War Training (Open)

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Beowulf was training. As much as he hated training, he was doing it because a war was coming and if he was going to lead Astrid in this war then he had better be prepared for everything that could possibly happen. He was wearing all of his armor to help him train, because the added weight was good. He’d even put on some of his winter skins just to have the added weight. It would make him work harder and the results would be better. He would be better prepared for battle.

He had been attacking the practice dummies for a good hour by down and he was sweating and tired, but he wasn’t giving up. In battle he couldn’t just give up because he was tired. These dummies had become tireless enemies that were intent on the young Viking’s demise. Well, Beowulf was a Viking and if he was going to die, he was going to die on the battle field.

With a war cry he leapt at the dummies, his axe flying, attacking the dummies one by one until all of them were lying on the ground. Only then did Beowulf pause. As he looked down at the dummies, lying around him he wiped the sweat off his forehead, throwing his axe down. Then he began to pick the dummies up again, readying again to fight.

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Henry had wandered over to the practice yards to get in some time with his rapier. He was actually, he thought, reaching a point where he might be vaguely useful with it. He'd paused, though, when he saw the guy with the axe taking it out on a bunch of dummies.

"Let me guess," he said, stepping inside when the guy paused to clean up. "Viking?" He grabbed a loose arm and carried it over. "If the axe didn't tip it, the rage-mask definitely does."

He extended the arm of the dummy. "My name is Henry. Mind if I practice here?" He jerked with his free hand over his shoulder, pointing toward the rack of thin swords. They were really the only type of weapon he had properly trained with, much as he might admire the giant double-headed axes.

"I have a friend who knows how to swing one of those," he said. "Always thought it would be cool. But don't you get tired?"

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Beowulf turned at the sound of the voice. It was a boy that he recognized but didn’t know. And he was talking. To him. The Viking Prince grunted in acknowledgment of the Viking comment. Of course he was a Viking. Who else primarily used a battle axe as their weapon of choice? It was a better weapon than a sword. It was much fiercer and much more dangerous, which was exactly what a Viking should be.

He looked at Henry as he introduced himself. “Beowulf,” he said shortly in response, continuing to put the dummies back into position. He didn’t care about this Henry kid, whoever he was. “I don’t care,” he commented. Beowulf was too focused on his own training to care about anyone else’s training. As long as the kid didn’t get in his way and would shut up, then they wouldn’t have a problem.

Beowulf sent Henry a glare when he mentioned Astrid. It had to be Astrid because she was the only other Viking here at this school that wasn’t a god. “Yes,” he replied bluntly. “That’s why you train.” Then he noticed the flimsy little weapon that Henry held. “You’ll never be able to kill anything with that. Get a real weapon.”