It’s fine. I don’t mind you asking questions, but mayhap save them for when I take a break?
[ If only because the training dummies here fight back, and Arenvald would hate to get clocked because Connor distracted him. He can’t think of anything more embarrassing than that.
He goes through the motions a bit longer until he’s satisfied he’s not going to pull something, and then he moves over to one of the dummies. He gives it a tap on a wooden shoulder with his sword and the dummy springs to life. The blades the dummies wield are made for practice, dull and likely to bruise at worst, but made of metal nonetheless. The dummy moves to strike at him, and Arenvald brings up his own blade to block, steel singing against steel in the early morning quiet.
And so the dance goes. Whatever magic it is that powers the dummies makes them worthy foes, and it gives just as good as it gets. For Arenvald’s part, it becomes clear that despite his penchant for downplaying himself and his abilities, he’s quite good. The way he fights is practical and hard-hitting, but surprisingly fast as well. If pressed, Arenvald would admit that he’s cloven arrows from the air, but it’s not exactly something he advertises.
This goes on for a while, the two of them kicking up dust as they dance around one another, exchanging blows that are punctuated with grunts of effort or the sharp metallic sounds of blades glancing off of blades or the small buckler shield Arenvald wears on his arm. Apart from his shield, Arenvald didn’t opt for full armor today, and by the time he backs out of the training area to reset the dummy, he’s streaked with sweat, the cloth of his shirt clinging to him somewhat. With the dummy back in its proper place, he rejoins Connor on his bench, taking a deep draw from the water flask at his hip. ]
no subject
[ If only because the training dummies here fight back, and Arenvald would hate to get clocked because Connor distracted him. He can’t think of anything more embarrassing than that.
He goes through the motions a bit longer until he’s satisfied he’s not going to pull something, and then he moves over to one of the dummies. He gives it a tap on a wooden shoulder with his sword and the dummy springs to life. The blades the dummies wield are made for practice, dull and likely to bruise at worst, but made of metal nonetheless. The dummy moves to strike at him, and Arenvald brings up his own blade to block, steel singing against steel in the early morning quiet.
And so the dance goes. Whatever magic it is that powers the dummies makes them worthy foes, and it gives just as good as it gets. For Arenvald’s part, it becomes clear that despite his penchant for downplaying himself and his abilities, he’s quite good. The way he fights is practical and hard-hitting, but surprisingly fast as well. If pressed, Arenvald would admit that he’s cloven arrows from the air, but it’s not exactly something he advertises.
This goes on for a while, the two of them kicking up dust as they dance around one another, exchanging blows that are punctuated with grunts of effort or the sharp metallic sounds of blades glancing off of blades or the small buckler shield Arenvald wears on his arm. Apart from his shield, Arenvald didn’t opt for full armor today, and by the time he backs out of the training area to reset the dummy, he’s streaked with sweat, the cloth of his shirt clinging to him somewhat. With the dummy back in its proper place, he rejoins Connor on his bench, taking a deep draw from the water flask at his hip. ]