Topic: Establishment of grey

Ewan Corinsson

Date: 2009-05-05 15:32 EST
Ewan walked through the haze of dust that thickened the air of the abandoned building. It felt stale like a tired old tree with deep roots and greying bark. The building was tucked between two others of its like in the northeastern part of town. It was not far from the inn, in point of fact, but more importantly it was not far from an entrance to the Tunnels.

The rough of his hand ran down one of the old support beams, a layer of days of neglect dusted down like starfall in the golden light from the front windows. A grumble, the cage of his primal nature, rattled as he thoughts lingered one why he was here. Why he measured wall to wall and surveyed basement and second floor with critical eye.

If he had asked it, Yransea would have granted him a larger pay for his services, but he could not ask it. He could not ask for more when he gave them less. The Tunnelers did not pay for what aid he gave them, nor did the Holding Houses. His pay was their information. Their pay was his talents to their cause from time to time. For all his duties, obligations, and work, his income had not increased.

His family had and so had their requirements. It meant doing the only thing he could do without giving away who he was in the shadows of dark places. He had to instruct.

A patch of wall gave away like travel bread with the barest hint of pressure. Ewan brushed his hands together and then across his breeches, wrists brushing against the tips of his sheathed daggers. The building needed work, but it had held the most promise. It would take time to be his fully. Some time more to mend it, but he had favors and trade of services he could call in for that.

Compass would have his bargain met, and among Ewan's first students would be a few of the Tunnelers. Beyond that, he did not know, but for all its aged walls and tired floors, the building welcomed him as any dark place had habit of doing.

The call to move fell upon him, and drawing his blades from the cross sheathes on his back, he walked through the call of the edge, the shadow dance of a fighter, his opponent only himself in patience, strength, and trust.

Ewan Corinsson

Date: 2009-07-20 13:15 EST
"It's done, Ewan." Pei moved from the corner of the practice hall. The floor held a round of stone out of place from the smooth wood everywhere else. "You sure you don't want more than that link set?" The skepticism was evident.

Ewan nodded. "I am certain. They need to risk of wounds. Without consequence there is little encouragement for improvement. No, just the link to the nearest infirmary will do. I think the floors here will have a taste of blood from time to time."

Pei moved to walk past him, but paused and set a hand on his shoulder. "You are a sick man." She grinned. "But I see your point. Want me to put an arcana suppression on the building as well? I'll need to call in a few extra hands for that. Tricky work."

Considering his aversion to magic and his want for this school to focus on the physical and mental confrontation, Pei's suggestion was a good one. "How long would it take and what would it cost?"

"My work is for free, you know that Ewan, but I can't promise the others will be. I'll ask around." There was sympathy in her eyes as she looked over the building. "I know why you're doing this, Ewan. I don't want to make it more difficult."

"Thank you, Pei. I will pay what needs being paid though." He appreciated the consideration, but it irked him that his need to supplement his income was known by any outside of his family, even if it was Pei. He could trust her to keep the information to herself.

Pei motioned to the walls. "You and your cousin have done some fine work. Is it what you hoped for?"

It had not been something Ewan considered. The building was a means to an end. A place required in order to do what he needed: instruct others in some of his methods of combat and perhaps, just perhaps, find someone he could trust to pass on darker secrets.

The call of his Mistress Death had been silent for months since the battle at Yearling Brook. Of late, though, he had heard her whispers again when he walked the Tunnels or slipped through the shadows on his patrols of town. He could not trust to the myth of the city that he would always come out of a confrontation clean and whole, or even alive. There were things he had to pass on and his children were too young for it.

But the building, he realized, was exactly what he hoped for when he allowed his mind to travel that way. It's walls now rebuilt were solid, the floors firm and the various offices and alcoves apportioned to his needs. "Yes, I think it is."

"Needs a name, you know. Master Corinsson's School of Blood Letting?" She snickered as she folded her arms. The leather and metal of her armor creaked and clicked with the motion.

A sidelong glance to her, he turned to escort her to the door. "I am sure something will come to me before I open the next month."

"How about Slit a Throat School?" Pei continued, but gave up with the narrowed emerald eyed glance. "Right, so see you at Port South Holding House tonight?"

"Likely, yes. Thank you, again, Pei." They made their farewells and Ewan looked back to the building as he locked up the doorway. He chuckled and whispered, "Slit a Throat School. Swords and arrows, Pei, what do you think I am?" And he chuckled again, as he was certain she surmised closer to the mark than she realized.

Ewan Corinsson

Date: 2009-10-06 18:59 EST
Ewan had kept his word. It was after Harvest Festival. The school was now open to accept students.

There were some few who came. Mostly they were Tunnelers looking to learn better ways to defend themselves or they were the kin or close friend of a Tunneler. Those that had interest in learning the way of the blade, but not sure who to trust. If nothing else, Ewan had that trust among the web of informants.

From time to time, the Tunnelers would look to him to solve some neglect to justice. Mostly, though, they kept their secrets, hoarding them like jewels, and shared only when instructed to do so. Ewan had them on a few tasks of his own. There were people the Baroness wanted watched, kept an eye on; people the Barrister wanted searched; people of his own interest. The Tunnelers spared time to do this watching. In exchange, they received their lessons for free while on those particular tasks.

Three of them stood in the practice room, the sawdust filled padding crunched beneath their bare feet. It was set in the center of a large room, twenty paces each length. One pace between padding and wooden walls. It had seen some use that day and had darker streaks along the grey cloth where sweat and soaked in.

The lesson at that hour for the students wandering a little self consciously before him would be learning how to sense their shift in balance and that of an opponent. It would not be easy, and it would take time, but they had to start somewhere.

Sooner the better, by Ewan's perspective. He did not know how long he would be around to instruct. His Mistress Death had become more pervasive in his every day. Never speaking, always sad, eyes of regret upon him and then she was gone.

There was something she needed him to do. There was a life that needed to end. He wondered if it was his.

"Right, then, Martin, if you will join me in the center. I am going to demonstrate using your opponents' weight and momentum against them."