Louis' three charges drew their swords as walked the few paces to the center of the room. Compared with his own, their grips were tremendously awkward, and less sure. The minstrel could plainly see why they felt they were in need of training.

The two men, obviously bashful about their lack of skill, turned their backs on each other, and began making short swinging motions, the arcs of which they confined to the space where, if one were to watch them from behind, their bodies would block the view of their sword and its motion. Only the sounds of the blades slicing through the air hinted to Louis that they were actually moving their swords or arms at all.

The woman just turned the pommel of her sword over and over in her hand, giggling and fawning over it like a schoolgirl. She held it up to see the blade catch the light, and accidentally knocked herself on the forehead. Louis had to caution her before she performed the act a second time.

These three are like children, he observed. He spat thoughtfully on the floor and sighed. They're pathetic. They've squandered all their time prior to this on buying needlessly ornate swords, instead of settling for a duller one with which to learn the basics. What a wasted effort coming here was.

When the bard glanced up again from his boots, he took notice of a ponytailed man in peculiar attire gesturing towards him. Beside him was the redhead with the remarkably large sword that he had seen not long before.

"That man," said the ponytailed swordsman to the redhead, "that man will be your opponent. Simply by the way he carries himself, one can see he is an adept swordsman."

Just from that you can tell, eh? Louis thought, furrowing his brow. He called back to the strangely dressed man, "Opponent for what, may I ask?"

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