8th Bell, 12th of Spring, 515AV
Orin squinted in the early morning sunlight. He’d gotten up early today and had decided that it had been far too long since he’d gotten a proper training session in. Although he did his best to make it to The Anthonius Fighter’s Pits every morning, lately he’d been slacking off. In all honesty, Orin doubted his skills as a warrior and had been too afraid to admit to himself that he was hopeless when it came to everything physical. Still, he’d promised that he’d have to at least give it a shot once every couple of days. After all, as with everything else in life Orin had to practice and learn before he’d be able to accomplish anything worthwhile. It just was taking Orin longer than he was comfortable with.
Still, with that attitude he’d never get anywhere so Orin resolutely turned to slog out onto the Pits. He’d start with a run as had become his habit. Breaking into a jog, Orin kept to the outside of the pits so he wouldn’t disturb the people training in the middle. It took him a full lap at a slower pace before he got up to a comfortable long distance speed. Of course, Orin couldn’t actually go fast for that long yet, so he only made it around two more times before stumbling to a halt. Ignoring the stitch in his side Orin paced in a circle until his breathing was back under his control.
When Orin was feeling more himself, he decided that today was the day he’d start to try and learn how to roll. Ser Kevith had somehow gotten wind that Orin had been trying a training routine and had taken a personal interest in it. Orin figured that the older man regretted not being able to fight anymore. Kevith probably saw overseeing Orin’s training as Kevith’s way of giving back. Or maybe Kevith just hated the idea of sending poorly or half trained people out to fight. Whatever the reason, Kevith had insisted Orin learned the combat rolls.
Taking out one of the dull practice daggers from the weapons racks, Orin found a relatively clear patch of ground, well out of the way of any combatants. Orin loosened his knees and prepared to launch himself forward. He’d been having trouble making the roll into one continuous motion. The steps intellectually made sense to him, but when Orin tried to complete it he failed miserably. Also, Orin could not keep hold of his dagger while rolling, which wasn’t very useful in an actual fight. So, Orin ran through the motions in his head. First, in an actual fall, land lightly on the feet and fall forward. Tuck the chin under to the chest and turn the head slightly. Roll to the opposite hip, and gather the feet so that at the end it’s possible to spring to one’s feet. It sounded simply but in practice it was significantly more difficult.
Sighing, Orin literally threw himself into it. Falling forward, Orin pressed his chin and his cheek into his right shoulder. He hit his left shoulder jarringly and continued with the momentum. Orin was focusing on not dropping his blade and this time he thankfully succeeded. Unfortunately, the rest of the maneuver went awry. Instead of gently rolling from the left shoulder to the right hip, Orin’s back slammed into the ground painfully. He groaned and simply lay there for a moment, supremely frustrated with his inability to conquer this simple movement. And Kevith had mentioned there was a backwards roll as well that Orin was going to learn. Orin didn’t want to even begin thinking about that. Pushing himself to his feet, Orin attempted a few more rolls but they all ended the same way, with Orin laid out on his back instead of springing nimbly to his feet. Orin was getting more and more annoyed with himself by the tick. Every time he tried this stupid forward roll it seemed to get worse not better. He was so focused and so angry that when someone came up behind Orin, he reacted instinctively instead of rationally. Orin whirled, throwing out his thankfully dull weapon in a wild slash behind him. Luckily, Orin came to his sense and pulled the blow at the last second before Orin did something he regretted.
