lucetilogs | (no subject)

Through experience, he's found it's much more comfortable to train in the forest than in and around the battledome. Mostly because his property is familiar and quiet, unlikely to received uninvited visitors. It's predictable. But also because there's no hassle of needing to constantly watch where swords are swung. Trees didn't bleed, after all.

Hector turns to Firo as he works through the ties on his cloak. A tiny smile sneaks onto his mouth. "Aye. 'Tis quite a peaceful place. Even my familiars have taken a liking to it."

Firo smiles back as he slips out of his jacket. It seems a little funny to him to value a sparring spot for being "peaceful," but he supposes he can understand the logic.

"Familiars? Like those weird skull things?" The only familiars he knows are from stories about witches, but he imagines Hector wouldn't be flattered by being compared to some cartoonish, warty, green woman on a broomstick.

Hector folds his cloak over his arm and glances off toward his left. It's a minute detail he's is apt to omit, but one of his familiars is always with him, be it physically or in spirit. At this very moment, he can sense Cain, a man-sized, winged demon lurking in the thick of the forest beyond, can feel the wicked magic thrumming just beneath its scale-and-hide exterior. That magic had bristled as Firo drew nearer to the clearing, but Cain knew its orders. The creature was to guard the swords he'd hidden earlier that morning and stand sentinel as they sparred; no matter how much it ground its teeth or clicked its claws, it would not approach unless called.

"To a certain extent, yes," Hector replies, voice somewhat stiff as he kneels to fish beneath a cluster of branches. A moment later, he drags four blades into view, two of wood, and two of cold, gleaming steel. "Though they can do far more than bob about in the air or nibble one's fingers. Boneheads are virtually harmless in comparison, as these creatures were born solely for combat and protection."

It's probably for the best that Firo has no idea how to detect something like that. No matter how obedient a familiar is, just the thought of some other being quietly hanging around would creep him out. He nods at Hector's answer, trying to imagine what an actual familiar would look like. Probably weird. "So probably more dangerous than a black cat."

He raises an eyebrow as he watches Hector reveal the blades. Having no experience in forging or carving, he's impressed even with the wooden ones. "You made all a' those?"

The Forgemaster's choice of dress has been decidedly ordinary since arriving in Luceti, but his crafting is by no means nondescript. Loose, sloping intricacies are laid into the pommels and crossguards, and the hilts have been wrapped in soft, carefully cut leather. Bronze and steel and lacquered wood shine as brilliantly as polished crystal. Until that morning, they'd been tucked carefully away in his cellar, bound in doeskin and locked in a trunk with a modest selection of his other projects. Eyes glittering with a rare sense of pride, Hector runs his fingers along the flat of his blade. "I did. Much of my winter was spent alone, you see, and I was afforded plenty of time to revisit my craft." A beat later, he adds with a smile, "The gentler parts of it, of course."

He looks up and extends one of the wooden swords toward Firo. His smile fades. Bruises are kinder than missing limbs, and he hopes Firo will understand that. "I...know you have experience with knives, but please believe me when I say 'tis safer to experiment with these first. I have seen my fair share of accidents with whetted blades." He's got the ugly scar beneath his sleeve to prove it, too.

Pride being one of Firo's main failings, he can't help but frown a little when he's handed the wooden sword. While he does like to avoid being cut up, his first impulse is to think that he's being patronized. Firo's prickly as a porcupine when it comes to that--he has enough people talking down to him.

But then Hector's words reach his brain and the sense in them is easy enough to grasp. Hastily, he shakes his head as if to let his pout fall off. "Right, right."

He nods and takes the wooden sword by the middle of the hilt, grasping it with one hand and holding it straight up. His grip, more accustomed to a much smaller knife, could probably use some work. "Am I holdin' it right?"

Hector exhales slowly through his nose, scrutinizing Firo's grip with the same standard for perfection that he holds for himself. Life in the castle had been a cruel, but effective teacher. He learned quickly that the tiniest flaw in technique would dig a even the bravest man's grave, and a single slip-up would bury him in it. It's only when a bird begins to twitter somewhere above him that Hector's concentration breaks and his expression softens. Luceti wasn't a peaceful haven, but it was nothing like Dracula's fortress. This was a means of entertainment. Not preparation to defend each other from undead hordes. Here, mistakes could be made, could be fixed gently and with patience.

"Overall, yes, but your grip looks rather stiff to me," he says, taking up a sword for himself. "I am sure you know this from your experience with knives, but if one is too rigid, bones are easily broken. Too loose and the blade can be easily knocked aside." Hector steps back and flourishes his wooden weapon, rolls his wrist in a loose, but controlled figure eight. The pattern finished, he gestures toward a straw-and-canvas dummy lashed to the trunk of a nearby tree. "Relax your hand and experiment to see what grip best suits you."

There are other things to be said, but as a man who learns best with hands-on experience, he can't help but assume Firo is the same way. Many more things can be said, but for now, he stands in silence, ready to offer further aid and advice when it's needed. He doesn't want to ramble on like a tattered textbook.

He nods, chuckling a little. "Yeah, I have." Even once he was off the street and living with the Martillos, his teachers still weren't averse to teaching him things the hard way. They'd never go so far as to break his bones, but he wound up with plenty of scrapes and bruises for making mistakes. Hector's more hands-off approach is appreciated.

After he watches Hector demonstrate his grip, Firo moves to face the dummy. The heavier weight of the sword compared to the knife makes it a little difficult to adjust, but he does his best to heed Hector's advice and relax as much as he can. Even so, his first jabs at the dummy is slow and not too powerful as he tries to get a feel for the weapon.

[OOC: Sorry for the delay! It's been a busy week.]

Hector chews the inside of his cheek as he watches from a safe distance. Many of Dracula's troops, both human and non-human, once toiled and fought under Hector's watchful eye, and he knows who is best serving with an ax or a sword, who is of better use collecting corpses from the battlefield. Though they are without much power, he's certain there's potential to be found in Firo's strokes.

"Be patient, and balance will come," he says with an approving nod, the comment a soft reminder rather than a demand. "No man can learn the art in a single day."

[ooc: No worries, take any time you need!]

"Yeah, yeah, I know," his tone is amused rather than impatient. Everything takes time; impatient as Firo tends to be, he can accept that when it comes to training. "My teacher back home says he's still learnin' and he's probably even older than you."

He tries a few more slow swings, then speeds it up a little. Accustomed to close range fights, he doesn't notice that he's under-reaching with the sword and probably standing too close to the dummy.

[ooc: Thank you!]

Nodding his agreement, he staves off a chuckle. He firmly believes that new knowledge comes to those of any skill level, be they clumsy, greenhorn apprentices or well-seasoned masters. Perhaps if Lord Dracula, the undisputed champion of darkness and evil, had used his immortality to learn a few more tricks, he would not have fallen under Hector's blade. "Your teacher seems a wise fellow, then," he says, poking the tip of his blade into the soil and leaning against it. "Granted, I do not know him in person."

A few seconds pass before Hector once more draws attention to Firo's strokes. "Try taking a few steps back. 'Tis not necessary to stand so close with longer weapons. Stand close, and not only is it more difficult to swing, but you are left with less time to parry an opponent's attack."

"He is. Taught me a lotta what I know." For hand-to-hand, anyway; Ronnie and Mr. Martillo taught Firo most of his knife fighting. "He's a lot sharper than you'd think, too." Firo learned that the hard way.

He nods and adjusts his distance. After a moment, feeling the urge to move forward once again, he laughs and shakes his head. "...Feels weird bein' so far away."

"I have known men like that," Hector replies, a cool, but soft chuckle dancing across his voice. "'Tis most unwise to judge someone by their appearance alone, particularly when they aim a weapon toward you."

It's once more that the Forgemaster speaks from experience. As a man of scarcely eighteen summers, he'd commanded his first battle under Dracula's banner. Small it had been, but not small enough that an untested general could escape without issue. He'd cornered a straggler at the battle's end, and after thinking a dagger was no match for his sword, rushed in to finish him. Victory had luckily been his. But the jagged gash on his leg taught him lessons only experience could.

Ever watchful, he circles around to Firo's other side, blunted blade again resting against his shoulder. "Be mindful of your wrist again." A thoughtful pause, another chuckle. "But if you think this to be a strange distance, I suppose 'tis for the best I did not bring longswords."

Firo nods, grinning. This might not seem the cheeriest topic of conversation, but he likes thinking about his family. "Doesn't even need a weapon." Though, like any of the Martillos, Mr. Yagu's very capable of using one.

At that advice, Firo nods again and adjusts.

Sword still extended, Firo pauses his strikes to look over at Hector, eyes wide with disbelief. "There's ones even bigger?" He's interested in weapons, but he's never bothered to study them beyond what he can ask people. And gangsters have little use for swords.

Hector's brows lift in surprise. How could someone who's so interested in knives have no-, wait. Sighing, he kneads his temple, marveling at his own foolishness. He's spent countless candlelit hours picking through texts devoted to the sword, countless hours sparring with them and crafting them, and even months after being rudely plucked from his homeland, he sometimes forgets that such knowledge is uncommon outside his time.

Thinking back to the weapons in his current collection, he says, "Aye, there are. The zweihander, for instance, a sword as long as some men are tall. 'Tis mostly for ceremonial purposes, but I assure you it can still wreak terrible havoc if in the right hands."

Firo raises an eyebrow and smirks a little at Hector's expression. It's one that Firo's pretty familiar with seeing on other people, though he mistakes it for Hector thinking him the foolish one. "I told you, nobody uses swords where I come from. And I'm stupid, okay?" Firo's sensitive about a lot of things, but not his intelligence.

"That big?" He shakes his head. "Doesn't sound like it could be very fast." He thinks back to his friend Berga; the man's massive and powerful, but Claire's always been quicker. Then again, Claire's in a class of his own.

As he always has and always will, Hector takes the response a shade too close to heart. A fleeting, almost child-like sense of guilt dulls the ever-present edge in his eyes, making him appear somehow younger than his twenty-five years. Remorse is by no means a quality for a proper Devil Forgemaster to have, but the thought beads away like water on glass, leaving only faint impressions on his mood; Hector doesn't consider himself a hand of Dracula. Not now, and hopefully never again. Softly, he places a hand upon his breast. "My apologies," he says, eyes falling shut. "I did not mean to offend."

After a deep breath, he nods and gladly diverts his attention to the more pleasant of their topics. "No, it is not. In the time needed to swing it, you may very well find yourself without your head. That, and zweihanders are quite exhausting to carry, let alone wield."

The massive sword obviously wasn't brought to clearing, but if Firo wishes, he supposes he could drag the heavy old thing from his cellar. It's not seen the sun since his time in the vampire's castle, after all.

Firo finds it somewhat flattering, actually, that Hector would think to apologize for that. But more weird; Firo's used to people not worrying about offending him, and he wasn't even bothered by the look. Swords being more interesting than apologies, Firo decides he'll just have to tell Hector to lighten up later.

Firo won't say it, but he can't imagine having to lug around a sword much bigger or heavier than the one he's holding right now. His raised eyebrows and incredulous look down at the sword in his hand probably say it all, though. He's stronger than his size and looks would suggest, but he's used to being quick and maneuverable, not weighted down.

He shakes his head and looks from the sword to Hector. "Then why's anybody use 'em? For flash?"

Hector offers an easy shrug before leaning back against the nearest tree. In the dawn of his apprenticeship, he would often ask himself that same question, his innocent mind unable to fathom why someone would have need for such a cumbersome blade. Even when he first glimpsed an ogre, he'd thought they were excessive. But the first time he was forced to fight and kill one of the lumbering, stupid beasts, he found himself wishing he could swap out his twig of a shortsword for something more substantial. It might have saved he and Cain several bruises and broken bones. "I have found they are best at home in the hands of decorative statues, but will not deny they are useful if you certain your enemy is clumsy and slow."

He chews the inside of his cheek for a passing moment before adding, "They is no doubt an intimidation factor as well."

Having never had to fight an ogre, Firo's still not entirely convinced. "If somebody's 'clumsy and slow' Mr. Yagu says it's better to use their own strength against 'em. People like that'll run right into a wall if you let 'em." Of course, in 'letting them' Firo might give them a little bit of help...

He returns his focus to the target, this time striking at a higher speed. His grip and handling aren't perfect, he knows, but there can't be much harm in going a little faster, right?

"On most instances," Hector begins, pleased to see that Firo feels comfortable enough to pick up his pace, "I would agree with that logic. However, at least in Valachia, there are few structures that can withstand an ogre's charge. 'Tis better then to cut them down before they have a chance to collapse a building and kill any others unfortunate enough to be trapped inside."

A few moments pass, during which he carefully considers the battle-ready swords resting nearby. Back home and under Hector's tutelage, it would be weeks--months, perhaps--before Firo sees anything but these blunted blades. But this wasn't home. And Firo already has experience with knife-fighting. It wasn't as if they were beginning from scratch. He sets his wooden sword on the ground, as carefully as if it were made of glass. "Would you care to try something sharper?"

Firo pauses, tilting his head back as he tries to imagine that. He's pretty sure none of the guys he's thrown were big enough to collapse a structure. "Guess that makes sense..." He's just glad he doesn't have to deal with that problem.

Again, Firo stops in his practice and turns to Hector. For a moment, he's so excited that he doesn't even think to try to hide it and he beams at Hector. "Would I?" A beat, and he remembers himself. "I-I mean, sure. That'd be nice."

Turning aside, Hector retrieves one of the honed swords, drawing it slowly from its scabbard and watching the sunlight dance across its glistening blade. But an instant later, his brows knit together, a thought occurring to him. Gloves. Examining others' uninjured hands isn't something intends to do, but he figures little harm can be done by being polite. And besides. Blisters are damnable things. Particularly to those who rely on their hands to fight.

He sheaths the sword and moves to fish through his pack again, eventually producing a pair of leather gloves, their palms worn and supple from regular use. Hopefully, they'll fit well enough if Firo chooses to don them. "You may use these too, if you wish."

[ooc: I'm so terribly sorry for the wait. ;_;]

Firo watches Hector unsheathe the sword with anticipation. He can't hide slight disappointment when he suddenly sheathes it again. "Huh?"

Ah, gloves. He relaxes when Hector brings them out, but holds up his hands to refuse.

"Thanks, but..." He shrugs. "I think the guys back home'd laugh at me if they saw me with those. I'll be fine." He doesn't expect a bunch of them to pop out of nowhere, but he still can't bear to do something that would embarrass him in front of them. Not that the gloves themselves are embarrassing, but the implication that he's not tough enough to go without them.

[ooc: Please don't apologize! It's totally fine. <3 ]

"Though I do not consider it a mark of weakness, I understand," he chuckles. And truly, he does. Life in Castlevania was a game, a perilous game of forcing down your competition by any means necessary, cheating or bluffing your way to the top if need be. Showing any sign of softness was madness. Four years had passed behind those blackened walls before Hector had risen to power. Four long, dreadful years before he could so much as think about making himself a pair of gloves.

Seeing as Firo declined, Hector gladly wriggles his fingers into the leathers and ties the cords at his wrists. It was good to be free of that wretched place.

Once more, he offers Firo the sword, hilt first this time. "Find your balance with it," he says, gesturing to the dummy. "'Tis double edged, and the impacts will feel slightly different than the wooden one."

We can use brackets or paragraph form, whatever works for you!

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Yep! ^^

Thank you! :)

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