Glaive Insights

Log Info

• Title: Glaive Insights
• Emitter: Warrick
• Characters: Warrick, Aelwyn
• Place: Lower Trades
• Time: April 21st, 2023
• Summary: Aelwyn gets some glaive lessons from Warrick, who's working on his crossbow at his friend's forge. The Dragoon orders a blunted one for practice from the proprietor.

Lower Trades, Slatesteel Services, Morning

Upon this fair weather morning, where the sun warms and the shadows chill, one workshop out of many along the Lower Trades of Alexnadria is abuzz with activity. This one has the workbenches strewn about with various projects upon them in an open air room that faces the road, with a door to the back that presumably leads to a forge with the way a chimney billows smoke out the back.

Upon the workbenches is that of a Eldanar man, him down to sleeveless shirt and sweating amongst the general heat of the workshop. On the workbench is a well worn crossbow, and in his hands is a file as he's carefully shaving away parts of a locking mechanism. He wipes his brow with his scarred arm, the tattooed symbol of Serriel flashing by as he huffs and resumes his work.

Beside him is a khzad woman, middle in age with some grey in her red hair and ragged scarring on the side of her face, has her arms crossed, watching him work. "eets gonna not lock right, ya now?"

"I know," Warrick groans, like he's been told this a dozen time.

"Well don' come cryin' tae me when yae shoot yer foot off, 'cause I ain't kissin' it betta," she tuts.

"I am going to reinforce it," the man says evenly, focusing on filing.

"Wit' what? Hopes and bloody prayers?" she throws her hands up. He opens his mouth. "Nuh. No. I don' wannae hear ya plan. 'cause I'm gonna have ta make some weird thing, ain't I."

He says nothing but lightly smiles.

"Fook yae."

The sun out brings out a lot of people into the Trades - now not just for the heat of the workshops! That is as far as one sith-makar was concerned. A red ribbon covered polearm's tip was bopping above the crowd, as its owner smoothly slid around the form. Occasionally, it pauses by a smith, or a workshop - but then moments later continues on moving forward.

Until it stops by Warrick and the woman having their argument. "Bad time, Crossbow?" The ruddy sith-makar asks with a rumbling amusement, as he tilts his hip. "This one was not expecting to find him here."

Clad in his usual barely-leather-armor and red loincloth, his tarp like cloak has been discarded in favor of basking in the sun.

A sign above creaks, made of metal with a stamped out 'Slatesteel Services' upon it in Trade.

Warrick is about to retort, but he raises his attention to the makari that makes his presence known. He blinks. Then sighs. "... Aelwyn," he greets.

The woman beside him perks. "Aye. Customers can rent th' workshop if theys need ta work on somethin'." The Khazad looks him down and up. "Yae look like ya could use a little mo' paddin' there, lass-"

"Lad," Warrick corrects.

The woman falters slightly. "... er, lad, aye."

He shakes his head. "Cool it with the upsell, Cap," he says to her before looking to Aelwyn, stopping his filing work. "Not really a bad time. I tinker with my weapons here."

Aelwyn reaches up with the sign with his hand- quickly replacing the hand with the tip of his glaive, looking at the letters stamped there. Yes, this was the correct place. He clicks his teeth, "Crossbow no-" He tries to begin, before he gets bombarded by the woman.

Orange pupils going wide, he simply stands there for a moment as he tries to keep up. Finally, the runt of a sith-makar grins and leans slightly against his glaive with a definitely masculine hip tilt. "This one is packing enough, Stranger. No padding required." Macabre flash of teeth.

Eyes turn towards Warrick, "Workshop owners?" He asks then, with a tilt of his head. Then he rumbles with another glint of his teeth. "And this one did not dance in here, Crossbow. Would that have taken the exhale away?" Yep, his tails in the air in amusement.

The khazad woman bursts out laughing at that while Warrick just sighs. "I know some of ya like that! Either they kno' what they doin', or they gets shanked in the kidney!" she grins. "Nae. This is my shop. Rick here is just mooching."

"Yep," Warrick grunts, returning to filing. He just stares at Aelwyn.

The Khzad woman tuts at him and turns to Aelwyn. "Don't bother wit' him, sour lad. Ya look like yae on a mission, need somethin'? Name's Slatesteel."

Aelwyn straightens up to a stance, leaning slightly away from Warrick, clicking his tongue. "This one minds," He gestures with his hand, "Sour can be a delight." He takes a step towards Slatesteel; but he flicks his tail out on the passing. "As long as this one doesn't get shanked too hard on the back."

Taking in a deep breath, the ruddy sith-makar then relaxes into a more casual stance. "This one is, and this one was guided here. The workshop handle glaives?" He grabs his polearm and holds it out. "It is a fine blade, but this one would prefer another look." And after a moment, he glances towards Warrick. Slowly, those orange eyes turn back towards Slatesteel. "... and do they sell glaives, fit for a veteran that has never held one before?"

Warrick puts his crossbow down, crossing his arms. "I have no intention of /shanking/ you, Aelwyn," the man states dully. "In any way, shape, or form."

Slatesteel snorts, rolling her eyes as she leans over her workbench. Her eyes sparkle. "Oooh, is tha' so? Word of mouth. Glad my business doin' good then!" she grins. The polearm being held out is taken up by the gruff dwarf, her testing the weight of it. "Aye, 'tis a good make. Weighted well. Maybe too well. But tha's jus' personal preference."

She looks to Aelwyn, a smirk forming on her lips, dragged down some from the scars on her face. "Aye. Sell glaives, can make one too. Ya hear that, Rick? He's sayin' ya never handled a pole befo'."

The man doesn't look up, but his eyes narrow. "... I am perfectly capable of handling most weaponry. Polearms included."

"Feh, borin' lad," she huffs at him.

The polearm was a steady make - once. Yet it has been in less spectacular fashion been decorated with not only those ribbons, but that golden winding ornamentation as well, which seem to be alteration after. "How can a weapon be weighted too well?" The draconian asks with a curious tilt of his head. "Hmm, if she can improve on it, this one is willing to barter."

Crossing his arms, the ruddy scaled male looks over towards Warrick, teeth flashing. "This one would say to be pleased, but now the question lingers how Crossbow was imagining to shank this one." He taps his tail on the ground, clicking his teeth. "And here this was planning on how he'd teach one to handle a glaive."

Rumbling, the draconian turns back towards Slatesteel. "The other glaive is for a rider, used to a lance." He holds up his hand. "Usually a man with soldier experience tend to grab one hard and stiff, as if they were planning to brutally thrust it into someone with little regard for motion after." He shifts weight from one foot to another. "... and this one would rather not have bits of him sliced off."

Slatesteel holds up a finger to elucidate. "Aye. If its too balanced, it ain't gonna have th' weight ta chop or slice behind it. The weight is a multiplier for ya muscles."

Warrick raises his attention to Aelwyn. His face is impassive. Like he's been spoken to like this way too often in the past. Slatesteel, however, is laughing her ass off. He gives a long, tired sigh. "I can handle a glaive," he answers. "There is more to it than just impaling it. You're wanting me to show you how I'd use a glaive, right?"

The khzad nudges him with her elbow, grinning.

"Fuck off," Warrick grumbles to her in her native tongue. <Khzad-dul>

Aelwyn had never considered it that way, and he crosses his arms across his chest, canting down his hip. "Hmmh. That sounds true, Steel." Then he raises his arms and flexes them; showing off his not-really-thick-and-built-but-he's-got'some-muscles-yo body. "Though this one feels he still has enough strength to handle most stubborn creatures."

Amused, the sith-makar's tail sways behind him as he slides his hand down back around his hips, turning to watch Warrick. "Since Crossbow is offering," His sharp teeth flash bright. "This one would be interested." He clicks his teeth. "Not too often one sees a veteran glaive in motion."

Slatesteel raises a brow at Aelwyn's flexing. "Aye, yeah, it's not the size, its the way ya use it," she snickers.

Seeing this as more of a personal challenge, Warrick sighs and rolls his eyes, standing up and picking up Aelwyn's glaive from Slatesteel. "Fine." He steps around to be on the street. He double checks that he has space, and holds the polearm with both hands, tilted slightly, with the blade forward.

"First thing to know is that this weapon is long. You want to keep that forward. Not... twirl it around like a baton."

Aelwyn flick his head towards Slatesteel, "Exactly right, Steel. Brute strength on a metal plate, or a cut to open arteries."

When Warrick picks up the channel, he looks towards Slatesteel with a tilt of his head, making sure that is a common occurrance. Or if he was getting treated.

"This one agrees." The ruddy sith-makar responds, "But this one would have always made for a bad guard." Slowly, the shorter male makes his way over Warrick and then stepping around the blade, he moves to stand a hand's apart from the old guard. Looking up at his face, he lets out a slow flick of his teeth. "But now what, Crossbow? What will he do then with the arm reached so far?"

Slatesteel takes a back seat to watch with amusement, but Warrick is taking this quite seriously. He shakes his head. "A glaive is a weapon for crowd control. It sweeps. It can also come down. You use it in the back line to hit over your team, or if you are up front, you use it to keep things away in broad strokes."

With his arm extended, and weapon pointed forward, he simply spins it around by pulling one arm back and the other over, making the glaive sweep back as if its doing a pushing motion. But in the same movement, it's coming back down for a slow chop. It's clear he knows what he's doing with it. And if handed one, he could wield it quite well. "You shove. You push. You move them. Do not let them get close. Play to the advantage of the weapon."

Aelwyn slowly and sinuously moves his body as he slides along the motions of the glaive. A click leaves his mouth. "This one can see Crossbow has a good touch for the polearm." The Dragoon approves, "Yet, what if..."

Without a warning, the ruddy sith-makar slides under the haft of the weapon - and collides chest first against Warrick, trying to tumble him over.

Warrick is about to do another sweep, but then Aelwyn is suddenly in his guard! Most should be startled by this. But the man flinches from the sudden advance, and he takes a few steps back to catch the tumble.

In a brisk, practiced motion, the glaive slips down before locking against Aelwyn's back and-

The once-guard reels his head back and brings it down with force, pulling Aelwyn in at the same time and crashes his skull against the top of the Dragoon's head, avoiding his face. He lets go of the pole arm and shoves Aelwyn with his shoulder to get him to try and make some space. "Because that will happen," Warrick pants, a bruise forming on his forehead.

Slatesteel cheers.

The tall beribboned horns were not very effective in protecting against the ramming off skulls - and Aelwyn duly snarls as his head gets jammed on. He stumbles back and around - but only for a scant moment, as his tail instead winds to more /gently/ coil around Warrick's waist and back.

"... now where is the tip of your blade?" The ruddy sith-makar asks over his shoulder, as he holds the top of his skull. Tail tip goes wiggle wiggle.

Warrick pauses as Aelwyn gets behind him, doubly so as there's a tail wrapped around him. He makes a face, one of being slightly grossed out.

Without moving, he simply shortens his grip on the glaive. And jams the butt of it straight behind him into Aelwyn with a heavy >thud<. "Do you want me to help you, or what?" he grunts, trying to pull the tail off.

Aelwyn doesn't let him get surprised this time; instead he twists his body about and lets the haft of it slide across his body. "As this one said, grips hard and firm, with a brutal thrust."

The tail falls off on its own and he turns around on his step, giving Warrick his space. "The skill is evident. That is the way a polearm would move when one knows how to hold one." The Dragoon compliments. "Makes one wonder where Crossbow learned how to wield one, but this one supposes the guards need to be very flexible with their choice of weapon."

Turning towards Slatesteel, he briefly rubs his skull, taking in a deep breath. "Still, this one... needs another one for a man like him." And he leans in closer, "... is he always so eager?" He asks quietly after.

Warrick sighs in relief as he gets some space and the tail falls away. It looks like he's not a man that can be flustered, doubly so as he has a total lack of interest in Aelwyn's flighty teasing. "I still don't get how you do half of that, one wrong step and you're gutted."

Slatesteel, however, has pulled up a chair. "Oh no, keep going," she croons, grinning.

Warrick cuts her a glare before looking back to Aelwyn. "I was in the Alexandrian Watch, and in their military. I know how to use most weapons if I have to," he says, offering the glaive back.

The dwarf woman chuckles at Aelwyn and whispers back, "Aye. He doesn't half-ass shite. Get 'im goin' and he'll stick somethin' through to tha end. Seen 'im in 'nuff shite ta know how he works."

Aelwyn's tail continues to flick towards Warrick - anyway. Some things never cease. "One learns to flow with the motion when one stops thinking of the wrong steps one can take." He turns to accept the glaive with a bow of his head, before he moves up to the man. "One wields himself like a soldier," He clicks his teeth, "But life tends to not be a battle one practices in the field, and battles seldom teach more than one lesson."

Turning back towards Slatesteel, the ruddy sith-makar then offers the polearm to her. "How many coins for this one and a new glaive?" He tilts his head, narrowing his pupils. "... perhaps with a more blunt blade and tip."

Warrick shrugs. "I am very well aware of that. I have to learn how to use my crossbow differently than I've been doing for years. The things we do are... they require a different way."

"At least he admits when he's wrong," Slatesteel grins, the scarred side of her face tugging. She takes the glaive, giving it a once over before stroking her chin. "Practice glaive? Ain't too much, boutta couple gold. Add a few silver on toppa dat fo' some service on this 'un."

Aelwyn nods his head towards Slatesteel, and picks up few coins from his satchel he wore about his hip. "One man must have some charming qualities." He flicks his tongue at her, before he bows his head. "This one will return later to see her progress." Feeling suddenly quite naked, he slides his hands around himself, before he reaches into his satchel and pulls out a very ordinary looking knife. It is slid under his shoulder guard.

Turning around towards Warrick, the draconian bows his head. "This one would die on battlefield," He replies with a gesture of his hand, "But many soldier has faced the same on the same streets, when they have never left one." Walking over towards Warrick with his hips rolling, he puts his hand on the man's shoulder. "Though this one was not speaking of the glaive just then - it is hard to see nothing but a soldier in one's eyes."

Slatesteel chuckles. "He's a good friend. Trust him wit' m'life," she responds to him before speaking up. "Awrlight. Check back t'morrow morning. Got some other things ta work on today." She takes the coinage and shoves it into her pocket. "Pleasure doin' business wit' ya."

Something that Aelwyn says gets Warrick to listen close. "We know that very well," he intones, gesturing to Slatesteel and himself, leaning into the hand on his shoulder. "Hence why I do not want to die on the battlefield. And why I don't leave room for error. I got a little girl to raise, and I try to keep the battlefield out of day to day." His eyes half lid. "... trust me. I know."

Aelwyn adjusts the knife around his shoulderpad, letting out a little annoyed hiss as the blade doesn't seem to fit snugly in its designed spot. Meanwhile, he leans back towards Warrick. "This one understands, he has spent a many tavern night with many soldier." He tilts his head, then slowly steps in front of Warrick.

And unlike before, he slowly reaches out to put his hands on the old soldier's neck. Even if heh ad to stretch up a bit on his toeclaws. "And this is why Crossbow will spend a night in tavern. Because as far as this one can tell, those eyes still seem to carry the battlefield around him like those other soldiers." He spreads a wide grin on his sharp teeth. "One drink for not a skull on this one's skull again; prefer those after a bottle."

Slatesteel stands up as Aelwyn reaches forward. "... 'ey, bud. I wouldn't..."

But what's done is done. Aelwyn's hands rest on sleeveless shoulders. Obviously seen the use of battle, and still undergoing such trials. He blinks from the gesture. Looking at Aelwyn. Past him briefly. Then refocusing on Aelwyn. There's a long pause, perhaps awkward in a way, before he deeply inhales. And sighs. "... alright," he concedes. "We can do that. Just... stop touching me, alright?" he requests, gently pushing the hands off.

The dwarven woman scratches her head, mutters something in Khazdul, then sits back down.

Aelwyn lets his hands be pushed aside - but his tail makes a gesture in vague direction of Slatesteel. He holds his hands around his hips and still persists on leaning forward on his toeclaws. "Allergy to warm touch, Sour, can be a deadly thing." He leans back and crosses his arms, swaying his tail, but he clicks his teeth right after. "Sour nor Crossbow does not roll off the tongue."

Still, the short ruddy sith-makar seems quite upbeat about the way the conversation was going - or perhaps his headache - and he makes a bow. "Then 'til the darkness falls and the taps run dry, may the last card stand in the light." He turns towards Slatesteel. "Tomorrow morning, Steel."

Warrick frowns, but sighs and shakes his head. "Then find something that does, I just don't like it." He simply bobs his head. "... a drink." Singular. We'll see how long this stickler lasts.

But at that, Slatesteel perks up, grinning. "See ya then! Rick, get yer ass back up here and finish this, ya taking up my work space."

The once-guard finds himself and chuckles, rubbing the bruise on his forehead as he returns back to his crossbow modifications.

-End Scene-