Some Exercise [Sapphire]

Raziel drove the sword into the dummy with distaste. She detested sword-fighting, mostly because her skills with it were limited. In other words, she sucked. Sure, she was able to make some lucky accidental hits from time to time (and she would say 'I meant to do that' to anyone who listened), but she just didn't feel comfortable with the blade. Truth be told, she would rather spend her time firing perfect bull's eyes in the archery section. But as much as she didn't want to admit it, the damn sword-fighting trainer had a point. She needed to be prepared in case she didn't have her preferred weapon at her disposal. Still, that didn't change the fact that it was quite irritating to train while she could see people half her age doing better with the sword than she was.

Well, not quite. Not everyone in the arena was younger than her, at least. It wasn't hard to miss the man practicing his moves on a group of poor dummies. As the dummy death toll rose at an alarming rate, Raziel found herself suspended in mid-slash. Her jaw dropped. She was impressed, obviously, but along with this came the tinge of jealousy that was slowly growing by the second. With her unbalanced sword and lousy sword-fighting skills, Raziel had never felt smaller in her life.

"How could you be that good?" Raziel accidentally blurted out. She bit her lip and cursed inwardly. Her tone could definitely pass as accusing but there was something else there. Longing. Raziel wanted to be that good too. "Ugh, don't mind me. Carry on."

Shaking her head, she swung her blade at the next dummy. In a single swipe, the dummy toppled over, its head rolling away like a deformed football. Raziel's eyes widened in shock. How the hell..? She had been aiming for the thing's arm.

Raziel's shoulders visibly sagged. "Practice, huh? Doesn't look like it's making any difference, really," she muttered darkly, hopefully not being loud enough for him to hear. She fixed the decapitated dummy with a thoughtful look. If only she were holding a bow instead of a sword...

"Let's spar," she declared, looking up with a determined gleam in her green eyes. Tightening her grip on the sword that wasn't even hers (Had the kids in the armory realized that they were missing one of their swords by now? she vaguely wondered), Raz continued, "Killing these things is doing nothing to help me improve. No better practice than sparring with someone who lives and breathes, right?"

She boldly met his gaze, readjusting the straps of her armor in the process. It was considerably light, her armor. The leather fit her figure snugly and it wasn't thick enough to stop the strongest of blows. The little security her armor offered hadn't put any dent in her spirit, however, and she remained cool and impassive while awaiting his reply. Had she realized that she was challenging someone who was undoubtedly a master swordsman? Apparently not.