07-26-2020, 03:35 PM
(A few weeks into the timeskip)
Arthak stood in the center of the doorway to the training yards of what had once been the headquarters of the Guardian's of the Eternal Spring. Cigarette clenched in his teeth, his gaze wandered over the Shadowsword soldiers. Most of them were organized into pairs, straightforward sparring, colliding with both sword and spell against one another.
Ignoring the magic use, it reminded him of the training of the Blackrock. Most of the clans went in for little formal training. You learned how to swing an axe, maybe raise a shield, and then you went to battle. If you survived, that was your training. To be fair to his people, that was often all that was really necessary. But all you had to do was watch what the Blackrock legions were capable of doing in regards to fortifications and phalanx fighting to see the value that actual, serious training had.
The elves didn't have the natural strength, endurance or durability of an orc. Training was a necessity; the lack of it was a death sentence.
Thankfully, they had a talented commander ensuring the felblooded soldiers were prepared. Of their elven allies, Selin was the only one Arthak had found worthy of respect. The former spellbreaker was a traitor to his people, but one with principles rather than the naked ambition and greed that characterized his superiors.
He was also undeniably competent.
At the moment, Selin was doing largely the same thing Arthak was, minus the tobacco, from the other side of the yard. He observed, periodically gesturing to one of the training officers when something needed correcting or when it was time to rotate.
They'd discussed this already, something of an exchange of training. Arthak would come a few times to the Shadowsword and provide some orcish training, and Selin would reciprocate with the warriors of the Broken Blade. Arthak was first.
Finished his cigarette, and lighting another, Arthak took a step forward, into the edge of the yard, catching Selin's gaze as he did.
Might as well get started.
Arthak stood in the center of the doorway to the training yards of what had once been the headquarters of the Guardian's of the Eternal Spring. Cigarette clenched in his teeth, his gaze wandered over the Shadowsword soldiers. Most of them were organized into pairs, straightforward sparring, colliding with both sword and spell against one another.
Ignoring the magic use, it reminded him of the training of the Blackrock. Most of the clans went in for little formal training. You learned how to swing an axe, maybe raise a shield, and then you went to battle. If you survived, that was your training. To be fair to his people, that was often all that was really necessary. But all you had to do was watch what the Blackrock legions were capable of doing in regards to fortifications and phalanx fighting to see the value that actual, serious training had.
The elves didn't have the natural strength, endurance or durability of an orc. Training was a necessity; the lack of it was a death sentence.
Thankfully, they had a talented commander ensuring the felblooded soldiers were prepared. Of their elven allies, Selin was the only one Arthak had found worthy of respect. The former spellbreaker was a traitor to his people, but one with principles rather than the naked ambition and greed that characterized his superiors.
He was also undeniably competent.
At the moment, Selin was doing largely the same thing Arthak was, minus the tobacco, from the other side of the yard. He observed, periodically gesturing to one of the training officers when something needed correcting or when it was time to rotate.
They'd discussed this already, something of an exchange of training. Arthak would come a few times to the Shadowsword and provide some orcish training, and Selin would reciprocate with the warriors of the Broken Blade. Arthak was first.
Finished his cigarette, and lighting another, Arthak took a step forward, into the edge of the yard, catching Selin's gaze as he did.
Might as well get started.