Elfborn: The Quest

Training

Accustomed to hard work and discipline from his two years in the service of Master farmer Jeck de Whittier, Lash smoothly and easily integrated into the grinding training that quickly consumed his every waking moment. The grueling routine of rising early, eating hardy if somewhat plain food then training both his mind and body until the sun dipped below the horizon suited him well.

So well, in fact, that just as quickly as the training consumed him, Lash found himself excelling at it. Swiftly he progressed through the ranks, easily outstripping those that began their training with him to pass the three cohorts that went before him with equal speed. Though he despised Frederik for putting him there, Lash silently thanked the Germansic king for giving him the opportunity to become what he had always been in his heart: a warrior.

Of course, having the memories of the greatest warrior mage ever to grace the Earth in his mind certainly helped. Along with Ithus' memories came that whispering voice that goaded him into greater and greater effort, the one he couldn't name or find a source to. He half suspected it was Ithus himself, his memories powerful enough to give him a presence in Lash's mind. From that place he pushed his descendant to not only become as good as he had been, but to exceed him in every way. All in the name of succeeding this time, without explaining when he had failed in the past.

So, between his own native resolve, and the whispering goading him on, the young Hybernian Elfborn found himself consumed with the training. Consumed to the point that nightfall often found him still practicing with the sword, spear, staff and long sword, as well as the axe, the mace, the morning star and other weapons of the knight. He would work long into the darkness, his Elfborn sight allowing him to see what normal humans could not. And, when his audience, drawn by his willingness to continue practicing long after the other knight-candidates had withdrawn to their tents in exhaustion, had finally melted away, he practiced the forms Ithus' memories filled his mind with, further honing his skills.

The transition from human methods of war to those of the Shae soon became natural as the young knight-apparent became comfortable and at ease with both. Eyes closed and hip deep in the icy snow that covered the practice fields, Lash moved from one form to the next, always moving, always ready for both defense and attack.

It didn't take long before the young man's dedication and rapidly growing skill captured the attention of more powerful men than the common soldiers and camp followers that found themselves drawn to the young man's practice.

"How's my silver arrow doing?" Frederik asked lightly as he halted beside a frowning Guile who watched Lash going through a set of exercises in the middle of the practice yard with his fellow trainees.

The scarred knight looked over his shoulder to see a heavily bundled Germansic king standing at the head of a retinue of no less than ten knights, in addition to servants and courtiers. All were dressed against the cold wind that was whipping through the camp, threatening to freeze the skin of any who were foolish enough to leave it exposed.

"Your Majesty," Guile rumbled, putting a gauntleted fist over his heart in salute before he turned back to the practice yard.

Just in time to see Lash throw his staff flatly horizontal into the air before smoothly leaping over it, rolling in mid air to drop onto his feet and catch the staff before it began to drop. He then continued the exercise, snapping the staff back and forth almost too fast for the naked eye to follow. All that in full armor.

Guile shook his head in grudging admiration at the brazen display of raw speed and lightning quick reflexes. The grizzled veteran had learned over the last few weeks that, despite the young man's diminutive breadth, he was fast. And strong, oh so strong! Just Yesterday in a light sparring practice with the staff, de Marniet had dumped him not once, but four times in a row before he could even set himself to attack! And that, he knew by experience, wasn't something easy to do. It certainly made handing that bag of gold to the boy's uncle only slightly less painful, something he had to do a mere five days after the Lazrus began his training when, during their very first sparring session with longswords, Lash dumped him rather unceremoniously into the snow after neatly disarming him.