Open [Canopy Training arena]Sticks and Stumps

[Zantair]

Spring, 25, 513AV Zan entered into thee arena, eyeing down the real reason he was here. He was not looking for friends or allies, nor searching for a sparring partner. He walked past the few Akalaks and the respective trainers fighting in unarmed combat, striking with all the force of a blunt weapon, trying to gain the upper hand in a constant duel, his steps thumped across the path until he reached the destination, the perfect spot he wanted to train. Zantair slowed to a stop, passing a fairly determined, but lacking Archer before placing himself in front of a new target. A small tink could be heard as his throwing daggers clonked together uncerimoniously onto the floor, before his hand reached to grab the first one. He breathed in, setting his sights onto the target's center, using a hammer grip, the most basic of grips and by far the easiest to strike a hit with. Zatair balanced himself taking a step forward and swung his arm forward at just a slight angle, flicking his wrist at the last moment, propelling the blade forward with as much force as he could. The blade spun, it's light weight allowing it to make the momentum much quicker than would otherwise be possible. and with a soft thump and then a clang, the blade bounced, the hilt hit the target rather than the blade and clanged to the ground. Zantair winced, a frown forming as he mentally chastised himself for failing to hit already. He vented out a huff, picking up a second blade and gripping it in the same grip as before, he pulled his arm back and threw the second one in a simalar way, releasing it from his hand at a slightly earlier point. The blade hit sliding through the top end of the target barely catching it, with only an inch from missing entirely. A small amount of excitement boiled in him, followed by a bit of disappointment and then a revelation of calm as he processed his thoughts. He picked up and tossed his third dagger at the target, watching hit just to the right and lower to where the previous one connected. It is odd, how accuracy seems to entirely depend on how many times you have thrown something at an object, He thought. It wasn't often he came out to throw his daggers around, he often found that he was rarely stressed, as excitement and an exuding happiness tended to push out darker thoughts, whether this was over finding another foraging animal's stash of food, or something else entirely. He threw a fourth dagger, but it landed flat against the target, merely dropping itself to the floor without much more than a soft thump as hilt hit the floor before blade. He made a huff and chucked a fifth and final blade in the target's direction, watching it slide only a small distance from the center ring, He smiled and almost skipped to the target to withdraw his weapons, letting the joy of a good throw destroy whatever had bothered him the past few days.

[Zantair]

Thunk!

Zantair's grip began to grow hard upon the second blade. Twisting into a pinch grip, one finger extended to prevent the blade from turning as it was thrown, the blade released, blurring as it did so until he hit the target once more, piercing the target like it was nothing more than the fleshy exterior of some unknown creature.

Zantair frowned, he was disconcerted by the Termites that had been recently destroying the city, if he could call it that. It worried him every year, despite the fact that he knew, or at least, he assumed that everything would be alright. He just felt it was very strange to be facing so many challenges in such a short lifetime. It irked him how the jamoura were able to constantly face these sort of problems throughout a year, let alone for their entire lifetime. Zantair once again chucked a blade, letting it twist in his hand as he did so, he scrunched up his face in disgust as it bounced off the target, rebounding and flying back at him with a little more agression, but a little less precise accuracy as it fell to the floor by his feet.

He picked it up and chucked it once more, letting the tension drain as the blade collided with the target, pinning itself deep into the target's imaginary flesh. He stepped back admiring is own ability, before walking to his target and picking up the blades. He turned and made his way to the training weapons, picking out a wooden dagger, he had always admired those who could strike with blades up close, and after turning the wooden blade over for a small while, decided it best to experiment.

He made his way to a dummy, and after feeling that he has a decent grip on the blade, swung at the inanimate object, the dagger bouncing from wood against wood, causing a shock to vibrate against his skin. His hand lost grip and dropped the blade and he held his arm as the shock slowly dissipated and allowed him to once more pick up the blade, albeit this time much more differently, he tentatively struck the dummy as if only lightly scratching the surface skin of a body and, feeling silly, stopped and stared at the dummy.

[Banir Ironwood]

With heavy foot falls that clinked under cold iron armour. A young man shrouded by a hood and white scarf entered into the Training Grounds. Standing at a full six foot and weighing in at two hundred and sixty nine pounds of muscle. Clad in a dirty green coat adorned with two shoulder guards, armour on his right arm ending in a clawed gauntlet. And greaves adorning over his boots he thumped his way onto the grounds. With two eye's of a yellowish orange surrounded in a ring of red gazing out from beneath his hood and above his scarf. Banir took in the sight of the grounds. Rarely did he really come here, preferring the yard on the forest floor to practice his skills. While the grounds had weapons, dummies, and even other opponents. The yard had a more natural feel to him, and provided a more likely situation. Of being out in the forest where you had too understand your footing on uneven ground. Forcing you to understand your surroundings and how best to take the advantage. Still the grounds did have those dummies he liked to beat on.

With this in mind Banir Ironwood had set out, and now he had arrived. Though what graced his eyes almost forced a chuckle from the young man and turned his eyes a deeper and stronger yellow. A man, short and a little rounded at that. Was swinging a bit of wood around like a child, he hadn't seen before his mild skill with throwing blades. So his impression was quickly coloured that whoever this man was, he had no idea what he was doing. Shaking his head he figured he may as well offer a hand to the poor man. Marching over he stifled his laughter and let his eyes return to their previous yellowish orange colour, rimmed with that ring of powerful red. His mixed blood of Vantha and Isur not fully apparent. Beyond his impressive physic and changing eyes at least. Banir prepared his throat for a possibly long conversation with someone who he was a little surprised knew which end to hold. Though he wasn't much better, he was at least knowledgeable in how to use a weapon.

His voice was graveled and rough, though a vast improvement since his visit to the healers. "Pardon me, but you seem to be, having some difficulty with, handling your blade. If you want I may, be able to show you, a few things on how to, use that a little more, effectively. My name is Banir Ironwood, its nice to meet you." He took a bit of a breath afterward, for the most part Banir was no longer shy about talking to someone one on one. And thankfully beyond himself and the man before him there was no other in sight. While Banir was no expert in conversation or weapons. He had taught another several pointers in how to fight with a blade. It was a good spar, though from the looks of the man. It may be best to show him some extreme basics before doing anything like a sparing match. As he examined the man something familiar was about him. Though he suspected it as nothing and focused on the man, awaiting his reply.