[Flashback] Pointy End Goes in Squishy Things -- Basic Cutlass Training (Mod Please)

[Michael Poe]

To the ModeratorSince this will be a bit more freeform into Michael's past, anticipating doing things like this I left his past intentionally vague. The purpose is to give those that moderate into Michael's past a lot of leeway to take it whatever direction they please. This is no different, feel free to do this however you like.

The Tenth of Kalendryas, in the Season of Winter
Era I of the Celestine Mandate, Era XV Post Fractum

After having completed the 'walkthrough' of his studio apartment--which, as the name might suggest, was a studio and so took all of fifteen steps to walk through--he threw himself on the small couch with a sigh. It squeaked as he sat, and he froze for a moment to make sure it wasn't a rodent of some kind. Once he was confident it wasn't he sighed, leaning back, and placed his head on the back of the sofa. As he blew out a soft breath, his gaze lingering on the ceiling, he chuckled softly; mirthlessly. While it wasn't broken, this apartment was damaged. Used and hollow, empty ever since the previous occupant had no further use for it. It didn't take a child and a 'connect-the-dots' scroll to see the rather drab and cliche comparisons between the apartment and himself.

But that was the odd thing, wasn't it? He was living here now. He was giving it purpose. Showing it care and use. Could he say the same thing about himself? He was in no way lacking in confidence nor comfortability with himself, only direction to bring about fulfillment.

Minor detail, he mused sarcastically. He gazed out at the ocean on the cold winter brightening. When he'd been a child it had been so much easier. Everything was laid out for him. The truth was black and white, as was his future. 'Grow up and be a merchant on the sea like dear old dad' he'd always told himself. Nothing wrong with carrying on the family business. His father had taught him a great many things about life. How to be kind to strangers, how to give life your all, how to lie to your family about what you do, how to abandon them when they need you most.

Luckily the man hadn't been a complete good-for-nothing, and had taught his son some practical skills. He'd given his son some sea-faring experience, and taught him how to defend himself with a blade. Hardly perfectly, but at least how to not hurt himself with a cutlass, and basic instruction on 'not-dying'. Though as a child he obviously should have pieced it together sooner, he figured life as a sea merchant was rough and required such knowledge, having been completely oblivious to his father's true career. In fact, there were only a handful of positive memories that Michael did have about his father, and it was usually when he was teaching his son something. In a rare mood, the middle-aged Poe let his mind wander, remembering those brightenings training.




He was twelve. He'd hit puberty early, and so was already sprouting upwards and outwards, his body developing quite well. He was lacking in facial hair at the time, it having not grown in quite yet, and because of it he still bore the nickname 'babyface'.

He was living happily with his mother and father, but his father was rarely home. Instead, his mother raised him for the most part, but today Mikey was excited. His father was coming home! For months he'd been begging his father to teach him some swordplay. All the kids usually ran around with sticks and horsed around playing 'swords', and Mikey had never once won, because despite having grown up hit puberty early, there was one boy who was bigger, and another who's father had taught him how to fight. They always taunted him about how much better they were than him, and it aggravated him to no end. Last time his father had only been home for a brightening, but had promised when he came back he'd teach Mikey.

He saw his father's ship sailing into harbor, and lept up. He darted to the door, shouting inside quickly "Mooootherrrrr, going to go meet Faaaatherrrr..." he heard a quick 'okay' from his mother and darted down towards the Freeport docks. At last, he was going to be able to wipe those arrogant grins of those two stupid bullies' faces!

[Whisper]

The Freeport docks were crowded with ships that brightening. It was a sunny, clear day and the sails of vessels large and small flapped in the light breeze. Brawny sailors unloaded heavy crates of cargo, gleaming with gold or smelling of exotic spices. The docks themselves were swarming with vendors hawking their wares from rolling carts, thieves looking to swipe anything grabbable, and lady escorts with crooked teeth and frilly skirts that were patched and frayed.

It was a lovely day to be in Freeport.

He wasn't a baby, but Michael wasn't yet entirely immune to the dangers (or fun, however you saw it) of the docks. Good thing he wasn't carrying anything valuable; otherwise, it would have immediately been swiped from his pockets by the many people who jostled into him, most of which were pickpockets who enjoyed close proximity to others for just this purpose. With all the people that were milling around the docks, it was hard to see who was coming or going to and from which ship. You couldn't really tell if the clean-shaven fellow had come from the little ferry or the fishing boat, or if the curvy buxom lass had come from the carrack or the pirate ships. The latter all displayed their signature black flags with the skull and crossed bones, crazy grins leering at the residents of Freeport with their empty socket stares.

"Hey!" Someone clapped a firm, heavy hand on Michael's shoulder. If he were to turn around, he would see not a thief or bully, but the friendly, smiling face of Alexander Poe. His features warmed at the sight of his only child. His blue shirt lay halfway unbuttoned upon his lean figure, and his favorite cutlass hung from its sheath at his side. He carried a long black box under his arm.

"Fancy seeing you here," he grinned, quickly stepping to protect his son from a particularly surly-looking and enormous orc who was waddling by.

[Michael Poe]

OOCOh goody! ^.^ I was beginning to worry you'd forgotten about me. Thanks again for nabbing this, Whisper.


At first he was startled by the man who clapped him on the shoulder. As had become the reflexive reply to such an action, The callow youth spat out smartly,

"Hey! I didn't do nuthin!" As he turned to face the man with a perplexed look on his face, it quickly altered into relief, and then excitement when he saw the mien of the man standing there.

"Father!" He almost threw his arms around the man like he'd done when he was a child, but he refrained. Instead he stood there and grinned impishly at the sight of his father, but spoke in a manner that seemed slightly too serious, like a child hoping that if they're serious they'll be taken seriously rather than treated like a kid. He wasn't a kid anymore, after all.

"You're finally back...welcome home, father. So...are you finally going to give me the lessons you promised?" His face was energetic and eager, ready to be taught. He very much hoped his father wouldn't back out of this. It was only then that he noticed the box his father was carrying under his arm. He had always been a sharp lad, so he had a guess, but he wanted to know for sure rather then be presumptuous.

"Ooohh...what's that you've got with you?"

[Whisper]

Alexander recognized the boy's instinct to embrace him, and also the restraint he showed in resisting. Little Mike certainly was growing up, and fast. Yes, it was the right time indeed.

"Lessons? What lessons? I thought we would go home, maybe take a nap, mop the floors..." Alexander gave a theatrical little yawn. "I don't know if I have the energy for anything too exciting. Well, I guess, besides some cutlass lessons. But I don't know, a nap is sounding plenty exciting for me..."

He began to lead the way towards home, smiling at Mike playfully. As he walked, whatever was in the box rattled cutlassish-ly. "Oh, this? Just a little something I picked up overseas. I wasn't sure if you'd be interested..."

[Michael Poe]

As he heard his progenitor's teasing words, Michael pushed on his father's arm. not hard enough to knock him over--the youth wasn't near that strong enough yet--but enough to perhaps falter the man a bit.

"Faaaatheeeer," He wailed pleadingly, "C'mon! You promised!" As his next words came out, though, Michael's face, which was a frown of consternation and a slight edge of panic at having been forgotten, tranformed into a huge grin of joy.

"Really? You will?" His words sounded full of disbelief, and he was clealry very excited. "C'mon! You can nap later....pleeeeeaaaaaaaaase?" he hated begging, but his father's teasing manner always had a way of making him do it. As he mentioned the box and rattled it about, it hadn't even had a chance to rattle for more than a few seconds before, midway through his words, Michael had plucked at what had been in his father's possession and, once he hopefully had it in hand, tore it open, both excitedly curious and to a more suppressed degree, a secret knowledge of what it more than likely was inside.

He was like a child on his birthbrightening, grinning ear to ear with untold glee.

[Michael Poe]

To Any Following Along...I got permission from Whisper to self-mod this a long time back...I just never got around to it until now. :(


"Alright then,"his father started with a grin, "There are some basic things to remember." He was talking as the pair walked, "And the first of which are the parts of the sword. First-"

"I know, I know," Mikey interrupted, "We went over this last time you came home!" His father quirked a curious eyebrow.

"Oh really, Mister Smartypants? Then recited them from farthest to closest." Mike nodded knowledgably and began his recitation with a tiny degree of pride and smugness at remembering.

"Tip, blade, guard, hilt, pommel." Alexander lifted a brow even further at his son and tilted his head to the side.

"Not bad, smart guy, but next comes the really tricky part. Can you recite the various parts of the blade?" The boy, not expecting this, furrowed his brow a bit in thought as he tried to recall that part.

"The tip is the very end, the true edge is the edge usually used to cut with, the false edge is the edge usually facing away from who you're fighting--or, on a one-edged sword it's the blunt side--and then underneath the guard, hilt, and pommel is the tang, which extends to the very pommel....and is usually heavier, so that the balance point of the blade is right near the guard." Now Alex truly was impressed. He didn't expect his boy to remember all of that, which he'd tried to teach the boy last time. Previously he'd been so excited to hold a blade that it seemed like he was tuning his father out, and so it was a pleasant surprise to Alexander that his son had remembered his words.

"Alright. Then we'll work on stances on this brightening. I've only got a few brightenings to stick around, so lets see if we can't get you learned up in three or four, hmm?" Young Michael Poe whooped for joy at the thought, bouncing around his father, and his dad chuckled softly and held out the package.

"You did a good job reciting, so here. You can open it, but you cannot use it until I give permission, okay?" Mike nodded emphatically and tore the package open. As he pulled it free he gazed at it reverently.

"Woah..." The cutlass was a good length for a man--a bit large on Michael, but he would grow into it--and though it was a very simple weapon, it was very sharp and very dangerous. Less ornamentals to attract thieves and to throw off the functionality of the weapon. This was no toy. This was a useful tool of death, the black leather-wrapped hilt protected by a brass guard that came down to cover the front of his hands, connected to a brass knob for a pommel. The blade was in perfect condition, not swung a single time, and protected by a leather scabbard, and hooked to an adjustable swordbelt...and it was all his.

"Now, you promised," his father warned as he gazed reverently and adoringly at his new weapon, "No using it until I give permission. During training and practice, you aren't even to take it out of your damn scabbard. Don't want you taking out your own eye or any other such body part, much less any of mine. Am I understood?" Michael nodded obediently, if with a pained look in his eye.

"Yes father."

"Good." As the pair walked, they eventually found a small alley near where they lived...it a place they had together long scouted out to practice to Michael could learn.

"Now...your first lesson will be on stances."

"Awww! Faaaaatherrrr..." before he could get any further, Alex cut him off.

"No whining. Do you want to learn or don't you?" Mike was torn; he clearly wanted to play with his new blade, but he remembered the promise he'd made to his father not even a handful of moments ago.

"Yes sir."

"Good boy."

[Michael Poe]

"Now, stances," Alex began as they reached the alley, "Stances and footwork are very important in swordplay. There are three basic stances for every type of comat, no matter what type of weapon you have or even if you have none at all. Watch what I do carefully and try to mirror me." Mike nodded and watched as his father moved his feet.

Stepping forwards with his left leg, his forward leg was bent at the kneecap so that if he looked straight down, all he could see was the tips of his toes. This right leg which was behind him was perfectly straight and the foot was turned at a slight angle because otherwise it would be a little bit painful to maintain. In between his legs was a gap about 30 centimeters apart. Mike watched closely, and it took him a few tries but eventually he got the stance down.

"Took you long enough," his father teased lightly and Michael flushed, "That's a Front Stance or Forward Stance. The second stance is the Back Stance. It's primarily used for defensive fighting rather than aggressive which you'll find the Forward Stance is more than capable of."

Still in his forward stance, he started to shift his body in some minute ways until it was apparent that the entire stance had in fact changed. Turning his hips first of all, his body now faced forwards the left before he then shuffled his right leg backwards so that both of Alex's feet were in line with one another. When he did this, his left leg which was previously straight and behind him was now bent at the knee slightly and on his side. Once all this had been finished to Alex's approval, he then turned his upper body to almost look over his right shoulder. Mike watched carefully as he took the stance, and shifted his own body to copy it. He was slow in doing so, mostly because this was all so new to him.

"Not bad, Kiddo. Try and widen your stance a little bit more and it'd be perfect. The final stance you'll be taught is a simple and one that some feel is absolutely useless in a fight. It's called a Squat Stance. It's basically just a squat which is designed to keep your center of balance low and even." He demonstrated quickly by pulling himself from his current stance into a normal standing posture, then spreading them out on either side of him, trying to land with his legs just over a shoulder-width apart, bent very low, trying to keep it under a foot and a half from the ground. Yet again Michael copied his father, and Alexander nodded.

"So it seems you aren't completely useless," his father teased, "I want you to be able to fall into these stances naturally and without thought. All brightening I want you to simply practice that. Practice going from regular walking into any of these stances. Go about your business, and then repeatedly throughout it just fall into one of the stances. It'll take time at first, but I want it to come as naturally to you as breathing. We'll pick back up at dawn on the morrow, and I want to see you able to fall into that stance in an instant, intimately comfortable with it." Alex turned to head over to the house and Mike blinked.

"That's it?" he asked incredulously. Alex nodded.

"That's it, Kiddo. Stances are important. If your stance gets broken, your form gets broken, and if your form gets broken, your chances of losing usually at least triple." Mike nodded at his father, trusting in the man's wisdom. He looked up to him, and there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for him, no reason he wouldn't follow his father.

And so, for the rest of the brightening until he was called in to eat and go to bed, he practiced. Walked around town just to get used to falling into the various stances naturally, and then he'd usually randomly shift between the three stances after falling into a randomly chosen one. By the end of the brightening his legs burned with the use from falling into unfamiliar and strange stances. He wasn't excited about the practice, but he knew that if he did well, he might get to practice learning how to hold and wield his sword next...and he did love his sword he'd gotten from his father.

A cutlass and sword lessons? This was turning out to be one of the best cycles ever.