The Training of the Blood-Guard - Dar

[Lebennen]

'' Turn! '' Roared Lebennen behind him, his scimitars flashing out in two whiplike strokes which openend fresh cuts on the elfs wide shoulders. '' What the hell are you thinking?
You think you will only ever face one opponent! Now what do you do? ''

[Saeren]

Saeren cocked his head to Lebennen, ' ' This, my Wood Elf, is what you will do, just watch, and then we will test you, mae? The right hand is always the leading hand, the left, for the riposte, when you become good enough you can ensure an enemy is always off balance because you change from left to right and they never know what angle, or what height or how fast the riposte will come, it is not a defensive combat, it allows for no mistakes, for you cannot hold a shield, these two swords must be your shields, this you surely know from fighting with those knives. '' he reached for his own scimitars , which were on his back, stepped to where Lebennen waited and flowed at once into attack - he had trained Lebennen had sparred so often with him, that this was as natural as breathing. The strikes came from every level, so that a warrior facing this mode of sword-play had to either also fight with two blades or had to have absolute brilliance and unhuman speed to block them with one, the blades blurred with their motion, chiming together in one long continuous sound, their feet moving, their bodies braced, yet graceful, flowing , their faced calmly intent, their eyes locked on one another, feeling the moves, rather than seeing them.
Then Saeren began to turn, on his feet, it looked almost indolent, to begin with, but then became faster, and faster, the blades of his swords seeming with that speed to form a continual whirring edge, like a metal screw turning, revolving, forming a barrier around him, against which no opposing blow could reach , a screen of razor edged steel, until he came out of the spin with two outward snaps of the scimitars against Lebennens , forcing them apart, and cracked his head against his Lieutenants, a vicious , utterly ignoble move, but effective, - Lebennen of course had been on the receiving end of this before, and Saeren knew he would not dare to drop his sword or relax, let alone stagger or collapse, but the moment where he was confused, and stunned by the butt, was enough for Saeren to bring up his blades and position them in an X over Lebennens throat. The hairline cuts wept thin lines of blood, before Saeren smiled and snapped them away.

[Legolas]

Legolas watched intently. What else could he do. The terrible grief over Aragorns death had had to be gently buried deep, his own shame and his fight back from the chasm of despair which elves fell into when they faded had been due almost completely, to fury.
Despite his skill with a bow, which was not simply a gift, but the result of hard and long training, and his knives, he had no gift for cold blooded cruelty. Orcs and the servants of the Dark he would kill, but he would never torment, nor torture. His nature was inherently a kind one.
And Saeren knew it, and twisted it.
Nevertheless... he could appreciate, as a warrior, skill when he saw it. he could do this. Scimitars were longer than his knives, and he had to become used to their new weight and balance, but he knew he could do this. What he was not sure he could ever do, was become used to the cheapness with which Saeren seemed to hold life. he had killed the man attacking him from self defence, he took no joy in it. But then, neither apparently did Saeren or Lebennen, which made it all so much more chilling, they killed as if they were cutting down wheat, as if those who died were nothing more than that.
Ai, Elbereth, saes, I do not wish to become like that! he shuddered a little in the heat.

[Saeren]

Saeren spun to look at him, his eyes all too knowing.
'' Don't you, cun lend nin. Too noble? too gentle? You will learn. We all do, in time. Lebennen, I will see you later, give me a full report of his... progress, '' he added, as he walked away.

[Legolas]

He would never learn to be cold blooded, he thought with fierce defiance, as the hot days went on. And nothing ... nothing would prevail upon him to do the other thing they required of him, to sire children. Of course Legolas had had lovers, Argorn had once told him that Wood Elves were rather… for lack of a better word… wild. They celebrated their lives and their loves with a ferocity that was matched only by the deep hatred they held for the foul beasts that had corrupted and maimed their beloved forest. Quick to laugh and quick to anger, they were simply a more emotional lot than the regal elves of Imladris, or so his friend had said. But none of these women, beautiful for mortals though they might be, stirred any desire in him. He had clear ideas of what he liked, and a stallion to sire warriors... the thought disgusted him.

[Lebennen]

The division marched out into the stony desert land and drilled in darkness, sleeping in the day in open bivouc, in watches, at full readiness and with no cover then drilling day and night for the following three days. None of these young men were over sixteen years old.

Conditions were deliberately contrived to make the exersize as close as possible to the rigour of actual campaign, simulating everything save casualties.
There were mock night assaults up twenty degree slopes, each man bearing full kit and panolpy, sixty-five to eighty pounds of sheild and armour. Then assaults down the hill. Then more across. The terrain was chosen for its boulder strewn aspect and gnarled, water parched shrubs. the skill was to flow around everything like water over rocks without breaking the line.
No amenities whatsoever were brought. Wine was at half rations the first four days, none the second two and then no liquid at all, including water, for the final two. Rations were hard linseed loves and figs alone, nothing hot.
This type of action was only partially in anticipation of night action; it's primary purpose is training for surefootedness, for orientation by feel within the phalanx, and for action without sight, particulalry over uneven ground. It was axiomatic amongst the Bloodguard than an army must be able to dress and maneuver the line as skillfully blind as sighted, for in the dust and terror of the initial battlefield collision and the horrific scrum that ensues, no man can see more than five feet in any direction, or even hear his own cries above the din.
To illustrate why the sheilds must never be dropped, but always carried, Lebennen ordered them to place them face down on the ground.

'' Shields port! '' he cried.

The young men lunged for their heavy, grounded shield's. As they did Lebennen lashed at the first ones face, blood sprang, he swatted the next boy and the next until the firth at last wrestled his twenty pound shield off the ground and up into place to defend himself.
he made them do it again and again and again, starting at one end of the line, then the other, and then the middle.
The young men knew what would come next. Tree humping, they called it. They had come down into a now dried out stream bed, where in the winter, water flowed allowing hardly trees to grown, and the youths were taken to a particularly stout oak. Lebennen would order them, in formation, to push the tree down with their shields, just the way they would assault an enemy in battle.
The boys took stations in ranks, eight deep, the shield of each pressed into the hollow of the boys back before him with the leading youths shield mashed by their combined weight and pressure against the oak.
They would push.
They would strain.
They would hump that tree for all they were worth.
The soles of their bare feet would churn the dirt, heaving and straining until a rut had been excavated ankle deep while they crushed each others guts, humping and hurling, grinding into that immovable trunk. When the front rank youth could stand no more, he would assume the position of the rearmost and the second boy would move up.
Two hours later, Lebennen would return, with older Bloodguard, who had themselves been through this hell more than one in their training years. They would observe with shock and disbelief that the tree was still standing.
' By the Dark, these dog-strokers have been at it half the watch and that pitiful little sapling is till right where it was! '
Now effeminacy would be added to the list of these lads crimes. It was unthinkable that they be allowed to return to the city while this tree still defied them; such failure would disgrace their father and mothers, brothers and sisters, aunts, uncles and cousins, no to mention their hounds, cats, sheep, and goats and even the rats in their barns who would hang their heads and slink off to Sud Sicanna or Sudu Cull or some other city where men were men and knew how to put out a respectable humping.
That tree is the enemy!
Hump the enemy!
On it would go, into all night shield drill which by mid second watch would have reduced the boys to involuntary regurgitation and defecation, puking and soiling themselves , their bodies shattered utterly from exhaustion, and then when the dawn came, they would fall in for another day of training, without a moments sleep.

This torment, the youths knew now as they stood under the lash of Lebennens whip, was yet to come. This was what they had to look forward to.

By this point every nose in the formation had been broken. Each boys face was a sheet of blood. A boy in front of him, thoughtlessly reached up with a hand to the side of his blood-begrimed face.
' And what do you think you're doing? ' Snapped Lebennen.
' Wiping the blood, lord, '
' What are you doing that for? '
' So I can see, lord, '
' Who the *** told you you had a right to see? '
Lebennen explained blisteringly that this was why the division was out here, training at night, learning to fight when they could not see. Did they think in combat they would be allowed to pause to wipe away the blood?.
'' Resume formation! '' he cracked, and the used took their places, each now with his shield in its proper place, not lying on the ground, , but upright against their owners knees.
'' Shields, port! ''
The youths lunged for their Shields and with a crack the slashing whip struck the concave bronze.
Lebennen swung again and again. All the Shields were in place. The line protected.
He did it again from the right and from the left . Now all shields leaped into the boys grips, all swiftly into place before them. There.
With a nod, Lebennen stepped back. The boys held fast to attention, shields at high port, with the blood beginning to cake dry on their empurpled cheekbones and shattered noses

[Maglor]

Fury and sorrow raged through Maglor like a spring tide as he strode out into the training ground, looking for something to hit.. even kill He watched the youngsters execute their moves, folding his arms, and assessing. There was a gold haired young elf - young to him, anyway, in the far end of the oval sand arena, fending off knives being throw at him with his flashing blades, he was good, but those who were doing the throwing were hurling insults as well as knives, and the elf cheeks and eyes flamed.

Maglor strode forwards, intent as the knife throwers were, they did not hear his soft approach, for a tall man, built as he was, he walked like a cat. Reaching out, he grabbed the heads of the two nearest knife-men and rammed them together; there followed a sickening crack and both men dropped without a murmur, A third man swung at the sound, but had no time too register surprise as a fist slammed into his mouth, splintering teeth. Unconscious, the man flew backward to cannon into a comrade. Another warrior leaped at Maglor, thrusting his blade toward his belly, but Maglor slapped the blade aside and hammered a straight left into the mans chin. The remaining warriors ran at him and a blade slashed through his shirt, ripping a narrow gash across his hip. Maglor grabbed the nearest warrior, dragging him into a ferocious head-butt then swung and backhanded another attacker. the man cartwheeled across the sand and struggled to rise, then fell back, having lost all interest in the fight. Grappling the two remaining men, Maglor got an arm free and struck on of them a terrible blow to the neck , the second received the returning elbow in the side of his head and swayed.
Maglor stepped away from both of them, and brushed his shirt down.

He knelt on one knee, unwrapping the weapon he had brought, It was no sword, nor even two. It was an axe. the black metal haft was as long as a mans arm, the doubles heads shaped like the wings of a butterfly, and the edges razor sharp. Silver runes were inscribed on the haft, he had engraved them himself. In Quenya they read, Kalith, the Sender, the Blades of no return.
He lifted the axe clear, he was not surprised by its lightness and perfect balance, after all, he had made it.
One did not associated axes with Elves, but elves had used them, in Gondolin, you needed to have the powerful build and height of the old Noldor to use them, - and also accept that you had no defense. It was the weapon of a baresark killer, who did not care if he received wounds or not.

[Rûdhon]

"Expressing your anger Lord Maglor?"

A cold voice interrupted followed by an amused chuckle as a robed man appeared to the training ground, he was a human in his late 30`s and seemed to be in a good shape. Two diamond rings shone in his left hand fingers as they tapped calmly the handle of a darksword of Noldor craft, it held redish decorations in it and something writen in Quenya. The man had short browish hair and beard that made him appear somewhat more imporant as he undoutably was a merchant yet to truth be told he was a dead merchant.

The man`s body was a mere tempotary vessel of travelling in the sunlight as the wight that once had been noldor moved around in Dar. He took few daring steps towards Maglor and his eyes narrowed as he inspected the axe for he had indeed seen it before as he had served the house of Feanor. The trainee`s seemed bothered by the man`s presence and pondered what brought such feeling into their hearts, Maglor of course would know what he was yet not perhaps whom he had once been.

"It is good to see you once again my lord, but there seem to be some matters pressing you as you bother to beat these mortals whom clearly have not what it takes to defeat you?"

[Legolas]

Legolas , who had been dodging the thrown knives, had stiled, watching, his eyes widening, in a gleam of appreciation, a wall of anger seemed to flame from the tall black haired Noldor. He looked at the other, his eyes then narrowing faintly, for there was something about him which was troubling.
'' Lord Maglor, of the House of Feanor? '' he murmured, surprised, one saw few Noldor these days, Saeren was half Noldor, and his Lieutenant, Cerridwen also, but most had left Middle Earth long ago.

[Maglor]

Maglor unclenched his hands, willing it, all his muscles were taut and ridged with an anger which sprang from such a deep source, such anguish and hatred that it threatened to overwhelm him, as he looked at the stranger.
Finally, he said, through his teeth. '' The mortals were taunting an Elf, '' as if that was quite enough to explain anything.

[Rûdhon]

Rûdhon let out a short laughter as he watched Maglor, he had not seen him in such a rage yet and Rûdhon thought of drawing his sword to see how his former lord could cope in his anger yet held his hand as his fingers tapped the handle.

"I`d advise you to take that rage of yours and direct it towards someone more skilled not to mention powerful unless you wish to start killing all of these whelps. Well except for the elven kin here all tough the other infact is in a half elf, interestingly also the son of Uldor the accursed whom betrayed our people like..."

Rûdhon then added few words with a slight smirk on his face.

"Yet I am actually guilty of the same crime as well...."

[Maglor]

Maglor had taken great pleasure in slaughtering the traitrous Uldor, it was dificult to remember sometimes, that not all the men of the east had proved faithless, not in the grieving, shattered aftermath of Nirnaeth Arnoediad. His eyes narrowed. '' Really? And whom did you betray? ''

[Rûdhon]

"Well elves of course, but ecspecially the noldor... as I did point the way for the dark lord to find you, which might have lead to your capture yet I cannot be sure as he never mentioned the matter, if my information was used and had they lead to your capture..."

Rûdhon said with a smile as he examined his Maglors face, he expected anger yet confusion for not explaining himself fully. Rûdhon took pleasure to see fustration, anger and pain on the faces of others. They were brief moments of joy in his undead world.