Quoted By:
[3/3]
Past the established bravos, at the end of the plaza where an old Cathagi immigrant runs a quiet khave house, located there are the Senza Pari. The masters of the Langlish blade, some with a single student under their careful watch and some with classes nearing a dozen. Not all of them are engaged in any particular activity, quite a few seem content to recline in comfortable couches and drink khave as they watch the others sweat. Some of their number look too damn old to have held a blade in years, at least one is using a cane just to stand. But, as you watch one wizened old figure with hair whitened from age fight off five accomplished students with a disturbing level of ease, you surmise that looks can be deceiving.
You ask Fabio about the use of blunted steel, given just the other day you saw one man cut down another in the street with the real thing. He explains that the plaza is considered neutral ground among the bravos, even those who claim patronage of rivalling families. While even a blunted rapier can prick the skin or remove an eye, to defy that unspoken agreement apurpose is to quickly earn the ire of the master swordsmen that are the defacto rulers of the plaza. The prohibition is not for ethical reasons, mind you. They just don’t like the bloodshed and bodies distracting their students or disrupting their classes. If things really do get heated, any bravo is free to walk a street or so away and have it out in earnest there.
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>You are challenged by three would-be bravos of the Sognator, boys really. They offer a wager of 10 sequins apiece for a dance with you, winner decided on touches. You’d fight for honour alone, but the added wager is a nice edge. A hit anywhere except your blade or shield will be considered a touch, so these cocksure youths will have the advantage. You do not mind, they will need it. [Haughty]
>You rub shoulders with the Sfregiato. Most are established bravos in the local style, as eager to test their styles against a Cantôn armoured knight as you are to see how you’d handle the nimble and fast approach of their schools. The mood is jovial, with a bit of friendly rivalry between differing nations of martial schools. That or Fabio is tactfully not translating the more offensive jibes. [Hearty]
>You take your seat at the back of the local khave house, separate from the lounge reserved for the masters. From there you have a comfortable view of most of the plaza, watching the master swordsmen with their pupils. You had fancied yourself a decent hand with the blade, accomplished even. You had no idea how far you still have yet to go. Foreign style or not, to witness the skill of these singular individuals is humbling. [Idealist]