A Rake's Early Progress (864 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.92 on 14 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Magicaddict (View user info) at 2004-06-14 10:02:49 EDT
Ask anyone in my village about me, and they'll tell you I'm a hero.
Ask anyone in my family, and they'll tell you they love me.
Ask my father, and he'll tell you I don't exist.
I occupy the dubious position of being the son of a man who claims he has no son.
When I was three, I told my father I wanted to be a soldier. This, coming as fervently as it did at such a young age, brought twofold benefits. Firstly, it was a good-natured point for my family to gush about to their friends, and gave them something for me to aim towards in the long term. Secondly, it was a source of great satisfaction to my father that his son would grow up to be a hero - a man who stands out from the crowd. I suppose it was only fitting for the son of the Manor to be someone special.
I was given my first sword when I was five. It was no more than a plaything - a small gladius about fifteen inches long, but it received constant use as my favourite toy and inadvertently, my first practice weapon. After certain periods of time I was presented with new ones - in metal, longer and heavier. I practised, but I didn't get much better. So began the problem.
By the time I was nineteen, I was fairly good, but my father had begun to get impatient - I had shown such promise, but in his eyes wasn't making the best of what I could be. The situation was to be remedied. I was sent to a blademaster for a year's intense study - return would be made on the investment, no matter what the cost. I was sent off to learn something I knew I wasn't the best at, because my father thought it was a good idea.
To cap it all, training was crap. Really crap. I couldn't do it. Well, I could do it, very averagely, but I wasn't exactly in the process of blowing anyone's skirt up. Facing my sparring partners in this elite workgroup, I would rarely be able to get the blade into position to parry until after the blow had landed, and I kept doing things I shouldn't, like attacking when someone lowered their blade for a break. The blademaster persevered, though it was clear he was looking for me to do something else. He told me he would not teach me anything I didn't ask for, and while I knew I would never be a swordsman, I didn't know what I would be. I would lie in bed at night, passing that small wooden gladius - by now something of a mascot, a tribute to a time when things were better - back and forth, over and over again, thinking about what I would tell them back at home. I had failed. I wouldn't be a soldier.
Then I looked again at what I was holding.
The next day I went and took a proper look at another member of the group, a girl about my age called Thiandelle, plying her trade with a pair of daggers. She was ducking, bobbing, weaving, outpacing and generally mincing her sparring partner swinging a broadsword. I asked the blademaster about that kind of fighting, and how I would get into trying it. He was more than a little sceptical, considering my relative prowess with a sword, but appeared pleased that I had found something new to try, gave me a pair and started with some low intensity training.
The next week, he commissioned me a pair.
Everything suddenly fell into place. I was never supposed to be a swordsman. There are all kinds of etiquette and unwritten rules that I seemed to be expected to follow when sword fighting. None of it really held water with me - I was under the impression that if you were trying to kill a target, then the end justified whatever means you used, regardless of whether or not it was good form. Daggers allowed me to indulge just that sort of opinion to its fullest extent. I was taught dirty, underhanded, conniving, backstabbing techniques that got the job done in such a more satisfactory manner. Not only was this efficient, not to mention downright artistic when I got it right, it was fun.
I would spar daily with Thiandelle, and we became good friends as we cut each other to ribbons. I met her fiancée one day - in truth he was a little suspicious of why I felt the need to carve up his betrothed on a regular basis, but ended up backing off rather when I showed him what she did to me, casting a few wide eyed glances at her in the process. They'll make a very good couple when they finally get round to marrying...as long as he knows how to parry.
I learned about combat (fun but dangerous), skirmish tactics (nobody appreciates being taken from behind - good reason to do so), knife assassination (only messy if you get it wrong), combat medicine (if someone else gets it wrong), and how to be very, very annoying to the enemy in a melee, either by spiking their mages (toys) when they aren't looking, or making their front line (toys in cans) turn round long enough to be slotted by your front line. All good useful fun, far more interesting and diverse than being a swordsman, and something I truly thought I would never end up learning.
Six months later I returned home to show them what I could do, determined to impress with my more non-standard method of fighting. Did it work?
Well, for the most part, yes. Most of my family loved it. I did pass tricks, I snuck up on people, I dodged, bobbed and weaved like a hysterical cat caught in a butter churn. I faced three of father's guards as an exhibition. I knocked one out while they were still preparing, put a nasty looking but harmless cross on another's forehead while he was looking at his unconscious friend and was about to do the same to the third of them when he very quickly yielded before I got the chance. All very impressive to my family.
Except to my father.
Every time I did something new and impressive with the knives, he would become more angry. "Knives are a woman's weapon", "I didn't spend all that money to have you learn to cheat", "You're a soldier, not a fool", and other such pearls of wisdom formed the vast majority of his conversation to me, when he deigned to speak at all. I was a failure in his eyes - a failure because I didn't use a sword, because I wasn't what he saw as a soldier. I didn't know whether to feel angry at his rejection, or sorry for his shortsightedness.
It got worse one night when we were burgled.
They were trained thieves looking to make some good cash, had a couple of backup plans, and were not afraid to pay the butcher. In the event of things getting hairy, they would very happily kill anyone between them and escape. This was a pity, because my father decided to put himself there, with his sword. Why he didn't leave it to his guards, I will never know.
He was better with it than I was, but then that really isn't saying much, and was facing three very determined bandits who knew they had to go through him to get out. He was beaten back against a wall and was about to fail to parry a bandit's death stroke when one of my daggers appeared through the attacker's neck. This rather surprised the other two who shot glances at their falling comrade.
We all make mistakes.
In the same way I didn't knock the first one out, I didn't make crosses on foreheads either. It was all over very quickly indeed. Three bandits, less than two seconds, and I was left looking at my father, who'd life I had just saved. Since the moment he turned and silently walked away, he has never even looked at me, let alone spoke to me.
Everything I had worked for, everything I had spent time and effort practising and mastering, was worth nothing to this man. The fact I had saved his life was irrelevant - the fact that I hadn't done it with a four foot long, two-handed penis substitute was not. Considering how much I had been my father's son up until that point, home quickly became a rather uncomfortable place to be - the rest of the family were sad to see me leave, but they saw it as the next step in my natural progression towards being a soldier. I saw it as the only remaining way out.
My father's rejection has left me hollow where I thought he would have been pleased. I am a skilled soldier, with more feathers in my cap than a giant knitting needle. Wasn't that what he wanted? What he asked for? More importantly, wasn't it what I asked for?
My skills are not welcome at home. I intend to find somewhere they are.
Ask anyone in my village about me, and they'll tell you I'm a hero.
Ask anyone in my family, and they'll tell you they love me.
Ask my father, and he'll tell you I don't exist......and thinking about it, I should have added another:
Ask me, and I'll tell you I no longer give a shit.
User Reviews
Submitted by Jungle_Jimanee (user info) at 2005-06-20 06:30:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Scotsman (user info) at 2004-08-05 13:04:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I am almost certain I have read this somewhere before!!
Is it from the Emperor serious of books. Slightly changed but still looks fishily the same.
Anyway it is a good read so +1. Would be a +2 but I am suspicious.
Submitted by Ainkara (user info) at 2004-06-16 12:21:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by indigogecko (user info) at 2004-06-15 01:38:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
easily some of your best writing... I'll second the vote for hearing about this guy's progress...
Submitted by Dufflady (user info) at 2004-06-14 17:01:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Excellent.
Submitted by JMG114 (user info) at 2004-06-14 13:55:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
The stuff that great posts are made of. Please tell me that this is going to be a series.
Submitted by StonedSilly (user info) at 2004-06-14 13:45:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Give me your AIM, Yahoo, or MSN screenname. I want to ask you something away from uber.
Submitted by StonedSilly (user info) at 2004-06-14 13:43:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Excellent, EXCELLENT post.
It does remind me somewhat of Everquest, so -2 for that (I was addicted.)
However, the post is easily a +29999999999998, which can't be represented with uber ratings.
Therefore, plus TWO for YOU.
Submitted by runninginplace (user info) at 2004-06-14 13:13:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Enjoyable
Submitted by Falco (user info) at 2004-06-14 11:13:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Excellent, love the title
Submitted by JinkyWilliams (user info) at 2004-06-14 11:08:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Second +2.
Stay orange.
--JW
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2004-06-14 11:06:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
You have a lot of 20-sided dice, don't you?
Submitted by JinkyWilliams (user info) at 2004-06-14 11:05:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
A great way to start the day. A +2 for using "rake" in this fashion. You weren't perhaps inspired to use the word "rake" because of Everquest, were you? Not that it detracts at all. But I know of very few people who'd ever heard of a rake used in the context of an occupation. If you did, congrats, and an automatic +2.
But even if you didn't, still a good story, and definitely worth a +2. It kept my interest, easy to read, good formatting, minimal (if any) grammar and spelling errors, and I am waiting for the next installment.
Stay orange.
--JW
Submitted by Circe (user info) at 2004-06-14 11:04:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Very good.