A/N: This chapter contains some strong language.
Provoke
The swordsman academy of Izlude was a testament to the knight's way of viewing the world. It was simple in design, a tribute to sheer functionality. The building was an enormous, rectangular block that was divided into various rooms that all mimicked each other. No monuments adorned its front terrace. Instead, its surroundings were flat stretches of dirt where swordsmen and novices practiced their drills. While the outside was for physical drills, the academy's rooms served as places of learning where novices learned the basics of their chosen profession.
One such room was the place for Sir Relzon's class. The sign outside the door told everything about his class. While some of his peers taught the basics of bashing or "how to hit really hard" as he called it, he taught Provocation. A more subtle tool in a swordsman's belt he would claim. He was a tall man with a lanky frame and a rather long and hooked nose that seemed almost capable of cutting paper. He was clean-shaven with cropped, coppery hair and sunken eyes. Relzon never claimed he was handsome but often maintained that there were simply a lot more people uglier than him. He opened the door to his classroom and wasn't shocked to find only six students seated there. Not a lot of novices believed in provoking your enemy as more useful than "hitting really hard" or sword mastery or, as he called it, "hitting really well". He checked his list and matched faces with names before greeting them. "Alright, good morning class."
"Sir! Good morning, sir!" They stood and answered in unison before sitting back down.
"My name's Sir Relzon Elraxen. You can just call me Sir Relzon. I should remind you novices that since you have taken this class, you are all required to take Lady Mesinil's "Courtly Etiquette" class. You will not, I repeat, YOU WILL NOT be promoted to swordsman if you skip that class. Now that's aside let's get right into business, shall we?"
Relzon watched his class carefully. If any of them looked so much as sleepy, he was going to hurl them out the window. An interesting penalty for a class located in the third floor.
"Provocation is the proper use of words or gestures to achieve certain effects in the battlefield, which is the second home of a swordsman as you all should know. Using correct means of communication, a swordsman is able to produce the right emotions in his enemy to take advantage of. Now "why would I want to do this?", you may ask. I'll tell you. As you may know, a swordsman's fighting ability takes into factor his control of his emotions. Particularly anger. There is a healthy level of anger that every swordsman must have so that his blows are stronger than they normally would be if he was perfectly calm. Of course there's such a thing as being too angry and that leads to loss of control which, more often than not, leads to loss of limbs if not life. Pushing anger to unhealthy levels is as useful to a swordsman as, say, disarming him or poking an eye out. Provoking someone also has defensive purposes. Provoking someone keeps their attention on you and if they're so intent on killing you, that means they're not so intent on killing your buddies. Your acolyte can heal you without being clobbered or, if you have one, your thief friend can sneak up from behind and stab him somewhere unpleasant. And, as additional advantage, there's really no way to defend against provocation save for stopping your ears and you wouldn't want to lose your hearing in a fight."
His class was leaning forward now. Relzon smiled to himself, they never really understand its value until someone uses fancy jargon. This class would have left if all he said was that this class was all about pissing people off.
"Now, before I begin, let me remind you novices that provocation often involves coarse language. Profanity is just another tool in a swordsman's belt to help him win fights. We also use it to express emotions, particularly unpleasant emotions but just as important as the love and peace they will preach to you at the pronteran church. Profanity is often what keeps us knights from, say, shoving a lance up someone's ass out of sheer anger. Use it in the wrong occasions, however, and you may as well dip yourself in honey and run naked through ant hell. Don't think of it as dirty. Even a crusader will call your mother a ravening ditch pig if it helps the Church. Do you follow me so far?"
The class nodded its answer.
"Now, provoking some unintelligent beast is simple. No words necessary you just make yourself look bigger and look them in the eye. Provoking someone who can understand you, however, is where it gets interesting. An effective provoker will have the following traits. The first is variety; being a swordsman is the only profession, save for being a merchant, that encourages being multi-lingual. You don't have to learn every inflection in a language, just gather as much curses as possible. Acquaint yourself with the various terms and euphemisms regarding anatomy, sex, parentage and filth. You won't find much in High Pronteran, I recommend morrocan or orcish, now those are some fine provocation languages. Second is brevity; the longer your profanity, the more likely your enemy will lose the meaning halfway through your sentence. Keep it brief and emphasize your point. Calling someone a castrated filth-gorger is better than calling him a man with no balls who likes to eat dirty things. Third is controlled sensibility; a fight is no place to worry about being polite. Combat class has, no doubt, taught all of you to kick a man in the privates as soon as the opportunity presents itself. Likewise, a good provoker knows that no topic is ever sacred. If you hit a sore spot in the wrong person, you can always apologize later. Fourth is a discerning eye for details; if you can study someone before fighting him, that's good but good swordsmen can find sore spots even while dodging blows. Finally, there is good language skills; if you mispronounce your insult, it's pointless. Not only must a taunt have plenty of meaning, it should roll off your tongue smoothly and hit his ears like a swarm of hornets. Now everyone stand up!"
The class, who had been writing down notes on their provided notepads, stood in unison. He walked around them, studying each one in turn. There were a lot more boys than girls but that was never really a factor in anything.
"Alright, given what I've taught you so far, let's hear what you novices have! Waldern! Let's start with you! Provoke me!"
Waldern, a boy with his long black hair in a pony tail, a rich kid no doubt, hesitated briefly and then tried his luck. "You are a waste of flesh!" He called out.
"Save your poetry for etiquette class, Waldern! Next! Let's hear it, Vensan!"
"My grandmother fights better than you!"
"That just warmed the cockles of my heart, Vensan! Next! Say something useful, Narid!"
"You're just more garbage!"
"I am not the farm girl of your dreams, Narid! Stop trying to woo me! Next! You better have something, Dorl!"
"I'm going to gut you like the rotted phen that you are!"
"I don't swing my sword that way, Dorl! Even if I did, you wouldn't be my type! Next! Haelungrein, show me this class isn't hopeless!"
"I going to crush you under my heel like a half-dried fabre!"
"There are some fine ladies at the next class sampling milk tea and sharing their feelings, Haelungrein! You should go join them! Sialsanderin, do something!"
"I should shove you screaming back into that putrid sewer between your orc mother's legs!"
Relzon was quiet after hearing that. After a few moments he nodded with satisfaction. "That was vile, Sialsanderin, you may as well have crapped on the floor and then slung it at me. Class, take notes."