Gaius gave a nod and returned to his map. The boundaries to the north and south could be expanded there....if he had something the Bledroes and Tarrs wanted badly enough. The Tarrs were certainly eager for coastal access; perhaps he could work that into a deal of some sort.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
He took the book, finding a quieter place towards the back of the library where he could sit and read alone. Eyeing the doors, waiting for someone else to come in, hoping they would so he could pinpoint the other entrances and how to get to them. He'd have to be patient but, if he was too conservative, he ran the risk of having Gaius press him too hard before he had the necessary information.
((Thinking of a timeskip, but to where?))
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
(Maybe to an interaction with Regulus or Mattathias or one of the other Keep residents? You could always meet Adrianna for the first time; she's fun.)
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
((*thinks* ((What would Gaius have him doing at first? in terms of being in his employ))
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
(Gaius would mostly be grooming him to fight properly by having him spar with low level soldiers, trying to access his power through the sparring by making the soldiers try to hurt him.)
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
((Let's go man)) ((Cornyx would probably just be up and around, subtly snooping until he gets actual orders or a directive or something, since no one's actually told him what he's doing XD))
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
A few days later, Gaius'd had Cornyx sparring with some lower level soldiers. One afternoon, after one of the infantrymen had bested Cornyx in a sword fight, Regulus stepped forward. "Mind if I give it a go?" he asked Cornyx, and eager light in his pale eyes. He had a cruelness in his face where Mattathias had confidence and Gaius had calculation.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
Cornyx had, unsurprisingly, never touched a sword in his life. He could shoot a gun and hold his own in a fistfight well enough--not spectacularly, but he was still alive for a reason--and he'd never been a particularly athletic individual aside from what was necessitated by his work.
As a result, he found himself on the ground. Repeatedly. He took the pain well, quietly, without drama or resistance, but as the days passed, he slowly began to learn. One piece at a time.
He was rising once more out of the snow when Regulus approached, the look in his eyes malicious. The look of someone who wanted to see Cornyx on the ground in more than one piece. He knew that look well by now.
Take it. Get up at the end of the day. It's that simple, kid.
"Of course not, sir."
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
"Let's have at it, then." He drew his own sword--a longsword with an ornate snakehead hilt. There were engravings of runes up and down the blade, a fine piece of smithing. "I'm ambidextrous, though. Hope that won't pose a problem."
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
"None at all, sir, although I can't say I'm all that familiar with such things." Commoners and people from worlds like his had no reason for swords. His tone was calm, overall demeanor neither challenging nor particularly engaged. He knew what was coming and he wasn't thrilled by it.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
"I've noticed." He leveled his sword at him. "On your mark?" His eyes narrowed, and he took an easy stance, looking completely relaxed.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
Cornyx came across from him, giving himself about twenty seconds before Regulus had him on his ass in the ice. Sliding his feet out to an even and balanced stance, readying his blade.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
Regulus gripped his with a familiar ease, letting it hang slightly as he began to circle. His pale eyes marked every weak spot quickly, and he smiled slightly. "You've really never had a good sword fight before, have you, ice boy?"
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
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