The Art of War

As Bramble begins to mimic the maneuver he had demonstrated to her, Artorias watched his daughter's form, keen eyes analyzing the movements of her paws as she began the simple sideways strafing he had shown her. Bramble was a large wolf, much like himself, but she also had her mother's lithe form and grace. She stumbled a couple of times, but Artorias never once interrupted her, allowing Bramble to correct herself on the fly as she went, nodding his approval. "Good, keep going just like that," he instructed Bramble when she sought his feedback. A proud smile touches the corners of his lips when he catches the happy waggle of his daughter's tail behind her. "The more you practice, the more natural the movements will feel to you. Trust your paws, don't think about anything other than a smooth and even landing."

After a few more repetitions of the action, Artorias nodded his approval at the progress Bramble was making. "You're doing well, sweetheart! Now let's amplify things a bit." With a bit of a cheeky grin on his face, Art turned and stepped outside of the training ring to fetch the surprise he had in store. He returned a moment later with a quarterstaff in his jaws, little more than a solid oak pole used for sparring purposes. "Keep up those maneuvers and dodge my strikes. Use sidesteps and jumps to keep yourself from getting whacked," he instructed Bramble, giving a whap of the stick against the dirt and kicking up a bit of dust. The staff was far from lethal, but it might leave a bit of a sting if it made contact too hard. Artorias was not aiming to injure his daughter, just give her something to try and dodge. After giving Bramble a few moments to process his instructions, Artorias thrust the staff forward, aiming to jab the blunted staff into Bramble's chest if she didn't manage to dodge fast enough.

"Artorias Carpathius" | "Carpathian" | "Corbin" | "Eira" | "Argent"