Leaving after the brief lesson gave Cyran ample time to practice wisp walking before it was time to head back. Though multiple failed attempts left him muddy, downtrodden and frustrated.
"I just don't get it! What am I doing wrong? What am I missing?" He cursed.
He tried varying his footing. He tried using his twin swords. He even tried yelling names when he heard footsteps approaching him.
Three youths casually strode towards Cyran, looking around idly as they did so.
"We were waiting around for you to be alone but we never expected your father to return to the village without you. It saved us the trouble of waiting around," the leader of the three announced. He was an elf of average height and build. Stood with his hands in the pockets of his fine and expensive looking clothing, he leaned against one leg whilst sneering at Cyran. The youth took a hand from his pocket and swept it through his short brown hair before continuing his approach.
"What do you want Rydel?" Cyran had no time for him or his ilk. Rydel Forrora was the heir of one of the few noble houses left in the elven community. A law unto themselves who answered only to the royal line who did not reside in their home village. This meant Rydel has free reign to throw his growing authority around with little repercussion and anyone who would argue with him would usually find his favourite rapier hovering above their throats.
He was always accompanied by two other youths. The tall, sickly looking elf was Tobias Balrel. He was the son of the wealthy merchant group head that operated their stores between forests. He spent most of his days cooped up managing the accounts and raising profit margins so seeing him actually outside in the sun was a rarity in itself. Stood next to him was a more portly elven youth Niall Bowerstone who belonged to the only baker in the village. A prosperous shop that would do even better if their inheritor would learn to leave the goods alone.
"I think it is obvious what I want. So obvious, in fact, that even one such as you should understand," Rydel sneered, spurred on by the cackling of his peers, "you're going to forfeit your place in the selection tomorrow."
Cyran had a feeling this would happen. The Sentinel Selection tournament would aid the judges in awarding ranks to the competitors according to their skill level. Everyone who managed to make it past the preliminaries would become a recruit at the barracks. Any further then, if spectating mentors saw potential, you could skip recruitment and be trained by people of higher skill.
Members of rich or noble households becoming recruits, and eventually guardsmen, was unacceptable. It made the blood of the house seem weak and this was thoroughly identified and weeded out. This made situations such as the one Cyran found himself in quite a normal occurence in elven society and this was the first time he had ever been the target of the nobility.
Looking from Tobias and Niall to then focus on Rydel, "I can't do that." Cyran said.
"Can't or won't? Because I can be very persuasive," Rydel replied whilst drawing a slender rapier from his waist.
It was a longshot for Cyran but maybe the missing thing his Father was telling him about to master wisp walking was trying it out in actual combat. Drawing his twin wooden swords, "I don't want to fight you Rydel, there is no need to. If you want to fight me so badly you can just wait for the selection," Cyran pleaded. He really didn't want to fight. It wasn't that he was afraid of them more so that his inflated sense of justice always begged him leave it as a last resort.
"Beat you now, beat you tomorrow. It makes no difference. I will have my way!" Rydel lunged at Cyran using a form lauded by the nobility as the most graceful swordplay befitting his weapon. Side stepping his lunge, he used Rydel's momentum to add force to the knee he drove into his ribcage only to find he had dampened the blow using his palm. Grinning, the noble leapt back and and raised the tip of his rapier. His two comrades were cheering their champion whilst he resumed his attack, this time aiming his stabs lower, his blade flashing multiple times in the fading sunlight.
Cyran's blades became a blur as he parried each thrust by sweeping his weapon away from his lower body waiting for an opening. Given the light weight of Rydel's rapier, it did not take much strength to force the blade back into his attack pattern which kept Cyran on the defensive.
"This is the technique we Forroran's are taught to wield and it is going to bring pride to my house!" The noble heir roared as he renewed the fervour of his assault. Strike after strike were aimed for Cyran's joints making it obvious that the goal was to immobilise him. This meant the noble had more pain to inflict that a sword just couldn't satisfy. One particular thrust seemed to flow too far into Cyran's defence and he did not miss this opportunity. Rather than guide the blade away with his own weapons, he executed a double strike, one aimed to the tip of the rapier whilst the other found its mark against Rydel's wrist. The weapon twirled into the air and landed away from the two elves.
"This is it," Cyran thought, "it's now or never." In the split second that Rydel's rapier was slicing through the air, Cyran planted his foot behind him and visualised wisping behind his attacker to be able to finish the fight. He took a sharp breath before pushing off. Though rather than finding himself behind his opponent, he instead found himself flailing towards to ground. Again.
The young noble did not miss this golden opportunity and launched into a series of dirty kicks to Cyran's ribs, beckoning for his two friends to come and join in. The sons of the merchants and baker both shared a concerned look with each, torn between their meal ticket to a good life and what they felt was wrong. Instead they chose to look on at their ring leader released his frustation on Cyran's torso. Luckily, the padding he had stuffed behind his sparring armour softened many of the blows.
"I gave you a chance you filthy commoner! You dared to think you could crossed swords with me?! That piss poor footwork is just proof that you could never match me," Rydel was indignant at his near loss and continued to rain blows on Cyran whilst his two friends looked concerned.
Tobias meekly shuffled forward, "you've won Rydel, don't you think he has had enough?"
"Enough?! This ingrate will know his pla-" Rydel stopped his barrage when he was struck by a stone. He threw his head around wildly to find the source of the stone when he spotted a small boy with dark hair who had come from the village, standing there holding his trouser legs up as though they were too long.
"You leave my big brother alone!" Arlen cried.