Spring 18th, 513 AV- The Warfields
"That bloody giant..." Titus mumbled under his breath. His lance grasped tightly in his hand. He raised it up and slammed it into the ground. He shouted something unintelligent. "That bloody giant!" he shouted throwing his fist into a tree. The bark on the tree ripped at the skin on his fingers and blood trickled down his hand. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before reaching back towards his lance. "I need more training" he mumbled pulling the lance out of the ground and flipping it, to where the tip pointed at the sky. He turned his body, slashing the air with the lance, then he thrusted forward at the tree. The lance clashed against the trees bark ripping it off of the tree. He pulled the lance back again and thrusted it at the tree again, this time peircing the trunk. He pulled it back out and sighed. He looked at the tree utterly unsatisfied. He placed the lance on the ground and started to adjust his armor. After minutes of messing with the leather, he finally got it done. He picked up his lance and begain practicing with it, thrust, thrust, sweep, downward thrust and repeat.