Sir Les Paul
The Duke of Chords
Chapter One: A Familiar Tale
She stood in front of him with her arms crossed bearing an odd look of both disgust and arrogance. Her slim, silver eyes scanned over every feature of the Claymore. A rare male, but even the same metallic sheen in his eyes and matching fair hair didn't quite make him blend in with the likes of the other Claymore. Even if it would have, most of the other initiates knew about his attitude. How closely he clung to being human, how he never experimented with his Yoki despite their instructors urging him to. She remembered it herself; just like her, Alex was told that his personal Yoki had the potential to be tapped into. Unlike her, Alex squandered that chance and instead worked on honing his other skills.
Sure, he used his increased strength to wield a war-bow. Perhaps he was even one of the more skilled swordsman of their class, if only by a little. It didn't matter; his personal restraint and disdain of the source of their strength caused him to draw out fights and or win using tactics most of the others weren't suitable for. In her eyes, he didn't make a good Claymore.
And, who was she to think that? Alma, considered the most dangerous initiate of her class. She was nearly a perfect example of a perfect Claymore. Tall and lean with bright, glimmering eyes. Her skin was like porcelain, her hair almost white until it fell and the sun made its silky length glisten with grey streaks. She was tall and lean, her ears lengthened but hidden under her long hair. More importantly, she had a powerful Yoki. By watching and imitating her instructors, she developed a variation of the Quicksword ability she dubbed Serpent Sting. It was weaker with fewer hits, but it allowed her to chain two to three strikes using the same principle. She was the only initiate able to tap into her Yoki like this and most of her classmates viewed her as a prodigy.
"I know why they call you the Steadfast," she told him. She remained still standing in front of him, her arms as closed off as her words. "I've also watched you spar. You dance around and parry, most of the time you strike, you do it to make someone move. You wear down your opponents until you're the last one standing," she added, noting her observations.
"Problem is, that won't work on Yoma. They're stronger than us, they last longer than us, and those tiny swords you were using won't do much to them," she said before stepping forward, directly confronting Alex.
"If you hold us back just because you refuse to fight like us, expect us to cut the dead weight," she said with no amount of tact. It was quite obvious she felt superior, but her repeating of the word 'us' implied the others might have felt the same way. There were still four others on their way, but for now, just Alma and Alex waited under the towering watch post they were told to meet at. It was hard to know what the truth was, but one thing was apparent: she was aggressive and dominant from the start.
Apostle
She stood in front of him with her arms crossed bearing an odd look of both disgust and arrogance. Her slim, silver eyes scanned over every feature of the Claymore. A rare male, but even the same metallic sheen in his eyes and matching fair hair didn't quite make him blend in with the likes of the other Claymore. Even if it would have, most of the other initiates knew about his attitude. How closely he clung to being human, how he never experimented with his Yoki despite their instructors urging him to. She remembered it herself; just like her, Alex was told that his personal Yoki had the potential to be tapped into. Unlike her, Alex squandered that chance and instead worked on honing his other skills.
Sure, he used his increased strength to wield a war-bow. Perhaps he was even one of the more skilled swordsman of their class, if only by a little. It didn't matter; his personal restraint and disdain of the source of their strength caused him to draw out fights and or win using tactics most of the others weren't suitable for. In her eyes, he didn't make a good Claymore.
And, who was she to think that? Alma, considered the most dangerous initiate of her class. She was nearly a perfect example of a perfect Claymore. Tall and lean with bright, glimmering eyes. Her skin was like porcelain, her hair almost white until it fell and the sun made its silky length glisten with grey streaks. She was tall and lean, her ears lengthened but hidden under her long hair. More importantly, she had a powerful Yoki. By watching and imitating her instructors, she developed a variation of the Quicksword ability she dubbed Serpent Sting. It was weaker with fewer hits, but it allowed her to chain two to three strikes using the same principle. She was the only initiate able to tap into her Yoki like this and most of her classmates viewed her as a prodigy.
"I know why they call you the Steadfast," she told him. She remained still standing in front of him, her arms as closed off as her words. "I've also watched you spar. You dance around and parry, most of the time you strike, you do it to make someone move. You wear down your opponents until you're the last one standing," she added, noting her observations.
"Problem is, that won't work on Yoma. They're stronger than us, they last longer than us, and those tiny swords you were using won't do much to them," she said before stepping forward, directly confronting Alex.
"If you hold us back just because you refuse to fight like us, expect us to cut the dead weight," she said with no amount of tact. It was quite obvious she felt superior, but her repeating of the word 'us' implied the others might have felt the same way. There were still four others on their way, but for now, just Alma and Alex waited under the towering watch post they were told to meet at. It was hard to know what the truth was, but one thing was apparent: she was aggressive and dominant from the start.
Apostle
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