Caim of Caerleon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
loverofinnocence) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
smash_logs2013-03-20 05:42 pm
loverofinnocence) wrote in smash_logs2013-03-20 05:42 pm
The Time to Fence is NOW
Who: Caim, Students, Lurkers, and So On
Where: Fencing Class
What: Fencing Class
When: 03/21 - Late Morning
Warnings: What could possibly go wrong.
If there was one thing Caim could admit to excelling at - aside from murdering - it was the mastery of swords. In Midgard, the prince would have thought himself a Renaissance man of weapons, considering his training went through a plethora of fields. He could wield pole arms, staves, axes, and so on. Only thing he'd never really picked up was a bow and arrow, but that required to stay in the background of things. Perhaps it was regal authority that commanded in him a reminder that even the prince of a lost land needed to uphold some form of leadership quality - which demanded his presence upfront and centre.
For Christmas of 2012, Caim had given each student enrolled in his class a foil, particularly engraved with the pupil's name in the handle. Mostly so no one would suddenly accuse another of taking his foil as they trained and sparred. In hindsight, he supposed it was a nice gesture made on his part.
The class itself would be one part discussion of technique and minute demonstration, one part student solo training, and the final part student pairing training. Offensive and defensive maneuvers were to be held in the same high regard. Vertical strikes, horizontal strikes, the rotation of the wrist, the ability to stand lightly and hold a commanding presence, parries, and evasion were all key points to the traditional world of dueling, something not even Caim was foreign to.
In short, it certainly was nicer than Goose's piloting class.
The classroom itself was welcoming. Well, as welcoming as a classroom could likely feel, at any rate. Desks pushed further back to leave open floor in the front and Caim's desk, which was home to two yellow Pikmin with toothpicks, clearly interested in helping him teach. He stood behind it, as stiff and rigid as he ever was, a hand poised at hisbuttwings hip, and the other at the dry-erase board with pen in hand. And a chair behind his personal desk pulled out for his sister, who'd been so kind as to fulfill the role of his vocal translator.
Undoubtedly, it'd be intriguing. And maybe some students would stab themselves.
Where: Fencing Class
What: Fencing Class
When: 03/21 - Late Morning
Warnings: What could possibly go wrong.
If there was one thing Caim could admit to excelling at - aside from murdering - it was the mastery of swords. In Midgard, the prince would have thought himself a Renaissance man of weapons, considering his training went through a plethora of fields. He could wield pole arms, staves, axes, and so on. Only thing he'd never really picked up was a bow and arrow, but that required to stay in the background of things. Perhaps it was regal authority that commanded in him a reminder that even the prince of a lost land needed to uphold some form of leadership quality - which demanded his presence upfront and centre.
For Christmas of 2012, Caim had given each student enrolled in his class a foil, particularly engraved with the pupil's name in the handle. Mostly so no one would suddenly accuse another of taking his foil as they trained and sparred. In hindsight, he supposed it was a nice gesture made on his part.
The class itself would be one part discussion of technique and minute demonstration, one part student solo training, and the final part student pairing training. Offensive and defensive maneuvers were to be held in the same high regard. Vertical strikes, horizontal strikes, the rotation of the wrist, the ability to stand lightly and hold a commanding presence, parries, and evasion were all key points to the traditional world of dueling, something not even Caim was foreign to.
In short, it certainly was nicer than Goose's piloting class.
The classroom itself was welcoming. Well, as welcoming as a classroom could likely feel, at any rate. Desks pushed further back to leave open floor in the front and Caim's desk, which was home to two yellow Pikmin with toothpicks, clearly interested in helping him teach. He stood behind it, as stiff and rigid as he ever was, a hand poised at his
Undoubtedly, it'd be intriguing. And maybe some students would stab themselves.
no subject
Let hell is his class not being stalked by this guy. ]
no subject
Why was the hedgehog tormenting himself? It was mostly Caim's thought as he watched Shadow remain on patrol. As if Caim was going to burst with swords or something and commit mass murder in his own classroom.
He cocked an eyebrow in vague disbelief.]