The Humble Life of a Skill Trainer

“Don’t touch it! No! Didn’t your mother teach you anything? Just sit there and think about your actions, young man,” shouted Mother Tin as she slapped Private Balk’s hands away from the bandages she had just finished wrapping around his side.

“You! Don’t think your father isn’t going to hear about this! You know better. That straw for brains might have wanted to fight, but you know better!” She continued as she waved her boney arms at Snowy, who looked both contrite and proud at the same time.

My snicker drew Mother Tin’s ire, her head whipping around while her joints audibly popped as she levered herself off the ground.

“Mister high and mighty Skill Trainer! You knew that was foolishness, why didn’t you do something about it?” She said as she sniffed and walked past me. I didn’t even bother to respond, she didn’t care what I had to say, and I knew her comments were all about how she felt and not because she was actually mad at anyone. That’s how the Mothers were. The only way to gain the healer’s Skill, [Empathetic Healing], was to care for other people. There were different kinds of healing skills; [First Aid], [Emergency Aid], [Field Medicine], and a host of others. Those Skills revolved around using tools, potions, and poultices.

[Empathetic Healing] required deep care for other people, and despite Mother Tin’s caustic ways, she did care. She also couldn’t stand idiocy, and Private Balk and Snowy’s bout was precisely that.

The moment Snowy demonstrated she had a new combat Skill, everyone wanted to see it in action. I could understand that. It was always interesting to see a Skill in use, especially the flashier combat Skills. These were men who were going to fight goblins tomorrow. They had a sudden deep interest in combat Skills. With Snowy, she was derided and insulted for failing to get [Swordmanship], even after being privately trained by an expert. Likely, that training cost the tribe a hefty price, something I’m sure they wouldn’t let her forget. That it was all a sham to shame and hurt her mother didn’t mean the insults didn’t hurt her and leave a scar on her psyche.

I should have seen it coming. Snowy fought a few rounds using her armor and a few random items from the wagons. A camp shovel, a stool, and for the last round, a spare wagon wheel. The wheel was especially impressive given its size and awkwardness. With Snowy’s strength and near limitless stamina, it was almost child’s play for her to fend off the men’s cloth-wrapped swords.

The part I should have seen coming was the assumption that Snowy gained her Skill because of the ‘special weapon’ I made for her. That it was some Skill Trainer trick. The grumbles about nobles getting all the best were especially annoying to me. Snowy had earned her Skill through pain, frustration, and years of hard work. The modified sword just helped with the last strain to level; the final chop that felled the tree.

Private Balk had praised Snowy’s Skill and how amazing she was. He was buttering her up so badly that even someone as oblivious as I could be could tell he was blowing smoke. But Snowy loved the praise, and I could imagine it felt nice after the years of insults. So, when Private Balk asked for a round against her, with him using her modified sword, it was no surprise she was all for it.

While Snowy went looking for something else in the back of a wagon, I hopped off my camp chair and joined the group egging Private Balk on.

“I know you don’t have any combat Skills, but I promise you, that sword won’t give you one,” I said to the looks of annoyance from the men.

Private Balk stepped away from the others, and I walked with him as we approached the impromptu arena.

“All I’ve got is [Metronome]. The goblins and bandits won’t care about me keepin’ time. I need somethin’ else,” he said with a dark look at me as he grabbed Snowy’s dropped sword and flipped it around to hold the handle forward. He took a few awkward swings while trying to get a feel for it.

I gave him some room as he practiced, I had no interest in being hit with a wild swing. For him, it at least was a well balanced but awkward weapon. Oddly, the men were right in a way, the magic in the weapon wouldn’t work for anyone else and was special only for Snowy.

“I’ll go over some stuff tonight with everyone that should help them get the most out of the goblin culling, alright?” I said while stepping away as Snowy nearly skipped forward while holding one of her greaves and an impish grin.

I wasn’t sure why she chose to use her leg armor as a weapon, but it meant she would be holding steel versus the oddly held sword.

A few other men gathered to watch another round. The initial excitement of the fights had faded with the continuous one-sided nature of the previous matches. The Captain had put his foot down when a veteran with a [Pikemanship] combat Skill asked for a bout. I agreed with the Captain; without training weapons and padding, it would be unacceptable to risk the Baroness in a training fight. Luckily for Snowy, he relented enough to allow for the unskilled men to get in some practice with padded weapons.

Private Balk was likely thinking that if he won the fight, maybe if he ended it quickly, that it might be enough to earn him a Skill. Which, to be fair, he might have gained something with that kind of effort and emotion put into the attack. I doubted it would match Snowy’s Skill, but something like [Slam] or [Heavy Blow] wasn’t out of the question. Unfortunately, Snowy was ready, and his charge and jab with the pommel didn’t go as planned. Off-balance while stabbing the weapon like a spear, it was no surprise to me when Snowy caught the end of the pommel with the curved inner surface of the greaves. The Baroness then shoved the blade back toward Private Balk. The ad hoc grip I made slipped down the weapon, and then his fingers slipped free from the leather-wrapped wood. His sudden hiss of pain as the blade cut into his fingers was cut short when the tip of the blade caught on his side and ended his forward charge.

That was when Mother Tin came running, her thin grey hair flying away from her while her head bobbed on her boney neck. She moved quickly for a woman pushing into her seventies. From a belt pouch, she pulled bandages and a thick green paste. While Snowy watched with a concerned look, Mother Tin yanked free the blade while shouting at Private Balk to stop wailing like a child. Slapping on the bandage and paste, her hands glowing a sickly green as Mother Tin activated the Skill that made the Healers famous.

The entire time she was healing Private Balk, Mother Tin hollered, yelled, and berated just about everyone in sight. From Snowy down to the mule that had hauled her backside through the countryside. It wasn’t the worst I had heard of a Mother of the Healer’s Guild doing when she was healing, but it wasn’t fun either. I once knew a Mother who would kiss her patient’s cheek and face while cooing in baby talk.

Her grumblings were worth listening to if it was the cost of having the gash on Private Balk’s side quickly close as the paste was pulled into the wound. All that was left was irritated skin and a scab. That, and a grumpy healer who treated every patient like they were her own idiot grand-child.

Once Private Balk was recovered enough to stand, he joined his friend at one of the campfires and sullenly drank from a tin cup of watered-down ale. The other men made a few comments about him while he sulked. I shook my head and ignored the behavior. I was slightly younger than some of these men, roughly the same as most of them, only a few were younger. Yet, I felt a great deal older than most. Most of them would suddenly discover a bit more maturity after the Culling. My own introduction to a similar barbaric practice came when I was fourteen. My father watched over me a few steps away as I fought an Orc. It wasn’t the same, not by any measure, but the first taste of combat with the monster races was an eye-opener. Stronger, meaner, and willing to eat your corpse, there was a marked difference between fighting them and killing a man. The two bandits who died in the forest was my first taste of killing a human. It was no different than killing a monster, except for the knowledge of what I had done. The torture had been far worse in my mind. That, and the two men were incompetent compared to the monsters. Incompetent monsters don’t tend to last long.

“Alright, listen up! I’m going to answer some questions about Skills. All those things you wondered, but no one would talk about? That’s why I’m here,” I said, the men around the fire suddenly going silent. I could tell from the side-on looks and the casual way that many glanced at their fellow man, that they wanted the information but didn’t want to be the first to speak.

Shaking my head at the oddity of refusing to grab vital information when it was offered, I started on my basic spiel. I had worked out a few things to talk about when I wanted to get a client asking questions. I wasn’t sure it would work well in a group, but it was what I had.

“First, the tier of a Skill is just a general guide. A Tier two Skill is generally more powerful in some way than a Tier one Skill. This doesn’t mean that any Tier two Skill is better than any Tier one Skill,” I began.

The tier of a Skill was a tricky detail and not apparent unless you had seen many different Skills. Looking around, I could see confused looks, and to my surprise, more than one veteran also had a questioning look.

“The Skill itself matters. Every example of the [Cleaning] Skill the Skill Trainers have ever recorded has been tier one. Every time. But the Skill is different for different people. Sometimes it had multiple Lesser Effects. In a few cases, it had Major effects. The Skill itself determines how powerful it is. The level can improve those abilities, and it’s always better to raise the skill level if you can, but a level one skill is still useful,” I said.

That had shocked people I could tell. Two Skills of the same name could be different! The looks said it all. The cultural taboo of never sharing Skills, never talking about them, had stunted them. This was why the Skill Trainers were vital. This knowledge should be familiar to everyone.

Sipping at my own cup of ale for a moment, I looked around the fire to see if anyone was going to ask me a question. There were a few looks, some people were almost on the edge of asking something they wanted to know, but the taboo was still holding them back.

“Levels!” I said, my voice silencing the few whispered conversations as the fire crackled in the now hushed camp.

“Levels are an interesting thing. Most people just try and repeat something over and over to increase a Skill’s level. Which might work, but likely it won’t. You only get better at something if you practice it perfectly. If you practice your Skill in a half-assed way, then you will never get better. That’s what a low level in a Skill means. You aren’t good at it. You’re only half-assed,” this had a few people muttering angrily. Their Skills were vital to them, and here I went saying they were terrible at their Skills!

“Now, I don’t mean to say they aren’t important. A low-level Skill is still useful. I know. I have more than a few low-level Skills,” I said with a grin. Even sharing that was taboo, and I could see more than one veteran re-evaluating me with that announcement.

Wiping the smile from my face, I tried to return to a more professional mein.

“What I mean is, that a level one Skill will only become level two when you practice the Skill and get better at it. Not from mindlessly repeating the same behaviors without a thought over and over again,” I said, then leaned toward my audience and continued, “Why are you doing it this way? Was this twist of the wrist correct or not? Your stance? Your balance? So on. It’s not enough to just use your Skill, you have to become your Skill,” I said to the now silent gathering. I could see the eyes flashing in the darkness, reflecting the fire as they followed my mimed movements and impassioned explanation.

I continued my rant while holding my hands away from my body for a moment. Using [Acting], I tried to convey with a shrug my exasperation at the gathered men’s unwillingness to work and practice the right way.

Looking at the crowd, I saw a swarm of faces, some angry, some enlightened, and some confused and trying to fit my words into a framework they understood. I had to resist the urge to wilt at my outburst, my passion for training and Skills having bled through into my speech more than intended.

“Does anyone have a question?” I asked, looking into the sea of suddenly silent masks. For a long drawn out second, I thought no one would ask a question. Hesitantly, Private Multer shifted before standing.

“I’ve heard of sub-Skills. Um…What are they?” she asked before sitting again.

This was why I had expected few questions. I knew that Private Multer had [Vicious Slice]; she was one of the three Privates who had exposed her Skill list to me at our first meeting. Now, everyone else knew that she likely had a Skill that some called a ‘sub-Skill,’ as despicable as I found the description.

Nodding, I looked to the group before I started my explanation, “There are no such things as sub-Skills,” I answered, then held my hands up as some of the men and women moved in the dark edge of the camp light. “Now, hold up. Let me explain. All Skills are Skills. Some Skills are…broader…than others, they cover more things. The so-called ‘sub-Skills’ are more narrow in a way. An example…” I said then paused, noticing that Private Multer had turned white when I mentioned an example.

“[Focused Cut] is one of these so-called narrow Skills,” I said, to the obvious release of tension from Private Multer.

Taking a deeper breath, I continued my description, “I have [Focused Cut]. It allows me to precisely control any sharp implement and guides my movements to cut exactly how much and where I want,” my words left a slight murmur in the crowd, the gathered Guards nearly hanging on my words. I would have received less attention if I had decided to strip naked and dance in front of the fire. Celebratory drunken dances weren’t exactly common before or after battle, but they weren’t unheard of either. Someone openly admitting to a Skill in a large gathering was.

“Some have called it a sub-Skill of [Swordmanship], as well as [Woodworking], [Carpentry], [Cooper], and a host of others. It’s a very narrow Skill, but useful all the same. Raising the level of a narrow Skill is relatively easy. Simply focus on its narrow use. A broad Skill such as [Swordmanship] requires much more effort for every level increase. On the other hand, [Swordmanship] also provides far broader an effect and benefit,” I said to the complete silence of the crackling fire.

Looking around, I tried to time my next words, wanting to increase the gravitas of my words. “Broad Skills like [Swordmanship] generally consist of more passive effects, have smaller active effects, and usually synergize with many other Skills. Narrow Skills generally have the reverse: few passive effects, larger active effects, and while they synergize with other Skills, growing them and trying to get them to synergize with less related Skills is usually difficult.”

The silence was almost deafening. Nobles were likely given this information, maybe at the knee of some family trainer, but few peasants would be offered such information. Their lives were considered far more transient and to be traded for their betters. One or even a couple of Skills would be more than enough for them to complete their jobs. The Baron was trying a revolutionary idea here with hiring me to train his guard. We would see how it played out.

Seeing that no one was eager to continue the question and answer, the previous question providing far more than they expected. I folded my arms and tried to project a sense of calm and wisdom - a difficult task for someone my age - then nodded slowly.

“Tomorrow, I will speak to those who want, one on one, and give some hints to what you can do to earn a Skill. The fighting tomorrow, or the day after more likely, will help. Many of you will earn Skills from the Culling. The fear, the anger, the rush of combat, they can all help you learn a new Skill.”

Acting has advanced to 22.