7th Searing, 121 Steel
As the training salles at the Onneifer Airfield barracks were closed for maintenance, the airmen had been given leave to train at Fort Cathevelle until they were open again. Though it wasn't far, many of his fellow airmen took that as a sign that they ought to take a vacation from training, Angevin held himself to a strict regimen. Thus, he was one of the few airmen at the Fort that day. Some soldiers only trained when it was required of them, but not this one. Perhaps it was because he found it so difficult to put on much in the way of muscle, he fought for every ounce of it he could. More often than not, when he saw violence, it was from a distance and down the barrel of his gun. But when an enemy got close enough he had to draw his sword, it meant that things were quite serious and so his late line of defense had to be prepared.
His saber was standard issue for a man of his rank. He had only been a Commander for a week now, but he felt he had enough of a handle on the weight of his new sword that he had strapped weights to it in order to make the exercise count. He went through a drill of forms at half-pace just to remind his muscles of what he wanted from them, and then he switched hands and tried it on the other side. While not ambidextrous, he didn't want to be entirely useless if his sword arm was injured and he had to defend himself all the same. Mages and other monsters wouldn't go easy on him if he was injured; they would go in for the kill.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a pair of officers quit one of the private rooms and he made his way over to see if he couldn't snag it for himself for a little while, at least.
