Hammer and the Sword Chapter 1 Duty (20 years BJ)

(Another HATS chapter this week)

“So what do you think your reign name will be?”

“You can’t be serious?”

“I don’t know, you hardly seem the traditional type.  You could keep your current name?”

“HarrisonHam” chuckled the young brown haired man. “Going by your own name might work in the south, TimSimons, but we are a bit more formal in the northern territories.”

“Seems like you enjoy a bit too much wine, if you ask me,” said TimSimons as he adjusted his sword.  HarrisonHam frowned, no one liked being compared to the Falconians.  At least no provincial.  He was going to pay for that.

“Posture,” said Grayier, causing the young men to groan.  “We do not want to reinforce bad habits.”

“Thanks Greyier,” said HarrisonHam, while subtly correcting his own hammer wielding form.  “He was getting a bit sloppy.”

“I’ll show you sloppy,” yelled the Prince of the South as he charged towards the overly sophisticated northerner.

“I thought you were supposed to be practing your forms, young lady,” asked Greyier, who’s hair wasn’t nearly gray enough to merit such a name in her opinion.  Forms were terribly boring.

“I was done with them for today,” grinned Sheblin, giving him the biggest smile she could muster.  By done with them for today, she meant she had done as much form practice as she’d wanted.  None.

Greyier frowned, “Lets see what you have behind your back.”

Sheblin spun around, then bowed perfectly.  “No evidence of a crime, I suppose you’ll apologize now.”

HarrisonHam laughed, and her cousin stopped his attack to look at her.  He at least attempted to keep a straight face, he just failed.  Sheblin was standing close enough the Greyier to see her reflection in his well polished armor, and there was chocolate smeared on her lips.

That wasn’t her fault, she only had a few seconds and her cousin liked to eat really oversized cookies.

“Good try, Little One,” spouted HarrisonHam.

“Cousin, I could always ask your uncle to make more cookies,” said TimSimons gently as he knelt down next to her.

She shook her head, “Stolen cookies are the best kind, they taste like victory!”

“That does it, I’m marrying her,” said HarrisonHam.

“She’s a bit young, don’t you think,” said TimSimons, patting her 12 year old cousin on top of her head.

“She would have to lower her standards, of course,” replied HarrisonHam.

Sheblin was affronted, she wanted to marry for love, which she could because even though she was a princess it wasn’t the important kind.  She had the fancy title of princess, small p, and none of the responsibilities of an actual Princess, big p.

She stuck her tongue out at the silly boy.  Or was it young man, TimSimons was 16 now and HarrisonHam must be around his age.  She taunted the adventurer anyway, “I wouldn’t marry you unless you were HarCharles himself.”

“Well that settles that then,” said HarrisonHam.  “I’m going to have to be declared HarCharles, it is the only name that will do.”

“Bad deal, little sis, you are looking at the possible future King of the North,” said TimSimons as he lifted his training blade to the sky and marched back over to the field, minus his cookie.

Sheblin balked at that.  She wasn’t actually his sister of course.  They were cousins, it was just that she lived on his family estate ever since her mother died in that dungeon run.  TimSimons was six years old and great when she moved in.  Sheblin followed him everywhere, because he was the coolist.

HarrisonHam, on the other hand, was a goofball, he certainly wasn’t kingly material.  Then again, she thought as she glanced back at his backside.  What did she know about kings?  TimSimons was in line for the throne and while he was cool she couldn’t really see him as her future King.

That thought aside, she contemplated what mischief to get into next when a hand wrapped around her shoulder, “Lets just watch, alright.”

“Yes Greyier,” said Sheblin as the two young men went back into their forms.  The hammer was the iconic weapon of the north.  While it was far inferior to the sword, they had to make due.

To his credit, HarrisonHam was competent with the weapon.  He used powerful blows to keep her cousin away.  He kept darting in, trying to get in a good slash but HarrisonHam’s footwork was worthy of a rogue.

Every class got their own defense skills, Warriors usually picked the big three: Block, Footwork, and Mitigate.  Block allowed you to use your shield or sword to defend against an attack directly.  Footwork allowed them to get out of the way if that failed.  Mitigate allowed them to reduce the damage using Stamina instead of Hit Points.

Rogues, like her, did not use Block at all traditionally.  There were a few Rogue subclasses that did, but she was going to be a knife expert, or maybe one of those new fangled crossbows if she could get her hands on one.  She had Dodge and Footwork, allowing her to get clear of most attacks.  Like all Martial classes she also had Mitigate, but her armor selection made that skill far less useful than if she was wearing heavy armor.

She would have liked to spar with either of the boys, but they each had 10 levels on her, meaning that she’d get pounded on and they wouldn’t learn anything useful.  She really needed to work on her forms, but those were so terribly boring that anything was better.  Unfortunately, another option was nearby and he could read her like a book.

“So you want to practice,” said Greyier.

“No,” she lied cooly.  She did not glance up to confirm that he recognized the lie.  Unfortunately, she didn’t need to.  Greyier was an old retainer of her cousin’s father, and had literally known her from birth.  Worse still, he had the Mentor skill, which would be really helpful for her skill gains.

“Tough,” said the older man.  “Let's start by practicing your forms.”

Groaning, she drew her knives and walked over to a clear space where she could practice and still watch HarrisonHam.  There was no way she was going to marry him.  Her mother had talked about a high level marriage between the high nobility of the northern and southern kingdoms once.

If the north and south were ever to get close, they would be a power to rival Falcon, and that would upset the balance of power in the world.  There was no Mayor in Windfall to mediate anything.  She guessed that if there was a marriage between someone in her family and whomever the future HarCharles was, that would change the world.

And Sheblin wasn’t going to be that stupid girl.