Searing 27, 116
The structure of the initiation was simple, but also absolute. That aspirants should be versed in the beliefs of the coven went without saying. Acolytes commonly had the rites of Ysadrin committed to memory, and many completed specific devotions to Fyraea before initiation, praying that the dragon-gods of sun and flame would ignite their spirits. All of this was easy. Any number of priests and monastics managed that all the time.
(Imogen had personally spent a week making little dragon charms out of her own scales to honor Zedros, whose role in the preparation she suspected acolytes chose to omit after the fact. She had only finished three, though- crafting knicknacks was never her forte.)
Along with the rites to honor the gods, the aspirant was also expected to internalize the coven’s own laws, to live by their virtues and demonstrate their values. That part was hard, but it was hard in a way which was straightforward. Above all, the Sunsingers expected acolytes to develop a proficient sense of right and wrong- not so much righteousness, which was merely how strongly one felt they were in the right, but the ability to actually discern the correct path in the morass of the world.
Then, of course, there was the matter of practical experience. An aspirant would naturally have accompanied members of the coven on prior jobs, though never the most dangerous ones. They would also take shifts in the Sanctuaries, standing guard during those times when there was no reason to expect any real danger. That was easy, but certainly quite a time sink.
Finally, the fighting.
Imogen Ward stood uncomfortably in front of the door into the reception room beyond. She wasn’t familiar with this Sanctuary- in fact, it was probably twice as far south from the High City as she’d ever been. Without much pressure from the Order, the Sunsingers had felt free to decorate this one with all of the ornamentation they usually eschewed, and so Imogen found herself joined by bas reliefs of the heroic witches who had established the coven decades past, etched in stone only upon their deaths.
She did not know if there were any other acolytes presenting themselves that day. Frankly, she had no idea how many trainee Sunsingers existed at all. All she knew was that when her name was-
The door creaked open, and a man stuck his head in. “Ms. Ward?” he inquired politely, “We’re ready to see you, now.”
Imogen successfully repressed her urge to squeak in surprise, and managed a respectable nod instead. She followed the man into the hall beyond, sizing up the room with an anxious eye. It was brick, with modest wooden furnishings and a worn stone floor. It was spacious enough to host a social event of reasonable size, if the guests didn’t mind sticking together to mingle.
At the far end of the hallway were three witches, a very traditional number. One was Uncle Lewis, who looked as comfortable and confident as ever. Another, a Hytori woman of indeterminate age, a small figure with a stern look and severe haircut, was staring directly at Lewis, giving Imogen the impression of someone who wanted very badly to continue an argument. Finally, an older human man, tall (for his race) with a gentle face and salt-and-pepper hair
“Aspirant Ward?” The Hytori master called, her voice as harsh as her scowl, “More of Valmont’s brood, I see. Well, let’s get started. You understand why you’re here today, yes?”
”Yes, master.” Imogen replied, hiding the anxiety within her own voice.
“And that is?”
”Evaluation, master. To determine if I can survive the trial.”
“Superficial, but essentially correct. And you consent to this assessment, do you? You understand that once the initiation has begun, we can’t stop it, no matter how much it hurts?”
”Yes.” Reaving was not an art for the fainthearted, whatever weapon you chose. Failure to perform perfectly once the rune was inscribed was a death sentence, or worse.
“Hmph. We’ll see how well you understand soon enough. This assessment is simple; you will spar with Initiate Tilman, and we will observe your style and skill. If any of the masters here doubt your competency, you will not be summoned to the trial grounds this year. Any questions? No? Very well. You may begin when you are ready.”
With the gazes of the three masters focused on her, Imogen gave a quick bow and drew her greatsword, dropping her arms loosely just above her abdomen as she turned to face her sparring partner.
Tilman, for his part, did not summon forth a weapon of Reaved sunlight, but instead drew paired sabers, swishing them lightly through the air to test their balance before falling into a preparatory stance, smiling blandly at the taller woman. He twisted one wrist, waving her forward with his right saber.
Fair enough.
Imogen advanced quickly, as though intent on the kill. Tilman’s twin sabers were vastly more maneuverable and dexterous than her enormous sword, but they weren’t all advantage. One of those swords would fail miserably to block an overhead strike, and if Tilman tried to commit both to his defense her superior size and strength would be decisive. For these reasons, it didn’t come as any surprise to her that Tilman instead chose to evade, breaking to the side and trying to stab her with both blades as she closed the distance.
Therefore, she did not complete her overhead strike, but opted to pivot before her charge finished, aiming to knock one or more of the man’s sabers away. Her plan succeeded in the first, her enormous blade sweeping the sabers out of her way- sadly, the Initiate kept a firm hold on the swords, allowing himself to be pushed backwards rather than permitting either blade to be wrested from his grasp.
Well, that figured. He had, after all, been through the same training as her, and keeping a firm grip on your weapon was strongly emphasized when a Reaving initiation was on the line.
The Orkhan woman considered permitting Tilman to recenter in order to show the masters her own defense, but the crux of her style lay in pressing the attack. On the backswing, just as her blade clang-ed against Tilman’s sabers, Imogen reoriented the grip of her right hand, lunging forward to deliver a thrust aimed at the Initiate’s center of mass. The greatsword was not designed for stabbing, but a surprise hit to the stomach or ribs could stun her opponent and end the match then and there.
The Initiate certainly had no time to think between defending against her first attack and facing her follow-up, but his instincts were keen. Tilman couldn’t bring either of his sabers to deflect the sudden stab, but he still managed to stumble sideways and kick the sword out of the way. A sword as long as Imogen’s could be turned aside easily when fully extended, and even though he was now off-balance, she would need time to draw her sword back and-
Imogen’s left fist slammed into Tilman’s shoulder, knocking him to the ground. She wasn’t especially good at throwing punches, but he wasn’t in any state to defend himself just then. He rolled out from under her before she could get either of his sabers trapped (he still hadn’t dropped either) or get a good grip on her sword, and recovered his feet with surprising speed. The Initiate grinned at her as he created some distance, watching her flex her hand like some kind of claw.
“Not bad, aspirant!” Tilman offered, “I suppose I shouldn’t go easy on you.”
“Quiet in the hall.” the Hytori master snapped, “Focus on the fight.”
Tilman closed in, evidently not much discomfited by Imogen’s punch. He twirled one of his sabers as he circled her, a transparent ploy meant to draw her gaze away from his footwork, then advanced. He had two viable strategies- either hit her so quickly that she couldn’t defend herself, or bait her into overextending on an attack. Given that a single hit from her sword would be the end of the spar, Tilman chose a defensive approach, forcing her to turn to keep him in view, robbing her of a chance to set up the momentum for a swing.
The Initiate tested Imogen’s position with a few experimental swipes, but the aspirant simply interposed her enormous blade like a shield, batting away the odd stab with a hand. There wasn’t much force behind those prods, but it was a little unusual to see an unarmored woman take chances with a hand like that… until Tilman noticed that her palm seemed oddly leathery and swollen. He wasn’t especially familiar with Orkhan, but he had heard they were descended from dragons, and that they could harden their hands into claws in battle. A fighter armed with a gauntlet would be naturally more cavalier about such things.
Still, Tilman wasn’t about to give up his attack so easily. He put more of his waist into his swings, aiming for the aspirant’s sword in order to force her to keep it interposed. With her weapon locked down, Tilman was better able to maneuver to her side, where he was able to deliver a quick kick to Imogen’s side, opening up enough space to slap her lightly on the shoulder with the side of his saber.
The Orkhan growled at the hit, but it freed her sword up enough to make a wide swipe at Tilman, forcing him to disengage backwards. The man was clearly much-encouraged by the result, smiling widely at the ugly look he was getting.
It was clear enough to Imogen that letting Tilman get in close was a losing proposition. She had the superior reach, but the Initiate was light on his feet and (she had to admit) probably better at give-and-take than she was. She might be stronger, but she wasn’t at all sure she could win at endurance, either. No, there was only one real option.
Imogen adjusted her grip on her sword, both thumbs away from the hilt, and raised the greatsword up above her head, presenting her flank to Tilman, who stopped smiling. The stance wasn’t exactly a winning proposition, but an offer; she had no way to avoid an attack on her left side, but to make that attack meant coming directly into the path of her gigantic weapon. If he was fast and strong enough, he would take the spar in a single go. If not…
“Stop.”
The Hytori master’s voice was quieter, but it rang in the hall. Tilman dropped his arms to his sides at once- after a moment, Imogen did the same.
“I was hoping your stunts would die with you, Lewis.” the master lamented, “But I see the gods are not yet on my side. Aspirant Ward, save the dramatics for real fights, will you?”
She shook her head, as though bemoaning the world she was cursed to dwell in. “Nevertheless, your performance was acceptable to me. I’ll vote pass.”
Uncle Lewis spread his arms, as ever all smiles. “I told you that twin sabers weren’t going to be enough to do it. And obviously I wouldn’t have sponsored her if she wasn’t good enough, so, pass from me.”
“Fine,” the Hytori master said, “we’ll see how your next student fares against a pistol, if you’re so smug about it. Master Gerhard?”
The older human man gave the other two masters a rueful smile. “I’ll vote fail, then.”
“There you have it.” the Hytori woman stated, not missing a beat, “Imogen Ward, thank you for coming, your interview is concluded. We will reconsider you next year.”
The structure of the initiation was simple, but also absolute. That aspirants should be versed in the beliefs of the coven went without saying. Acolytes commonly had the rites of Ysadrin committed to memory, and many completed specific devotions to Fyraea before initiation, praying that the dragon-gods of sun and flame would ignite their spirits. All of this was easy. Any number of priests and monastics managed that all the time.
(Imogen had personally spent a week making little dragon charms out of her own scales to honor Zedros, whose role in the preparation she suspected acolytes chose to omit after the fact. She had only finished three, though- crafting knicknacks was never her forte.)
Along with the rites to honor the gods, the aspirant was also expected to internalize the coven’s own laws, to live by their virtues and demonstrate their values. That part was hard, but it was hard in a way which was straightforward. Above all, the Sunsingers expected acolytes to develop a proficient sense of right and wrong- not so much righteousness, which was merely how strongly one felt they were in the right, but the ability to actually discern the correct path in the morass of the world.
Then, of course, there was the matter of practical experience. An aspirant would naturally have accompanied members of the coven on prior jobs, though never the most dangerous ones. They would also take shifts in the Sanctuaries, standing guard during those times when there was no reason to expect any real danger. That was easy, but certainly quite a time sink.
Finally, the fighting.
Imogen Ward stood uncomfortably in front of the door into the reception room beyond. She wasn’t familiar with this Sanctuary- in fact, it was probably twice as far south from the High City as she’d ever been. Without much pressure from the Order, the Sunsingers had felt free to decorate this one with all of the ornamentation they usually eschewed, and so Imogen found herself joined by bas reliefs of the heroic witches who had established the coven decades past, etched in stone only upon their deaths.
She did not know if there were any other acolytes presenting themselves that day. Frankly, she had no idea how many trainee Sunsingers existed at all. All she knew was that when her name was-
The door creaked open, and a man stuck his head in. “Ms. Ward?” he inquired politely, “We’re ready to see you, now.”
Imogen successfully repressed her urge to squeak in surprise, and managed a respectable nod instead. She followed the man into the hall beyond, sizing up the room with an anxious eye. It was brick, with modest wooden furnishings and a worn stone floor. It was spacious enough to host a social event of reasonable size, if the guests didn’t mind sticking together to mingle.
At the far end of the hallway were three witches, a very traditional number. One was Uncle Lewis, who looked as comfortable and confident as ever. Another, a Hytori woman of indeterminate age, a small figure with a stern look and severe haircut, was staring directly at Lewis, giving Imogen the impression of someone who wanted very badly to continue an argument. Finally, an older human man, tall (for his race) with a gentle face and salt-and-pepper hair
“Aspirant Ward?” The Hytori master called, her voice as harsh as her scowl, “More of Valmont’s brood, I see. Well, let’s get started. You understand why you’re here today, yes?”
”Yes, master.” Imogen replied, hiding the anxiety within her own voice.
“And that is?”
”Evaluation, master. To determine if I can survive the trial.”
“Superficial, but essentially correct. And you consent to this assessment, do you? You understand that once the initiation has begun, we can’t stop it, no matter how much it hurts?”
”Yes.” Reaving was not an art for the fainthearted, whatever weapon you chose. Failure to perform perfectly once the rune was inscribed was a death sentence, or worse.
“Hmph. We’ll see how well you understand soon enough. This assessment is simple; you will spar with Initiate Tilman, and we will observe your style and skill. If any of the masters here doubt your competency, you will not be summoned to the trial grounds this year. Any questions? No? Very well. You may begin when you are ready.”
With the gazes of the three masters focused on her, Imogen gave a quick bow and drew her greatsword, dropping her arms loosely just above her abdomen as she turned to face her sparring partner.
Tilman, for his part, did not summon forth a weapon of Reaved sunlight, but instead drew paired sabers, swishing them lightly through the air to test their balance before falling into a preparatory stance, smiling blandly at the taller woman. He twisted one wrist, waving her forward with his right saber.
Fair enough.
Imogen advanced quickly, as though intent on the kill. Tilman’s twin sabers were vastly more maneuverable and dexterous than her enormous sword, but they weren’t all advantage. One of those swords would fail miserably to block an overhead strike, and if Tilman tried to commit both to his defense her superior size and strength would be decisive. For these reasons, it didn’t come as any surprise to her that Tilman instead chose to evade, breaking to the side and trying to stab her with both blades as she closed the distance.
Therefore, she did not complete her overhead strike, but opted to pivot before her charge finished, aiming to knock one or more of the man’s sabers away. Her plan succeeded in the first, her enormous blade sweeping the sabers out of her way- sadly, the Initiate kept a firm hold on the swords, allowing himself to be pushed backwards rather than permitting either blade to be wrested from his grasp.
Well, that figured. He had, after all, been through the same training as her, and keeping a firm grip on your weapon was strongly emphasized when a Reaving initiation was on the line.
The Orkhan woman considered permitting Tilman to recenter in order to show the masters her own defense, but the crux of her style lay in pressing the attack. On the backswing, just as her blade clang-ed against Tilman’s sabers, Imogen reoriented the grip of her right hand, lunging forward to deliver a thrust aimed at the Initiate’s center of mass. The greatsword was not designed for stabbing, but a surprise hit to the stomach or ribs could stun her opponent and end the match then and there.
The Initiate certainly had no time to think between defending against her first attack and facing her follow-up, but his instincts were keen. Tilman couldn’t bring either of his sabers to deflect the sudden stab, but he still managed to stumble sideways and kick the sword out of the way. A sword as long as Imogen’s could be turned aside easily when fully extended, and even though he was now off-balance, she would need time to draw her sword back and-
Imogen’s left fist slammed into Tilman’s shoulder, knocking him to the ground. She wasn’t especially good at throwing punches, but he wasn’t in any state to defend himself just then. He rolled out from under her before she could get either of his sabers trapped (he still hadn’t dropped either) or get a good grip on her sword, and recovered his feet with surprising speed. The Initiate grinned at her as he created some distance, watching her flex her hand like some kind of claw.
“Not bad, aspirant!” Tilman offered, “I suppose I shouldn’t go easy on you.”
“Quiet in the hall.” the Hytori master snapped, “Focus on the fight.”
Tilman closed in, evidently not much discomfited by Imogen’s punch. He twirled one of his sabers as he circled her, a transparent ploy meant to draw her gaze away from his footwork, then advanced. He had two viable strategies- either hit her so quickly that she couldn’t defend herself, or bait her into overextending on an attack. Given that a single hit from her sword would be the end of the spar, Tilman chose a defensive approach, forcing her to turn to keep him in view, robbing her of a chance to set up the momentum for a swing.
The Initiate tested Imogen’s position with a few experimental swipes, but the aspirant simply interposed her enormous blade like a shield, batting away the odd stab with a hand. There wasn’t much force behind those prods, but it was a little unusual to see an unarmored woman take chances with a hand like that… until Tilman noticed that her palm seemed oddly leathery and swollen. He wasn’t especially familiar with Orkhan, but he had heard they were descended from dragons, and that they could harden their hands into claws in battle. A fighter armed with a gauntlet would be naturally more cavalier about such things.
Still, Tilman wasn’t about to give up his attack so easily. He put more of his waist into his swings, aiming for the aspirant’s sword in order to force her to keep it interposed. With her weapon locked down, Tilman was better able to maneuver to her side, where he was able to deliver a quick kick to Imogen’s side, opening up enough space to slap her lightly on the shoulder with the side of his saber.
The Orkhan growled at the hit, but it freed her sword up enough to make a wide swipe at Tilman, forcing him to disengage backwards. The man was clearly much-encouraged by the result, smiling widely at the ugly look he was getting.
It was clear enough to Imogen that letting Tilman get in close was a losing proposition. She had the superior reach, but the Initiate was light on his feet and (she had to admit) probably better at give-and-take than she was. She might be stronger, but she wasn’t at all sure she could win at endurance, either. No, there was only one real option.
Imogen adjusted her grip on her sword, both thumbs away from the hilt, and raised the greatsword up above her head, presenting her flank to Tilman, who stopped smiling. The stance wasn’t exactly a winning proposition, but an offer; she had no way to avoid an attack on her left side, but to make that attack meant coming directly into the path of her gigantic weapon. If he was fast and strong enough, he would take the spar in a single go. If not…
“Stop.”
The Hytori master’s voice was quieter, but it rang in the hall. Tilman dropped his arms to his sides at once- after a moment, Imogen did the same.
“I was hoping your stunts would die with you, Lewis.” the master lamented, “But I see the gods are not yet on my side. Aspirant Ward, save the dramatics for real fights, will you?”
She shook her head, as though bemoaning the world she was cursed to dwell in. “Nevertheless, your performance was acceptable to me. I’ll vote pass.”
Uncle Lewis spread his arms, as ever all smiles. “I told you that twin sabers weren’t going to be enough to do it. And obviously I wouldn’t have sponsored her if she wasn’t good enough, so, pass from me.”
“Fine,” the Hytori master said, “we’ll see how your next student fares against a pistol, if you’re so smug about it. Master Gerhard?”
The older human man gave the other two masters a rueful smile. “I’ll vote fail, then.”
“There you have it.” the Hytori woman stated, not missing a beat, “Imogen Ward, thank you for coming, your interview is concluded. We will reconsider you next year.”
