Timestamp: 3rd-9th of Winter, 520 A.V.
Bandin was doing his best. He really was, but the tall akalak was all but floating with his every movement. Artimal was well over seven feet tall, average for an Akalak and something that Bandin was only just beginning to get used to. This was the third time they'd dueled. Day three proved to be no more inspiring than one day one--Bandin just couldn't keep up.
The Kendoka Sasaran was the hub of armed combat training in Riverfall. The smith had come to learn, come to train his skills and to try and give himself an edge over where he was currently at. Most of all, he wanted to improve his connection to his glaive.
It was not his weapon that he currently held, however, rather his djed was flowing into an akalak-crafted practice glaive. He was getting the feel for the item. It had a little bit more personality than most run of the mill pieces of equipment.
He was still having trouble picking up on the specific histories of weapons; in fact, doing so was still beyond him, but he could almost feel the nature of a weapon, sometimes, which was close enough for the moment--as it was progress.
This particular practice glaive gave off an air of duty and aged use. He could smell and feel the wood as his djed fed through its length and back into him. It was distinctly tied to the same smell of the plains and that of the very same practice hall they were now in. Bandin could almost imagine himself outside the city, all over again, as he had been before arriving to the city some weeks ago. He also felt more grounded in the training environment, as if it was more familiar to him than it should've been, as he tapped into the weapon's familiarity with it.
Of course, his magic still did little to actually aid him in the use of his weapon of choice. He felt like it should, but he had yet to have the breakthrough he was looking for.
Meanwhile, Artimal was making him look slow, weak, and unskilled. Again.
The green-hued warrior simply appeared to slide across the ground. Every movement, every motion was done with an ease that bellied a much greater hidden strength. And, when Bandin tried to get close, when he though he might almost be ready to land a hit:
He swung the practice glaive, meaning to impact the thigh of the big, graceful akalak. He barely had time to catch himself as the man's bow staff slammed into his own shinbone.
Bandin was swept from his feet and hit the mat hard. Only a little air was left in his lungs.
"You broke fell that time," Artimal said. "Good."
It was one of the first corrections the akalak had given him: how to fall properly. For all the bruises, for whatever reason, the warrior was teaching him. Every day he'd find Bandin within the training house and every day he'd prove his almost supernatural grace.
"Now come again."
This time, the smith didn't. He'd done so every other time in the past days when prompted, but this time he hesitated.
Artimal seemed disappointed. He almost turned away, as if all of a sudden giving up on the human man and foreigner, just like that.
"How do you do that?" Bandin asked what he'd been meaning to for quite some time.
Artimal paused. "You're not ready to know that. Your body can become stronger on its own first."
Bandin made to stand. "Explain the concept then."
Artimal spun his bow staff. "When you're ready. If you ever become so."
Word Count: 614 Words