Jonacin was born in Sentinel, Hammerfell. His father was a Sword Singer of above average power, and his mother was the daughter of a wealthy merchant. He was born after they had been married for several years, and was their first son. Even when in the cradle, his parents knew he would grow to be a powerful Ansei¹, for he would frequently form a Shehai² as he played. The sword was always the same, a long katana with stylized wreaths of flame curling up the blade. He was always a very serious child, even as a baby he rarely laughed or cried. At the age of three, instead of playing with other children, he spent a lot of his time reading The Book of Circles, encouraged by his parents to learn all he could from it. As time passed, his skills became more pronounced, and he frequently formed a true Shehai. He entered the local Hall of the Virtues of War at the early age of 7, and quickly rose to the top of his class, even though all of his fellow students were several years older than him.
At the age of 12, he first formed a true Shehai in battle conditions. He was in a sparring contest with one of his classmates, and his blade snapped. Rather than stop the fight to get a new one, he instinctively concentrated and formed the Shehai. Within seconds after doing so, the fight was over, his opponents blade cut in half and the tip of the Shehai resting against his jugular. The instructors were all amazed at this feat, as were his fellow students. He was judged worthy to claim the rank of Master Ansei, a Sword Saint, despite his young age.
Jonacin had gained the rank of Master Ansei, but he stayed in The Hall of the Virtues of War to continue his training and improve his technique. Two years after he was elevated to Master Ansei, he was in another sparring contest. His opponent was very skilled, and the contest was close, a constant exchange of thrusts, slashes, parries and ripostes. Jonacin's blade lanced towards his opponents chest, only to have it parried by his opponent, who sent a riposte ripping towards his throat. Jonacin leapt back, spinning as he did so, sweeping his sword round in a wide arc. He was rewarded for this dangerous maneuver by his blade thudding home against his opponent's side, the unexpected move breaking through his guard. Sweating heavily, both combatants raised their blades in salute and they retired to other activities.
This was Jonacin's third bout of the day, and he was beginning to tire, He had defeated all his opponents, but the last bout had been very close, and he had nearly lost several times. An instructor crossed the floor, coming to a stop in front of where Jonacin sat. He told him to prepare himself, as his next bout was to be a duel to the death. A foolish young Master Ansei had challenged Jonacin, determined to crush the young upstart before he got any further. Enraged, Jonacin stood and strode swiftly to the specially prepared dueling arena. He reached for a sword on a nearby rack, but the instructor grabbed his wrist, telling him that this duel was to be fought with Shehai only.
Jonacin stepped into the circle of sand that denoted the arena. He called up his sword and ran through a few of the forms, loosening his muscles and calming his mind. He looked across to the other side of the ring and saw his opponent, a man called Davik. Jonacin had never liked the young man, who was several years older than himself. Davik was constantly putting others down, scorning those that could not form the true Shehai. He was arrogant, but he remained in the Hall because his prowess was undeniable.
Jonacin watched as Davik called up his Shehai. While Jonacin's was a katana, with a long, one edged blade, Davik's was a regular, double edged longsword. Jonacin knew that this was going to be a very tough battle, especially as it was to the death and not just first contact. An instructor walked into the centre of the ring, motioning to both combatants to join him. He quickly explained the rules, to them, simply that there was to be no foul play like kicking sand into the face of the opponent, and that no aid was to be given/sought for any reason. He then told them to return to opposite sides of the ring and await his signal to begin. He retreated to just outside the ring, and brought his arms up and then down, signaling the start of the duel.
Davik sprang into action almost before the instructor's arm had dropped, launching his attack with blistering speed. Jonacin was forced onto a desperate defence, frantically parrying the rain of blows that came towards him. He blocked a slash that would have disemboweled him, but was a split second to slow to block the reverse slash. He leapt backwards, but still felt a sudden burning sensation as Davik's blade sliced across his chest, ripping open a shallow wound. Davik grinned, thinking that the duel was his, and pressed his attack harder.
Suddenly Jonacin ducked and span aside, slashing his sword towards Davik as he did so. He was rewarded with a grunt of pain, as his blade sliced into the muscle of Davik's shoulder, but it didn't cause serious damage. Jonacin grinned as he heard Davik mutter a string of curses and span to attack again. Jonacin began to taunt him, hoping to enrage him. One of the first lessons taught to those at the Hall was to always keep control of their emotions, as an enraged fighter was a stupid one. Davik roared in fury, charging towards Jonacin, his blade raised high. Jonacin's next maneuver was very risky, but would win him the duel if he pulled it off.
As Davik charged towards him, Jonacin crouched low, waiting for his moment to strike. Davik got closer, and began swinging his blade in a downward arc that would take Jonacin's head off. A split second before the blow connected, he ducked low, and span aside, slashing with his blade as he did so. Both fighters stopped, and turned to face each other. The entire hall was silent. Suddenly Davik let out a groan, and fell to his knees. A thin red line appeared across his chest, and suddenly blood gushed forth from the wound. Davik collapsed forward onto his face, twitched once, and died, a pool of blood spreading out from beneath his body.
Jonacin's maneuver had worked, his blow cutting deep into Davik's chest, cutting both lungs a severing many major veins and arteries. The move was incredibly dangerous, and required impeccable timing or it would backfire and result in the death of the one who tried it. Jonacin remained where he stood, suddenly out of breath. The wound in his chest was beginning to hurt now that adrenaline was wearing off, but Jonacin refused to seek treatment for it yet. He faced the crowd who had gathered to watch the duel, and raised his blade in the customary salute before letting it vanish.
It was three weeks since Jonacin had killed Davik in the duel. Since then, many of the other people in the Hall had treated him with a mix of awe and respect. However, he refused to fall into the trap of arrogance and pride that Davik had succumbed to. He merely continued his studies and training, improving his skills and control as best he could. The wound in his chest had been deeper than he originally realized, and he now had a long scar where the wound had been, despite the healing magic used.
He was also spending far more time at the Hall than he used to, because at the Hall he had to focus all his attention on the task at hand. His father had recently been killed in a fight with a group of trolls that had attacked him when he was out hunting, and at the Hall he could lose himself in his studies and not think about what had happened. His mother was distraught, and he knew that she would take a long time to get over the loss, if she ever did. When he returned that night, he was greeted by a horrific scene. His mother lay dead on her bed, a knife plunged into her heart by her own hand. She left a note, saying she was sorry but she couldn't go on living without her beloved husband. It was then that Jonacin broke down in tears.
He couldn't remember much that happened after that. He knew that at some point, he had staggered out into the street, tears still streaming down his face. Next thing he knew, it was morning, and he was lying in one of the beds at the Hall usually reserved for those with serious injuries sustained while training with proper weapons and not blunt training ones. One of the instructors sat by the bed, a look of deep concern in his eyes. He asked how he felt. This comment brought memories of the night before back, and Jonacin broke down in tears again.
It was a week since Jonacin's mother had killed herself. While he still occasionally broke down in tears thinking about it, he had begun to recover from it. The Hall had now become his home, with a room set aside for him to sleep in.
Otherwise, training continued as normal. He had begun training himself in the use of Heavy Armour, knowing that the extra protection afforded made up for the loss in mobility. He had been using Steel Armour to practice in, but he knew that one day he would have better.
The sparring match ended much as others had recently, with Jonacin losing to his unarmored opponent. He was too slow to keep up in his heavy steel Armour, but he was determined to keep trying. He was moving faster now than he had been the day before, and he would only get better with more practice. He drew back from his opponent and gave the salute, before removing his helm and going over to a nearby water fountain. He splashed water over his face, cooling himself off. One of the instructors came over to him and asked if he wished to retire for the day, but he refused, wanting at least one more sparring match.
His opponent was chosen, and he entered the sparring ring. He was armed with a short sword, whilst Jonacin was armed with a katana, as he always was. The instructor signaled for the match to begin, and his opponent leapt to the attack. Jonacin clanked backwards awkwardly, dodging as many blows as he could and blocking or parrying the rest. He saw an opening and lunged, but his opponent leapt lightly aside, his sword flashing out and clanging against Jonacin's shoulder. The instructor held up his hand to end the bout, but Jonacin shouted out "No! This match to three blows!" The instructor looked puzzled, but lowered his hand. Jonacin concentrated all his energy on his opponent, and began to notice a pattern to his attacks. He would always feint twice, usually to Jonacin's sword hand, before striking towards the shield. Every third or so attack, he would reverse the process, feinting twice towards shield and attacking sword. Jonacin began reading his moves, and knew what was coming next. He made no move for the feints, and when his opponent lashed out towards his sword side, he crashed his blade down, knocking the sword from his hand, and then striking his throat lightly with a reverse cut. It was now one blow each.
Jonacin and his opponent now circled each other warily, each looking for an opening, a weakness in the other's guard. Jonacin suddenly spotted his opening, and leapt to the attack as fast as his heavy armour would allow. However, his opponent was faster and dodged nimbly aside, the attack going past him harmlessly. He span lightly as he dodged, and Jonacin's armour rang like a bell as his attack connected.
Momentum and the cumbersome armour made Jonacin continue a few more steps before he turned again. He raised his sword and shield in a guarded stance and waited for the next attack. It was sudden when it came, and blows rained down on him. He blocked as best he could, and those he couldn't block he parried. His riposte was vicious, and his opponent struggled to block. Jonacin followed up on his sudden advantage, and kept attacking. His opponent was fast enough to dodge or parry most of the attacks, but eventually one slid past his guard and thudded into his chest. The match was now tied again at two blows each.
Jonacin was determined to win this match, but the heavy armour was taking its toll on him and he was tiring rapidly. His opponent could sense this, but knew that an all out attack would be foolish. He bided his time, probing Jonacin's defenses for weakness and slowly wearing him down. Jonacin knew he was finished if he didn't end the match soon, and made a choice. He suddenly launched an all out attack, reasoning that if it didn't work, he had only brought about the end of the match a little earlier.
His attacks came at his opponent from all directions, yet still he parried or dodged them all. Jonacin was almost out of energy, and knew it was now or never. He attacked with a wide slash that made his opponent leap backward, and then raised his katana over his head for a powerful downward cut. His opponent, not having enough time to dodge, raised his sword to parry, but Jonacin had put his full weight behind the blow and the lighter blade was knocked aside. The blow smashed into his shoulder, and the sound of breaking bone was clearly audible. The instructor quickly raised his arm to end the match, and the combatants stepped apart. Wearily, Jonacin raised his sword in salute, and his opponent did the same, even though his eyes showed how much pain he was in from his smashed shoulder.
(c) 2005 Wolfie
¹An Ansei is a person who can call up a Shehai in any form
²A Shehai is an indestructable spirit sword that can cut through pretty much anything