The Drunkard's Tales
-
A steady breeze blew through the exercise yard. The sun had spent the day peeking out from behind lazily moving clouds; making the brightly coloured robes of the Novitiates leap into life randomly.
From one of a few balconies overlooking the yard, two venerable old figures looked upon the students. Despite the simple robes they wore, the words of these two carried great weight within the temple.
“Another day of choosing is upon us” it was typical of these two that the venerable Halfling broke the silence. The Old Elf standing beside her smiled.
“It seems like only yesterday that we oversaw the last one”
The Halfling snorted. “does time go by so easily for your kind that you can blink 15 years away” she chided. “aside from single students here and there; we have not seen this many come to this day together in quite some time”
They both grew quiet. They were well aware of the reason behind the influx of students. Most had been orphaned by the times. There had been much war in the Silver Marches in past years. The monastary had taken in many orphans, most babies when they entered the gates. Most would die of old age before they left. Still with such a large influx, naturally there were a larger number that took to studying the more….physical aspects of Monkhood.
There came a time when the students could choose a particular style to practice. They would still be mentored by all of the monks, however those that chose a particular style, would gain the benefit of increased time with a specific mentor; who would oversee the development of that student more keenly.
Within the training yard, all of the students were gathered. They were treated to many demonstrations by the monks. Most were the common sights shown at local festivals and faires. Kata demonstrations, feats of strength, agility, endurance. They were given also a special treat. A mock Tourney; showcasing all of the particular styles practiced here and in neighbouring monastaries. Any monks who were willing to devote more time to students showcased their style.
A young human boy with keen eyes watched the Tourney. He stood with a grouping of other students. They were all watching every move, every strike and parry. He remained undecided. There were so many particulars! Did he want to focus on Grace? Speed? Style? Power? Durability? Or stay in the middle of the road? Sacrificing specialized knowledge for variety? The next match broke him of his reverie.
Two monks stepped onto the mats. Master Draegeur ordinary looking, shaved, clean, quiet and aesthetic. The other didn't so much as step into the ring as stumble in. His robes were in disarray, head and face scruffy. He had many strings of beads around his neck and wrists. The Dwarf, Master Bin.
His notoriety around the local villages and monastaries was only rivaled by his close companion, the Halfling Master Burroughs. It is said that if one of them strolled into town, the innkeepers would smile and unlock their ale larders; but if both wandered into town, the inns would board their windows, mothers would chase their daughters indoors, and all the ne'er do wells would flee town like rats.
With a slight bow from Draegeur, and a wide grin from Bin, the match began. The young boy had never seen such an exquisite deception! He was enthralled. He quickly saw through the glamour of the dwarfs movements. Every movement fit in, attacks seemingly haphazardly thrown landed squarely. The Dwarfs balance was perfect! The match ended, both monks bowing to each other. Turning to the other students, he saw that he was the only one who had seen the deception. The other boys made quiet remarks and snickered behind their hands at Old Master Bin.
Later that day, the students stood in an ordered line. The various masters from the tourney sat around, in a loose semi-circle. One by one, the students who wished to take on a particular form stepped forward and made their request.
Soon a boy stepped forward, bowing “Masters, I wish to study under Master Bin” the Dwarf raised his half-lidded eyes, appraising the boy. “yur name ladd?”
“Marcus sir”
The Dwarf nodded. “Very well. Ye will move yur things to me quarters”
Bowing Marcus ran off.
