There were no true secrets in a Tribe. This was not one of the cities where the ‘civilized’ people grew soft off the work of others, and there were too many people to know who was who. Everyone in the Tribe knew everyone else, knew their parents, and their parents’ parents. The news that the strange, winged girl was a Twice-Souled with both a combat and spellcasting class spread through the Tribe like the winds across the open tundra.

Since I now had my classes unlocked, that meant I had to get trained to fight. While it was true that the tribe was quite firm on men being the primary defenders of the tribe, and they were the ones sent out to war when that came, no one in the tribe was allowed to be a weakness to the tribe. The tundra was far too dangerous for such foolishness. And so, every child of the tribe, once they unlocked their class, was made to train.

Yes, it was true that one’s class and skills could make all the difference in combat, but the numbers of your status were a far cry from actual experience in battle. You may have all sorts of options available to you, but if you did not know the right ability to use at the right time, you were useless. Worse, you might even harm your allies, leading to their death, and the death of others. This, naturally, was not allowed, and the Tribe did its best to stomp out such ignorance quickly, lest a hunting trip turn to tragedy. So, training.

The Tribe moved with the herds, and so the training was basically just one of the warriors of the tribe marking out a circle for sparring, and a few basic dummies to practice one’s strikes. I had watched the other children training before, knowing that it wouldn’t be too much longer before I got my turn. Now, it was here, and I’ll admit that I was nervous.

There were three of us training this day, and I was the only girl. That wouldn’t matter for the early training, however. Oglaf, the warrior in charge of training today, grunted as he saw me. “Right, you brats have a newly unlocked member of the Tribe with us now. We’re going to train her up, like any other member of the tribe. First, though, we need to see what our new Tribeswoman has to offer. Melinda, what weapons and armor does your class let you use?”

“I am proficient with simple weapons, and light armor, but wearing the armor will hamper some of my abilities, especially as I grow. In time, my fist is supposed to become harder and more damaging than a greataxe, but it is not there, yet. I also have a magical attack that I can use at will, to blast enemies, but the range is limited.”

Oglaf frowned, his next words sharper than before. “You’re not to use that magic anywhere in the camp, unless you’re defending yourself or the tribe, understood?” When I nodded hurriedly, he said, “Good. Now, I think we’ll start off by seeing what kind of talent you have for a fight. Yolr, into the ring! You and Melinda will fight, with the practice weapons. Show us what you can do, girl.”

Yolr, a boy of fifteen wearing scale mail armor, leered at me, clearly thinking this would be an easy fight. He went to the rack of training weapons (just wooden swords and clubs with the proper weight, but blunted edges so they would not cause lethal wounds), and picked up a two-handed greatsword. The boy was clearly compensating, since it didn’t look like he could hold the thing properly. Showing off for his friends, perhaps?

I decided against any weapons, and walked into the ring empty-handed. This clearly upset Yolr, and he roared out a battle cry as he raised his greatsword. Fuck, he was raging, wasn’t he? Damn it!

Melinda’s Initiative: 1d20+8 = 14

Yolr’s Initiative: 1d20+2 = 11

Melinda’s Attack: 1d20+1 = 5 (Miss)

I turned out of the path of his charge, my foot lashing out as I spun in a high kick. Unfortunately, I was not really practiced with combat, this being the first time I’d ever tried to kick someone, in either of my lives. It… did not go as I would have liked. I could have blasted him, but that wouldn’t have been good for my standing in the village.

Yolr’s Attack: 1d20+6 = 11 (Miss)

Yolr got a feral grin on his face as I missed him, and swung, hard, with his two-handed blade. Unfortunately for him, I was built more around avoidance than straight up taking a hit, like he was. The wooden blade didn’t come close to touching me as I turned out of the way. He may be the only one of us wearing armor, but I felt that I clearly had a better defense than he did.

Melinda’s Attack: 1d20+1 = 16 (Hit)

Damage: 1d6+0 = 2 (Nonlethal, Bludgeoning)

This time, I was luckier, getting a strike in as my fist connected with his outstretched arm. I could feel that it didn’t do too much damage, but it was enough to make him scowl in pain. Thankfully, I had the ability to choose whether I was merely trying to bruise, or trying to kill, when I hit someone with my fists and feet. This was training, attempting to kill would not be appreciated.

Yolr’s Attack: 1d20+6 = 7 (Critical Miss)

Yolr looked more surprised than anyone that a twelve-year-old girl managed to get a hit on him, and actually hurt him, despite his being older and stronger than I was. His next attack was horrible, even I could tell that, and his blade hit the ground hard enough that he dropped his sword!

Melinda’s Attack: 1d20+1 = 20 (Hit)

Damage: 1d6+0=3 (Nonlethal, Bludgeoning)

I quickly came to the conclusion that trying to attack Yolr and aim for a quick ‘kill’ was stupid. I was too weak for that. However, it looked as though I was better able to hit him than he was at hitting me. Or I was just lucky. Either way, I was able to get another hit in, this time on his side.

Attack of Opportunity

Melinda’s Attack: 1d20+1 = 4 (Miss)

Yolr’s Attack: 1d20+6 = 23 (Hit)

Damage: 2d6+6 = 11 (Nonlethal, Slashing)

Current Nonlethal Damage: 11

Current HP: 9/9

I saw Yolr reaching down to try and pick up his sword, and lashed out with my foot, trying to kick his hand away, but I missed. I barely had time to curse my luck before realizing that he now had his sword, and it was coming my way. I felt the blade hit me across the body, sending me flying off my feet, and to the ground, and everything went black.

Current Nonlethal Damage: 9

I groaned as I slowly came back to consciousness. It felt like I’d been hit by a truck. And, well, I guess that wasn’t too far off. I heard the sound of fighting nearby. Slowly, I took stock of my situation. I was lying on one of the fur mats that had been laid out near the practice ring, just for this situation. I’d seen others laying here before.

The sounds of my wakening alerted Oglaf, who walked over to me. “Well, that wasn’t half bad for your first fight, child. Weak as you are, I thought for sure that it would be over in the first swing, but you managed to make him miss you a couple times, before he got you. You got a couple good hits on him, as well. And that was after he set himself raging, too. Not bad. Not bad at all.”

I looked up at the warrior, and sighed, “Well, perhaps the stories of me being a big, scary freak will calm down, now. Even the youngest warriors can take me down in a single swing, after all, so how terrible can I be?” It wasn’t exactly a happy thought. I did the whole ‘reborn into another world’ thing, and I wasn’t overpowered! This isn’t how the story is supposed to go!

Oglaf laughed, and said, “Well, you’ll be happy to know that you aren’t the only one who is regretting their choices in that fight.” When I raised an eyebrow inquisitively, he smirked. “Barbarians only get the blessing of rage so many times a day, lass, and it tires us out, after it passes. Fortunately, he finished the fight before it ended, but if you had held on for a bit longer, he would have been weak as a kitten for you. Yolr will be glad you’re up, since he was told to run around the camp until you stopped sleeping, since he was the one that knocked you out.”

I grunted as I slowly got to my feet, still unsteady. Looking over at the warrior, I said, “Well, I may be awake, but I don’t think I’m in any state to continue training, not for a bit yet. Still feel like some barbarian tried to put a wooden sword through my chest.”

“Good on ya, lass.” Oglaf looked over to one side, and waved his arm. I looked over, and saw Yolr turn, and start jogging towards us. He looked like he was, well, jogging around the camp in the snow for two hours. Oglaf just looked at us as we stood side by side, and said, “So, Yolr, what do you think of Melinda, hmm?”

Yolr looked out of the corner of his eye at me, and then shrugged. When he spoke, there was pride in his voice, like he’d beaten down an unworthy pretender. “She’s weak. I got a good hit on her, sure, but I could have taken that hit and still been standing. Those little hits she gave me didn’t do nearly enough to bring me down.”

Oglaf sighed. “And the only reason you were able to hit her is because she limited herself to melee. Tell me, how would you be doing if she decided to use those wings of hers and fly up, and start dropping magic on your head? Would your sword have reached her in the air?”

Yolr looked like he bit into something sour. “Yeah, but she couldn’t do that! You told her that she couldn’t use magic!”

“And if she had a crossbow? Or a spear she could just throw at you?” Oglaf shook his head. “Foolish boy. Using your rage is fine, but you have to pick the right moment, and the right opponent. You rule the rage, Yolr. Don’t let it rule you, or you’ll be going down a road like Bahkr the Bloodletter! Losing yourself in the rage, and cutting down all around you, even your own kin! Do you want that, boy? To be a kinslayer, and hunted down by your own tribe to make amends with the spirits of the fallen?”

That got through Yolr’s head. Everyone knew the story of Bahkr the Bloodletter. He had fallen too deeply into the rage that barbarians feel, and had started worshipping one of the gods of slaughter, not the god of battles, like others in the Tribes. His tribe were fighting goblins, when the bloodlust overcame him. Friend and foe, he turned his twin axes on them all, even cutting down his own brother in his untamed wrath. After that, the tribe united to hunt him down and kill him like a beast. It was a story of shame and warning to all the young barbarians to keep them from sharing his fate.

Oglaf clapped him on his shoulder. “You’re a good kid, Yolr, and you won the fight, it is true, but you need to work on your control, hmm?” When Yolr nodded, he turned his attention to me. “As for you. Your attacks were landing more often than they weren’t, but you still need practice. I know you said that, as you grow, the power of your fists will grow, too, but until then, you want to be getting a weapon, for when you can’t just fly up and shoot someone. Sure, you are light and nimble, but it only takes one hit from someone like Yolr to bring you down. Against enemies that are actually trying to kill you? You would be dead, pure and simple.”

I wanted to argue, but he was right. One hit knocked me clean out. If that had been a steel blade, it might even have killed me outright. I needed to play to my strengths more, it seemed. Or at least get better at hitting people. I looked into Oglaf’s eyes, and nodded sharply, to show that I understood.

“Good. Now, since Krudd and Sgaun have finished their bout, we’ll start the training on a proper hunting party, and how it should be arranged.” He whistled to the two boys who had just finished their spar, and they came over, looking sweaty, but pleased with themselves. Neither of them teased me for my inglorious bout, but they both looked to have a better appreciation for me than they had before. Probably because I actually got a couple hits in, and didn’t complain after getting knocked out.

Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad.