He reaches over to flick Khadgar’s ear.
“Oh, now you’re an old man? Deaf as well as wise?” He laughs, and turns away to another rack, which holds stacks of wooden training swords. These are the first weapon a recruit holds, until they’re judged competent enough to kill each other with something pointier. They’re blunt, lighter than a sword – intended purely for teaching forms. He grasps one, tosses it to Khadgar without much warning.
“Here.”
Grasping one for himself, too – adjusting his grip, swinging it neatly around in his hand once or twice to adjust to his weight. “You never know when you might need to fight a man with more traditional methods than you’re used to.
Khadgar only makes a face at Lothar’s words, swatting his palm away as he
makes it, but only manages to hit air as Lothar turns away. Again, it’s all in
teasing, and Khadgar isn’t truly angered by the words of the older man. It
was actually somewhat comforting that Lothar himself was comfortable
enough with Khadgar to act this way.
His palms jumble as a frown creases his forehead and his lips after safely
catching the tossed sword. It’s a blunt sword, but that doesn’t make it any
less dangerous. “That could’ve hit me, you know,” he informs, although he’s
sure Lothar knows better. Still, that doesn’t make it any less frustrating. As
he glances towards the blade, then back to Lothar, he finds himself feeling
slightly uneasy about the situation. He’s never trained with a blade before,
that much is obvious.
