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Olympia doesn’t recognize the man they’ve brought in to train her today. The normal cast is a bunch of scar-faced old men who didn’t teach her anything but how to take a beating. This man is young, maybe in his mid-twenties, but he has the same haggard look on his face as Brandi. He’s tall, almost six and a half feet, and is the type of big with real strength behind it. He’s a barbarian; Olympia can smell it in the way he moves, the way he regards her as an equal creature, and in the metallic odor wafting off of the massive greatsword on his back.
He extends his hand to greet her. “Ekish.” Plain and simple, no fluff or frills; exactly the way Olympia likes it.
“Olympia,” she responds, shaking his hand and making sure her grip is as tight as can be.
He doesn’t say anything else, nor does he smile or give any indication of friendliness; he just nods his head and turns to walk toward the center of the sparring field. Olympia follows, closely watching his steps.
Olympia feels her chest tighten when she sees him pull that sword off of his back, then relaxes again when he beckons her closer and places it longways in her hands. It’s heavy—heavier than anything Olympia had been allowed to hold before. She can hardly hold it up, but she won’t show anything but the purest strength.
“This is the Tusk of Ilneval. To save you a long history lesson, it’s a generational sword that’s passed on from owner to owner by killing the person who wielded it last. As you can probably imagine, I killed the guy who had it last so now it’s mine until someone—or something kills me,” Ekish says.
Olympia can feel the sword; not just its weight or its importance, but the lives it has taken. That metallic smell—the smell of blood—is so strong it makes her want to scrunch up her nose and drop the thing, but she persists. She is not able to properly wield the sword, and it will be a long time until she is capable, but the message is clear.
“You are going to try your hardest to kill me. From now on, every day, I will be here to train you. You will learn to fight, bleed, and die. That is your purpose, just as it is mine. If you succeed, this sword will be yours. Do not disappoint me,” Ekish says.
Olympia feels it in her soul that she should be scared, but she is not. Ekish understands that she has accepted his challenge, and plucks the sword from her hands with ease.
“Now then, let’s get started,” he says. His voice is lighter now, almost like the previous interaction was a joke. “What’s your focus?” he asks.
“I’m, uh…ancestral guardians,” Olympia stammers.
Ekish’s ears perk up at the mention of his own subclass. “Good pick,” he says. “I guess I know why they picked me to be your trainer then.”
“You’re the same?” Olympia asks, a hint of excitement creeping into her voice.
“I sure am,” Ekish says. “And I can do this—”
The room fills with ghostly figures; warriors, orc and human alike, all turned towards Ekish. They’re waiting for the moment Ekish swings his sword, hands on their weapons, so that they might aid him in battle.
“These are my ancestors, going back far longer than I’d be able to trace on any family tree. As I’ve grown more powerful, more have appeared. I only recognize a couple of them from portraits my father kept, so they felt like strangers at first, but now I think I can feel that they’re part of my family, even if they’re long dead,” Ekish explains. The warriors surrounding him pay Olympia no heed, instead focusing on the minute movements of Ekish’s hands.
Olympia is dumbstruck. “Can…can I do that?” she asks quietly.
“And more,” Ekish says. “These spirits can aid your allies, hinder your foes, and damage your enemies. They’re an integral part of the way I fight, so I’m going to teach you to do the same.”
“That’s so fucking cool,” Olympia whispers to herself. She looks down at her hands and thinks I can do that too, over and over again. “When do we start?” she asks.
“Whenever you’re ready to have your ass handed to you,” Ekish teases.
Olympia unsheathes her longsword and finds a comfortable stance. “I guess we’ll be here forever, then,” she shoots back.
Ekish grins and raises his sword to Olympia, taking a halfhearted swing at her. Olympia almost believes that he’s playing around, but then the guardians begin to rush at her. They pile onto her, nearly pulling her down to the ground and obscuring her vision until she can only see Ekish. He’s standing in the same place, having barely moved his arm to cause this to happen. It makes Olympia angry—she finds the rage deep in her stomach and pulls it up into her muscles. She pulls herself from the horde and runs toward Ekish, sword poised to slash into his forearm, and connects. She retreats slightly, not wanting to be grabbed up by this man. Ekish nods approvingly, still not raising his sword. He smiles to himself, then runs around Olympia to be behind her, thrusting an arm out—but not before Olympia can take another slash at his leg. Ekish doesn’t even flinch, just finishes the movement without acknowledging the gash. He holds Olympia up in one arm and his sword in the other.
“I’d say I’ve won,” he says.
“I’m not dead yet,” Olympia retorts.
“No, but I promise that once I start slashing at you with this thing you will certainly wish you were dead,” Ekish says.
Olympia sneers at him and rolls her eyes. “Whatever,” she says.
“Sore loser, I see,” Ekish says, placing Olympia back on the ground.
“You didn’t even hit me!” Olympia exclaims, almost whining now. “That’s not—that’s just not fair.”
“I see, you’d rather I made the poor cleric have to come over and revivify you?” Ekish asks. “No, I didn’t hit you. I didn’t have to, so why would I? You left yourself wide open and didn’t offer anything but a couple cuts,” he holds up his arm to show a pretty nasty slash, “so why would I treat you like a threat?”
Olympia pouts. “I’m never gonna be a threat if you don’t act like we’re in a real battle,” she mutters.
“You’re never gonna be a threat because you can’t hold a sword properly,” Ekish booms. “Because you left your back open and I can hold you up in one arm. If you want to be a threat, you need to learn to keep yourself safe first. There’s nothing threatening about a corpse.”
The stress placed on the word corpse sends a shiver up Olympia’s spine.
“I’m not going to beat you up and give the poor guy who has to stitch you up more prayers to send up to Sol because I’m going to teach you how a real fight works,” Ekish continues. “If you want to be a threat, you can’t go around with a death wish, hunting for the biggest thing to kill. You have to be methodical, clear-headed, and confident. I can see that you’re confident, so we just need to work on the other two.” His voice lowers significantly as he drops his rage, the spirits that once filled the room dissipating into the air.
Olympia stands stock-still and listens. She’s been yelled at more than enough in her life, and Ekish can see it plainly on her face that she’s scared. He sighs and stows his sword, slowly shaking his head.
[One of Ekish’s biggest faults is his damned heart. He’s been called the softest barbarian you ever met more times than he can count, but he just can’t help it. Here was this scared little girl of, what, twelve or thirteen, and he was meant to be all big and scary with her? He didn’t know if he could do it. He knew he was probably the best pick to train her, so they wouldn’t throw him out on his ass for being nice to her, but he knew he had to toughen up if he was going to train one of the future best adventurers.]
“Listen, kid. I’m not here to be mean to you, alright? I’m here because you’re going to be better than me, and you’re going to be one of the rocks that this country leans on,” Ekish says gently.
Olympia nods, willing the tears she feels pricking at her eyes to go away before they pull her away to her room. “I understand,” she manages to say.
“Good. Now, then, I’ll see you tomorrow. As I understand it, you’re multiclassing into fighter, so you have another trainer to meet today,” Ekish says.