Stoatorian Guard Open The Trenches The Prodigal Son Returns

(Collab post with @Caden S. Freemont)

The marten nodded. "I'm fine without safety equipment for this bout. No head shots, be honest about if I'm hit, stay in the ring--got it." He eyed Alwyn's positioning and adjusted his own. "I'll stick with sword and board for the armed rounds. It's been my go-to for most of my career. Tricky against the polearms, certainly, but there are strengths and weaknesses to every kit, aye?"

Caden dropped into a ready stance, shield up to cover his center of mass, sword held in his left paw, blade held up and behind his shoulder. He waited, watching the fox. Unless forced to act first, with the shorter range weapon it was unwise to make the first move against a beast wielding a poleaxe. Better to let Alwyn step in and close the gap, then respond from there.

Alwyn gave Caden a brief nod in response, circling the marten and looking for any particular weaknesses, and, indirectly, seeing if the marten’s experience lined up with his story. His expression was serious-he played around a lot of time, but when it came to combat, he just as cool and collected as his father. Unlike Daniil and Eirene, who had gone at it comparatively quickly, the two more experienced beasts simply watched each other, waiting for the opportunity to deliver a lightning strike or series of strikes that might end the match with minimal energy expended.

Having the advantage of range, and sensing a slight weakness to his opponent’s guard on the right, he seemingly began to start a two-handed blow towards the marten’s left paw which held his sword, only to then abruptly move his right footpaw first, twisting his body and striking instead to the right at the maximum length and power he could he could with poleaxe, continuing to move and not stay in one place as his grandfather had taught him while maintaining his distance and judging Caden’s reaction time. Hopefully, he might have staggered the older marten, allowing him to be more aggressive.
 
Caden deftly shifted his footpaws with the fox's maneuver and the poleaxe struck the shield with a thunk. The marten took a portion of the blow's power into his arm and shoulder, but carried some of the momentum off the surface of the shield as he deflected the strike and moved in with an explosive burst of speed. His sword swung down and across, his left arm extending to slice the blade towards Alwyn's extended shoulder.
 
Alwyn swiftly and surely, with the expertise of years of training in Amarone, used the back end of his polearm to knock the marten’s sword arm upwards, letting the marten’s blow swing over him instead and leaving him off balance for a moment. If Alwyn had his full plate armor on, he could have gone in for the killing blow by bringing around the front end polearm and taking the inevitable backhanded sword counterstroke from Caden on his chest as he would have smashed through whatever the marten could bring at him, but he did not have it on. Instead, using the time it would take for the jack to recover, Alwyn regained his distance and smiled slightly. This one had some real fight in him, something he did not often get to have these days. He would have to be careful. Continuing to circle around the marten, he wondered if Sken’s son would let him retain the initiative with his reach where he could continue to pummel him from a distance with relatively easy counters or if he would try to force him into closer combat where he would have more of an advantage.
 
The marten was fast, recovering in a way that could indicate he had suspected Alwyn's counter to his attack, as though he was testing out the fox's capabilities as much as Alwyn was testing his. He did not hesitate to close the distance this time, moving with a speed that belied his age and told of a lifetime of somatic fluency that had begun before he took his first steps. Coming in with shield raised, it looked as though he would take a lateral swing at the todd's exposed flank. With a deft flick of his wrist and shift of his footpaws, the blade suddenly tracked higher towards his opponent's neck and his shield bulled forward against the poleaxe with the full force of Caden's weight and strength in an attempt to press the fox off balance and close in to prevent full use of the longer weapon.
 
Although Alwyn had expected and prepared for a counterattack, the swiftness, the kind that could only be done through endless training and experience, surprised him momentarily, before his own instincts took over from the thousands of hours of dedicated drilling he himself had poured into things. He caught the feint by watching Caden’s footpaws, catching the blade’s tip at joint of the forward hammer and then the head of the poleaxe, and yanking it forward as he again moved to the side, this time shoving forward as he did so with his body against the shield to send Caden further away, even if he failed to disarm him with the move. Now, however, his attitude had shifted to match the heir of Sken’s. He was no longer merely probing-this was now a proper battle. The match would be decided in the next couple of blows, at least for this round. Veterans did not flail about as much as Daniil and Eirene did.
 
Caden bore his teeth in a feral grin as Alwyn countered. This fox was the sort of beast Caden would have hired for his mercenary squadron, at least based on his skill. He had to make a quick decision whether or not to maintain his grip on his sword as he was pulled and then pushed by the skilled todd. Without the option of a full shield blow to Alwyn's face given the established rules, which was what the marten was inclined to do in this situation, he kept his grip on the hilt of the sword and instead shoved back hard against the fox with his shield and used the edge of it to catch the head of the poleaxe. He drew back with his strength and weight to pull Alwyn towards him, freeing his sword and setting himself up for a swing at the fox's midsection.
 
Alwyn’s entire concentration was on the fight before him, his eyes scanning for any true weakness, any momentary hiccup, instinct honed by training since kithood. In the midst of close combat this vicious, one hand no time to really think, only to act based on one’s training and one’s subconscious, for the slightest hesitation meant death. The concept of “no mind” his granduncle, and, whenever his father had cared to check up on him, had tried to instill, and his instructors, albeit to a less formal degree. To be ready to strike regardless of pre-planned strategy, regardless of form, to be flowing, to keep a truly open mind. As his poleaxe was locked in with Caden’s sword and he was drawn forward, his body already positioned himself for multiple possibilities, and when the marten disengaged the sword, as subconsciously knew he would to go for a strike, Alwyn saw the moment of opportunity and took it with no hesitation. Before Caden could swing at his midsection, he simply dropped the poleaxe lower, using its hook to wrap around the back of Caden’s feet-and then he pulled, tripping the marten and having him land squarely on his back. All it took then was a slight, quick movement to bring the head spike of the poleaxe straight up to Caden’s throat-what would have been a kill in real combat.

Sweat permeated Alwyn’s face and body at the intense, lightning-fast exchange, but he then tossed aside his poleaxe, having it clatter on the ground, before offering Caden a paw up.

“Excellent form, we can now move onto the next portion. My broadsword vs yours. No time to rest, though, as we would not get it in a real battle.” Alwyn chuckled, although he did glance over at Daniil. Not meant to be a harsh rebuke to his cousin, but Daniil needed to learn to pace himself, to fight like both Caden and him-circle, analyze your opponent, and then go in quickly with great speed and no hesitation, letting one’s training and subconscious take over.
 
Daniil, in the meantime, had stood by, watching the fight, while Eirene increasingly watched Daniil, her eyes following his gaze. It didn't take much to notice that a disproportionate amount of his focus seemed to be going to the marten. The ferret had to bite her tongue to keep from commenting. She'd once been that nervous, panicked youth, so scared that her secret would be exposed that she'd gone years without daring to act on her feelings. It had only been an impetuous, impertinent impostor in bloodied Verfolger robes who had managed to bring her to the truth.

"He fights well," she commented to Daniil, watching to see if he'd turn his eyes away.

The fox didn't, though he did blink a few times. "He does," he agreed, swallowing to clear a sudden dryness in his throat. "He's quite skilled with a sword."

Eirene smiled, confirmation received. "How did you know I was talking about Caden, no about your cousin?" she remarked.

This time the fox blinked, turning to her. "How do you know I'm not talking about my cousin?" he pointed out. "Alwyn is a very skilled swordsbeast, far better than I'll ever be. The sentiment could apply to either beast."

Eirene bit her tongue once more, holding back her retort about which one seemed to have all of Daniil's attention. He clearly wasn't quite ready for that conversation yet, and pushing too hard would have deleterious results. Instead she returned to observing the pair, watching their form and movements, and leaving other appreciations she was not inclined toward to instead be performed by Daniil.
 
Taking the younger todd's paw, Caden hauled himself up, light on his footpaws. His shoulders rose and fell with his breath, and sweat had begun to wet the fur of his face and neck. He grinned and offered an informal salute with his sword. "As you say, Lieutenant."

Noting the attention of their audience, and seeing Daniil staring, the marten felt a pang of anxiety cutting through the smooth flow of energy that came with combat. Alwyn had said his cousin didn't know who his mother's killer was, but still Caden felt particularly exposed by the way the todd watched him. He pushed the sensation away and waved with his shield at the pair, broadening his grin to cover for his discomfort.

"Anybeast taking bets? If I lose two out of three, drinks are on me, eh?"

Once Alwyn was armed, they began their second bout without hesitation. Caden performed several probing advances, then allowed Alwyn the same. As he deflected the fox's attack, Caden pushed the offensive hard. Just as with the first fight, it was over in a quick flurry of movement, several blows exchanged before Caden's practice blade stopped inches from the side of Alwyn's neck. He tapped ever-so-gently, then dropped his guard and stepped away.

"How do you intend for the third round to go?" he asked, flicking sweat from his brow. "Are we starting with weapons or paw to paw?"
 
Alwyn smiled even as he lost the second fight-he knew he needed to brush up on his sidearm, and Caden had reminded him exactly why that was so. The difference in skill between them had not been that massive, though he felt he was outclassed a bit, but he would have ended up dead at the end regardless. It was interesting how his granduncle’s words about higher level fighting were true-the difference in skill level narrowed, but at the end of the day, losing by a thin margin was still a total loss. The importance of always continuing to sharpen one’s claws and blades-no matter how old or experienced you were. He nodded at Caden.

“All out this time-main weapon, sidearms, paw-to-paw-whatever it takes to win.”

Stepping back and retrieving his polearm and sheathing his sidearm, Alwyn prepared for the true test, knowing it would not be as pretty or elegant as the first two. This was a fight to the metaphorical death.

The ensuing fight was much more vicious than the first two, with both Caden and Alwyn not holding anything back. In the first few moves Alwyn’s poleaxe smacked aside Caden’s shield, only for a vicious series of blows from the marten forced to go on the offensive in close-quarters to cause Alwyn to suddenly drop his poleaxe to narrowly avoid being skewered by a counter-riposte. Alwyn mimicked Caden’s aggressiveness when his own main means of defense was cast aside with a flurry of blows from his sword, then barreled into the older male as he knew he would lose if he did not force it into paw-to-paw combat. Both lost their blades in the ensuing struggle that looked more like a barroom brawl than civilized combat or what the martial artists taught in the classroom, and each gave and took a series of hits that would guarantee to sting in the morning. Finally, it ended when Alwyn managed to kick Caden off with a powerful two-legged push, sending him flying as the todd crawled towards his broadsword-grabbing it with one paw and then flipping over to prepare to hopefully checkmate the marten. Unfortunately for him, Caden had also recovered his blade and moved in for the kill. It would be over in one move.

The two beasts moved at the same time, and the winner was-no one.

Alwyn’s blade ended up pointed at the marten’s gut-a slow, painful guaranteed death, whereas Caden’s blade again ended up at the fox’s neck-both would have died on the battlefield. Alwyn chuckled, then tossed his blade aside, and Caden did likewise as the albino son of Sken helped him up. Both were sweating profusely.

“Daniil! Get us some of the towels, would you?” Alwyn asked, then he looked over at Caden and smiled.

“I think you’re skilled enough to be an instructor, although as I said earlier, you may be called upon from time to time when things get truly dire. You’re welcome in the Guard, however, you, your companion, and my cousin. I’ll introduce you to the Minister in short order, once we get cleaned up here and your proper uniforms issued.”
 
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Daniil started at the command, his eyes torn away from where he'd been watching the sweaty Caden, the marten's shirt clinging to his form where it had gotten damp. He moved quickly to a pile of folded towels set out nearby and brought them over, offering one to each of the combatants. Eirene followed after, picking up waterskins that had been laid out for their use and offering these to the combatants as well.

Daniil blushed a bit, not looking at the new instructor. "If I may, cousin," he mumbled, "maybe I should go first. Technically I'm still in uniform - at least, the uniform of the Fyadorian National Guard, but it's a uniform approved by the Imperium nonetheless. And..." he hesitated before leaning in and whispered to Alwyn, "I don't want to embarrass the others if I fumble my words in front of them."
 
"Your confidence won't be misplaced," Caden said to Alwyn with a grateful bow of his head. "I appreciate you being willing to work within my parameters."

Caden accepted a towel and waterskin, nodding in thanks. He took off his glasses in order to dry the fur of his face and neck, he glanced down at his shirt, then looked up at Eirene. "Would you mind holding my glasses for a moment?"

Once the ferret had taken hold of his spectacles, Caden stripped off his shirt and slung it over his shoulder. Toweling off his well-muscled torso, he relieved Eirene of his glasses and donned them once more, wrapping the sturdy wire of the temple endpieces securely over his ears. He tilted his head in interest as he listened to Daniil mention the provenance of the uniform he currently wore, though Caden did not inquire further, hoping to keep his interactions with the todd minimal in order to avoid potential uncomfortable topics of discussion.

He commented to Eirene, "I suppose we'll get our audience with the Minister of War, after all. This way was likely better than our original idea."
 
Eirene gladly held Caden's glasses, noticing that when the marten stripped, Daniil turned very pink and seemed to be focusing very hard on his cousin. She had to wrestle down a smirk at the fox's flustered expression. "I agree," she confirmed to Caden. "We got lucky dat dere was someone to test us after all."
 
Alwyn deftly washed himself down, even taking some of the soap that came along with the towels and pouring some of the water on himself between swigs from the leather. Had to be presentable for the Minister, of course, and, as a Westisler, he generally did try to keep himself in good hygiene. It tended to help with the vixens, too, which was an added bonus. He nodded as Daniil made his request.

“Aye, we can do that, might be best if the Minister sees you each individually, although, he will likely be brief. He is a very busy beast these days.” Alwyn replied to his cousin kindly.

He gave another nod to Caden, as he put back on his regular clothes.

“It is my pleasure-the more skilled instructors and beasts we can call upon in emergencies, the better. Hard to find qualified beasts these days.”

Motioning for his cousin to follow him, Alwyn first moved to the armory, where he put on his full formal armor, acquired his poleaxe, and put on his solid red cloak and plumed morion. If one was to meet the Minister, one needed to be dressed for the occasion. Daniil, however, was fine in his current outfit, as he was not yet a member of the Guard until he took his oath. When he was done, he motioned for his cousin to once again follow him, and soon they were heading down the hallway that approached the Minister’s office door, giving his cousins tips along the way when he was sure they were not being watched, though he was still careful about his true thoughts about him. He was not a Sleet, Sken, or a Rainblade, or even a Darkon, but he was a good enough fellow, if a bit pompous and perhaps with a bit of an inflated sense of self-importance. On the other paw, perhaps that was all Ministers, given his mother and father acted as if they were some kind of god and goddess at times.

“He’s not a bad sort, the Minister. Just follow my instructions and you will do well. Be polite and formal, and throw in a little bit of flattery for good measure. Be sure to compliment some of the new uniform concepts he likely has propped up in his office-he likely has some of his latest mockups there he is reviewing. Then, we’ll get you sworn in. Should not be much of an issue-his attention is on many other matters after all.”
 
Daniil nodded along with his cousin's instructions and explanation. "I can... probably manage that," he admitted, his anxiety rising slightly as he thought of having to make small talk with a minister. It was bad enough holding extended conversation with his aunt and uncle, and they'd practically raised him. Proximity to power, it seemed, awoke that stress in him he'd had since the former Minister of War, Miss Darkon, had taken them in. Being under a powerful stranger's care after their mother's death had been a stressful and traumatic experience, and even with as kind as she'd been to them, there was something about ministers that still left him flustered.
 
There was but a single guard by the door, a wildcat dressed in the garb of the Stoatorian Guard, with a polished steel chestplate and a paw-and-a-half sword at her side. Across from the guard, to the other side of the sturdy, unadorned door, a weasel secretary sat at a desk, looking over papers with a quill pen in his paw.

Neither gave the approaching party much attention, seemingly recognizing Alwyn. The weasel gave so much as a nod, indicating it was clear to go on.

Past the door, which swung heavy through its sturdy frame, the office loomed large. A desk sat center in the room, behind which rested a massive portrait of the empress - sword and scepter in paw, more warlord than ruler, though graced by the crown of Amarone and surrounded by the sovereign's usual golden fog.

The Minister of War was not at his desk.

Coming further into the office, one would quickly make out the voices of conversation, and look to one side to see a small party of beasts looking over a series of uniforms upon wooden dress forms. The minister stood large among them, his own white jacket easily subduing the otherwise potent reds, yellows and greens of the concepts on display before him.

"It's not too much red, is it?"

The marten leered over the last of the clothes sets, army greens with bronze buttons and bright red lining.

One among them, a slim, bespectacled ferret in an army colonel's uniform, dared to answer.

"I'm not sure the colonial battalions should be issued such striping at all, given the projected expense of providing any number of the new headwear to their ranks."

He gestured over to a red fez on a different pedestal, but the marten was dismissive.

"Enough of that, Colonel. There's no expense too great for the army's coffers, least not where our soldiers are concerned. I should think you'd know that by now. Benton!"

The third of their number, a rather fat rat with a notepad in paw, hurried over to the minister's side.

"The white can go - stick with gold and red for the next batch. See if you can't make the cutwork more efficient, for Colonel Trabant's sake."

The rat scribbled down the instructions, nodding with overplayed enthusiasm.
 
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Daniil stood at attention in the minister's office, waiting to be called upon. His eyes surveyed the uniforms, and he had to admit, they were stylish. Far more suited to dress uniforms than dailies, perhaps; in the field, those fine fabrics would be difficult to care for, and more details meant more seams that could catch and tear, meaning more maintenance in turn. Still, Daniil could imagine wearing those uniforms with pride... though perhaps a different shade of yellow, more marigold than daffodil, would look better. Still, as his eyes landed on the fez, his eyes widened in appreciation. He'd always liked the look of the fezzes; he'd seen them frequently when he was in his mid-twenties, back when he'd accompanied his sister on a diplomatic mission to Akef. He admired the style, and especially with the yellow, it would make for quite the striking dress uniform. The appreciation for style showed clearly on his face as he waited to be called upon.
 
Approaching the Minister’s office, Alwyn returned the nod to the weasel, and entered to find Grosvenor doing his usual routine. He wondered how much of it was genuine, and how much of it was to potentially throw off the Imperium’s enemies by pretending to be overly concerned about such things. Despite his Mother’s and the Guard’s efforts, foreign agents were always about, so it could simply be a ruse. After all, despite what he may seem like on the outside, the marten had to be competent enough and loyal, and that seemed proven through his service history and how he had managed the enormous reforms the Empress had commanded be made to the military. Amélie did not tolerate fools in important places for long in his experience.

Besides, although I have experience with personal combat and small unit tactics, I must confess the subtleties of strategic command are beyond my experience. Maybe uniforms are this important.

Quietly moving himself and Daniil to the side as he entered, he shifted his poleaxe from his right dominant paw to his left, then awaited the Minister’s acknowledgment. He knew not to interrupt him during his business unless it was truly important, and they could wait...possibly for quite a while...until it was done. Glancing over at his cousin from his peripheral vision, Daniil, at least, seemed interested in this whole discussion. Well, that made sense. His cousin was much more fashionable than he was, and Alwyn had, and still often did, ask him how to properly dress on formal occasions and to increase his allure to vixens. He might not be the best fighter, but he did have many useful skills, even if he himself did not think so.

Perhaps our time together here will allow him to heal more and to build his confidence up.

@Neame Grosvenor @Orina Emberkin @Dusk Rainblade
 
Looking to the new group of beasts to enter his office, Minister Grosvenor beckoned them over with a smile that seemed too large for his face. His voice was deep, harsher than his words, which carried an air of the joviality that seemed to animate his whole body.

"Ah, Lieutenant Ryalor, was it? Come here, lad. Both of you, come, come!"

The ferret colonel moved aside, making further space for them by the dress forms, rolling his eyes when he was sure the minister couldn't see.

"These uniforms are concepts for some of our brave beasts out in the M.S.C. Now, tell me, which of these do you think would serve our lads and laddesses best in the field, eh?"

Still beaming, he gestured towards each in a sweeping motion. All largely dyed in the army's standard green, they differed by cut and color, with the first being a short jacket over what would probably be the typical undershirt, with shoulder straps, but bereft of pockets. The latter two were longer cuts, the first with pockets lined in the rather tertiary color of imperial gold, the second without the lining about the pockets, but with more fanciful red sewn into the uniform's edges and sleaves.

He didn't quite wait for a response, walking off back towards his desk for something. Colonel Trabant followed close behind, speaking softly enough to the minister that nobeast else could hear.
 
Daniil carefully considered the array of uniforms before speaking. "The short sleeves would normally be of benefit in the heat," he noted, "but against sun and insect life, the extra protection of the long sleeves would outweigh that. Besides, it is easier to roll up sleeves than to find a way to extend them. The red trim is more impressive, but in a jungle environment with plants that catch and tear, it adds an additional seam that can split and need repair. The pockets are of benefit in carrying rations, and while the lining is extraneous, a touch of finery can go a long way to improving morale, and with little cost to function. I would recommend the middle uniform, sir."
 
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