WHO: Fenris, Jone, & YOU. WHAT: Fenris & Jone are back in Kirkwall. WHEN: When... people... are back in Kirkwall... waves hand. WHERE: KIRKWALL NOTES: None yet.
The daily morning training continues, and although Benedict is no natural fighter, he is certainly trying.
He has the good sense to cast a barrier now before attempting any other magic, and his stances have improved by virtue of repetition, and he even seems rather more confident in deflecting Jone's blows with his wooden staff.
It's during one such early session that he's particularly on his game, bright-eyed and intent on landing a blow, however superficial. It is completely possible, if not probable, that he is actually coming to find this enjoyable.
Jone lets the blow land, but counterattacks; her free arm wraps around it, holding it in place. Always be careful when you're going against an up-close fighter.
"Ow--" It doesn't actually hurt that much, the ear flick, it's just unexpected and throws Benedict off. This is the first time they've tried the question game, so he's scrambling to get his head where it belongs while also making sure he doesn't get killed by his own dumb feet; he successfully, if quite clumsily, evades the strike while shooting back, "the Silk Merchants' Guild--!"
"Better!" She gives him some space, wondering if the lad's yet noticed how she's stronger when she's close up, and how her style benefits from counterattacks. Another, more silent test. She holds her staff at the ready, so he may attack as he chooses.
Though he gives a little twitch as though to lunge forward, Bene meets Jone's eyes and stops himself, shoulders tensing. He's not going to take the bait, but glances from her poleaxe to her face, nervously anticipating a surprise.
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He has the good sense to cast a barrier now before attempting any other magic, and his stances have improved by virtue of repetition, and he even seems rather more confident in deflecting Jone's blows with his wooden staff.
It's during one such early session that he's particularly on his game, bright-eyed and intent on landing a blow, however superficial. It is completely possible, if not probable, that he is actually coming to find this enjoyable.
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Rapid fire, she asks, "where were you born?"
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"Minrathou-- shit," Benedict stammers, quickly amending his answer to "Qarinus."
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"Who do you work for?"
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It doesn't actually hurt that much, the ear flick, it's just unexpected and throws Benedict off. This is the first time they've tried the question game, so he's scrambling to get his head where it belongs while also making sure he doesn't get killed by his own dumb feet; he successfully, if quite clumsily, evades the strike while shooting back, "the Silk Merchants' Guild--!"
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