Joshua Garred, Silver Leaves Bastion
“Keep those hands up.” His vision blurred in and out of focus, the ringing in his ears almost drowning out the thunderous bellowing of his sparring partner. The greying veteran threw a punch the burlier, but obviously outmatched, brawler just couldn’t stop. Joshua sprawled on the ground, coughing in an astute pain he couldn’t quite describe, mostly because he couldn’t actually breathe.
“Not too bad kid, but you fight like a tavern brawler and it shows, you’re too easy to read, keep practicing, you’ve got the muscle at least.” The instructor made to walk away, dropping his guard as he moved over to some other youngling he wished to bestow martial wisdom upon.
“Cheers, I think.” Joshua grunted finally, throwing one huge fist into the ground and pushing himself up, definition rippling over the body one would guess belonged to a serious labourer, or a particularly beefy soldier. As sweat ran down his six and a half foot frame, and he wiped a hand through short military-styled hair, not many would see a priest. Then again, Joshua was a priest in theory only, as if his position in a mercenary guild wasn’t enough to suggest that already.
He rolled his shoulders, and cracked his neck, sighing as he walked away from the training grounds in the Courtyard of the castle, making a beeline for his barracks in town. Bloody early-morning training sessions… he’d left the priest-hood to get away from regime, and here he was, this was practically the military! Then again, he summarised it was the discipline that made the Silver Leaves as good as they were, and he wanted to be a part of the best.
Leaving through the well-guarded gates of the castle with far less hassle (due to the far more lenient nature of guards when it came to letting people out again.) he breathed in the fresh morning air, admiring a clean and crisp day for all of five seconds before his mind flittered to more appealing subjects then the natural beauty of the world. There was at least three hours to kill until his next sparring session, followed by a long and incredibly boring set of lessons on the art of warfare and other topics the Silver Leaves deemed it useful for their recruits to know. At least he wouldn’t be required in the medical hall today, using his gift tended to be thrice as exhausting as swinging a club around for a couple of hours.
His stay in the barracks was short and sweet, donning a course tunic after a quick rinse with water to cleanse himself of the sweat and discomfort of sparring. He considered healing the bruises already beginning to form on his side and arms, but he knew somehow that the injuries were a test in themselves, and he might not be able to heal his wounds in the coming years. Better to learn to deal with the pain now, so he grinned and bared it so to speak, swaggering into town with the air of a man overly confident in his own abilities, first a quick foray through the plaza to be followed by a brief stay at the Grilled Goose, he fancied some breakfast.
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