Morning, 76th of Fall, 511av
Antar woke up as he usually did, tending to the camp chores, hauling the buckets of water to fill the water barrel. Then a brief meal from the stores, before everyone left about their business. Today he didn't have to be at the Carver Brother's till noon, it was going to be a slow work day spent in the shop making combs again. A task he had become quite efficient at over the past season so he thought he could probably get it done fast enough to return to camp in time for a good night's sleep.
So this morning, in the dawn's light the rogue had set up several targets as well as his array of throwing knives and hatchets. He had a dull hatchet here to sharpen and it was quick work to complete with the whetstone, he'd find time to etch it later with acid somehow. Probably at work. But for now, he had targets set up at about ten, twenty and thirty feet from him, and at his feet resting on a small blanket was a number of sharp objects laid out in front of him.
The newly sharpened hatchet, the series of throwing knives, and the kukri.
Slightly behind him, Antar had rigged a training post up from a log he had cut and dragged back in the wagon before. It was a target range setup in front of a heavy brick wall of one of the many dilapidated structures in the slums, and it would suffice. Turning to where one of the newest members of camp was staying, Antar's voice would cry out to wake a sleeping cat, "Nil, Nil! Wake up, Nil! It's time for practice!"