Isabeau Bo | Sons of Sword

No harm in accepting a small challenge to get in the mood to compete on stage. A drill like this was just what she needed. As good as she was, even she lost the occasional challenge. Losing the wrong one would be costly. A fast paced target drill would get her into the grove quickly.

Walking with the elder student, she weaved through the bystanders towards the firing range. It was a bit of a walk to the far side of the training center. She went past the gloating Naoh and the now defeated and shamed opponent. That familiar victory stance that Naoh used seemed just as obnoxious now as it did six years ago; her jeweled basket hilt swords flashed in the light as she pumped her fists.

In this arena, Naoh viewed opponents as Academy Point holders. Her wit and skill took as many points as she could, often more than she needed. Her opponent walked down the stairs from the platform completely distraught. Tearing off his helmet in frustration, it was apparent he had no hope of escaping The Red. Though nearly a grown man, he walked quickly towards the exit holding back tears. Whatever hopes and dreams he had when he was accepted to the school were all but completely out of reach.

After the Final Exam, he had two choices. He could return home in shame or to take a lowly job as a pitiful guard. He could pass. However, the final exam was specifically designed for the older and lingering students to fail. He would have to train like mad in all the correct areas; areas that are personalized towards the weaknesses for each student.

“Poor guy,” said the elder student as they passed him. “Better him than us I guess.” It seemed as though she had come to the same conclusion as Metcalf about his situation.

“I guess,” Metcalf hesitated to say.

Koh, in has white and red armor, was at the wall near his sister’s platform. They usually worked as a team. Sometimes Metcalf worked with them. It seemed they had their usual “king of the hill” type of match going. The winning team stayed while the challengers waited in line for the next fight.

However, this session was over. After seeing how Naoh mercilessly and utterly beat her opponent in every way, no one wanted to be next. One by one they left the queue to look for other challenges. Koh was trying so hard to hold back a laugh. He cared less about the other students than his sister. They were scandalous but at least they looked out for each other.

“I’m Isabeau,” the elder student spoke again.

Metcalf shook herself from the scene and looked at the elder student again, “Metcalf.”

The ice broken, they made small talk as they meandered around the challenge platforms. The short yellow skinned beauty, Isabeau Bo, was from the Field Quarter. She was a long time student at the academy but found that her training was a bit stagnant. Master Lu, head of the Field Quarter, thought it best that she train with students that had something to lose.

Though she had no chance to fall into the Red Zone, Isabeau found that this training was well worth the time. Each drill had rules, but those rules could be stretched where details were lacking. Desperate students exploited every advantage they could find. This forced her to do the same and made the competition quite invigorating. With any luck, this training would prepare her for the life of a Protector. Their opponents played with no rules.

Hearing her story, Metcalf thought in awe. This is how training is supposed to work. This was the training she hoped to receive when she was safely out of the Red Zone.

They continued to chat. The conversation was exciting enough that they reached the shooting range before Metcalf expected.

#1 – Lost and Found #3 – Lost and Found #5

The Stream Quarter Training Center was not very far away from the cafeteria by ground. The blistering winds however dictated that the young Crisho stay inside as much as possible. Instead, she chose to traverse the buildings using the tunnels and bridges between them. These paths were only meant for connecting two or three buildings for ease of class access.

The trip ended up taking much longer but was worth it. Being a creature only a few centimeters high, she would freeze without proper precautions. Metcalf walked the halls with her game face. She had no need for war paint. Her face was naturally split down the middle with red and white. A slight tint of the adolescent’s green still covered most of her skin but that would fade.

Up two floors and a bridge, left turn and a hallway, right turn, down the long ramp, down three floors and a tunnel, up a floor, halfway through the hall and an elevator, she had traveled this path for many winters. She had no reason to question where she was or where she was going.

Usually, the center was a place of genuine training. Students would use this facility to hone skills; to practice and eventually eliminate faults others had discovered in their fighting styles. Not today.

When she reached the three double-door entry to the training center she knew what Koh was talking about. The roar of activity was unmistakable. The training center was large enough to house sporting events from professional teams. However at this time of year, it seemed more packed than ever. When she entered the training center, she saw students everywhere in their various, armor styles and colors. Many were either competing fiercely in drills or waiting in line to challenge other students. Full of hope or simply naive, they all looked for their chance to get more Academy Points.

There were even more students standing at the walls or sitting in the bleachers, some studying their handhelds. The holographic image of the school rankings and the red zone was all too familiar. Some looked at the image happily and relieved. Others were very worried. No one wanted to take the Final Exam, but in the end everyone knew that some of them had to face expulsion. They had less than a week left to adjust their fate.

Quite a few of the students seemed to be from other Quarters of the Academy. She did not recognize them. Perhaps they were embarrassed and did not want to be seen gambling points. Either that or this was the place with the most action.

She looked at the battling pairs of students for a while, picking her targets. She cared little about how good they were; she was better. The ideal target had little to do with whether they won or lost. It was all about how they won or lost. Selfishness was self-defeating and she watched the students for signs.

Proud winners and sore losers always made the best targets. They took the outcome personally and often wanted a rematch. The proud thought they were unstoppable and wanted to go again even when it was unnecessary. Losers often thought too much about the outcome. Vowing not to make the same mistake again, they would make a different mistake and dig themselves even deeper into a hole. Too late, they realized they could not escape The Red.

She saw Naoh in her plain looking white armor with aqua highlights. She was competing in a three strike drill with her dual short strait swords. She moved effortlessly, countering all of her opponent’s attacks with parries, strikes, and stabs. She hit him much more than three times; the second to score three hits ends the match as the loser. The penalty was determined by how many more hits the winner landed.

Even with his face covered Metcalf could tell that he was getting frustrated. Apparently, he did not expect a girl to have such powerful strikes. It seemed that he could not land a single strike with his dual canes. To lose a test of strength against a petite lady with everyone watching had to be embarrassing. Not to mention the amount of points he was losing.

Just then Metcalf felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to find a female student in armor with a crossbow. She seemed to be older with a look of a predator.

“Hey kid,” she said as an introduction, “You wanna do a target drill?” It seemed as though she already knew the answer before she asked the question.

“Why sure.”

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