Silva took a sip of his tea, dispelling some of the frost that had crept into his bones after their sparring session in the courtyard that left him exposed to the elements. It was the third winter that Silva had spent under his uncle's tutelage, and was turning out to be a particularly harsh frost with fierce ice storms and blizzards.
"Have you cleared your mind?" Fal asked from across the table as he set down his own cup of tea.
"Yes I am ready," Silva said with a nod as he looked towards his uncle expectantly.
Seeing Silva's excitement, Fal grinned knowingly and waved his hand through the air summoning several rows of wooden racks holding every kind of weapon imaginable, "Most of these are of exceptional quality, but I do not mind having the clan smiths forge you something better."
Silva only nodded before he stood and began to pursue the rows of weapons hoping that one out of the many would speak out to him.
It may have seemed out of character for Silva to be so enthralled by the thought of wielding a weapon, a tool of violence. But for the last three years Silva had often found himself recalling his first spar against Fal, and how his uncle had ended the fight with a single draw of his sword.
It wasn't the lethality, innate power or even the status of a weapon that drew Silva like a moth to the flame. It was the skill, the mastery that a weapon could display in the hands of an expert. Understanding the unique strengths, weaknesses and techniques of one's weapon was vital and required hours of dedicated practice, with constant room for improvement and growth.
However the first time Silva had broached the subject Fal had shot down the subject without hesitation, stressing that Silva wasn't ready to pick up a blade and doing so would only complicate things.
But then, out of nowhere, his uncle had suddenly decided that Silva had reached some invisible benchmark and was now sponsoring his discovery and curiosity.
"How am I supposed to know what weapon is right for me?" Silva asked as he picked up a weighted chain with a knife attached to one end and a heavy spike maul on the other.
"Trust your intuition, one will call out to you," Fal replied sagely as he continued to sip from his tea.
Trusting his uncle's advice Silva continued to browse looking over the various styles of swords, polearms and more specialized weapons. If one looked particularly interesting Silva would pick the weapon up and feel how it sat in his hands. Over time Silva started to pick up on his own particular tastes and preferences.
The first was his distaste of weapons that he could barely feel when holding, they felt almost fragile in Silva's grasp and he could easily imagine them shattering if he struck something with all his strength.
That one distinction cut down on Silva's potential options, leading him to switch his decision process as he began looking for weapons that felt the worst and what traits made them so unfit in his eyes.
Little but little Silva's specifications narrowed until he found himself looking solely at the pole arms Fal had to offer. In Silva's eyes they were perfect, balanced and weighted and their reach benefited his somewhat stationary style when fighting. But even within the limited pool Silva had a wide breadth of options, with various spears, pikes, halberds and guandaos.
But even after hours of consideration, Silva felt that there was still something off and it wasn't until Silva looked inside himself that he understood why. Reaching up, Silva gingerly ran his finger along each sharpened blade and imagined how easily they could cut through flesh and spill blood. That was their purpose, to sever, to reap, to end. A philosophy in exact opposition to Silva's own path.
However this wasn't to say that Silva was a pacifist or that he had any illusions that his journey would require him at some point to take a life. But carrying a weapon designed to kill felt discordant revealing Silva's final specification, 'It can't have a blade.'
Looking over to his uncle Silva who looked up expectantly, "Do you have any staffs?"
Fal looked confused for a second, before a broad and eager grin spread across his face, he himself had been intensely wondering what weapon his nephew would end up choosing. The reason why being that each time Fal tried to picture Silva wielding a weapon the image felt off. It wasn't until Silva mentioned staffs that everything suddenly clicked into place.
"No, unfortunately I do not but like I said, contacting the clan smiths is no issue," Fal replied as he put down his tea and began to rise only for Silva to suddenly speak out, "Actually I would prefer it if I made it myself."
Fal paused and glanced at Silva, "I wasn't aware that you were a carpenter."
"When you're restricted for one hundred years you tend to pick up a few hobbies," Silva said with a slight smile making Fal scoff, "Very well, take the next three days. Do you need any materials or tools?"
"Only if you still have some of that Ironbanded Bamboo." Silva answered hopefully.
"You mean the bamboo that you wailed on for three months and ruined, why would I keep a piece of junk like that?" Fal grumbled as he sat back down.
"Because I believe you're a bit of a hoarder, Uncle," Silva replied with a straight face as he glanced pointedly at the hundreds of weapons Fal had displayed.
Fal grumbled something under his breath before he waved his hand and summoned the very same striking totem Silva had used several years ago with the same vertical split along one side.
"Thank you Uncle," Silva smiled as he walked over and took the totem into his storage ring, "I'll see you again in three days time."
---
In the same courtyard they had just sparred in Silva set up a temporary workshop with workbenches, tools and enough space that he could properly break down the twenty-foot-tall stalk of iron-hard wood
Silva's first step was to disassemble the striking totem, getting rid of the metal supports and leaving behind just the bamboo. Running his fingers along the smooth grain, Silva inspected his material. Like all bamboo, the spiritual herb was hollow in the middle with nodes at regular intervals.
However due to the size the Ironbanded bamboo was still several inches thick and the nodes were spaced nearly ten feet apart, which worked out perfectly for Silva's needs.
Moving to the unblemished side of the stalk Silva lined up his fist and punched, splitting the bamboo once more and causing the stalk to separate into two crescent halves.
Choosing one at random, Silva laid it flat on the ground with the round side up and struck one more, splitting the half into quarters. Inspecting the two pieces Silva chose the one with a slightly wider body and placed it atop a long table before grabbing a metal file.
Silva then began the long and arduous process of rounding out the strip of metallic wood relying on his immense strength to grind down the bamboo that sent sparks flying with each stroke of his file.
When Silva finished and was left with a rounded ten foot pole of dark grey wood he was relying on an oil lamp for light and had gone through three files front and back. Halfway through the process, Silva was forced to improvise using his excess bamboo to make a file that would wear down quite so quickly.
Silva also adopted the same method to create a chisel that he used to slowly whittle down the very center of the pole, a roughly two foot section where grip would eventually go. It was a delicate and arduous task, as Silva needed to ensure that the grip was in the very center so the staff would turn out balanced with an equal weight on either side. So after taking precise measurements, Silva marked out the section with charcoal before carving and every now and then checking the distribution by balancing the staff across a narrow edge.
Little by little Silva slimmed down the center of the staff, creating a comfortable place that his hands could wrap around. At that point Silva was technically done, but he had another day to work on his creation and there were a few additions Silva wanted to make.
He started by tapering the very tips of the staff, stripping down the width and forming the slightest of points that would focus the power of any thrusting attacks Silva made. It also allowed him to slip on the thick bands that he had carved from the leftover bamboo. Each head of the staff was fitted with three bands that slid on with some effort and plenty of linseed oil and fit snugly into the slight grooves he had carved out beforehand.
The bands added even more weight to either side of the staff, which was directly related to the impact of Silva's blows. And as a final step, Silva braided several strips of leather around the section he had filed down, creating a textured grip for him to hold.