A day of destiny

[Henry McCarty]

Henry McCarty walked into the grounds, it looked like a plain enough place on the outside, but Henry knew different, he knew this was one of the most dangerous places in the world, and this is right were he wanted to be. He walke into the middle of the grounds and took off his sword, and waited for someone to address him.

[Temanin]

Ferrin Sans was not having a good day. Waking early, as most did around the Farm, he was moving through sword forms with a small group of men as the sun crested the horizon. The Asha’man in charge of the training had the genius idea of sparring with real blades, minus the air weaves to protect from accidents. And of course he would be the one to have an accident. The opponent’s blade had easily slid into his shoulder, just below the collarbone, piercing through other side. He lost quite a bit of blood and was getting a little worried before someone was found with the proper talent in Healing required for such a wound. Unfortunately, they weren’t talented enough to eliminate scarring. And so he had a constant reminder, as far as he saw it, of the fact that Asha’man were not as powerful as they acted.

But that wasn’t the end to his wonderful day. After being Healed, he was then held responsible for sharpening the swords that had been dulled during the spars. While it was a simple matter with the One Power, it was still a pain. He, then, had to spend time pulling the blood from his high-collared black coat and attempting to sew the hole back up. He would have simply dropped it off at a seamstress, but he only had one coat, and he was expected to wear it at all times. After all of this, he was charged with monitoring a group of Soldiers as they built a section of the great, black wall that was slowly growing around the Farm. Again, it was not a difficult task, but time-consuming and, to a degree, somewhat boring.

And on top of everything else, he dreaded training in the One Power later that day. With the lack of activity or direction in the Black Tower, many of the Asha’man had taken it upon themselves to find their own sources of entertainment. And one that they seemed to favor what pushing those below them to their limit. Ferrin was fairly sure that the day would end with him falling, exhausted, upon his bed.

As he walked across the field, shoulder length hair held back in a simply tail, the silver sword pin on his collar catching the sunlight, the Dedicated was looking for a way to vent. And there, standing in the field a few paces in front of him, was just the thing: a tall man with black hair, a sword, and the stance of a warrior. Holding himself up straight, he straightened his coat and approached. “What are you doing here, soldier?” he barked. “The Legion of the Dragon is stationed west of here. I suggest you move along before your commanding officer notices you're missing.” He paused for a moment, a superior look upon his face. “What’s your name? Perhaps I’ll inform them of this, after all.”

Continuing to stand straight, hand on hilt, he filled himself with the One Power. He couldn’t prove it, but he liked to think that even to normal people, it made him seem more impressive. And so he waited for an answer.

(So this isn't a "real" character. Anyone want to complain? XP)

[Henry McCarty]

Henry looked at the Asha'man. He didnt seem as impressive as the stories say them to be, he looked at him and contimplated his behavior, it was not that of a vetren soldier or even a sessioned warrior. He had an air of arogance around him.

"I am not part of the legion, I am here to serve the Asha'men. But I see that they have no need for me. I will leave, but first." He hesitated a moment. "I was wondering if you would spar with me? That is, if you are prepared for the challenge." He knew that if the man used the one power this fight would be over quick, but he was hopping the man had some kind of honor.

[Temanin]

Ferrin’s superior look faltered for a moment when the man opposite him mentioned a spar. Unconsciously, his hand wandered up to his shoulder, as if he could still feel the pain of the blade earlier that day. Ferrin wasn’t exactly an expert with the blade, and was far from being named a blade master, but he, in the least, contained about as much skill as normal foot soldier. And as he stood looking upon the taller man with his sword, he figured he was no better. The Dedicated was growing tired from his activities, thus far, but deeply desired to push this man around.

Doing his best to keep a smirk upon his face and his back straight, he drew forth the slightly curved blade that hung at his waist. It was a simple blade, though a shining example of the craftsmanship of the Black Tower blacksmith. He longed to replace the leather-wrapped hilt and basic steel blade with a Power-forged sword, but there were few of those in supply, and often went to those more powerful than he. But he found that the blade still did its job effectively, if he took proper care of it. And being a Dedicated, he had been drilled in such care.

He took a few steps back and pointed the sword tip at the man. “I’ve already had a few victories today. I doubt you could pose much of a challenge to one such as me. But I’ll let you learn that lesson for yourself. I accept your challenge.” The smirk widened as he sunk back into the defensive stance he had been taught, and waited for the other to make the first move.

[Henry McCarty]

Henry smiled to himself as he drew his own blade and threw the hilt to the side. His blade was a strange sword. He never needed to sharped it, or worry of rust. On it was branded a mark of the Blade Master. He got into stance and waited. His eyes searching his opponent, studying his movement, his stance, the way he held his sword. After all of this he looked into the mans eyes, searching his soul. They say you can read a mans soul through his eyes. But this mans eyes were cold, dead.

Henry jumped forward, bringing his sword down towards the mans right elbow.

[Temanin]

Ferrin’s countenance slipped noticeably for a moment when the man drew his blade. His eyes focused in on the heron, more importantly. He tried to reassure himself of his own skill, but it was fleeting, at best. He was able to quickly compose himself, but just so. Some men kept the heron-marked swords of their father or brother, and wore them as their own. He had once seen a new recruit put to public shame for doing so. It was most assuredly not the first time someone had pretended to be a blade master, after all. But then, Ferrin had seen a true blade master go about his business, and to deadly effect.

He did his best to match the man’s gaze, recall everything he had learned, and calm himself. Many battles were lost before they started when emotions ran too high. That’s what he had been taught, anyway. But then, he didn’t like taking chances. He held tight to the One Power, just in case.

The man’s movements came in lightning fast, and he was barely able to parry. He spun quickly, throwing his blade out in a modest thrust, trying more than anything to push his opponent back. This man, Ferrin decided, was no novice, to be sure. He definitely knew what he was doing. And that made Ferrin all the more determined.

[Henry McCarty]

Henry knocked the trust back as he move away, already preparing his next attack. He moved at full speed and swept the blade up, from the ground, then countinued to swipe back down, though only halfway to the ground from his waste this time. Then he trusted at his opponents Solarplexes.

"I expected more from someone trained at the Black Tower." Henry said, trying to make his opponent angry so he would make a mistake.

[Paused until Henry returns. Which probably means this thing is finished.]