❝a man's gotta do...❞ {open; incomplete}
Characters: idkmywarlock & YOU!
Setting/Location: level iii - Training room
Date & Time: Day 25 & mid-morningish?
Warnings: None for the moment!
Summary: When you're a prince stuck on a strange caravan against your will, clearly training will make everything better.
There was something comforting about having the familiar weight of his sword in his hand once more. Not that Arthur hadn't kept it at his side at all times - but it had been exactly that. The weapon had remained at his side save for the few moments when he'd pulled it out, and even then, it hadn't resulted in any long term usage for it. If the reason behind that had been times of peace then he certainly wouldn't have been complaining. But it was because this strange and overwhelming place (with its strange magic that he'd been trying to comprehend for as long as he'd been here), was too much to take on with just his sword as much as it pained him to admit it.
Finding a training room inside the Caravan had been a stroke of luck, but a great one. It wasn't what he was accustomed to because for one, it was indoors and far more confining than the wide open training grounds he'd grown up with. But beggars couldn't be choosers and Arthur supposed this would be good enough to help him pass the time in between the stops the Caravan took.
Which was how he found himself sword in hand, dressed in the lightest pair of clothing he'd been able to find, and positioned in a starting stance. The prince let his eyes close as he breathed in and tightened his grip on the hilt. With the fluidity that came only after years and years of constant practice, he began to move -- first forward, then circling towards the right, jabbing and slicing the air as he moved.
Setting/Location: level iii - Training room
Date & Time: Day 25 & mid-morningish?
Warnings: None for the moment!
Summary: When you're a prince stuck on a strange caravan against your will, clearly training will make everything better.
There was something comforting about having the familiar weight of his sword in his hand once more. Not that Arthur hadn't kept it at his side at all times - but it had been exactly that. The weapon had remained at his side save for the few moments when he'd pulled it out, and even then, it hadn't resulted in any long term usage for it. If the reason behind that had been times of peace then he certainly wouldn't have been complaining. But it was because this strange and overwhelming place (with its strange magic that he'd been trying to comprehend for as long as he'd been here), was too much to take on with just his sword as much as it pained him to admit it.
Finding a training room inside the Caravan had been a stroke of luck, but a great one. It wasn't what he was accustomed to because for one, it was indoors and far more confining than the wide open training grounds he'd grown up with. But beggars couldn't be choosers and Arthur supposed this would be good enough to help him pass the time in between the stops the Caravan took.
Which was how he found himself sword in hand, dressed in the lightest pair of clothing he'd been able to find, and positioned in a starting stance. The prince let his eyes close as he breathed in and tightened his grip on the hilt. With the fluidity that came only after years and years of constant practice, he began to move -- first forward, then circling towards the right, jabbing and slicing the air as he moved.