[Thuntir Halvard]

Timestamp: Second Cycle of Ponutis, Winter of Era XIII P.F.

Balash Dankov was waiting for Thuntir in the Citadel courtyard. He was, by the standards of the city watch these days, a veteran, but of late Thuntir had noticed him drifting off during meetings, and he'd been complaining more than usual for him (which was a fair amount to begin with). He obviously needed a break, and Thuntir was the man to give it to him. In exchange for some of that experience lurking inside his head, of course. Thuntir had convinced the human to give him some basic tips on how to use the cinqueda he'd found in the armory several months back, in exchange for a few ales and a promise to work some shifts for him so he could get some of that R&R that humans seemed to need such copious amounts of. Truth be told, even Thuntir's dwarfish constitution began to flag after one or two particularly demanding patrols (one incident last cycle stood out where he'd had to yell at a couple of street vendors for what felt like an hour before they finally stopped threatening each other), but he wasn't going to admit that to anyone if he could help it.

Balash was a slender, unshaven man who probably kept a cigarillo planted firmly between his lips even when he tucked in at night. A lot of my comrades have that habit, he reflected, wondering what drew men to tobacco so readily. It wasn't something used in the Nightlands, since, questions of importation aside, frivolous generation of smoke could be dangerous in some poorly-ventilated areas and was heavily discouraged. By contrast, Balash's scented smoke drifted gaily up toward the sky that was just beginning to darken with the coming twilight. "Let me see your weapon again," the guard said by way of greeting when Thuntir approached. He obligingly slid it from its sheath and offered it to the Nexian. He'd taken a look at the cinqueda before, when the two of them had made their deal, but he went over it a lot more thoroughly now: examining the fullers, testing the flexibility of the blade, running a thumb along the edge, taking a few experimental slashes and thrusts, and even pulling out his own shortsword and comparing it alongside.

"It's not the same as what I use," he grunted when he'd finished doing everything he could think of to the cinqueda. "But it's not entirely dissimilar either. This will be your first lesson, and it's one everyone who claims to be a fighter ought to know. Know your weapon, and your enemy's. Both your armor and his, too, if you've got any, but weapons are more important at the level we're at. Some are pretty versatile. Some aren't, and are only good at a few things and bullocks at everything else. I think your weapon is more one of the second than the first." He held up both blades as he continued. "You see how your sword is a bit shorter than mine, and broader? It's also slightly stiffer, and has a greater taper. I imagine that it's used pretty much the same as a shortsword - otherwise I wouldn't even bother being here - but its strengths aren't quite the same. See, most shortswords are pretty versatile things, good for both cutting and thrusting in close quarters, though the thrust is really where they do the best. Yours is more specialized. That taper puts the weight of the blade closer to the hilt, which makes it feel lighter, but also means there won't be much force behind any cuts you make with this overgrown dagger. The unusual width is there just to make a stab-wound bigger. The edges are sharp, so you can slash, but that's probably not going to give you any deathblows." He handed the cinqueda back to its owner.

"And make no mistake, if the knives come out and someone's trying to stick you, aim to kill. Someone who's fighting to 'apprehend' their enemy is vulnerable to someone who's fighting to kill. Maybe one day you'll be good enough to pull off stunts like that in a real combat, but right now, farting around and holding back will make you dead. We don't need to risk ourselves to spare the lives of lunatics and murderers.

"All right, let's get to some basic blade-handling while we've still got some light left in the day. As I recall, you've been toting that thing around for a few months now and you've had a run-in or two during that time. But I'm going to start with the raw basics anyway, b'cause I don't know what you've picked up and what you haven't. Show me what you think a good stance is." Thuntir felt slightly affronted that his instructor would downplay the incident with the Manticore to the status of 'run-in,' but then again, Balash had actually managed to survive the massacre at city hall as well as the pirate attack (without sleeping through it as Thuntir had, to his continuing shame), so it wasn't like the human hadn't dealt with his share of crises. He assumed what he thought was a pretty good fighting stance and waited for the inevitable rebuke.