((These posts are a bit of Hawk's history. Stories I always intended to write but never did. Each one shall get progressively closer and closer to the version of Hawk we see in live RP. This one is set in the same year of the last post. Hawk is about 14 at this point.))
"That sword at your hip boy," Hawk's hand insticintively went to the hilt jutting from his hip as the Gaishan spoke. "It will kill a Trolloc, that is for certain. But you will not be so lucky against a Fade. It is time you got rid of it. It is time you learned the forms. Give it to me." Hawk reached down with one of his scarred hands to grasp the blades hilt protectively, slowly uncinching the leather sheath at his waist and handing both blade and sheath to the Gaishan. "Now forget about how you fought with this. Forget about everything you ever knew of how to fight with a broadsword." The stony man tossed the blade and sheath aside with wreckless abandon, his cold gaze never watching where it may have landed. Hawk focused in on the older man's decidely neutral gaze, allowing a few moments before he would glance away. "Agelmar talks highly of you. Ingtar speaks as if you are Agelmar's true blooded son and not just his ward. Uno will not silence himself as to your talents, and Jatir thinks your kill count shall soon outnumber all of theirs combined. You are good boy. But with this you shall be great." Lan held outward the sword, it's hilt long enough for two hands, brown leather wrapping its simple steel hilt, the hilts design was a simple steel oval. The blade was thin and slightly curved and felt lighter than a feather in Hawk's hand. Hawk pulled the blade partway out of it's sheath, watching as the light fell upon it's sharpened length. "From now on that will be the only lover you ever need. Your mother, your father, your brother, your sister and closest of friends. From here on out you shall spend every free moment with the blade." There was an air of finality to the man's voice, that begged no resistance. "Aye Gaishan." Hawk's hand closed easily upon the hilt and he unsheathed the blade, pulling it forth with a loud ring of the blade escaping its scabbard.
"Return the blade to its scabbard." The blade quickly receded from the sunlight, dissapearing into its brown leather scabbard. "Now the scabbard is designed to rest across your chest, going from right to left while the sword hilt rests just above your shoulder. I especially designed this for you, to implement a quick and easy way to switch from the sword to the bow." Hawk had never heard the Gaishan speak so much in his life, but he set the sheath about his oddly broad shoulders. It fit perfectly, giving no slack and keeping tense about his form. "Now place your feet slightly staggered, shoulder width apart. Square your shoulders. Just like that." The Gaishan strode in closer, gesturing with a practice lathe to keep Hawk in form. "Now this form is called 'Unfolding the Fan.' Grip the hilt with your strong hand over your shoulder. Yes. Bring the other to your chest in a balled fist, as if defending yourself from attack." The lathe cracked outward and struck Hawk's wrist. A red mark appeared and his eyes blinked suddenly, but he made no noise. "No, that is wrong, your hand should be lower. Should your attacker decide to attack you before you draw your blade you can divert as much of the blow possible with your bracers." Lan spoke almost dissonantly, as if he were disconnected from his own body. There was no hint of irritation or anger in the man's voice, but the crack of the lathe would speak volumes. "Good. Now make sure your right hand is as high up upon the hilt as it can go. In a smooth motion unsheathe the sword, open your left fist and snap the hilt into your other waiting hand." Hawk's hand tensed, his arm pulling upward but a momentary pause caught as the curved blade found purchase in it's scabbard. The crack of the lathe was quicker than lightning and Lan spoke once more. "Release the hilt and try once more." The second attempt had seen the lathe crack just at Hawk's middle. "Hold your middle tight, you do not want to slump." On the third try the blade sprang smoothly from its scabbard and eagerly into Hawk's opposite hand. "Good." Lan would remark simply, in that icy tone that always flowed within his voice.
Many seasons would pass and often the young man was seen in the yard practicing his forms under the guidance of the Gaishan until one day when Lan emerged to find Hawk in the yard practicing with Lord Jagad's sons. Both of the boys seemed to attack the smaller Hawk simultaneously, and while the Cat Dances on the Wall fended off their blows with quick footwork and loose wrists but strong arms, Hawk smoothly transitioned into Apple Blossoms in the Wind, twisting his blade in a cirlce to disarm Jagad's eldest son. The younger rushed forward with blade over head, Hawk's feet agilely left the air, and at the moment the younger Jagad was in range with his blade Hawk spun slashing deftly in Thistledown Floats on the Whirlwind, landing and stopping his practice lathe just before the boy's neck. "I yield." Lord Jagad's younger son spoke easily, surrendering his blade to the embrace of the earth below him. Hawk nodded his head simply and lowered his practice lathe as well, turning to catch the older man turn from the yard and begin his walk toward the stables. "Gaishan!" Hawk called after him, running to catch up with the older man's dangerously graceful gait. "Gaishan?!" The icy glance was caught from over the other man's armored shoulder. "Are you leaving?" Hawk's voice was a bit pained, slightly desperate. "But we have not completed my training. How will I ever become a Blademaster?" Lan's strides never stopped, and he kept his pace steady never yielding to Hawk's inquisitve pleas. "I have taught you all that I can Hawk. The rest you must learn on your own. I must travel south now with Moiraine Sedai. There is business to attend to. Remember to practice." Hawk made an acquiescent nod of his head and stopped his strides as the stables were reached. A stableboy handed Lan the reins to his black warhorse, Mandarb and the man heeled the horse toward the southern gate. "Peace favor your sword Hawk Jahad." Mandarb kicked up the dust of the ground in his wake as the horse took off at a full gallop towards the south gate, and Hawk knuckled his forehead, shielding his eyes from the sun as he watched the Gaishan ride off into the distance.