Welcome to Gaia! ::

Malikai’s squadron was — at present — more of a training group than anything, and he knew as much. Made up of two commanding officers of middle age and five young soldiers closer to his own, unpracticed seventeen years, it was in place to get him and his fellow younger troop mates accustomed to the practice of moving about, taking orders, and functioning in the more basic of tasks that would later be expected of them.

His station in the current fishing village was, as such, temporary. Other than the initial dragon raid, however, it was also all but mind-numbingly uneventful. Malik spent the mornings ‘patrolling’ when permitted: that is to say, walking about the village’s edge and enjoying the crisp air, babbling sounds of wildlife, and pre-dawn mists that rolled over the marshier areas and low-lying fresh-water stream that bordered it.

A good bulk of his time, too, was spent on labor—cleaning weapons, dishes, clothes, and ‘donating’ services to the village itself for the good name of her Lady Avi. Fortunately, that tended to be the sort of work Malik minded least, helping out the locals with housing repair work, construction, or ditch digging for sanitary purposes. These were all, in the end, the sorts of tasks that left a lasting good in the area and provided direct, immediate aid.

Then, in the remaining time that wasn’t spent on labor, on patrol, or training with his fellow squad mates, Malik worked on his own. Sword routines. Empty-handed strength build up, and — when his leg permitted it after the day’s endeavors — running. If he could find any energy in the wee hours before sleep, he attempted to squeeze in a half an hour of history or poetry before bed from the small selection he’d brought with him, though that, often as not, became a ritual for quick sleep with a book open on his front.

Currently, it was evening, the day’s heat cooling out into a pleasant blue gray as the sun dipped closer to the edge of the horizon—and Malik was in the training yard, blade in hand as he worked his way through the steps of an endurance set.

At a small but familiar voice, Malikai paused in his motions, blade stilling and gaze moving to seek the source. He found it, in spotting Whan, and straightened his posture, a sheepish grin plucking up at the corner of his lip as he slotted his blade back away in its sheath.

“So y’ did make it,” he said, “and with quite a find there, from the looks o’ things…” His attention moved over the weapon in Whan’s grip as he said it, inspecting its shape, make, and size — so large it looked, compared to the young boy — but then, Malik supposed, each imprinted weapon chose its wielder as much as the wielder chose it, and therefor, it must be suited. “A barbarian, then, oi? And y’ spoke t’ your parents about it, surely first? It looks mighty worthy o’ bein’ proud of, I’d say. How does it feel to heft?”

Malikai smiled, a part of him warming at the sight, though he couldn’t pinpoint the source of his reaction. It was simply uplifting, in its own way, to see a child so pleased with themself and growing into their own. Strange, perhaps, to think it, when he himself was only just truly coming of age, but the feeling lingered just the same.

“Any good parent’ll worry,” he said aloud. “It’s a thing t’ be pleased of. An’ as for the piece itself, well…” His gaze trailed the weapon, inspecting it, “…it looks to be a mighty fine thing, an’ I’m sure you’ll come t’ wield it well as any master in time. Grow into it, too. But it’s good for now tha’ you can heft it at least…”

After glancing about, Malik’s attention landed on a more open, unused stretch of the training yard, further from his fellows, though there weren’t all that many out at that moment, fortunately. It gave them more space, assuming the boy was there to train as he’d expressed interest in previously.

“C’mon then,” he said with a nock of his head, moving towards the scoped out location. “Let’s get us some space. Now…if y’ve not had any sort o’ proper basic trainin’ yet…excited as y’ are to have your weapon proper, it may be best if we start with somethin’ more simple t’ get you in the swing o’ things and work your muscles up…have y’ ever worked with a trainin’ blade?”

Malikai smiled in spite of himself. The boy’s enthusiasm was encouraging, and uplifting in its own way, such that he hoped he could be of at least some help to him in his progressions. When they reached a space where they’d have a stretch of earth to themselves, Malikai set aside his own blade and inspected the rack of dulled training blades they had available for the purposes of exercise and routine practice. Glancing to the boy again to mentally size him up and guess what might be a good starting point, he eventually lifted one of the lightest ones off of the rack and moved back over, holding it out.

“It’s not an axe,” he said, “but it’ll help y’ to work up your muscle strength and coordination with somethin’ tha’ won’t gouge anyone’s eye out for starters. How ‘bout y’ set your axe aside for just a bit, an’ we work on some basic exercises, oi? An’ then I can tell y’ what sorts o’ things might be good for you t’ be workin’ on your own a’ home after I head out, seein’ as I won’t be here all too much longer.”

After handing over that blade, Malikai took up a training sword of his own so as to demonstrate with and moved back beside the boy, watching him. “Have y’ always lived here, then? An’ sounds as though, if y’ve got a thatcher an’ a cook for parents, you’re breakin’ new ground decidin’ t’ fight. Wha’ made y’ choose a fighter’s path?”

“Aye,” Malikai said, tone warm with amusement as he watched. “But here, a bit more like…” He leaned as he spoke, catching Whan’s grip and carefully adjusting it a touch. “It’ll be a bit different, o’course, from weapon t’ weapon, but you’ll wanna have a firm grip so as not t’ twist your wrist or lose your hold in th’ heat o’ fightin’. As t’ who you ought best seek out for practice with y’r ax…”

Malikai considered a moment.

“I’d ask about, I think. There’s sure t’ be a’ least one in your village, an’ if not, if y’ head into th’ city with an adult or someone older y’ trust an’ maybe ask an armorer or a guardsman. There’re schools, too, but it’d depend on wha’ your folks can afford…and on where you’re thinkin’ to go with your skill. Either ways…”

Shifting his own positioning, Malik took up a dulled practice blade of his own, and arranged himself first beside Whan, demonstrating a swing, and then across from him. From there, he lead the boy through several simple move routines, mapping out with patience what he had learned, at least, when first being taught to handle a weapon, and coaching Whan through it.

Malikai worked with his charge steadily, patient, but observing when he began to clearly tire, and though he respected the boy’s drive — reminded a touch of himself in his younger years, struggling with the basics — he knew when enough was enough. At that point, despite Whan’s persistence, he encouraged the boy to a stop, explaining that, so long as he was around, he’d be willing to help more with what he could, and — if he was interested in working further with the army — he could put in a word with someone to find him a barbarian tutor.

In the aftermath, Malik was satisfied. Though he couldn’t pin the precise reasons down, it was simply pleasing, to work with younger company—to be able to help, even with his own limited skill set, and watch as eagerness was turned into drive and learning. It also reinforced the fact that one day — many years from now, of course — he wanted children of his own to pass such things on to.

But that could wait, for now, for quite some time.