Xalet's day often began with either a letter specifying his routine, or a meeting with his Patron in person to describe to him his training. Recently he had become involved with the training ground above the castle, a place meant to polish ones tactics, footwork, and combat maneuvers. His Patron often felt it necessary to precede practical combat training with heavy conditioning of the body, thus most of the time Xalet was working doing what appeared to be manual labor or some strange workout ritual.
| Squire Xalet, I've decided that my squire should have a break now and again. I've prepared these caravan wheels for you. With the rope through them you can do sprints about the walls to build up your leg strength further. Combat requires a strong base, as well as explosive movements despite encumbering armor. Do wear your armor. Good luck. |
Caravan wheels, that was different. Xalet had slowly begun learning not to like 'different'. Different often meant painful. Indeed, Sergeant Braklin had prepared two large wooden tires with metal reinforcing, and through the spokes was a large length of rope, knotted in two portions with which to grip. "I'm supposed to run with these?" He would have asked himself, 'is she serious?' but of course she was. Irine Braklin was not one for deception, and was so very personable. It was for that reason that he continued his training with her. She reminded him and many others so much of someone. Enough to gain her a nickname in the Goddess Priskil's honor.
Donning his platemail he strapped his shield across his back, and affixed his training sword to his side. Lifting the ropes over his shoulders and gripping the knots within each hand, he began making his way outside of the cities walls. Strange looks from the guards were common, considering the various items he brought just outside the cities gates with him. Taking a deep breath he began to dig his feet into the ground and sprint, causing gouges in the dirt from the pressure of his feet, and the weight of the wheels.
