The king had his hands clasped behind his back as he watched the charlatans and the 'rift raffs' he liked to call them. There were jesters, entertainers, some seek his approval for their craft. Admittedly he spotted a few that has caught his interest, such as…the miracle cleric. One individual has…held fire in his hands and well that he made a subtle gesture to one of his subjects to help the artisan pack up.
A few more performances later, he could feel a bit of his patience waning, yes entertaining but now he seeks something different. Something that does not involve juggling or …mediocre swordplay from plays. Rapiers, claymores…straight swords.. They were skilled swordsmen but perhaps he seen quite a few of his own men wield a weapon such as that. Before his rule, he watched many of them of how they trained, their stance and how much strikes it takes to take down an enemy.
"From the east."
East? Hearing his subject announce another arrival of a 'performer' the young king glanced up breaking his boredom just in time to see a individual wearing a peculiar armour, a series of shoulder plates, the armour wasn't anything he had seen before, but none could match up a tiny fragile looking blade he wield in his right hand
As he shifted his standing position, the warrior carefully placed his right hand near the hilt of his sword and his left at the bottom but they were four inches apart. No shield either. Two handing… bold. he thought to himself as the individual in front of him had a few people preparing what looks like a thick, solid metal cylinder adjacent to the 'stage' where all the performers performed.
"What are you going to do with that?" one of his subjects inquired, voicing the king's curiousity.
"I am going to use my blade and cut that cylinder in half."
Immediately his subjects whispered among themselves. some …were 'unpleasant' and some where in awe.
"May I check if that cylinder is indeed not hallow?"
"Actually.." he heard himself say. "May I see it for myself?" the room hushed as soon he spoke and the warrior gave him one nod and with that approval he walked over and felt it in his hands.
Indeed it was solid…not even knocking his knuckles against it made a hallow sound. He returned to his place where he stood…the warrior took his place in the middle of the stage.
The warrior from the east bowed his head in respect to him before facing at… he assumed a invisible opponent because of the next few moments this…encounter had wormed into his mind. Never to be forgotten.
The first strike was a one swift downward strike, similar to a great sword but…the young king seemed to be lost for words. He found himself captivated by the warrior's sword play. The blade went up or down, each with a intent of striking the invisible opponent with a ferocity as a dragon; described in old text he may had found in this place. And yet as graceful as the maidens who had danced for him many suns ago. This feat should had greatly tried him but… his stance was still 'strong' and solid on the ground.
The blade in his hands gleamed and flashed, slicing the air with ease, quick and…desire for blood. Relentless, a trait he had come to like among his own company.
Finally, even with that swordplay a question come up to his head, ah..skepticism… his old friend. Would it deliver the same results in the battlefield?
His answer came a few minutes later.
That solid metal cylinder? The same one he had felt for himself…with one swift cut of the man's thin and fragile looking blade. The cylinder became…two shorter cylinders. As if the cylinder itself was made of clay.