[R-San] Alvein's Training

"... and never forget, I am proud of you. We all are," an elderly elf said, leaning slightly on an ornately carved wooden staff. His kindly face, wrinkled by centuries of life, now wore a proud smile for the strangely clad young elf before him. Surrounding him, in a hut walled about by the inside of a tree, stood a collection of other elves, all carefully watching the brash youth standing in front of them.

"Alvein... it is true, we did not agree with your choice in the beginning. I suppose some of us still do not. But you have proven in your own way that a fighter's path may indeed befit such as ourselves. There is nothing else we can teach you here."

"But... but... I haven't learned anything yet!" the young elf exclaimed. "All you've done is make me do exercises to extend my magic! There's got to be something else-"

"Alvein... no. There is nothing more. We are spellcasters and hunters; how can you hope to learn the art of hand-to-hand combat from women of magic and men of bows?"

The young Faenad let his chin drop against his chest, warming the dark leather covering his torso. Then, lifting it again, he replied "Alright... if that is the case, then what else is this meeting for? I can see it in your eyes... there's something else you want to tell me."

The older elf beckoned for the youth to come closer; as he pointed the staff at the wall, it shimmered and rippled, glowing like the horizon at sunrise in the shape of a rounded square. "That, my child, is another world. My grandfather, who passed centuries ago, claimed that it was a place where men could go to fortify themselves. It is my belief that if you can find what you seek, this place is where you may do it. Go, my child... go and see if this place can prepare you better than we can."

Alvein looked around the room, observing carefully the faces which had greeted him for over half a century. They were the elders of his village, people who had raised him as their own from the time he was born. And yet, that burning orange gate called to him, promising glory and fresh fights...

The young elf took one last look at the others watching him, nodding slowly before he walked towards the gate. Stopping short, he turned back to them and said "I will return. Someday, when I have fulfilled my dream, I'll come back and teach others. Teach them that we can be strong, no matter what anyone says."

And with that, Alvein Faenad stepped into the gateway, prepared to meet whatever might await him on the other side...

[Lesson 1]
Alvein stumbled forward a few steps, turning rapidly to take one last look at the portal which had brought him to his current position, but was surprised to find that it was already gone. Spinning around at what he thought were footsteps, he met nothing but the empty air that had greeted him upon his arrival. Confused, his eyes darted around the corridor he’d been dropped in, mapping each and every block of stone. Again he turned around, open hallway stretching out like an endless road on both his left and his right as he scanned the wall he’d been facing. Slightly shook, he gave a final delayed glace at the blank wall before slowly walking down the corridor.

I suppose that I’m going to have to go find the leader of this place on my own, the brawler thought, tightening his gauntlets absentmindedly as his footsteps echoed softly through the seemingly endless hallways. I’d like to know what kind of person runs a place like this, one where everything is so twisted and tangled and strange…

The walls around him were a wondrous sight, one which kept his attention fully rapt s he walked. The beautiful stone pillars and intricately worked carvings upon him were more beautiful than the simple woodworked carving Alvein had seen in his village, not only because of the workmanship or the medium but because of the creatures and object depicted upon them. Half were things he only recognized from descriptions in stories he’d hear, while the rest were altogether foreign. Doors of all shapes and sizes presented themselves as Alvein traipsed along, some hewn out of stone while others were ornately crafted from gold and silver; yet more were plain wooden apertures, which contrasted sharply with others composed of hundreds of gems. Many were adorned with writings in foreign languages, though many others held no text at all. The variety and styles present in the passageways caught and held his attention easily, and for what seemed like hours he wandered around like a child in a garden for the first time.

The sights were so visually pleasing that he nearly tripped over his own feet, and as he balanced his body once more the elven brawler noticed an interesting gate not too far ahead on the right of the seemingly endless hallway. Looking around to find that he was still the only soul within view, he shrugged and headed for the door. Maybe that’s where I’m supposed to go, he thought, pushing on the gate. When it would not budge, he applied more force, feeling it shift slightly before pushing back to its original position when he released his pressure upon the door. Then, looking around once more, he tapped into the magical energies ever present within his body, letting them roll around and move through his veins. Cracking his knuckles loudly, he gave the gate a running push, only to go flying into a cold white blanket of powder.

Looking up, Alvein saw something he’d rarely ever experienced; a snowfall, and one which had no apparent end. The light, fluffy flakes dropped lazily out of the unseen sky, drifting on light winds to pile up in snowy dunes all across the visible plane. Startled, Alvein sprang to his feet and against the gate, which had closed behind him. Shivering, the elf thought, Where am I?


[Lesson 2]
Alvein’s eyes whipped around the frost-covered room like a caged lion, his mind in a hundred different places; he tried to comprehend what he was seeing, but the sheer abnormality of it all proved to be too much. Never in his life had he experienced something like this, though he knew that it was indeed possible through magic; nonetheless, the realization that it was possible could not quite compensate for the reality he was now crunching through.

“How?” he sputtered, raising his hand. “Why? Who would… I mean…”

“Leave this place…”

“What?” Alvein asked, surprised to hear another voice. Thinking that the frigid winds were playing tricks on him, he ignored the words – until a snowball streaked through the air like an oversized flake to connect with the left side of his face.

Dropping his head low as his hands moved to protect his face, the brawler swiveled to face the direction of the attack. “Who’s there?” he called into the endless mass of falling white, shaking slush out of his hair and ear. “What do you want?”

“Get out…” it replied, this time the voice both louder and accompanied by a frigid blast of wind.

“What did I do to you?” the blonde-haired elf asked, bracing against the arctic squall.

“Get out!” called the unseen presence, another longer blast of cold air accompanying its cry. Alvein prepared to dodge another snowball, but could only watch wide-eyed as the faller powder reared up and flowed towards him, forming a tsunami-like wave of flakes. The brawler’s jaw dropped seconds before the wave hit, tossing him against the wall of the room like a ship caught at sea in the midst of a great white storm.

This guy thinks he’s going to bully me out of here, the young Faenad thought, wiping snow from his face before shaking like a dog. His limbs, unaccustomed to such temperatures, were beginning to stiffen and go numb; nonetheless, he slipped into his battle stance once more, left foot ahead of the right as his left raised to guard and the right was prepared to counter. “Why don’t you come out here, you coward? It’ll take more than that to push me around!”

“You have been warned…” the unseen presence replied, seconds before the air again began to shift. It swirled softly just in front of the fighter, building in intensity until it was practically a twister dragging the fallen snow into the air. Slowly, a humanoid shape took form; when the cyclone died down, a man of snow was facing Alvein.

The glacial creature was roughly the size of a bear, its features dull and nonexistent. Its hand and feet were all a single mass, devoid of digits; the arms, legs and chest were rounded like barrels, with no musculature defined at all. The head too was little more than a snowy egg on a stump, as featureless as the rest of the creation’s body save for two indentations in the middle of the head from which dull light shone. Shaking the loose snow off its exterior, the snowman lowered its head and charged for the elf.

Alvein took a deep breath, the polar air stinging his nostrils as he took it in. He dove to the right as the golem neared, rolling off his shoulder and onto his feet as the being slowly turned around for another pass. The brawler waited until it neared again, hopping to the side as one fist connected with the frozen ground and hurled fallen flakes back into the air before lashing out with a heavy right hook. His arm tore through that of the snowman, before the latter pulled back the damaged arm and tried to uppercut the former with the good one. Alvein again hopped to the side, showering the frosted landscape with even more white stuff as he cleaved the other arm apart at the elbow with a spinning kick. Hopping backwards a few times to put distance between him and his enemy, the elf watched and waited to see what would happen. Once more the winds kicked up, dashing apart the remnants of the forearm before repairing the damaged limbs. Now whole again, the snowman again lumbered towards Alvein, the same silent determination present in the eerie glow of its eyes.

Should have known that would happen, the young Faenad thought, ducking and dodging as heavy punches and kicks were thrown by the glacial golem. Seeing an opportunity, he rolled between the being’s legs to face its backside, a gleam of victory in his eyes as he placed his left palm on the cold creature’s back. Channeling magic into the hand on the snowman, the brawler slammed his right palm into the back of his left, forcing the magic out in a heavy blast. Alvein saved his Crater Push, as he liked to call it, until he thought it would do the most damage; as the attack utterly destroy the golem, the fighter was convinced that he had scored the finishing blow. Even so he backed away from the mound of flakes sitting where the golem once stood, unsure of what would happen; sighing in frustration, he watched as a powerful gust picked up the pile and reassembled the creature once more.

“This thing keeps coming,” he breathed, again slipping into his battle stance once more. “How am I supposed to put it down if it keeps getting back up?”

“You were warned to leave…” the voice said, this time from the snowman’s general direction. Replying quickly, Alvein asked, “Is that all you want? For me to leave you alone, I mean?”

“Yes…”

“Then I’ll leave,” the elf said, raising his hands. The snowman’s slow blitz stopped, though the eyes were still trained on the blonde figure.

“Thank you…” the voice replied, the doors swinging open. Backing through them, the crumbling form of the snowman was his last glimpse of the room before the doors slammed shut in front of him.

Very nice! I really liked the way Alvein showed a little class and backed out when he realized his situation. Just for future reference, wait for one lesson to be critiqued before moving on to the next.

((I hope I’m right in assuming the description in the Character Thread is still accurate…))

Alvein Faenad
fighter
brawler
elf
young Faenad
pugilist
blonde-haired man
slugger
elven combatant
man
silver-eyed youth

<}----<^>----{>

I can’t believe I had to give up so quickly, Alvein thought, brushing a few loose strands of hair out of his eyes, sitting against the wall which faced the door he’s just come through. Still… there was nothing I could have done against something like that. My magic would probably have been burned out long before… whatever it was got tired. Guess the elders were right… I still have a lot to learn.

“Do you always sit in hallways outside of strange doors?” a feminine voice asked, the sound a huge shock to the pugilist. Springing to his feet, he found what seemed to be a spellcaster staring at him from further down the hall, a slight grin on her face. She appeared to be a human in her mid-twenties, garbed in a grey summoner’s robe. Her blonde locks were carefully held in a sizeable bun at the back of her head, and the only thing the elven combatant found more interesting than the shade of blue her eyes possessed was the silvery dragon curled around her waist.

As if reading his thoughts, she said “It’s okay to come over here… he doesn’t bite.” Alvein bowed his head sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked over to where the young woman stood. Jeez… she popped up out of nowhere, the blonde-haired man thought as he walked. Either I was more shook by that fight than I thought, or she’s got feet made of feathers…

“I’m Aurora… what’s your name?” the grey-garbed female asked as Alvein approached, and without hesitation the slugger replied “Alvein. Alvein Faenad. I just got here, and couldn’t find anything, then ended up in that room with… something hurling snow at me, and I just had to get ou-”

The woman’s smile became a slight frown, and she looked past the silver-eyed youth to glance at the door he’d been sitting in front of. “Are you injured?” she interrupted, eyes seemingly scanning his form without missing a detail. “The spirit in there can be… anti-social at times.”

“No, no I’m fine,” the elf replied hastily, putting his hands up. “Worst damage I took was to my ego when I had to get out of there.” Changing the subject, he continued, “You seem to know a bit about this place… can you help me out? The elders of my village said I was supposed to come here for training, but besides you I haven’t seen anyone else here. Are you the owner of this place?”

The slight smile returned, and she beckoned for him to follow her. “Ahh… why I didn’t think that right away was beyond me. Come… we’re actually not far from an empty room you can use.”

“O…okay,” the young Faenad stuttered, surprised it had been so easy. As she led him down the corridors, he asked “So… err… just what is this place? I mean, I’ve seen and heard some things, but never about anywhere close to this place…“

“The Dome is… think of it as a very, very diverse school. You’ll find out what I mean in a bit, if you don’t already get what I mean,” Aurora replied, the dragon shifting slightly around her waist. The fact that it seemed to be awake but completely silent unnerved the pugilist somewhat, but he kept his suspicions to himself.

“We’re here,” the grey-clad caster said, cutting into his thoughts. Stopping just outside a door with a very oaken appearance to it, she continued, “I suspect that this room will be one you like. Go ahead and check it out.”

Nodding, Alvein wasted no time in reaching for the handle, the smooth carved wood bringing back memories of the woodwork of the village he’d left behind only a short time ago. Turning the knob, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Well, that was okay. Valron is coiled around her WRIST actually, the right one specifically, though I don't believe the bio specifies which wrist. Furthermore, her dragon doesn't move unless Aurora bids it, or when they are alone. Most of the time, he remains still, posing as an elaborately carved bracelet. But those are common mistakes that most of my students make at one time or another. Just try to read more carefully in the future, and when you do your homework on a character, try to find two or three stories or battles to draw information from rather than just the bio.

Other than that, nice work. Just fix those little things, and you can move on to the next lesson. :cool: