Destin continued to train with his sword, hacking away at the wooden man in front of him. His blows were crushing, yet methodical. The man was almost in a trance as the dummy became more and more damaged, unable to stand the heat of the blows. Still, he paid enough attention to the passers by. Glancing at both the entrance and the lord's seat periodically, he saw many men come through and only a single additional woman. The first that had passed was a fiery youth, if judging by their red hair that is. A well-built man, but prideful if he carried that hammer as a serious weapon. While he certainly had the build for it, a weapon like that is impractical in even a minotaur's hands. But Destin should not judge on pride, this man was clearly a Tyreni like himself. Of course they would be proud of the weapons they wield, that rings true for every honest Tyreni.

The one to come after that was the female, but she looked much too youthful and frail to be here. Not to mention the deplorable state of her garments. The only thing that he could imagine her being is a mage, and a fire one judging from the scorch marks on her clothes. He could not deduce more, but would question why anyone would willingly scorch their own articles of clothing. The woman joined the rest of the current applicants at the table, sharing in the merriment going on over there. Destin felt disappointed at being the only one keeping both mind and body sharp; did the Tyreni that joined them not realize how important it was to train when the moment presents itself?

The last to join their little court was a scrawny man, clothes much too fine for the face that matched it. Destin briefly paused the swinging of his claymore to observe his actions, seeing them pour a goblet full of wine. The man continued on to present it to the lord. Was he not sound of mind? If the lord wished to indulge in his own refreshments, he would have done so. The man was also slim, without much muscle. Another mage, or something else entirely? He [i]was[/i] armed to the teeth, but Destin did not see how one could win a fair fight without physical or magical prowess. Even that crossbow did not convince him, as the enemy would surely reach the man before he could ready his next bolt.

The man predictably joined the others at the table for refreshments. Destin furrowed his brow and picked up his blade again, giving one final swing to the dummy before it broke off and hit the floor with a thud. This one was no more good, but Destin did not feel the need to train further. As opposed to those lazily lounging along the table, he was covered with sweat after the repeated blows on the target. He needed a break but was unwilling to join the others at the table. The man was not hungry nor was he thirsty, even after a small training session. It did not seem like he needed to, either, as their host spoke up and gripped everyone's attention.

[color=fff79a]"Might I have your attentions, please?"[/color]