Flicker’s expression was completely blank as he held up a wooden sword in front of Piper. He stared at her for a time as his brain thought of everything he needed to say, and she took a single step back from the wooden sword held up in front of her nose. She tilted her head off to one side for a better look, then tilted it to the other side, then took the sword in her own telekinesis.
“It’s heavy,” she remarked as she hefted the dull wooden blade.
“Some are eight pounds, others are ten. That one is ten.” Flicker looked Piper right in the eye as she waved the wooden sword around in her magic. “It will build your telekinetic strength. Swinging a ten pound wooden sword for hours will condition your mind and your magic for repetitive telekinetic weight stress. When you have a real sword, which will only be a few pounds, you will be able to swing it effortlessly.”
“That makes sense.” Piper nodded and looked at Flicker.
“The wooden training dummy is modeled after a real body. With a significant application of force from your wooden sword, the head will pop from its ball joint, and so will the arms or forelegs, whichever way you wish to see them. If you can take the head or the legs off of the dummy, you can do it in real life with no real effort.” As Flicker spoke, he made a gesture at the training dummy set up in the corner of the gym and glanced over to where Hennessy was trying to leap over the wall.
Hennessy was distracting.
“Go on, take the dummy’s head off,” Flicker commanded, “but have a word of warning. If the head or the limbs fall on the ground, Mister Balister is going to come over here and give you welts. If you somehow manage to sever the head, you are expected to catch it before it makes a racket as it bounces over the floor.”
“Somehow manage?” Piper’s eyes widened as she gave Flicker a wounded stare. “I bet I can take the head right off!”
“We shall see,” Flicker replied in a voice both knowing and wise in the ways of violence.
Grimacing, trying to look as murdery as Flicker, Piper lifted her sword and advanced on the training dummy. Bringing all of the force she could muster, she made a sidelong swipe at the neck, but missed, and hit the wooden head in the temple area instead. It remained on its neck and the blank wooden eyes stared at her, mocking her failure.
Piper huffed and let out a nervouscited laugh as she prepared to strike again.
With her tongue sticking out, she chopped at the dummy, trying to aim a little better, and this time her blade connected with the shoulder joint with a loud THWACK! that echoed through the gymnasium. The dummy continued to stare, mocking her, and she couldn’t help but feel that Flicker’s chilly, imperious stare held some sort of judgment. The filly’s ears began to burn and a hot, uncomfortable itch manifested in her dock as she began to feel the smoldering sensation of humiliation.
Decapitating a foe wasn’t as easy as it looked.
“Show me,” Piper said, requesting a demonstration.
Flicker drew another wooden sword from the training rack, bowed his head to her, and then held his sword up in front of him. She watched, focusing upon his every move, and then, as she stood watching, he exploded with a flurry of movement that was too fast to see. Three swift strokes were made, cutting off the right limb, the left limb, and the head in that order. All three bits were levitated and prevented from hitting the ground.
There were loud clicking sounds as the limbs and the severed head were reconnected.
“And how long did it take you to do that?” Piper asked as it dawned upon her how much practice that must have took.
“Only recently could I do it with any sort of reliability. I kept messing up and dropping the limbs. The head is the hardest to remove and takes a significant application of applied force. It took me almost a year of steady practice to be able to do this.” Flicker lowered his wooden sword, nodded, and said to Piper, try again.”
From elsewhere in the gymnasium, there was a cheer as one of the older students cleared the eight foot wall. Flicker and Piper both turned to have a look and when Piper glanced over at Flicker, she saw desire in his eyes. She knew that he would push himself to no end to do the same someday, someday soon maybe. Flicker was relentless and single-minded, it didn’t matter what he focused on, once he was focused, he was like a mechanical automaton in pursuit of his goal.
She had to be like that. Gritting her teeth, Piper took a whack at the training dummy, then another, again and again she began slashing it at it, falling into a rhythm. The wooden sword was heavy, a single swing or two wasn’t too bad, but just a few minutes in, she was already feeling the mental fatigue. She knew what Flicker would say before she even asked him; push through the pain and keep going.
So she did. She fell into a steady pace and gave up trying to decapitate the dummy, instead she focused on hitting the shoulder joints, the limbs, and the occasional slap on the nose. A few minutes in and she began sweating, it trickled down her legs, down her sides, tickling her and threatening to break her concentration as she struggled not to giggle.
In no time at all, she was soaked in sweat and it ran from places where she was unaccustomed to having it run from, it dribbled from her every nook and cranny, but a sweaty cranny was the worst. The hidden hollow of flesh just beneath the base of her dock felt swampy, clingy, she didn’t like it and as she thought about how much she disliked it, it began to itch, making her dislike it all the more.
“Mister Nicker, take Miss Pie down,” Mister Balister commanded.
Piper hardly had time to react or register Mister Balister’s words. She lept away as Flicker’s wooden sword made a slow swipe at her and she realised that if he had wanted to, he could have whacked her a good one. She kept moving and brought her own sword to bear, waving it at Flicker in an ineffective manner as she tried to look fierce.
Piping Hot Pie was just not a fierce looking pony.
THWACK!
Flicker’s wooden sword hit her wooden sword with enough force that it made her horn tingle and go a little numb. She could feel the strain in her mind and she realised that Flicker was a formidable foe by any standard—the same force he used to move farm equipment could be used to swing a sword. Blocking his attacks would only give her mental fatigue and a headache. Failing to parry his assaults might mean having a limb lopped off with a wooden sword, which would be unpleasant and Piper’s imagination threatened to go wild.
Scowling, she tried to ignore her stinging, aching horn as she retreated. Flicker wasn’t much of a swashbuckler, he wasted no movement, he did nothing fancy or theatrical. Every movement was made with the goal of a hit, not a feint or a flashy display of sword twirling skill. At least he wasn’t trying very hard, he wasn’t moving his sword as fast as he could be, and he was giving her a fair chance.
She appreciated that.
His sword came in fast and low, at her legs, and she was forced to leap up into the air. In the air, she got one of Flicker’s telekinetic flicks, which almost knocked the wind out of her, and it sent her flying backwards. She recovered mid-air and landed on all four hooves with a deafening clatter with her sword held out in front of her in a ready position.
“Remarkable,” Mister Balister said, “I thought for sure he had you there.”
The praise sounded sincere, but Piper had no time to revel in it as Flicker advanced. His sword came down in a heavy chop, which she sidestepped, but then with blinding speed, came in right for her neck and she was forced to parry. The blow hit her wooden sword with enough force to send a spike of painful feedback through her horn, which rattled her teeth and made her spine ache.
Would he actually hit her with that much force? She didn’t know and she didn’t want to find out. She slashed at him, making a few clumsy swipes, all of which he sidestepped, ducked, or moved away from. Even worse, he wasn’t even sweating like she was, and that infuriated Piper. He was making this look so easy while she struggled. She let out a pained cry as she blocked another one of his slashes with her sword and she felt a dreadful pain in her sinuses. Why did he have to hit so hard?
“That’s enough!” Mister Balister commanded as he stomped his hoof. “Mister Nicker, you didn’t try very hard, which I am rather disappointed in you for, but also did no serious harm to Miss Pie, while teaching her a valuable lesson, for which I commend you. Good work, Mister Nicker.”
“He hits like a runaway wagon,” Piper whined as she lowered her sword.
“Yes he does,” Mister Balister replied in a matter-of-fact voice. “I’ve watched him shatter the swords of others during practice duels. Other students get nosebleeds when facing off against him, and it isn’t from getting whacked on the snoot.”
“How do you fight somepony like that?” Piper asked. “He’s too fast and he hits too hard. It feels impossible.”
Mister Balister’s eyebrow arched and he stared at Piper. He said not a word as he lunged forwards in a blur, moving with what almost appeared to be supernatural speed. Piper felt her wooden sword snatched away out of her grasp, and in the span of a single eyeblink, Mister Balister was all over Flicker in a flurry of violence that moved so fast it was impossible to keep track of everything that happened.
She watched as Flicker was put on the defensive and he was forced to parry—Piper rather enjoyed watching Flicker having to retreat. There was a grunt from Mister Balister as Flicker scored a single glancing blow against the base of the stallion’s neck. Flicker paid for his success with a storm of hammering blows, some of which he failed to parry and landed upon his body.
Piper cringed at the sound, it was awful, the wooden sword striking flesh had to hurt and she knew that Flicker was going to be covered with bruises and lumps. Mister Balister’s assault continued unabated and the fight came to end when the older stallion swept Flicker’s legs out from beneath him, taking Flicker down to the floor and leaving him prone. Mister Balister prodded the point of the wooden sword into Flicker’s exposed and vulnerable neck.
“I yield,” Flicker gasped as his barrel heaved.
Lowering his weapon, Mister Balister stepped away. “This is how you deal with a foe like Mister Nicker. The only option is speed and enough skill to match his brute force. You have to somehow put him on the defensive, which is no small feat, then you have to strike at an opportune moment. Mister Nicker is a formidable foe whose primary defense is his incredible offense. As you have stated, he hits like a runaway wagon and crossing swords with him will scramble your brains. Do keep in mind, Miss Pie, dueling is very different than using live steel. Had he struck me with a real sword, he would have cleaved me open a moment ago.”
Piper nodded, understanding.
“Miss Pie, your reaction speed is marvellous, but everything else needs serious work.” Mister Balister turned to look at Flicker, who was getting up off of the floor, and he nodded at the colt. “Mister Nicker, you make a fine instructor for Miss Pie. See that she continues to practice during her free time. See that she is only bruised and not given serious harm. She has to learn.”
Piper felt cold chills course through her body as Flicker nodded.
“Go and hit the showers, all of you,” Mister Balister commanded, “and then get some rest. Tonight, we’re going to Ponyville to conduct a purge, so be ready for that.” The older stallion drew in a deep breath and turned his attention to Flicker. “You’ll be fighting Moonlit Gambit soon. If you need a sparring partner for practice, I might be able to help you.”
“Thank you, Mister Balister,” Flicker replied.
Hennessy, limping a bit, dragged himself over, dripping with sweat and reeking with hot horsey smell. His tongue was hanging out and he panted as he drew up alongside Mister Balister. The earth pony colt stood there, his sides heaving, and rivulets of sweat ran down his legs.
“I hurt everywhere,” Hennessy announced.
“Good.” Mister Balister smiled. “Just as it should be.” The older stallion eyed Hennessy’s fetlocks and let out a concerned whicker. “Right rear looks a little swollen. A little ice might help and you should get that wrapped with tape. Stay off of it and we’ll see how it looks tonight. If the swelling is still there, there’ll be no going to Ponyville for you.”
Ears drooping, Hennessy looked rather disappointed as his whole body slumped.
“Don’t give up, Mister Walker. You have what it takes to be a natural gymnast, but it will not come easy for you. Hard work, dedication, and many thousands of hours of practice will make it possible.” Mister Balister gave the earth pony colt a sympathetic grin. “Now, go on, hit the showers, all of you. You stink.”
*Attempts to pick the appropriate metal track for the purge.*
Pardon me.
Ah, Mister Balister, the pony who thinks beating someone with some prejudice towards someone with a homosexual preference over one comment bloody and breaking jaw and teeth and lord knows how many bruises and likely creating a lasting grudge and hatred is a good thing. Good to see that he's continually reaffirming his position as the guild's resident irredeemable asshole.
Kudzu, this is kind of commendable, honestly. You've created a character who,despite not being the villain and honestly is one the protagonist's side, I truly dislike.
Well, outside of that it's good to see Piper learning how to fight a bit more. I suspect that in the future she's going to develop one terrifying death glare, if her desire for one now is any indication.
I look forward to new chapters of your stories everyday <3
7814941
I understand that you don't understand or agree with military discipline, but you shouldn't disparage it.
You don't make hardened soldiers by coddling them and looking after their warm fuzzy feelings. You make them hard by hurting them over and over until the weak parts break away.
This draws from a different time, a different era, with different mores, morals, and ethics.
7814941
This never happened. This is an outright falsehood and a poor attempt at justifying character assassination.
For shame.
7814965 You mentioned he beat a student bloody with an encyclopedia. I'm not sure how else I'm supposed to interpret that. The one person I recall in real life who was beaten bloody did in fact have every injury I described, so perhaps here we are coming at odds due to different definitions
I will fully admit I am not fully familiar with military discipline. I have never been in the military, nor a police force. Perhaps I am imprinting too much my own reactions to the scenario in this chapter-I have anger control issues and I have lashed out before in other situations. However, the way you phrased it implied that Mr. Balister would attack them for simply making noise during training, not because it held a benefit-which,after thanking on it, I suppose catching them is supposed to simulate catching a pony's or other being's body parts to ensure you don't make noise. If that was the case, I would appreciate it being somewhat more clear, but then again you operate solely in third person-the narrative rarely has more info than the person would know. This is all well and good but it easily leads to misinterpreting what you write from time to time, and the fault I would generally say is on the fault of the reader.
Here I suppose I screwed up, and for that I apologize. That being said, I find myself disliking Mr. Balister solely in your story and none of the other instructors, so I do not think it is the situation or training they are in making me dislike him so.
7815003
The other instructors do much the same though. Balister is also remarkably kind, but I think you've missed that. His praise is sincere and earnest. He shows concern and worry for Hennessy after looking over every inch of him and seeing a slightly swollen fetlock. This is not the behaviour of a cruel, merciless asshole.
I feel the shower scene is gonna be a bit awkward if Hennessey is distracting while jumping, let alone soaking wet.
The wetness will... define his curves, if you will.
7815033
Mister Fascist is attracted to Mister Beatnik Hippie.
The world will not survive.
Ah, Mister Balister, how I love you so. Probably the greatest example of the "tough love" principle found in the Rat Catcher's Guild. It doesn't matter if you can do it, you will need to do it. Therefore, you must learn to do it. And Alicorns help anyone that tries to appeal to sympathy. Sympathy will not save you from the rats or the plague. The only way to make sure you do not get killed is to kill that which makes you weak, and train that which makes you strong.
7815045
7815003
This bears repeating for somebody who doesn't understand what is going wrong. Thank you for this delightful summary.
7815052 I still hardly see him as a sympathetic character because of the incident with the encyclopedia, but I take your point.
7815056
Soldiers have to learn to get along. Trained killers have to learn how to get along. This is where things like etiquette actually come from. Running your mouth in the old days was dangerous, because a duel might get you killed or crippled. So people were polite, or tried to be.
You kept your mouth shut and kept your petty shit to yourself so that you didn't hurt hurt the morale and the cohesiveness of the unit. This is how soldiers survived engagements.
The Romans had horrifying discipline to hold their soldiers together and the Spartans were even worse. Napoleon conquered Europe because his troops were flogged into perfect cohesive discipline. It's not pretty, but it doesn't need to be pretty, it needs to get the job done.
Speaking in story terms, if there was ever a major crisis, say, an epidemic or a pandemic, would you want a bunch of whiny, mewling, self entitled assholes fighting with each other over who has to do what, or do you want the professionals who work as a cohesive unit and obeys every order explicitly and to the letter in times of crisis?
Pick one.
One saves civilisation, the other causes it to die.
7815074 Okay then?
I'm just...yes, that's very true,everything you said in fact. I'm just not entirely certain what prompted this. I was just stating my dislike of Balister for the encyclopedia incident which, in my opinion would have bred more resentment towards him than anything else, and then this...I guess I understand, just...
I don't know. Regardless I'm enjoying this story, and dislike one of the side characters. He seems to have some redeeming qualities, but at the same time he is not someone I would ever get along with.
7815086
Balister is old school. He believes that if it isn't broke, don't fix it. He was trained that way, along with everybody else, and it worked. In this case, tradition trumps innovation, because they don't have the luxury of trying new things to see what works.
7815091
Are you defending his actions or sharing a thesis on his character?
7815151
Offering insight.
7815162
It did not come out that way.
Please preface your comments with your desired intent?
7815177
Statement: A writer is more than his characters.
Proposition: A writer has a right to casually drop info in the comments.
7815181
...that...
That actually works really well for you!
You might be being sarcastic but it comes off perfectly with your style of commentary replies!
Please continue!
7815186
Admission: I was being very silly because I'm in pain and I need a distraction. It was good for a laugh.
7815188
Well if you keep it up and I can guarantee you will experience a lot more positive reader interactions!
By "it" I mean "being snarcastic", you just pull it off so much more-better that I could sit here and figuratively listen all day! It feels so natural with your style of replying to readers in the comments!
7815091
Balister's conviction is growing on me.
? = Add 'to'
7814814
You can't know which one is perfect until you know how this one is special. In essence, there's a big difference between rat stabbing, rat mulching, and Kudzu shenanigans, and the perfect song needs to know it.
I'd say a list of likely picks might be more helpful.
7819284
Eh, not really.
As an apprentice, his skills are subpar and in need of a lot of work compared to others.
So, not really.
Don't worry, Mister Balister. No matter what kind of uproar you cause in the comments, I'll always love you, my cantankerous medieval drill sergeant. Go whup them young'uns asses until their grandmas start crying. No, strike that. Whup them young'uns asses until the Rat Bastard's grandma starts crying.
7814814 7815930
Here are a some of my suggestions (some are a better fit than others) and some non-metal (and possibly cliche) recs:
I moved it all to a playlist.
It really depends on how the purge plays out.
That must suck the first time you knock one of the peices off. Probably very tired and suprised, have fun catching that thing!
Say, what does Balister do to those that don't catch it? A stern yelling, or good ol' beating?
7821667
A few taps with the old swagger stick to get you motivated.
7821618 in w40k the inquisition persecute xenos and demons like they kill rats here, also they are quite fanatics. They only need to cry "HERESY" next timw that they hunt rats xD
7821618 inquisitor are normall taken by the schola progium from war orphans of soldiers who served the imperium. Not all make through the system make it and those that do are divided into 3 parts which are storm soldiers inquistors and sisters of battle.