Darkenhold: Social Climbing through Competitive Swordsplay

[Glenn]

Glenn Burnie had made various visits to the peculiar architectural dream of Darkenhold over the last many months but they had all been quick and to the point. He had looked for Ymir for Dulcie's sake (whether she had wanted him to or not). He had tried to check in with Farsiris, albeit briefly and with little success. He had gathered things from his room (which was still occupied by materials if not a warm body). He had visited with a staff member or two, despite Ariane's warnings.

He had not looked hard for his teacher, for Quincy, or for Syl Duquesne. He had certainly not visited this specific room, the one he tentatively entered this morning. The intrepid young mapmaker missed Ariane, of course and he missed this room in much the same way. It was sparsely populated, save for the tools associated with its purpose: blunt weapons, padded protective gear, bits of armor, and one, poor, battered training dummy.

Glenn's hand had trailed against the wall ever so lightly as he walked through the room, finally stopping at the dummy. "Hello, friend." He would speak to the vaguely human-shaped but completely inanimate object. "Has she been treating you all that poorly? Has she even been here at all?" It was likely better for the dummy if the main user of this room had not been here. Certainly, Glenn's absense had been a boon for its general well-being.

Perhaps Burnie had more to say to the silent wooden creature, but he would refrain. Having gone about town searching for opponents to hone his ever-growing martial skills against, with some real victories and some truly educational defeats, he had decided to revisit a previous offer that he had been, up until now, hesitant to take up. Glenn would claim, mainly, that it had been slightly dubious to accept given his role with the Myrken government, but the real reason was very much a hesitation to return to this room in this way.

Despite that reluctance, here he was. The well of opponents of such talent and experience had quickly run dry and it really would be a tremendous waste to turn down such an offer, such a learning opportunity. Obviously, however, he wanted to make an impression that carried a bit more dignity than being caught talking to inanimate dummies would have provided. It would not be a first impression, for he had met the man before, had a few short but memorable conversations with the man. It would be the first meeting in such a setting, with such purpose in mind. No, for this meeting, it was very, very important for Burnie that he carried as much dignity as possible. It was not everyday that one sparred with a Duke, after all.

[Vanidor]

The Duke in question would allow Glenn the first moments within the training hall of storied Darkenhold. His time with the wooden training dummy, to trace his hand along the stone walls and feel the memories of his training there return to him. Allow him the time to compose himself and prepare his mind for the coming occasion. He knew that an event such as this, something as mundane as a sparring match between men, was not truly a simple thing.

He was, for all intents and purposes, a traitor to all the things that Glenn Burnie held too. He had rebelled against what others would call his rightful King, had made war upon a neighboring nation out of aggression. But at the same time he was a father of two, a man who doted upon his offspring and spoiled his children rotten. He did all that he could to maintain the comfort of a psychologically and physically battered wife. He gave to any who would ask of him; Food, shelter or coin. Some were amazed that he even had much personal wealth left at all.

But, Thessilane was a mighty nation, was it not? Trading across the seas and along the length of the Amasynian continent. Her armies were the mobile and fearsome warriors of the meadowlands and lowlands of his nation. Horsemen without peer, at least in their own minds. Soldiers who were loyal to the will of their Crimson Duke, for his will now maintained the safety and security of their nation. It made them strong and resolute.

It was this image that would step slowly into the training hall. Oh, he was not dressed in the regal silks and velvets of his station. It was a simple pair of dark linen breeches that floated above ankle high boots. A leather dueling doublet of rich umber, minus the sleeves, sheathed his heavy torso. The pale red sleeves of his shirt added a little colour to his ensemble. Simplicity that bound the warriors gait. Strong and resolute.

He moved with a slow ease, hands holding a pair of matched hardwood training swords and his own personal blade. Mismatched eyes swept the chamber just to see if there was anyone else here. This match wasn't a secret by any means, at least not from his end, so presumably anyone with access to Darkenhold would have access to this show. Onto a nearby rack he would lay the training swords, as well as his own.

Then. A shift of his feet, the soles of his boots scraping softly against the ground, and Duke Burel's gaze would finally come to rest upon the Map making government official. He would smile softly, the lines upon his face moving with the motion. "Master Burnie. A pleasure, as always, to see you. How have you been these past months? Yourself and your lady friend?"

Arms were wide, his eyes almost seeming to -sparkle- with question and odd promise. He smiled again, and motioned for Glenn to meet him in the center of the room so that they could converse for a moment.

[Glenn]

Ah yes. The grand Duke. He of a mighty heart and such hard, harsh decisions, ones that affected the lives of so many. Glenn's seen it with his own eyes over these last many months, what the responsibility of power might do to a man. Still, his gaze, while not withholding all regard, would not hold much sympathy. But then, Burnie was young and old both, in all the wrong ways.

His own sword was at his side, as well as the dagger Ariane gifted him, but he brought nothing in the way of sparring equipment. He knew the room would provide on that account. In fact, he knew exactly which items he would prefer, which onces were weighted just right. He knew this room so very well.

Perhaps that was why he was able to respond to Burel with this most comfortable and relaxed formality. There was no venom in his voice yet no affection as well. His tone, like his words, were neither overly respectful nor deferential, but they were, at least, quite polite. "Quite well, the both of us. I do hope the same can be said for you and yours. I am grateful," though not necessarily honored, "that you agreed to come, as, of course, your initial offer was so many months back. From what I have heard, I expect to be quite impressed and hope that, despite my relatively inexperience," or perhaps with it specifically in mind, "I may impress in kind."

There was various warming up exercises to be rushed through now, stretching involving some of the more heavily weighted training weapons, perhaps a quick drill modified from its traditional form to suit his immediate needs. Darkenhold was astoundingly warm, a testament to the brilliance of its designer, but having come in from the cold still meant that it took a few minutes to truly get the blood flowing.

"I am curious, though, of your..." Glenn would begin, even as he continued these movements, until he stopped both his movements and his sentence at once. Finally, his expression would soften a bit. "Ha. I am curious of a great many things, but I think this morning, I might be able to stop myself. I was about to make this about business and that's hardly the point of our meeting at all. I do hope that you do not hold it against me that I wish to know every fact this world has to offer, generally all at once, if possible."

[Vanidor]

"The children are well, yes. Growing quicker than one can believe. I hope you shall be blessed with such soon, sir. They are..." Did he look wistful there? A tad introspective perhaps? "... quite a blessing. When next you see the good Governor, tell him I have naught but the best wishes for him as well, yes? I understand his first shall be coming 'round soon as well." No malice either, in the manner in which he spoke of Calomel. No sarcasam, either, in the way he described the man. Children... Children were not a subject of contestation in his mind. You did not fight over them. Because of them, perhaps, but not over.

"I begrudge nothing of you, Master Burnie. You seek to enlighten yourself when so many seek simple survival. What is there to hate in that? Naught, I say, naught. And yes. I ween that, both you and I, will learn a lot this day, hm?" He had stopped a quarter of the way across the room. Not quite to the center of the place, yet. He was watching Glenn go through his paces. Warming up, as it were.

Burel did none of these exercises, indeed, he simply watched the goings on with interest. Not that he didn't know what they were for. But... "Master Burnie. Unless some great event changes for both you and I, I believe that just about every encounter shall involve business one way or another." It was here, then, that Burel turned about and walked back to the rack where he had placed his sword and other personal equipment.

"So then, since we are both so eager to impress one another, my friend... Shall we do this with training blades, or did you want to test live steel to steel?" The question was put mildly, yet Burel did not turn about. Instead, he was eying his weapons of choice. All he needed was Burnie's decision to that end.

[Glenn]

Children. Calomel's child to come. A.. potential child betwen Glenn and his lover? Sobering words, sobering words indeed. Glenn would look away. "Yes, well, I would certainly be blessed if I had a child or two by the time I reached your age." It was a weighted response to such a well-meant statement, perhaps in bad form, perhaps ill met. Perhaps Glenn Burnie did not want to speak of such a possibility right now. Perhaps he had the memory of certain words of one Rhaena Olwak flowing through his mind, dark, dark words.

Or perhaps Glenn was just beginning the sort of banter that went with such a meeting. There were few areas off limits to the all too youthful mapmaker, especially when sword was in hand.

What followed was a more welcome subject, however, and Glenn would rush to grasp it. "I try to live my life in the most flexibile way possible, but I do think I hold one or two tenets close to my heart. What is the point to survival if you are not truly alive, no? How better to live but then to learn and grow? I've had enough of survival for survival's sake. I'm sick of it and I would like to think Myrken is sick of it as well." Burel's men were certainly crafty and his spies were multitudinous, but what did the Duke know of Glenn Burnie's past? One night he was not here, the next he was. The path could not be tracked back further than that. He mentioned his childhood so sparingly. It was thus easy enough to think that he was speaking solely about his time in Myrken.

Finally, he would turn his head back towards Burel, now sporting an almost amused smile. There was no need to follow that particular path much further either, especially when there was bantering to be done. "Though I do not necessarily think that duchy such as Thessilane need continue to grow. It is not exactly the same thing." His body would follow his head a moment later. Best not to allow too much time for a response after that. "Blades, sir, though with the hope that we might nonetheless avoid an international incident this morning."

[Vanidor]

There was a general nodding of his head as Glenn spoke of the differences between living and survival. Of how Myrken, and her people most assuredly, had had enough of it as well. Burel, himself, was done with surviving just to survive as well. That was the past. This was now. He laughed softly, with Glenn's mention of international incidents. No. There was no need for that, was there?

"I am reminded of a phrase in one of the older tongues. 'Memento vivere'. It means, basically, to remember to live. Or that you -must- live. Grasp each moment of life and hold onto it dearly, use it and learn from it, but let it go so you can grasp the next." Ah, but here the Duke was hefting his personal blade from the rack, presenting it horizontally before his face as he turned and once more fully faced the Mapmaker.

The thing swept upwards in a circle as it was transferred from right hand to left, his fingers curling around the throat of the scabbard, the tip of his thumb bumping up against the circular hand guard. "I would like to avoid such an incident as well, sir. Though I certainly will not cry if you spill a little of my blood. Then this hall will know that it is being well used, hm?" A smile upon his face, feet taking him away from the racks and closer to Glenn.

He stood at his ease, resting lightly upon his feet. His shoulders were loose, arms hanging at his sides. "We all need to grow, babies, adults. Nations. How do you think Trae Kelsa did it? And Amasynia before them? The pains... Oh, they certainly are not easy. But... shall we?" His free hand rose and motioned for Glenn to join him, if he had not already. Burel simply smiled.

[Glenn]

Dealing with Burel was different than dealing with most people Glenn encountered frequently. Most others were younger. Maybe Duquesne. He'd pay good coin to see the two of them interact. Burel didn't need to argue his point at every opportunity, even when Glenn was so eager to do just that. Maybe it was just the setting. Maybe it was just that much confidence. It seemed a valid argument. Trying to find something more than just survival for his people could be exactly why the Duke had begun his expansionist policies. The crown was offering them little support even to just survive.

When Burel did respond to him, it was to something directly said. "It hardly means that Trae Kelsa or Amasynia were better off for it. It changes a nation. I've been many places, sir, and have rarely seen an empire that had not lost so much of its soul in the transformation from concise nation. There are costs and they take such a toll over the generations. Purity of purpose can never last over time, not when there's that much power and wealth to go around. For it to last in one generation in such circumstances would be a miracle enough."

It was a pessimistic thought, and the exclamation point was Glenn Burnie drawing his rapier, a sleek looking thing, made well but for function, not style. Ariane Emory was his teacher. It meant that there was room for certain vanity but little extravagance in his weapon. "I've been collecting scars since arriving here, sir. If I end up with one more on this day, at least I'll be able to use it to namedrop." The sword would rise up in a vigorous salute. "Let's."

[Vanidor]

"Purity of purpose. Strength of will. How true your words ring, my friend. How true indeed." The Duke would bow his head slightly in recognition of Glenn's salute, one foot sliding slightly forward and pointing vaguely in the Mapmaker's location.

The scabbard that held his sword was flush with his forearm now, the hilt of his weapon facing straight down towards the floor with the crimson tassel that was attached to the golden cap hovering just above his shoulder. Burel's face was as calm and detached as ever when he suddenly shifted his stance and jolted forward. That thumb of his brushed once more against the grip of his weapon, and his blade slid free of it's housing and collected in his hand in the same motion.

There weren't many moves that could be produced from such an unorthodox manner of drawing your weapon. Burel most assuredly knew them all, but he wasn't here to kill or maim. It was just a duel, was it not? So. It was an almost simplistic sweep of the weapon from his bottom left to midway up his torso, when it turned into thrust directly for Glenn's chest. He did it all fluidly, as used to the dynamics of his sword as Glenn was to this very room.

[Glenn]

Glenn reviewed in his mind, briefly, what Ariane had said about Burel and his unorthodox style. The main bit, of course, whether she had made it clear to him directly or only indirectly, was that Burel was one of the few people in Myrken who could give her an honest challenge. It meant that Glenn did not immediately begin to banter, which, given the last few months and his various successes against people at or around his level, was a bit of a challenge. The words just wanted to slide off of his tongue.

Thankfully, Burel didn't allow for any time for Glenn to mouth off. As it was, it was a real lucky thing that he had been working with people other than Ariane. She had trained him so well in so many things but she had almost
always given him the offense to begin their sparring. It had been a very good thing that he had practice otherwise or this duel might have ended very quickly indeed.

Still, when using a rapier, the best defense was almost always a good offense and that was what Glenn meant to present. He would not simply attempt a parry of Burel's blade, but a parry that was the beginning of a lunge, a parry that would sweep immediately into a counterstrike aimed towards the chest of the Duke.

[Vanidor]

The question, then, was how much of the Duke's style had Ariane imparted towards Glenn? Things that he should hold back for later on in the engagement perhaps? Something he should use now, when Glenn strove to drive his blade forwards for Burel's chest?

No, for the Duke rolled his shoulders and bent slightly to the side to avoid the lunge by the narrowest of margins. Burel could have seen the workmanship of the blade, it was so close, had be bothered to look downwards. Others might have. Instead his sword, which had been deflected down by the parry came back up to slice vertically from it's current position.

The intended effect was to cut Glenn with the razor-like point of his curving blade. Or perhaps drive him backwards. So one would think, yes?

[Glenn]

It was a fool's gambit, and for slight moment, Glenn actually thought that it would have failed the Duke, that this would very quickly become an international incident indeed. He meant to drive him back, to take up the offense, to make it his to lose and thus to decide the tempo and style of this duel.

Thanks to Burel's unlikely gambit, however, it was Glenn who was driven back, forced to parry but unable to immediately recover his balance and lunge in once more. Now he would have to continue to move aside blows until he could create an opening for himself. In truth, for his purposes, this was not the worst thing, for you learned a good deal from being in this position.

No, this was not the time for desperate gambits, but instead to recover balance as best as possible and to express the utmost control of breathing and poise. After a year and a half training with Ariane Emory and a few months on top of that working on his own, Glenn Burnie certainly had that. He had parried that counter, allowing himself to be driven backwards, but it was worth a slight retreat in exchange for being ready for what would come next. "You risk much, sir, and so early at that. Next time, I'll see that it costs you."

[Vanidor]

Silence for a moment, as Burel danced forwards once again. He didn't need a chance to gain his breath, neither did Glenn. In any case, his next attack was a cut that arc'd for Glenn's head in a rather vicious angle. It was open. Deliberate. Simplistic?

Still. It came and it was hard, one could almost see the muscles bunch underneath the Duke's pallid-red shirt as he did this... Risk much? Of course he did. But then again, that certainly was Burel's style, wasn't it?

[Glenn]

That moment of silence was answered quickly by Burnie. "Quiet, then?" The attack was answered with even more haste. By refusing to counterattack at the most recent opportunity, the mapmaker was able to sure up his defense. There was the slight temptation to make a true direct block, to test his strength against Burel's, but that would be playing against his strengths. The mapmaker's body was hardly bulky with muscle. He was trained for speed, endurance and agility, much like his teacher.

Another parry then, with a minor sidestep to go with it, encouraging Burel's forward momentum. Ideally it would leave the slightest of openings. "...and mean." Having a sword in one's hand could change someone. It could showcase his true manner. Glenn Burnie, with sword in hand, had very little to prove to anyone, save perhaps one person, and she had run south for winter. No, all he had to prove to the Duke was aptitude and attentiveness. He wished to LEARN from the man, from the experience, so long as he did not embarrass his teacher, coincidentally estranged as they seemed to be. It meant that he would not play the Governor's tricks nor take the Duke's risks.

Glenn Burnie could not stay conservative forever, however, not if he hoped to take the offensive. An expert such as Burel would rarely make a mistake of the necessary magnitude, nor would he tire anytime soon. The risk just wasn't worth the gain, not yet. No, instead, he would look at that slight opening and offer a feint of a lunge, not extending himself in any meaningful way and thus keeping himself ready for the next attack.

Did he think Burel would be fooled? Hardly. No, Burnie was thinking ahead. Three feints down the line, four feints, five, he would take that risk. Swordsplay was half trained reflex and half a human game of chess. He could not hope for a meaningful opening on its own, not while on the defensive. So then, he would do all he could to create one, even if it was quite far down the line. It meant that the short statements would continue as well. "Bet you don't shut up when playing chess."

[Vanidor]

Truth to tell, he had expected this acolyte of Ariane Carnat-Emory to have started out with a more furious attack. But then again, Burel had been in the crucible of battle with that woman. Had fought through the nightmare that was Orvere at her side, and had seen the inherent viciousness that even the collected woman could keep hidden behind quiet words and fiery eyes.

But, as well he knew that she was no slouch when it came to the blade. Especially something that was close to her own such as the rapier. It was, of course, no Schiavona, but it was close enough for all intents and purposes. In any case, Burel would take a small step backwards and smile at Glenn. "Usually, Mapmaker, I would be very talkative. Ask your former friend, Agnieszka. I think we talked the entire match."

Was that telling something then? That he saw so little in Glenn that he did not have anything to say to him? Or, rather, was it that he wasn't pushed enough to to have to truly concentrate whilst dueling the warrior-woman. Still, Burel had paused and made a slight step to the rear, there was a small bead of sweat forcing its way from his hair and slowly making it's way down his forehead.

Burel was much the same with the sword in his hand as he was without. As far as the Duke was concerned, every moment of the day was lived like that. A blademaster had to be thus ready at all times, did they not? "You will find that I rarely let emotion cloud my judgement when it comes to this sort of thing, Master Burnie. While anger may add strength to my blows, and rage a burst to my step..."

Burel thrust forwards once again, driving his sword in an angle for Glenn's left side. Then, mid thrust his wrist turned so that the edge was facing sideways, and the weapon cut across from left to right. It left his center open, as his blade was heading off to the right... and if he kept to routine, he'd be driving that blade forward once more.

[Glenn]

Ariane would approve of Glenn's style today. If the young man had any doubt of that, he would have been doing things differently. Agnie had something to prove every second of every day. No, this was not Orvere. It was not even a Dagger besieged by the Ashfiend's horde.

"Talking with Agony that long? I hope for your sake that you dispatched her swiftly." For what it was worth, Glenn seemed unwilling to do anything BUT draw this match out. Center, head, side. Glenn was taking note of the pattern of Burel's attack, of just how long or how little he would give between attacks. Truly, what did the Duke think he was coming here for today? No, Glenn's style fit exactly into his needs for the day.

So that meant that he did not take the bait given to him by the older man. Another feint instead. Perhaps he would push for the offensive next time. Perhaps not. It meant that he was perfectly balanced for another parry, and yet another feint, though choosing to manage two would mean he'd have to work at least a little harder to block whatever attack might come next. As risks go, it was a minor one. On the other hand, Burel was doing most of the work so far. Glenn had yet to break a sweat.

"That's funny, sir, It seems to me as if emotion drives most of your major decisions." Anger at the crown for its lack of support. Affection for his people and a need to protect them. Love for his wife and child. One could make an argument. Or perhaps Glenn was just continuing the banter. Maybe he wanted to see that burst to Burel's step.