LOG: CLIVE AND RAHAL
Who: Clive (howling_storm ) and Rahal (bluelamphinian )
When: Sometime yesterday in the early morning
What: Clive and Rahal have a talk during morning exercises
Where: My the dojo
A day later found the sun bright in the sky again, and Clive following the dirt path back down to the wooden dojo tucked beneath the walls of the castle grounds. Sturm was once again slung beneath his arm, the muzzle angled downwards and his hand on the stock. His boots crunched against the grass beneath his feet. Now and then a grasshopper leapt up and whirred away, buzzing towards the trees.
Despite the sun and the hint of spring warmth in the air the assassin still wore his black cloak, with the hood pulled up moodily around his head. He trudged reluctantly along the path. He knew there was a chance he could walk down and find Elza there, shooting at targets with Stern and Mond, and he wasn't entirely sure how he would greet her if he did see her again, but... he really did need the practice.
Rahal was out in the sunshine, enjoying the warming weather. He came out in a lighter version of his blue tunic, Lamphinian gripped in his hand. He took in a deep breath before slowly working through the simple motions of warming up. His motions were smooth, like water, gliding from one stance into the next. He didn't sense or see Clive approaching, continuing to work through the different patterns with a single-mindedness only professional and experiences swordsman gained.
The bright uniform stood out vividly against the yellow grass. Clive could see Rahal from well up the path, and it took him a moment to recognise the man, and most noticeably his long black hair. He only pressed his mouth into a line and continued along it towards the dojo, walking in silence. It didn't surprise him that the place was occupied; with the fine weather he supposed it was only natural that some of the castle's residents might be out enjoying it, with a mind to practice as well.
Clive remained wordless as he drew near. When he reached the fence he stood there and leaned Sturm up against it, pausing to watch Rahal go through his stances. "I didn't know you fought with a sword as well," he said after a moment, his voice quiet and his expression impassive.
Rahal slid to a halt, weapon geared towards Clive, but he immediately relaxed upon recognizing the blonde. "Clive," he greeted the blonde, sheathing his weapon as a show of respect and not wanting the other to feel threatened for any reason. "Ah yes. We need to know how to defend ourselves in case we ever get knocked from our mounts or must go somewhere the dragon horses cannot."
It took Clive a moment to digest that; then he nodded. "That makes sense," he said as he stepped back, put his foot on the low rail of the fence and his hand on the top rail and vaulted over it. His boots hit the earth on the other side and his cloak fell back around his legs. "I hope I'm not disturbing you," he added with a glance back over his shoulder as he reached across the top of the fence to retrieve his long rifle. "I was thinking of getting a little practice in myself while the weather is still decent. It's gonna get noisy here in a moment, sorry..."
Rahal shook his head, stepping closer and eyeing the weapon. He had the chance to watch Cathari use her weapon, but out of respect for her he had never gotten this close to the weapon before. "So, this is a 'gun'," Rahal mused, not touching the weapon though his eyes took in the different details with avid curiosity.
Though he felt greatly reluctant to put the weapon on display for someone who was not from the Guild, after some hesitation Clive nodded. "Yes, it is," he said, swinging the rifle into both of his hands. He snapped off the clips that held the sling fastened from the stock and the barrel and draped the leather piece hang over the rail of the fence. Sturm rested quietly against his palms, a length of black metal and polished old wood, somehow looking both sleek and lethal even when it was in repose.
Clive meanwhile eyed the other man with a mix of curiosity and wariness. "Where have you seen a gun before this?" he said, hefting the rifle beneath one arm as he snapped back the bolt. "I wasn't aware that many other people had, uh... come into contact with them."
"Cathari," Rahal replied easily, still only eyeing the weapon and making no move to touch it. He had not received permission, and the sheer dangerous aura of the weapon made him wary to come much nearer than the two feet he was to it. "She was quite skilled with it, the few times I had the honor of seeing her work with it," he nodded his head, eyes gliding over the slick wood and polished metal, appreciating with a healthy fear of it. "How long did it take you to master the weapon?"
"A very long time," said Clive, averting his eyes with a faint grimace. With the rifle pinned against his arm and hip he reached down to the belt beneath his coat and fished for the pouch of brass cartridges stashed aside there. "It can be very dangerous if it's mishandled. But I guess a sword is like that as well," he added, nodding to Rahal. He had had the opportunity to watch the man pass through the motions of his blade, moving with practiced ease. "How long have you been using one for...?"
"A sword? Oh, my training with it started as soon as I entered into Gordius, so I suppose around eleven or twelve, though I had rudimentary experience thanks to my father before that," Rahal mused, thinking on it as he regarded the brass cartridges, wondering how so small a thing cause such damage. He patted his blade, the hilt long and slim and wrapped in a dark gray similar to his gauntlets and boots. "Lamphinian," he called it with a small smile.
"Lamphinian...?" echoed Clive, frowning at the unfamiliar word. He paused in the action of loading the breech of the rifle and leaned his head aside to get a better look at the weapon sheathed beneath Rahal's hand. It looked thin and fast, a quick blade, something meant to slash in a flurry of motion. The bolt slide and snapped shut, and he glanced up. "And Gordius...? What is Gordius? It sounds like the name of a school- it's where you trained, did you say...?"
"It is it the training camp for those who wish to become Dragon Cavaliers," Rahal explained. "For a long time it was only for men, but I got that changed recently as me tenor as Commander so we now train and allow female Cavaliers." He watched Clive with that same avid interest, dark blue orbs watching his motions like a jungle cat watching its prey pick through the underbrush. "And Lamphinian is the name of my weapon."
With the rifle loaded and ready Clive unconsciously patted the stock, letting his hand rest briefly against the metal barrel. Then, sensing that he was being observed he lifted his gaze and glanced aside. Upon realising that the rider was watching him he flattened his mouth and turned his head back towards the distant targets in order to let his hood hide his face, wary of being under scrutiny. "It sounds like you had a lot of authority at this Gordius place if you managed to get a rule like that changed," he said as he worked his feet into the grass, testing his stance. "I haven't heard of a lot of militaries that let women fight in the ranks."
"Oh, Gordius is merely our training facility," Rahal explained casually. "Sauronix Castle is our official headquarters. As Commander, I have control over all of the Dragon Calvary, with advisors, of course. I finally managed to get the advisors to agree to a law change, and now women are allowed." He stood a little back from Clive, waiting patiently for him to demonstrate the weapon, but giving him respectable room as well, unaware of how the weapon actually operated. "My friend Miakis was perfectly capable of being an excellent Cavalier, save for being a woman. It just seemed a shame for her to be denied a position based on sex."
Clive thought of Elza and her deadly shooting and found himself with no argument to give. "I agree, things like that should be decided by skill," he said as he hoisted Sturm to his shoulder and took aim along the barrel. The head of the unfortunate straw dummy at the far end of the range bobbed into view, and he took careful aim and steadied his arm. There was a moment of silence, broken only by another whirring insect, and then Clive squeezed the trigger.
The 'CRACK' rang into the trees. A great tuft of straw burst from the side of the dummy's head. Clive grimaced and lowered the rifle- he'd clipped the target, again. Too much on his mind. "What's it like being a Cavalier?" he said as he turned back to face Rahal, the gun resting back against his hip.
Rahal jumped despite his best efforts to be prepared for the sharp noise, but he still jumped, giving the weapon a respectful look as even the clip of the bullet did some serious damage to the side of the target. Assured that Clive was in no danger of being distracted with the weapon, he fingered his weapon and thought on how to explain what it was like. "Well, it's a lot of things. Back when I was just a petty officer and a Captain, it was racing over water and grasslands, defending Falena. Your best friends were your partner and your dragon horse and... I felt good, doing what I did. I felt proud - really proud."
Clive nodded. He regarded the other man gravely, taking care to keep the rifle muzzled pointed up at the sky. "You enjoyed your work," he said without smiling, matter-of-factly. "You felt proud to serve. Did that change, after you became a Commander...?"
"No, but it became... tiring," he admitted. "I fight with my advisors more than anything, I'm in charge of so much and I hardly have anytime for myself, much less Flail or my friends. And my old partner is off at Sol Falena - under my order, but still." He shrugged again, rubbing his temples. "I'm doing what's right for the Calvary, and trying to be the best Commander I can once Craig gave the position over to me. But sometimes I wish I could go back to just being Captain Rahal or even Petty Officer Rahal.”
"Hmm." Clive said nothing for a moment as he considered that, glancing aside. He stared down at the distant target, which now had an odd clump of straw sticking out of the side of its head. The sight of it irritated him for some reason, and he turned back and assumed a firing stance again, levelling Sturm towards. Without looking away from the target he closed one eye and said, "It's important to do your job whether you like it or not. But it seems like you've got a chance to get away from being a Commander here, in this place. What about taking a break while you're here...?"
"I am," Rahal chuckled, going to take a place against the railing. "I renounced my title while I'm here. I just take care of Flail and myself. Though it doesn't keep me from worrying about my people and my troops."
A second crack rocked the air, and the dummy shuddered and spat out a mass of straw from behind its back where the cartridge tore through it. Clive waited until he heard the echo ring away before lowering the gun again, a little more satisfied with his aim this time around. "You'd be less of a man if you didn't worry," he said flatly as he stared down the target, his expression impassive. "Do you think they're all right? What's the situation out in Falena now anyway...?"
"I'm not sure," Rahal admitted. "From what I've heard it's stable, but I haven't gone out there. And it feels weird, going to the future of my country." He shook his head. "And right now I'm content to be here. It's a break, like you said."
Clive's mouth flattened a little at that. A break... he couldn't imagine it. The thought of stepping away from work was something his mind recoiled from. "Aren't you worried that you'll lose your edge the longer you stay here?" he said, glancing over at the rider. "I mean, without any duty or responsibility to keep you sharp, or fighting...?"
"I think I'll be fine," Rahal glided slim fingers up and down his hilt absently, regarding Clive. "But, in ways, this gives me time to think - think about if I want to continue as the Commander or find myself a replacement."
"What do you think you'll do?" said Clive as he stepped back and settled out of his stance with the rifle's stock tucked under his elbow. He studied Rahal, his eyes lowering to the hilt of the man's sword. "Do you really want to keep the Commander position, or find something new to commit yourself to?"
"I'm not sure," Rahal shook his head again. "Craig entrusted me with the position, and there's no one else I trust to make the right decisions for the Calvary." He rubbed his temples, a head ache building rapidly. "It's a difficult choice, and one I'm not sure I can make. I'll probably continue being the Commander."
"Duty should always come first," said Clive without hesitation, looking satisfied with the statement as soon as he said it. "If there's a job you have to do, then you do it. I guess it's the same for soldiers and officers."
Then he paused, observing the way that Rahal had a hand to his head as if fending off a pain there. Clive frowned and stepped back again, swinging his gun to his side. "I interrupted your practice," he said. "You looked like you know how to handle a sword pretty well. I guess you wouldn't be a Commander if you couldn't."
"Oh, thank you," Rahal blinked, surprised at the sudden compliment. "And no, I probably wouldn't. But swordsmanship is not everything it takes to be Commander." Though sometimes he wished it was because that would mean he wouldn't be Commander. "And yes, duty does come first, doesn't it?" he mumbled.
Sturm came to rest against the ground with a dusty 'thump'. Clive leaned it against the fence, then backed up against it himself. He laid his hands back against the top railing and swiftly vaulted up onto it from a standstill, seating himself a moment later. "Do you mind showing me some of your swordwork?" he said as he dusted his hands off on his knees, nodding to the hilt. "I don't get a chance to see that kind of thing up close, not usually."
"Oh, I'd be more than happy to," Rahal grinned, jumping off and drawing the blade. He decided to pick up where he had left off, in the mid-section of the warm-up, and began to glide across the grass, using his back foot as a pivot and twisting and turning, the blade glinting in swift silver streaks through the air with perfect calm and control.
Clive finished brushing off his hands and then leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling between his lower legs and his cloak draped behind him. He said nothing and contented himself to watch the rider wheel and slash the air, the sword flashing in the sun. His expression was serious again, but there was a calculating light in his eye now as he sized up the effortless path the blade carved through the air.
A thought struck him, and he leaned aside and reached into the pouch at his belt, where the fresh cartridges were store. "That's pretty good," he said as he withdrew one and held it between his thumb and forefinger. "How are you at precision? Think you could cut this in the air if I threw it?"
He came over and pondered the little object. It was true he had devoted himself to speed and precision rather than speed and power. He was simply to light to put much power behind his attacks. "I could give it a try," he nodded, peering at the object and adjusting his grip on his blade.
Clive nodded. "Good luck," he said cryptically. After a few gently motions to test his aim he tucked his thumb behind the cartridge and flipped it towards Rahal. It was a small thing, a few inches in length with a deadly bullet tip, and it glittered bright gold in the sunlight as it flew in an arch across the space between them.
There was a whoosh, the flash of silver and blue. A shriek rang, like the sharp cry of a hawk, Rahal's body stretched in a beautiful arching line. As for the bullet - it clattered to the ground in two pieces, glinting in the sunlight.
As soon as both pieces of the brass cartridge hit the grass Clive gripped the fence with both hands and kicked down from it, landing with a thud. He brushed bits of wooden splinters from the seat of his trousers and then reached over to sling up Sturm in one hand. "That was really good," he said, and though his manner was serious there was a note of respect in his voice. "I don't think a lot of people could hit a moving target out of the air like that, with a sword."
Rahal rubbed the back of his head and laughed. "Well, I'm not much on power, so I put it into accuracy instead." He sheathed his blade and dusted himself off, wiping sweat from his brow. "I'm sure you're more accurate than I with your weapon."
"It's designed and built to be accurate," said Clive as he stooped to pick up the gun's sling from the place it lay in the grass. There was a note of pride in his voice as he said it. He snapped the clip onto the barrel and shrugged, reluctant to explain the mechanics behind it in greater detail. "It's just like anything else, you've gotta practice with it to be good. I don't think I could hit a target as small as that one was, especially up close. It's interesting to see what someone trained with a sword is capable of doing. I'll have to remember that. Thanks for the demonstration, Sir Rahal. It was interesting."
"Not a problem, Clive," Rahal smiled gently, looking across the grounds towards the stables. "And you don't have to call me 'Sir'. I'm not a Commander anymore, remember?" He stretched and patted his blade. "Now, if you'll excuse me, time for some daily exercise with Flail. I hope to see you again soon."
Clive winced. It had slipped out again. "Force of habit," he admitted as he clipped the other end of the sling onto the gun's stock. Then, swinging the rifle over his shoulder, he nodded and gave a quick, terse smile and added, "Yeah, I hope to see you around, S- Rahal. It was good talking to you. I hope your exercise goes well."
Rahal smiled and waved, heading off a light jog towards the stables, silently wondering what it would be like to fire a gun.
When: Sometime yesterday in the early morning
What: Clive and Rahal have a talk during morning exercises
Where: My the dojo
A day later found the sun bright in the sky again, and Clive following the dirt path back down to the wooden dojo tucked beneath the walls of the castle grounds. Sturm was once again slung beneath his arm, the muzzle angled downwards and his hand on the stock. His boots crunched against the grass beneath his feet. Now and then a grasshopper leapt up and whirred away, buzzing towards the trees.
Despite the sun and the hint of spring warmth in the air the assassin still wore his black cloak, with the hood pulled up moodily around his head. He trudged reluctantly along the path. He knew there was a chance he could walk down and find Elza there, shooting at targets with Stern and Mond, and he wasn't entirely sure how he would greet her if he did see her again, but... he really did need the practice.
Rahal was out in the sunshine, enjoying the warming weather. He came out in a lighter version of his blue tunic, Lamphinian gripped in his hand. He took in a deep breath before slowly working through the simple motions of warming up. His motions were smooth, like water, gliding from one stance into the next. He didn't sense or see Clive approaching, continuing to work through the different patterns with a single-mindedness only professional and experiences swordsman gained.
The bright uniform stood out vividly against the yellow grass. Clive could see Rahal from well up the path, and it took him a moment to recognise the man, and most noticeably his long black hair. He only pressed his mouth into a line and continued along it towards the dojo, walking in silence. It didn't surprise him that the place was occupied; with the fine weather he supposed it was only natural that some of the castle's residents might be out enjoying it, with a mind to practice as well.
Clive remained wordless as he drew near. When he reached the fence he stood there and leaned Sturm up against it, pausing to watch Rahal go through his stances. "I didn't know you fought with a sword as well," he said after a moment, his voice quiet and his expression impassive.
Rahal slid to a halt, weapon geared towards Clive, but he immediately relaxed upon recognizing the blonde. "Clive," he greeted the blonde, sheathing his weapon as a show of respect and not wanting the other to feel threatened for any reason. "Ah yes. We need to know how to defend ourselves in case we ever get knocked from our mounts or must go somewhere the dragon horses cannot."
It took Clive a moment to digest that; then he nodded. "That makes sense," he said as he stepped back, put his foot on the low rail of the fence and his hand on the top rail and vaulted over it. His boots hit the earth on the other side and his cloak fell back around his legs. "I hope I'm not disturbing you," he added with a glance back over his shoulder as he reached across the top of the fence to retrieve his long rifle. "I was thinking of getting a little practice in myself while the weather is still decent. It's gonna get noisy here in a moment, sorry..."
Rahal shook his head, stepping closer and eyeing the weapon. He had the chance to watch Cathari use her weapon, but out of respect for her he had never gotten this close to the weapon before. "So, this is a 'gun'," Rahal mused, not touching the weapon though his eyes took in the different details with avid curiosity.
Though he felt greatly reluctant to put the weapon on display for someone who was not from the Guild, after some hesitation Clive nodded. "Yes, it is," he said, swinging the rifle into both of his hands. He snapped off the clips that held the sling fastened from the stock and the barrel and draped the leather piece hang over the rail of the fence. Sturm rested quietly against his palms, a length of black metal and polished old wood, somehow looking both sleek and lethal even when it was in repose.
Clive meanwhile eyed the other man with a mix of curiosity and wariness. "Where have you seen a gun before this?" he said, hefting the rifle beneath one arm as he snapped back the bolt. "I wasn't aware that many other people had, uh... come into contact with them."
"Cathari," Rahal replied easily, still only eyeing the weapon and making no move to touch it. He had not received permission, and the sheer dangerous aura of the weapon made him wary to come much nearer than the two feet he was to it. "She was quite skilled with it, the few times I had the honor of seeing her work with it," he nodded his head, eyes gliding over the slick wood and polished metal, appreciating with a healthy fear of it. "How long did it take you to master the weapon?"
"A very long time," said Clive, averting his eyes with a faint grimace. With the rifle pinned against his arm and hip he reached down to the belt beneath his coat and fished for the pouch of brass cartridges stashed aside there. "It can be very dangerous if it's mishandled. But I guess a sword is like that as well," he added, nodding to Rahal. He had had the opportunity to watch the man pass through the motions of his blade, moving with practiced ease. "How long have you been using one for...?"
"A sword? Oh, my training with it started as soon as I entered into Gordius, so I suppose around eleven or twelve, though I had rudimentary experience thanks to my father before that," Rahal mused, thinking on it as he regarded the brass cartridges, wondering how so small a thing cause such damage. He patted his blade, the hilt long and slim and wrapped in a dark gray similar to his gauntlets and boots. "Lamphinian," he called it with a small smile.
"Lamphinian...?" echoed Clive, frowning at the unfamiliar word. He paused in the action of loading the breech of the rifle and leaned his head aside to get a better look at the weapon sheathed beneath Rahal's hand. It looked thin and fast, a quick blade, something meant to slash in a flurry of motion. The bolt slide and snapped shut, and he glanced up. "And Gordius...? What is Gordius? It sounds like the name of a school- it's where you trained, did you say...?"
"It is it the training camp for those who wish to become Dragon Cavaliers," Rahal explained. "For a long time it was only for men, but I got that changed recently as me tenor as Commander so we now train and allow female Cavaliers." He watched Clive with that same avid interest, dark blue orbs watching his motions like a jungle cat watching its prey pick through the underbrush. "And Lamphinian is the name of my weapon."
With the rifle loaded and ready Clive unconsciously patted the stock, letting his hand rest briefly against the metal barrel. Then, sensing that he was being observed he lifted his gaze and glanced aside. Upon realising that the rider was watching him he flattened his mouth and turned his head back towards the distant targets in order to let his hood hide his face, wary of being under scrutiny. "It sounds like you had a lot of authority at this Gordius place if you managed to get a rule like that changed," he said as he worked his feet into the grass, testing his stance. "I haven't heard of a lot of militaries that let women fight in the ranks."
"Oh, Gordius is merely our training facility," Rahal explained casually. "Sauronix Castle is our official headquarters. As Commander, I have control over all of the Dragon Calvary, with advisors, of course. I finally managed to get the advisors to agree to a law change, and now women are allowed." He stood a little back from Clive, waiting patiently for him to demonstrate the weapon, but giving him respectable room as well, unaware of how the weapon actually operated. "My friend Miakis was perfectly capable of being an excellent Cavalier, save for being a woman. It just seemed a shame for her to be denied a position based on sex."
Clive thought of Elza and her deadly shooting and found himself with no argument to give. "I agree, things like that should be decided by skill," he said as he hoisted Sturm to his shoulder and took aim along the barrel. The head of the unfortunate straw dummy at the far end of the range bobbed into view, and he took careful aim and steadied his arm. There was a moment of silence, broken only by another whirring insect, and then Clive squeezed the trigger.
The 'CRACK' rang into the trees. A great tuft of straw burst from the side of the dummy's head. Clive grimaced and lowered the rifle- he'd clipped the target, again. Too much on his mind. "What's it like being a Cavalier?" he said as he turned back to face Rahal, the gun resting back against his hip.
Rahal jumped despite his best efforts to be prepared for the sharp noise, but he still jumped, giving the weapon a respectful look as even the clip of the bullet did some serious damage to the side of the target. Assured that Clive was in no danger of being distracted with the weapon, he fingered his weapon and thought on how to explain what it was like. "Well, it's a lot of things. Back when I was just a petty officer and a Captain, it was racing over water and grasslands, defending Falena. Your best friends were your partner and your dragon horse and... I felt good, doing what I did. I felt proud - really proud."
Clive nodded. He regarded the other man gravely, taking care to keep the rifle muzzled pointed up at the sky. "You enjoyed your work," he said without smiling, matter-of-factly. "You felt proud to serve. Did that change, after you became a Commander...?"
"No, but it became... tiring," he admitted. "I fight with my advisors more than anything, I'm in charge of so much and I hardly have anytime for myself, much less Flail or my friends. And my old partner is off at Sol Falena - under my order, but still." He shrugged again, rubbing his temples. "I'm doing what's right for the Calvary, and trying to be the best Commander I can once Craig gave the position over to me. But sometimes I wish I could go back to just being Captain Rahal or even Petty Officer Rahal.”
"Hmm." Clive said nothing for a moment as he considered that, glancing aside. He stared down at the distant target, which now had an odd clump of straw sticking out of the side of its head. The sight of it irritated him for some reason, and he turned back and assumed a firing stance again, levelling Sturm towards. Without looking away from the target he closed one eye and said, "It's important to do your job whether you like it or not. But it seems like you've got a chance to get away from being a Commander here, in this place. What about taking a break while you're here...?"
"I am," Rahal chuckled, going to take a place against the railing. "I renounced my title while I'm here. I just take care of Flail and myself. Though it doesn't keep me from worrying about my people and my troops."
A second crack rocked the air, and the dummy shuddered and spat out a mass of straw from behind its back where the cartridge tore through it. Clive waited until he heard the echo ring away before lowering the gun again, a little more satisfied with his aim this time around. "You'd be less of a man if you didn't worry," he said flatly as he stared down the target, his expression impassive. "Do you think they're all right? What's the situation out in Falena now anyway...?"
"I'm not sure," Rahal admitted. "From what I've heard it's stable, but I haven't gone out there. And it feels weird, going to the future of my country." He shook his head. "And right now I'm content to be here. It's a break, like you said."
Clive's mouth flattened a little at that. A break... he couldn't imagine it. The thought of stepping away from work was something his mind recoiled from. "Aren't you worried that you'll lose your edge the longer you stay here?" he said, glancing over at the rider. "I mean, without any duty or responsibility to keep you sharp, or fighting...?"
"I think I'll be fine," Rahal glided slim fingers up and down his hilt absently, regarding Clive. "But, in ways, this gives me time to think - think about if I want to continue as the Commander or find myself a replacement."
"What do you think you'll do?" said Clive as he stepped back and settled out of his stance with the rifle's stock tucked under his elbow. He studied Rahal, his eyes lowering to the hilt of the man's sword. "Do you really want to keep the Commander position, or find something new to commit yourself to?"
"I'm not sure," Rahal shook his head again. "Craig entrusted me with the position, and there's no one else I trust to make the right decisions for the Calvary." He rubbed his temples, a head ache building rapidly. "It's a difficult choice, and one I'm not sure I can make. I'll probably continue being the Commander."
"Duty should always come first," said Clive without hesitation, looking satisfied with the statement as soon as he said it. "If there's a job you have to do, then you do it. I guess it's the same for soldiers and officers."
Then he paused, observing the way that Rahal had a hand to his head as if fending off a pain there. Clive frowned and stepped back again, swinging his gun to his side. "I interrupted your practice," he said. "You looked like you know how to handle a sword pretty well. I guess you wouldn't be a Commander if you couldn't."
"Oh, thank you," Rahal blinked, surprised at the sudden compliment. "And no, I probably wouldn't. But swordsmanship is not everything it takes to be Commander." Though sometimes he wished it was because that would mean he wouldn't be Commander. "And yes, duty does come first, doesn't it?" he mumbled.
Sturm came to rest against the ground with a dusty 'thump'. Clive leaned it against the fence, then backed up against it himself. He laid his hands back against the top railing and swiftly vaulted up onto it from a standstill, seating himself a moment later. "Do you mind showing me some of your swordwork?" he said as he dusted his hands off on his knees, nodding to the hilt. "I don't get a chance to see that kind of thing up close, not usually."
"Oh, I'd be more than happy to," Rahal grinned, jumping off and drawing the blade. He decided to pick up where he had left off, in the mid-section of the warm-up, and began to glide across the grass, using his back foot as a pivot and twisting and turning, the blade glinting in swift silver streaks through the air with perfect calm and control.
Clive finished brushing off his hands and then leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling between his lower legs and his cloak draped behind him. He said nothing and contented himself to watch the rider wheel and slash the air, the sword flashing in the sun. His expression was serious again, but there was a calculating light in his eye now as he sized up the effortless path the blade carved through the air.
A thought struck him, and he leaned aside and reached into the pouch at his belt, where the fresh cartridges were store. "That's pretty good," he said as he withdrew one and held it between his thumb and forefinger. "How are you at precision? Think you could cut this in the air if I threw it?"
He came over and pondered the little object. It was true he had devoted himself to speed and precision rather than speed and power. He was simply to light to put much power behind his attacks. "I could give it a try," he nodded, peering at the object and adjusting his grip on his blade.
Clive nodded. "Good luck," he said cryptically. After a few gently motions to test his aim he tucked his thumb behind the cartridge and flipped it towards Rahal. It was a small thing, a few inches in length with a deadly bullet tip, and it glittered bright gold in the sunlight as it flew in an arch across the space between them.
There was a whoosh, the flash of silver and blue. A shriek rang, like the sharp cry of a hawk, Rahal's body stretched in a beautiful arching line. As for the bullet - it clattered to the ground in two pieces, glinting in the sunlight.
As soon as both pieces of the brass cartridge hit the grass Clive gripped the fence with both hands and kicked down from it, landing with a thud. He brushed bits of wooden splinters from the seat of his trousers and then reached over to sling up Sturm in one hand. "That was really good," he said, and though his manner was serious there was a note of respect in his voice. "I don't think a lot of people could hit a moving target out of the air like that, with a sword."
Rahal rubbed the back of his head and laughed. "Well, I'm not much on power, so I put it into accuracy instead." He sheathed his blade and dusted himself off, wiping sweat from his brow. "I'm sure you're more accurate than I with your weapon."
"It's designed and built to be accurate," said Clive as he stooped to pick up the gun's sling from the place it lay in the grass. There was a note of pride in his voice as he said it. He snapped the clip onto the barrel and shrugged, reluctant to explain the mechanics behind it in greater detail. "It's just like anything else, you've gotta practice with it to be good. I don't think I could hit a target as small as that one was, especially up close. It's interesting to see what someone trained with a sword is capable of doing. I'll have to remember that. Thanks for the demonstration, Sir Rahal. It was interesting."
"Not a problem, Clive," Rahal smiled gently, looking across the grounds towards the stables. "And you don't have to call me 'Sir'. I'm not a Commander anymore, remember?" He stretched and patted his blade. "Now, if you'll excuse me, time for some daily exercise with Flail. I hope to see you again soon."
Clive winced. It had slipped out again. "Force of habit," he admitted as he clipped the other end of the sling onto the gun's stock. Then, swinging the rifle over his shoulder, he nodded and gave a quick, terse smile and added, "Yeah, I hope to see you around, S- Rahal. It was good talking to you. I hope your exercise goes well."
Rahal smiled and waved, heading off a light jog towards the stables, silently wondering what it would be like to fire a gun.