You step into a salle d’armes that smells faintly of rosin and oiled leather. Sunlight slants in from high windows, caught on a haze of chalk dust. Everything here is ordered as though the master has just left:
- Racks of foils, sabres, and epees line the wall, polished to gleam, their guards reflecting the lamplight.
- A row of battered practice dummies, each scarred with neat puncture marks, stands at attention; one has a crude caricature mustache chalked under its helmet.
- Along the far wall, a framed drill poster displays a series of maxims.
- A speaking tube juts from the wall beneath the poster, its brass mouthpiece shaped like a fencing mask, labeled simply: Name the technique.
- The floor is scored with chalked piste lines, as though frozen mid-lesson.
The room hums faintly, as though waiting for someone to shout “Allez!”
The poster reads,
Execute your strike cleanly, once, and no more.
The tempo is now yours; spend it without waste.
Rest in a balanced but ready stance.
Press gently, then pause, then repeat — feel for the opening.
Only when he commits do you answer with decision.
In proper guard, you win the fight before it starts.
Sidestep the blow; let his reach betray him.
Kardan opines, “Fencing teaches patience, discipline, and how to look dignified while hopping backward.”
From here you can go,
- Back to the Entrance
- Clockwise to The Barbarian’s Room
- Counter-clockwise to The Paladin’s Room