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“Look, Sahtra! Isn’t it…beautiful?”

Mori pressed her nose and palms against the shop window, staring at the weapon on display. It was a scythe, its sleek wooden handle wrapped tightly with leather. A polished human skull and those of two ravens were tied to each other and secured with thick purple ribbon to the spot where the handle met the curved sharp steel. The weaponsmith had glued black feathers underneath the skulls and had similarly decorated the base of the staff.

The death knight stepped behind her and studied the display. “The scythe is a formidable weapon, Mori, but it is not meant to be taken up lightly. Do you know how to use one?”

The young necromancer had seen warlocks use scythes as conduits of power while they casted spells, but none had used the weapon itself. “I…um, no, I don’t.” She looked up at her guardian. “But you can teach me, right? I can learn!”

Sahtra stroked his bearded chin, appearing to deliberate on the matter. “The weapon is a bit too large for you—”

“But I’m almost sixteen!” Mori exclaimed, “I’m still growing, but I’ll be big enough for it soon…maybe!” Truth be told, she had been growing much more slowly as of late, and doubted whether she would really ever be able to wield that large of a weapon. Her small stature as a child had seemed to persist through her teenage years.

Sahtra crossed his arms and sighed. “You are not receiving this scythe until you best me in a duel with one.”

“What?!” the young blood elf protested, “We both know I can’t beat you! This is impossible!”

The death knight chuckled. “We’re returning home, little one,” he pivoted on his plate boot and walked briskly towards the outskirts of the town, “then your training begins.”

* * * * *

Mori and Sahtra stood in their back yard, the sky blue and clear and the sun shining overhead. Though it was spring, no flowers were in bloom; the former had little interest in flowers and scenery while the latter inadvertently destroyed plant life at the touch. The death knight wore his usual dark saronite armor and skeletal helm, but had sheathed a blunt wooden sword just shy of four feet in length. He had instructed his ward to replace her robe with leggings and a tight shirt so as to not let the loose cloth impede her movements. She had pinned her short hair back to avoid getting the fine silver strands in her face. Over her chest and shins, Mori wore foam padding, and, on her head, a training helmet that more so resembled a cage than something a warrior would wear on the field.

“I have excellent self-control (Mori had to restrain herself from snorting at the statement) and am able to adjust the strength of my attacks for sparring,” Sahtra had said, “but this is for your safety regardless.” In melee combat, he was easily the superior of the two – in both strategy and strength.

The young blood elf now watched her guardian – and trainer – return from the shed with a wooden scythe equipped with a blunted metal blade. It was smaller in size than the one displayed in the shop’s window, and she wondered where Sahtra had managed to conveniently find all these items. She supposed it only made sense considering he had spent most of his life (and undeath) in the military.

“This training scythe is lighter than one you would use in real combat,” Sahtra stood behind Mori and lowered the weapon in front of her, “but you need to get accustomed to it first. Place your hands on the staff as I have.”

The young necromancer imitated the death knight’s grip as best as she could while he patiently adjusted her fingers and wrists. “Keep a tight hold on the handle, but not too tight,” he explained, “you want to be able to rotate it quickly should you need to parry an attack.” Mori nodded, adjusting her grip on the wood.

“Scythes are powerful defensive tools,” he continued, “but their main offensive use lies in dealing powerful swings that the opponent cannot dodge.” Sahtra placed his hands over Mori’s and pulled the scythe over to his right so that the blade was perpendicular to him and facing outward. “You are right-handed, so this is the more natural starting position for you. Now lower your left arm but keep the right bent at the elbow.” He adjusted the corresponding angles on her arms and rocked the scythe back and forth in a narrow arc.

“For the swing to have power and be effective, you need to follow the scythe’s natural motion.” Sahtra let go of Mori’s hands and stepped in front of her. The young blood elf imitated his movement, swinging her training weapon back and forth in increasingly wider arcs until the blade made one continuous motion from above her head to her feet. “Good,” her trainer commended her, “keep practicing that swing.”

Mori repeated the full motion, stopping every several swings to catch her breath and reset the scythe’s position. “Excellent,” Sahtra called out, “now, faster, but no less deliberate.” She nodded and increased the speed at which she swung the weapon, bringing the blade up and down its curved path faster and faster until she accidentally struck the ground with the dulled tip and stumbled backwards. The scythe bounced off the ground and hit her in the chest, the blow softened by the foam padding.

“Ugh, sorry.” Shaking her head, she bent down and picked the weapon up.

“You recoiled because you are not used to feeling the shock that reverberates through a melee weapon when it strikes.” The death knight stepped forward and unsheathed his wooden sword. “Hold out your scythe.”

Mori did as she was instructed and held the staff at one-third and two-thirds length, extending her arms to near-full reach – allowing for a slight bend at the elbow – and elevating them to chest level. Sahtra rapped the staff gently with his sword, and she felt the vibrations pass through her fingers over several cycles, growing weaker until they stopped.

“In combat, the blows you defend will be much stronger and more frequent,” he explained, “but you will need to brace yourself for them and maintain your grip. In our earlier training sessions, I will call out my attacks so you can get used to them, but afterwards, you will be on your own.” Sahtra lifted his sword above his head. “Watch where the blade comes down, and bring the staff up to meet it such that they collide at its center.” He lowered the sword as Mori raised the scythe up, focusing on the thin edge of her trainer’s weapon.

“Left! Center! Left! Right! Good!” the death knight called out each strike as the two pieces of wood met. The parrying continued for several more rounds until a well-placed blow from Sahtra knocked the scythe out of Mori’s hands.

“What happened?”

“I…my hands are numb,” the young necromancer rubbed her own fingers as she felt sensation restored to them, “I think it was the constant vibration from the impacts.”

“Then that is enough for today,” Sahtra sheathed his sword, “we will continue training parries next week.”

“Next week? I want to train tomorrow!”

“No, little one, tomorrow you rest.” The death knight walked up to his ward and checked her palms. “You are developing calluses because your hands are not used to this activity,” he pointed at the small hard bumps forming at the base of her fingers, “give them a break tomorrow so that they have time to recover and do not turn into blisters the next time we train.”

“You are also not to spend too much time training within any particular day,” he continued, “you will fall behind on your other studies, which are far more important for your growth as a necromancer in the long run.” Mori, never known for her patience, scowled.

The death knight gestured to a row of dense straw dummies. “You are done for today. Your task next time is to practice this basic move until you are able to slice the dummies’ legs off in one clean sweep.”

“I can do that now!” It couldn’t be too hard, the young blood elf reasoned. She had been practicing her swings through empty air and was ready to hit something tangible. Stepping up to the first dummy, she lifted the scythe above her head and brought it cleanly to its legs, waiting for the satisfying slice and subsequent downpour of straw. Instead, the impact left a small cut barely two inches deep.

“But the scythe is blunted! It’s not a real weapon!”

“Real enemies are not made of straw.”

Mori frowned as she fell quiet. Sahtra had a point. He took the scythe from her and walked up to the second dummy, shearing its legs with one swipe.

“Ahh…” her jaw dropped.

“See?” the death knight handed the scythe back to her, “Nothing wrong with the scythe.” She nodded sadly as she looked at the training weapon, her subsequent efforts at cutting the legs off the dummy failing. She would never receive the scythe at this rate!

Mori suddenly froze in place. Why had she thought she ever would? She had resigned to that conclusion as soon as Sahtra had claimed she would need to best him to earn it. She let the scythe go and watched with dismay as it fell to the ground, the impact releasing a soft thud as it struck the grass. Perhaps this was one of those things she would just not be able to learn, the young necromancer told herself as she began removing her training helmet and foam padding.

The death knight’s voice cut into her thoughts exactly as if he were able to read them. “Are you giving up?” His blue eyes glowed harshly as they met her anxious gaze.

“It’s not that…I just…look! I can’t beat you! You’re stronger and you’ve got way more experience fighting! Even if I were to spend one month, two months, whatever, training, I’m still not going to beat you. I couldn’t even hope to catch up to you if I tried! I don’t need that scythe anyway, I just thought it looked nice—”

“I ask again – are you giving up?” Sahtra looked directly down at Mori, and she shivered as she felt the warm air suddenly bend to his cold will.

“I don’t…want to,” the young necromancer shrank, “but I feel like a fool for even thinking that someone like me could ever—”

“Sit down, Mori.” The young blood elf did as she was ordered, and the death knight did the same, sitting cross-legged on the grass. He removed his dark helm, Mori averting her gaze from him in fear of seeing him angry. But what appeared in his glowing blue eyes was not anger – it was understanding.

“I have not always been this strong, you should remember,” Sahtra began, placing the helm next to him, “I had a natural affinity for combat at a young age, as you do with learning and magic, but an affinity alone was not enough. I had to train as hard as I could, as often as I could, and got beaten over and over again until I was finally skilled enough and strong enough to move up the ranks.”

Mori’s green eyes widened. It was difficult trying to imagine her guardian, the strongest person she knew, lose to anything. The death knight seemed to her an unbreakable pillar of strength, both emotionally and physically. She admired the way he exuded confidence and how he knew just what to do in every situation no matter what obstacle stood in his path.

“Every day I aspire to be stronger than I was the day before,” Sahtra continued, “there will always be someone stronger than me, someone smarter than me, and an evil I am not good enough to face. But I cannot let that stop me from trying, and neither should it stop you.” The death knight paused and leaned into his ward. “If your goal lies within comfortable reach, you will lose all motivation once you reach it. Aim for the stars, Mori; then, you will become better than your best.” Sahtra leaned back. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, I do,” she replied, “and I guess it doesn’t have to be that scythe either. I just want to learn how to fight so I can be cool and strong like you.”

The death knight chuckled as he picked up his helm and stood back up. Mori tried to get up as well but the short respite had already caught up to her. “I’m so sore,” she groaned, and collapsed onto the soft grass, “I don’t wanna get up.”

“This is why you need to rest,” Sahtra held out his free hand so he could help his ward up, “you trained very hard today. Let’s go inside. Do you want to train again next week?”

“Yeah…let’s train…more,” she mumbled, drowsiness washing over her despite the daylight. With a sleepy smile, Mori clutched her guardian’s arm and followed him into their home.