#ibros

Ese alguien que se  impregna en el alma.

Eres todo lo que deseo pero que es prohibido tener.

Metal accoutrement’s made for battle and leather fittinga crafted for heavy movement were littered about the cave floor. Perhaps he was being a overly prepared, he realized after dumping the second wheel barrel of a dizzying mixture of war and safety material. Inguk had dug a tunnel into an unclaimed section of a cliffside only to find himself in a very wide opening. It had flat levels of rock and natural sun roof openings beaming light onto the battlefield. Perfect for an off-the-clock freelance fighting session. 

Inguk had become acquainted with a student with incredible abilities and the drive to become even more- or at least more accurate, from the sounds of it. So after a small conversation, and being the “ever-helpful” bot he was, Inguk offered his mentoring services (and obviously fireproof metal butt) to let the man practice.

“Alrighty, kid. Come at me with whatever ya’ wanna practice most.” Sure, Inguk was getting on in years and didn’t have any mystical abilities but that didn’t mean he didn’t pack a punch. “Remember, repetition is key.” He could hold his own plus some in any fight unless dark or very strong elven magic was involved. Besides, he was excited to be more physically active. Lord knows his joints needed some lubrication (don’t take that out of context).

Then again, as the first “attack” started, he had to wonder whether he underestimated the student’s abilities. His arm came up to block automatically, low-key surprising himself with his own reflexes. “That’s how ya’ wanna start?”