â€œFighting with a sword is not about power! You do not need to crush your opponent! It takes less than a pound of pressure to cut skin, and only a bit more to part thin armor! Now, I want you, yes, you, the ugly dog in the back who seems to think that he's better than me just because I'm not a pureblood! Get up here!â€ Arryk Glaedus yelled, tossing the larger man a blunted practice sword from the rack behind him, and selecting a delicate wooden one for himself. The recruit caught the larger sword and settled into a ready position. Arryk simply placed the blunt tip of his weapon on the wooden platform and waited.<br/>With an excited grunt the burly man charged Arryk, only to find himself staggering backwards with no weapon and a stinging face. Arryk had, faster than the eye could track, locked his own sword with his opponentâ€™s and twisted it from his hand. On the recovery, giving him a stinging smack with the flat of the blade.<br/>â€œAGAIN!â€<br/>There was a clatter and the heavy metal blade was on the floor once again. This time the recruit was flat on his back.<br/>â€œYou are deadâ€ Arryk said as he replaced the weapons on the rack. â€œnow get off your ass and sit back down!â€ as the recruit stumbled back to his seat he said, â€œYou will rue this day. Mongrel! I will not be beaten by a fifteen-year-old whelp!â€<br/>â€œAnd that's where you're wrong, you<span style="font-style: italic">have</span>been beaten, and your humiliation was dished out by a<span style="font-style: italic">seventeen</span>-year-old. Additionally you will have little chance of bettering me, even if I teach you everything I know.â€ Replied Arryk calmly, giving the older man a pitying stare. The swordsmaster turned to select the weapon for his next demonstration when the horns rang out. It was a deep, resonating sound.<br/><span style="font-style: italic">Ahwooooooooooooooo, ah ahwooooooooooobuh.</span><br/>â€œAh, a meeting, shall we go?â€ the young man asked his class, â€œyes, I think we must.â€