Here we go once again. Had some talking heads last time, luckily there won’t be as much speech in this one. Maybe. Probably not.
Mitchell exited the guild by the back door. He had reluctantly accepted Nigel’s offer, and was told to ‘meet us out back in five, we’ll set some shit up for ya.’ Andrea had warned him about the the folks he’d be training with. ‘They probably won’t pull anything funny, but stay on your toes anyway.’
‘Exactly on time for the introductions.’ one of the group’s members said as he saw Mitchell come out. ‘Roy’s the name.’ He was leaning on the hilt of a broad, heavy-looking sword, not too long and seemingly stuck in the ground. Another person was standing near it. He didn’t have a sword with him, but had two medium-sized push daggers sheathed and on his belt. ‘Marius.’ he introduced, but didn’t make any direct eye contact.
‘Here,’ Nigel opened his arms, ‘is the training grounds.’
Mitchell looked around. He hadn’t expected such a wide, open area behind the guild, considering how packed the rest of the city was. A wide variety of dummies and other training tools were places around. In the distance, at the end of the area, Mitchell could make out something that looked like an arena of sorts.
‘We brought you some sick blades, give ’em a try!’ Nigel guided Mitchell over to a table. There were a bunch of swords stalled out, some very generic, others looked pretty unique. Most of them were very heavy ones. Zweihänders, longswords, and even some axe-like swords. The odd-one-out amongst them caught Mitchell’s attention. It was a smallsword. Extremely small, thin, sharp tip. He picked it up in one hand with relative ease.
‘Didn’t know we still had that crap, sorry.’ Nigel apologized, scratching the back of his head.
‘No, I…’ Mitchell tightened his grip on the hilt, and held the sword out in front of him. ‘I kind of like it!’
‘Wha? That toothpick? Hah.’
A bit later, they were stood in front of a straw dummy. ‘Watch and do, boyo.’ Nigel took his sword out of its sheath. Its blade was thick and had ridges on both sides.
Mitchell noticed this, and wondered what it was about. ‘What’s wrong with your sword?’
‘Huh?’ Nigel looked at it. ‘None wrong with it. Tis supposed to be that way, flame-bladed. Rough, painful, and rips shit to pieces!’
‘You mean like your personality?’ Roy chuckled.
A drop of spit flew in his general direction. ‘Ain’t nobody askin’ for yo jokes.’ Nigel retorted. ‘As was sayin’, watch and do boyo.’
Am I doing well? Is Nigel’s speech okay (annoying enough, while still being readable)? Be harsh! (Next.)