Leon - Spellsword

[Marlon]

It didn't take long for Leon to bring himself around, take stock of the situation and decide upon a course of action. That part was easy. He was far from a stupid man.
The milling throngs of half starved and homeless refugee's that merely sat in Hempstead fields, waiting for something to happen or someone to save them, that was something he couldn't do.. sit and wait. He knew no one would come and just pluck him from this.

So, taking stock.. he chose his course of action. Some of his first teachings came to him, and he fell right back to the very basics of it all.
First .... Survival... food and water. For this he needed coin.
The first job that he could find, wading through the deep sewerage waters of Hempstead to unclog pipes and be rid of the overwhelming rat menace.
The air stank, disgusting debris floated by, and the sharp change from his usual cushioned lifestyle almost had him weeping the entire way.
But the water was up to his waist. It restricted his movement, slowed him considerably, effected the swing of his sword.
He put himself back into his training ... letting his mind place him there instead of in the stench of the sewers.
Watching his mother as she summoned spell after spell, all wearing her heavy platemail ... her sword bursting into flames as she directed and channelled the Al'noth into it.
And then her gentle touch as she leaned in to his, showing him how to hold the blade... advising him how to sense the Al'noth.. focus it ... and aim it to the blade, not as a projectile of sorts, but to let it seep into the blade.
And so he kept trying, wading through the muddy waters, closing his eyes and trying to focus the Al'noth into the rusty copper blade he had found...
... until the soft splash and shrill squeak of yet another rat brought him out of it.

[Marlon]

Once out of the stinking, water clogged sewers, Leon began exploring a little.
His feet led him southwards, across the Dapplegreen lands that now had various signs up warning of bandits and trespassers to be executed.
Taking his time, and moving as stealthily as he could, he eventually came to the town of Vehl.
Here... he decided upon a new tactic.
To go completely to the extreme, to test the very limits of his training and take a peek of what the end goal was.
He purchased himself a set of heavy full platemail, and a massive shield that was almost as tall as he.
Surely... this would be the pinnacle. To be able to cast his spells and channel the Al'noth whilst wearing such encumbersome items.

However, he soon found it too much.
Meeting up with a bald bare-knuckle boxer and a Toranite, he accompanied them into the dark crypts in Vehl to smite the undead.
The helmet stifled him, and blocked his peripheral vision. He couldn't see or concentrate on the Al'noth, to cast even the simplest of cantrip or channel it into his blade.
The armour itself weighed heavily on him, and soon he was sweating and found it difficult to even take steps.
Quite simply and obviously, the task was beyond him. He felt he learned nothing other than never to wear such heavy armour again.

But finnaly emerging from the crypts, he decided that, perhaps he hadn't learnt nothing. And instead... had learnt their are obvious limits to what he would be able to do.
That at least... was learning something.

[Marlon]

Finnaly Leon settled for some much lighter armour, and a chance encounter with a group took him to Krandor and the crypts there.
It was a perfect chance for him to practice under pressure, mainly getting the feel for the armour, where specifically it hampered his casting and broke his concentration and feeling for ways around it.
More than once his practice landed him in trouble as a much needed spell fizzled and his concentration wanded just as an enemy seemed ready to pounce, and his focus was lost.
Thankfully others were present to bail him out just intime.

Shortly afterward, settled by a gravestone and wondering if the little girl who asked them to go down truely knew what she was getting them in to, Leon sat crosslegged with his blade in his lap.
He kept his armour off, and eyes closed, purely concentrated on channeling the Al'noth into his blade. He sat for quite some time, growing more and more frustrated with nothing happening, until at last... something did.

It was only minor... an ebb ... like the trickle of water suddenly from a closed tap. The Al'noth he harnessed ebbed slightly into the blade.
It was so sudden and so surprising however, that he didn't know what to do with it once in the blade... and just as he tried to convert it to use... it was gone again.
Again, he sat for hours, trying to copy what he had first done by accident.... but nothing.

It was a breakthrough certainly... but one he had no idea how to duplicate yet.

[Marlon]

By now Marlon was growing more confident.
Which is usually when the ground falls out from under your feet.

A few jobs arose whilst he roamed Northern Mistone, assisting clearing goblins from the hills outside of Hlint.
Full of determination, Leon casts his defensive spells, donned his gleaming armour and strode out.
Climbing a hill and peeking over the top, he caught sight of one of the filthy creatures, bow in hand, snuffling and chewing disgustingly on its fingernails.
With a wry smile, Leon leapt out with a mocking "Ha! Haaaa! " and tried to cast a spell at it.

His armour caught on his leg uncomfortably with the sudden bound ... his concentration faltered and the spell fizzled from memory, and before he even had a chance to draw his blade the filthy goblin was aiming its bow and letting loose a volley of arrows.
One struck his arm, jarring it as he drew his sword... another embedded into the thick leather hide on his shoulder, causing him to cry in pain.
But he quickly recovered himself and charged the thing, battling for his life's worth.. and just narrowly surviving.

Limping and gasping in pain, he made his way back Hlint and collapsed in a heap by the pond, yanking out his roll of bandages.
Just about to wrap them around his wounds, he cursed softly and threw the bundle aside, drawing his sword.
Holding it in his lap, the pain still burning through his arm, he closed his eyes... and despite the pain, the distraction of it.. clouding his thoughts... he tried to focus and concentrate... to ignore the pain, and once again channel the Al'noth into his blade.

It didn't work.. needless to say.
But little by little... he slowly began to blot out the pain in his arm.. the fog in his mind... even all the sounds all around him. To at least hold onto his concentration whilst the world spun around him.

[Marlon]

... and whilst sat in Hlint and recovering, was when I came across the most assorted group of oddballs I have ever encountered.

A self-proclaimed Gardener for one, and another so obviously half-orc I was about to draw my blade in defense at the sight of it before an blonde woman told me I could stand easy.
They spoke of an ancient crypt they were venturing too, and so I decided to join them. My training in the Al'noth and recent training in casting whilst encumbered within armour paid off. Certainly, I wasn't successful in every casting, but I was successful in a lot of it. And just as well, my quick casting and being able to defend myself with a blade is what kept me alive down there.

It was refreshing to discover that all my previous training was taking form, shaping, becoming a visible boon to me... and so by the time we all clambered back out from the cursed crypt, I dived back into my studies and training in Hlint.
But I kept getting disturbed, adventurer's passing by, dragging me with them into the bowels of the goblin caves or into the depths of the swamps.
I need a new location. Somewhere quiet... isolated...

[Marlon]

... and he found it. The harsh colds of Krashin.

The Wolverine camp was perfect for him. Finding a nice spot by the icy sea, a good supply of food and heating equipment and a thick leather tent.
He set it up in an organised fashion, everything he needed within arms reach, and gathered up a massive supply of firewood which he dumped near his tent.
He made a large fire, surrounded by stones and with huge logs in the centre that could burn for hours and hours at a time.

And sat infront of it, a thin set of chain shirt on, and his blade resting in his lap... he practiced and practiced.
First one the act.. the concentration... summoning the right strand of the Al'noth... the one's that he seemed to find were easier to channel into inanimate objects. He'd keep his eyes closed, filtering out the needed strand from all the others, holding and feeling it in his mind, before he let it go again.
And then he would try again... and again.. each time trying to summon the strand that much quicker.. that much simpler, trying to attaint the point where it required less and less concentration to do... so that it would become almost a reflex.

And when he felt comfortable enough.. the channeling.
Trying to feed it into his blade, despite the uncomfortable feeling it gave wearing the chain shirt. Every attempt sent prickles to where the armour felt heaviest, threatening to break his concentration... but still he kept at it.. time and time again.
On rare occassions he felt it... felt the Al'noth strand flow through him and into the blade.. but it was raw... unchanged.. he hadn't yet mastered what to do with it once it entered the blade. It just channeled in.. and then... ebbed away.
But he knew it was progress regardless, and so he continued... again... and again... until more and more often, the specific Al'noth strand flowed untamed and raw into his blade, and then dissipated.

One step left he thought, he work the Al'noth to a specific purpose as it enters his blade.. to give it a purpose.

But he had no time to perfect that yet.
A group of adventurer's approached his tent, one recognising him... and the next day he found himself with a group battling kobolds in a dark and icy cave.

[Marlon]

Leon just smiled at Martha for the gift of the ring, and slowly walked away as he slipped it on his finger.
Rescuing cats for little girls from the depths of the sewer's certainly wasn't one of the "great things!" he had been hoping to perform.
But... as his mother had said... Small steps.... Small Steps.

He turned his feet to the Scamps mug, quickly buying himself a room and skirting past the mischievous Shadonites and their bizzare array of prankster games, locking himself in his room.
He stripped down and out of his armour... sat on the end of the bed, and as he always did... began practicing his art.

At first was the summoning... finding the Al'noth strand he needed. Long practice brought this easily to his mind, picking it out from the man.
Then he trained it and let it flow through him, channeling it into his blade.

And then came the next task... keep it there... and work it.. infuse it .. give it purpose.
His eyes closed tightly in concentration as he tried... and failed.. then tried again... and failed.... then tried again... and failed.

Frustration rose up in him, and more than once he leapt to his feet and paced back and forth, running through the complex set of tasks in his mind one by one... looking for perhaps a flaw or miscalculation in what he was doing.

And then he would sit again, sword in his hand, rested on his lap ... and do it again.... Summon.... Channel .... Weave.... Summon... Channel ... Weave...

[Marlon]

"Gah! Which one!" Marlon would curse, setting his blade carefully on his bed and grabbing his spellbook.
Concentration etched on his face as he studied the various spells he needed, selecting the specific strands of the Al'noth from each spell, memorising them, and combining each to a specific use.
He couldn't help but chuckle as his quill made quick strokes across the paper.
"It's like writing my very own spell."

Eventually, taking the various passages from each spell, Marlon sat, staring into nothing, summoning the Al'noth strand from each spell individually, his mouth moving and whispering the spidery words that would help summon the strands he needed.
First one, bringing it into being.. .capturing it in his mind... and then another, joining it with the first to make something new... and then more whispered words of the Al'noth... a third... to give purpose to the whole....

... slowly his hand crept for his blade, his hand closing around the cold steel hilt.
And then the final passage, the last strand to link them all to the sword...
... but the words jumbled in his head ... his hold on the Al'noth strands fell apart, crumbling from memory...
... and he was left with a slight headache, and the grim reality he would have to start from scratch... yet again.

[Marlon]

An unusual trip through the forests of Dregar deepened Leon's knowledge.
The Cookie Lady she jokingly referred to herself as, but her skill with the Al'noth was astounding, able to possess a giant, bend it to her will and make it turn on it's allies.

Leon watched fascinated, and after they had trudged to the depths of the Giant cave and rested in Orcs Watch, he probed her for information.
She refused to share what she kept in her spellbook however, but offered to look over his notes for his own project.

It was a moment of pride to him that she confessed she was unsure what he was trying to do. She knew of Spellswords of course, and their abilities, but had never researched into it, and starting from scratch as she surely would be forced to, she wouldn't look into it.

But she did point out some variations at his conjuring and spellwords he could use, less need of concentration and perfect sylable use. At least this perhaps would make the tasks of summoning that specific Al'noth strand somewhat easier.

[Marlon]

The snow drifted down slowly, lazily, as Leon stood atop the hill, his eyes closed, concentrating, steadying his mind, his little spellbook in one hand and his blade in the other.
The cold annoyed him. It chilled his armour against his skin, making him more conscious of it, how it irritated him, how it restricted the simplest of movements. Even his blade felt cold in his hand, and he concentrated to think of it not as seperate, but as a part of him.

Finding that calm place in his mind, he began whispering the specific words that would summon just the right strands of the Al'noth.. the one's it seemed like had taken him forever to work out and master.

Concentrate.. concentrate...
... his studying had found easier ways to summon the Al'noth he needed, and his practice brought the words and summoned the strands much easier than ever before.
First the summon... then the control... then the channeling...

.. his hand tightened on his sword as he felt the Al'noth come to him, holding it in his mind like he would hold a ball, and then letting it flow through him, down to his chest.. like a warm feeling, like he had just drank some strong licor ... and then down his arm, seeping it into the blade.
Once there... the words to change it... give it purpose, he whispered them against the sudden rising wind, forging the intent in his mind...
.. and then... peeking one eye open, he peered down at his blade to see what happened....