(no subject)
Muse name: Damien Dresden
Muse fandom: Dresden Files (Novel) OC
Timeline prompt is written in: Age 21
Prompt: Broken
Warnings: Mild Violence in a sparring situation.
Rating: PG
Words: 376
Practice swords come in a variety of shapes and sizes. They make them out of foam and rubber, but my teacher likes to use ones that are made out of oak. The ones we practice with have a blade length of thirty-four inches, with tapered blade thats roughly an inch thick.
Donald Morgan, the man across from me with his sword at the ready, is about eighty years old. You'd never know it though, the man looks like he'd fit in with a crowd of forty year olds and he's in better shape then I am. He's a good three or four inches taller then me, with wider shoulders and a heavy chest. His hair is a long and grayish brown, pulled into a ponytail. Morgan's eyes are the color of well polished steel.
Those eyes are staring at me intensely, if not a tad angry ...
... and I still can't bring myself to focus. I'd done alright at the beginning of the lesson, but the more time that had passed, the harder it was to concentrate.
Most of swordplay is in the footwork. When one steps in the other steps back. If I step to the side, he steps with me. It's like a deadly dance. Morgan comes at me again. We dance. My feet are faster, but as I've said, I'm not focused and it isn't long before I've made the first misstep.
He takes a knifing step in and swings the waster hard at my head. The wood makes a whistling sound as it whips through the air and then a loud crack when my own sword is raised to block it.
Morgan throws a sweeping kick at my off balance legs and in the blink of an eye, I'm on my back staring up at him with his oak sword pressed at my throat.
He kicks the waster out of my hand. "You aren't focused Dresden and your wasting my time." He horse voice says through gritted teeth.
He lifts the sword and strikes me hard in the side. Pain screamed in my ribs and I can tell right away they're broken. I curl into the fetal position reflexively.
"Don't come back till your ready to devote yourself to the lessons."
Muse fandom: Dresden Files (Novel) OC
Timeline prompt is written in: Age 21
Prompt: Broken
Warnings: Mild Violence in a sparring situation.
Rating: PG
Words: 376
Practice swords come in a variety of shapes and sizes. They make them out of foam and rubber, but my teacher likes to use ones that are made out of oak. The ones we practice with have a blade length of thirty-four inches, with tapered blade thats roughly an inch thick.
Donald Morgan, the man across from me with his sword at the ready, is about eighty years old. You'd never know it though, the man looks like he'd fit in with a crowd of forty year olds and he's in better shape then I am. He's a good three or four inches taller then me, with wider shoulders and a heavy chest. His hair is a long and grayish brown, pulled into a ponytail. Morgan's eyes are the color of well polished steel.
Those eyes are staring at me intensely, if not a tad angry ...
... and I still can't bring myself to focus. I'd done alright at the beginning of the lesson, but the more time that had passed, the harder it was to concentrate.
Most of swordplay is in the footwork. When one steps in the other steps back. If I step to the side, he steps with me. It's like a deadly dance. Morgan comes at me again. We dance. My feet are faster, but as I've said, I'm not focused and it isn't long before I've made the first misstep.
He takes a knifing step in and swings the waster hard at my head. The wood makes a whistling sound as it whips through the air and then a loud crack when my own sword is raised to block it.
Morgan throws a sweeping kick at my off balance legs and in the blink of an eye, I'm on my back staring up at him with his oak sword pressed at my throat.
He kicks the waster out of my hand. "You aren't focused Dresden and your wasting my time." He horse voice says through gritted teeth.
He lifts the sword and strikes me hard in the side. Pain screamed in my ribs and I can tell right away they're broken. I curl into the fetal position reflexively.
"Don't come back till your ready to devote yourself to the lessons."