt and keep up with her changing pace. My muscles burned, and my mind raced to expect her next move. It wasn't just physical—it was a mental game, constantly assessing her intentions and trying to predict her next move. The challenge of staying one step ahead was as exhausting as the physical strain.
Each time I thought I had the pattern, Elena would shift it.
Finally, drenched in sweat and sporting an impressive collection of bruises, I faced Elena's replacement. The chain fighter, Renna, let her weapon sway almost lazily at her side.
"Chains are unpredictable," she started, giving her weapon an experimental swing. "Just when you think you know where it's going..."
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The chain changed direction mid-swing, wrapping around my ankle. A sharp tug sent me sprawling. My balance ripped away as the ground seemed to vanish beneath me. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs, leaving me flat on my back, staring up at the sky. "...it surprises you," she finished with a smirk, helping me up.
Unlike the rigid patterns of the spear or the flowing circles of the staff, the chain seemed to defy any sense of rhythm. It could be loose one moment, rigid as a spear the next. It was like trying to fight a serpent that could change shape at will.
The first few minutes were pure frustration. Every time I thought I had an opening, the chain would snake around my guard from an impossible angle. It was like trying to fight smoke, always shifting, always elusive.
"Stop trying to predict it," Mac advised. "React to what you see, not what you expect."
That helped. When I stopped trying to force a pattern and just moved with instinct, things improved. I let my body move naturally, reacting to the chain's movements without overthinking.
You successfully used Dodge!
"Good!" Renna called out. "But chains have momentum. What happens after a dodge is just as important as the dodge itself."
She demonstrated by letting me dodge one strike, only to have the chain's momentum carry it into a second, faster attack that caught me across the back. It was a harsh reminder that the chain's unpredictability was its greatest strength.
"Chains can accelerate," she explained as I picked myself up. "The longer they move, the more dangerous they become."
You successfully used Rhythmic Strike!
"Interesting choice," she noted after my attack. "But remember—chains can wrap around blades too."
Sure enough, my next Rhythmic Strike ended with both practice blades nearly being yanked from my hands. The chain's flexibility made it perfect for disarming attacks, and I had to fight to keep hold of my weapons.
The next half hour was a harsh lesson in adaptability. The chain could strike like a whip, entangle like a net, or straight up bludgeon like a mace. Once, Renna used the chain to wrap around my wrist, then twisted it sharply, forcing me off balance before swinging it back like a flail. Each time I thought I had its measure, Renna would show another aspect of its versatility. It was exhausting, both mentally and physically, trying to keep up with her constant changes.
Just when I thought we were finishing, Mac called out, "Right, now for the proper challenge. Everyone back in—let's see how you handle multiple threats."
My eyes widened as all four fighters spread out around me. Sarah with her spear, Bron and his mace, Elena wielding her staff, and Renna's chain dancing at her side.
"Remember what you learned," Koren advised. "Each weapon has its rhythm, but together they create chaos. Find your own beat within it."
They started moving, and suddenly the training ground became a deadly dance floor. The spear thrust forced me back, right into the staff's sweep. I dodged the staff...
You successfully used Dodge!
...only to have Bron's mace force me to dive sideways. The chain whistled overhead as I rolled, my muscles screaming from hours of abuse. It was relentless, each attack coming from a different direction, each weapon demanding a different response.
"Don't just react!" Mac shouted. "Create openings!"
I tried weaving between them, using what I'd learned. The spear's reach meant Sarah had to keep her distance—that gave me space to work with. When Bron committed to a heavy mace swing, I used that recovery time...
You successfully used Rhythmic Strike!
But Elena's staff was there to cover his weakness, forcing me back into Renna's range. The chain caught my arm, and I barely twisted free before the mace could take advantage. It was like being caught in a storm, each weapon a different gust of wind pushing me in a new direction.
"Better!" Koren called. "But you're still treating each weapon separately. They're working together—you need to do the same!"
He was right. I'd learned each weapon's rhythm, but now they were creating a symphony of steel and wood. The spear would drive me into the staff's range, the staff would force me toward the mace, and the chain was there to punish any predictable escapes. I had to think beyond individual opponents and see the entire picture.
You successfully used Rhythmic Strike!
Slowly, painfully, I started finding moments of clarity. Using the spear's reach against the chain's range, letting the mace's power create space from the staff. Each weapon's weakness became an opportunity, if I could just time it right. It was like solving a puzzle, each piece fitting into place if I could just keep up.
"Time!" Mac finally called after what felt like hours. I collapsed, every muscle trembling, my lungs burning from the effort.
"Not bad," Koren helped me up. "You're starting to understand. Each weapon is dangerous alone, but live combat isn't one-on-one duels. You need to read multiple rhythms at once."
"Tomorrow," Mac grinned, "we'll work on fighting multiple opponents while on uneven ground. Maybe in the rain."
I groaned. The bruises from today hadn't even formed yet.
"But," he added, "you're making progress. Just remember—today's lessons weren't about perfection. They were about understanding. Every hit you took taught you something."
Looking at my collection of bruises, I had to agree. I'd learned a lot—most of it the hard way. But each bruise was a lesson, each ache a reminder of what I needed to do better. And that, in its own painful way, felt like progress.
Training Summary
Dual Wield Progress:
* Combat encounters completed: 4/5 (Just one more to go!)
* All Rhythmic Strike requirements met! (30/30 - Finally!)
* Notable Achievement: Held my own against four different weapon styles
Dodge Progress:
* Experience Target reached! (300/300)
* Consecutive Battle Success: 4/5
* Enemy Type Variety: 5/5
* Chain weapons are as terrifying as expected
Total Property Damage: None (Mac seemed almost disappointed)
Unintentional Acrobatics: Several (mostly while avoiding that chain)
Confused Onlookers: A small crowd by the end
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I'd only just begun my pot duty when Jay stormed into the kitchen, radiating the fury usually reserved for people who'd just stepped in dragon droppings. Gone was his usual calm smile, replaced by what I'd classify as Grade-A Murderous Intent.
"You absolute nemesis of serenity and sanity," he seethed, though I must say he phrased it considerably less politely. "You set me up!"
"Me?" I pressed a hand to my chest, the very picture of wounded innocence. "I don't have the faintest idea what you mean." The smirk probably didn't help my case.
"Oh really? So it's pure coincidence that the apple tarts vanished from the galley this morning, only to mysteriously materialize in my quarters? And now Captain Reed's shipping me off for actual spy work tomorrow morning, right after I finish—wait for it—pot duty!"
I couldn't help but notice how his eye was twitching. Fascinating. I stifled a laugh, knowing full well that pushing Jay any further might end poorly for me, but I couldn't help it. There was something oddly satisfying about seeing him so riled up—like I'd uncovered a hidden button that made the usually calm and composed Jay lose his cool entirely.
"You've ruined everything!" He threw his hands up. "Do you know how perfect this posting was? No worry about someone backstabbing you, minimal paperwork, and the food—gods, the food! But no, you just had to go and-"
"Why, Brendan? Why?" Jay's voice cracked with genuine hurt beneath the anger. "I thought we were..." He trailed off, leaving the word 'friends' hanging unspoken in the steam-filled air.
I set down my pot with a sigh, feeling an uncomfortable twinge of guilt that I quickly squashed. "A wise man once told me not to trust anyone," I replied, letting a hint of irony colour my words. "You might know him - older fellow, usually calm as a mountain and a pain in my ass this last week."
The look Jay gave me could have curdled milk at fifty paces. Before he could respond, Night Cook Matthews materialized from the shadows like some kind of kitchen-dwelling spectre, his weathered face set in its usual stern lines.
"Clean the grease trap," Matthews ordered Jay, his tone booking no argument. "And don't even think about trying to foist it off on Brendan. I've got my eye on both of you troublemakers."
As Jay trudged toward the grease trap, muttering what I assume were creative suggestions about where I could stick the pot I was working on, I noticed him missing something rather obvious. Something that made a sinister click as he approached.
✧ TRAP TRIGGERED ✧
Grease Trap Stink Bomb Unleashed
Create Complex Trap Checklist:
* âś“ Swipe apple tarts with roguish precision
* âś“ Frame Jay (sorry not sorry)
* âś“ Manipulate Captain Reed into assigning pot duty for the night
* âś“ Ensure Matthews directs him to grease trap cleaning
* âś“ Successfully distract master trap-finder with rage
Find/Create Traps Reached (Uncommon 4)
Find/Create Trap (Uncommon 4)
Effects:
* Detection Range: 12 metres
* Success Rate: 75% for simple traps, 50% for moderately complex traps, 20% for complex mechanical traps
New Ability: Harmonic Analysis - You can spend 1 minute analyzing a detected trap, gaining insight into its function and potential disarming methods.
Requirements for Uncommon 5:
* EXP Requirement: Gain 400 EXP in trap detection.
* Skill Usage Requirements:
* Use Harmonic Analysis on 10 different types of traps.
* Detect traps set by 5 different trap-makers or cultures.
* Use trap detection skills to deduce the purpose or history of a trapped area.
"Thanks for helping me level up my trap skills!" I called out cheerfully, taking an exaggerated bite of my last purloined apple tart. "The cinnamon really makes it, don't you think?"
That's when I learned something important about pushing one's luck. The darkness that crept into Jay's eyes wasn't the usual "I'm going to murder you" darkness. No, this was more "I'm going to murder you, resurrect you, and murder you again" darkness. The dagger that materialized in his hand suggested he was serious about at least the first part. I'm pretty sure I heard him mumble, "It's going to be hard to practice that new skill when you're dead," which, I had to admit, was a fair point–though not one I was eager to help him prove.
It was time for my ultimate technique: the ancient, noble, and frequently disastrous art of Running Away While Making Things Worse.
You sing Dash of the Daring
And so it came to pass, and history will tell, of how the bard Brendan was seen sprinting through the streets of Haven Cross, staying just a step ahead of a smoke-eyed assassin, while composing an impromptu ditty about the aromatic qualities of said assassin.
Oh, gather 'round and hear the tale of Haven's strangest day
When grease traps, tarts, and treachery led friendship astray
A bard too clever for his good (that fool, of course, is me)
Devised a trap that caught a friend who moved like shadows free
Now, through the streets of Haven Cross, a merry chase unfolds
Behind me runs an assassin whose rage could chill the bold
The flowers wilt, the children laugh, the merchants clear the way
As essence of the kitchen's depths announces dear friend Jay
Some say I took the joke too far, some say I've lost my mind
But levelling up's a tricky thing when targets are refined
Through market square and tavern yard, past temple, shop, and stall
Our legend grows with every step (if I survive at all)
Each time he closed the gap between, I'd pause my merry song
Then start again with fresher breath, to help me dash along
The stopping and the starting made this ditty quite unique
A song composed in bursts and gasps, while playing hide and seek
A tale is born of how a fool with a death wish (that's me)
Made an assassin smell so bad that flowers wilted as he fled
Through Haven Cross's gates they ran, one laughing, one seeing red
Into legend (or at least local gossip) for all eternity
So raise a glass to friendship true that bends but doesn't break
(Though after this, I might just need a lengthy trip to take)
For when the grease trap's memory fades, and tempers cool at last
We'll laugh about that summer day when death came running fast
The song seemed to weave itself into reality with each verse, my voice carrying through the streets between snickers and barely contained laughter. The townsfolk would later swear they could actually see the magic shimmering in the air, though that might have just been the grease trap fumes. Either way, I was creating art here–even if it might well turn out to be my last performance.
I'd like to say I learned my lesson about taking pranks too far. But let's be honest - the look on Jay's face was worth it. Besides, a bard's got to level up somehow, right? And if that means using my mentor for unwitting trap-detection practice... well, that's just efficient resource management.
They don't call me a master of the bardic arts for nothing. Though right now, they're mostly calling me "that idiot running for his life."
At least I got a song out of it.