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Glory's aftermath

#1
Two days had passed since Feran had completed his two weeks of service in Darkshire's guard. Two days since he had faced down that horrific amalgamation of flesh. Two days since Sergeant Wells had given his life in service to Darkshire and it's people. The wolfhound was in the training grounds of the barracks, facing off against two fellow soldiers. He'd made a point of getting back into training the day after he had woken up in the medical bay. Although, he found his opponents to be lacking for the most part. While they were skilled, as skilled as he was, in fact, none of them could match his speed or strength, and it showed. The fact that he was rather comfortably fending off two attackers at once was honestly surprising to the beastkin. In life he would have struggled to take on two fellow members of the warband, but that was before he had been gifted the power he now wielded, before he had been granted the limitless potential of a prime. He had to told back a fair amount, all too aware of the fact that a single strike from him at full strength could kill them both rather easily, even if he just used his fists. 

"Come on, hound" One of the men yelled before going to strike Feran's shoulder. The wolfhound dashed just out of reach of his blade, before bringing his blade round and into the soldier's thigh with enough force that he definitely could have felt it, but not enough to cause damage. He was using the flat of the blade, anyway. 

"Stop holding back, we can tell you're not giving it your all" 

Feran let out a small chuckle, before parrying a strike from the other soldier he was fighting. 

"If I didn't hold back I'd kill you both." 

"Bullshit" The second soldier spat before feinting low, bringing his blade around and into Feran's shoulder at the last second. To anyone who was watching, it would have been obvious that the motion was one the man had practised many times. It was fluid, and elegant. "Just because you're a fuckin' prime, doesn't mean you're inherently that much better than us" 

A low growl emanated from Feran's throat. "I could put ya both into the ground permanently. Sit down" 

"Make me, dog"  The soldier spat in response. Feran snarled, and before his opponent could react he was upon him. The beastkin had dropped his sword and closed the distance with a burst of speed that was utterly inhuman. He grabbed the man by the throat and quite literally threw him aside rather unceremoniously. He landed with a crash, along with the rattling of metal, and let out a loud groan of pain. He pivoted around, and was about to throw a punch at the other soldier's stomach before a booming voice erupted from the other end of the training grounds. 

"AP MADDYN, STAND DOWN" 

Feran managed to stop his fist mere inches away from his target. 

"Fuckin' hell" the soldier whispered, before backing off. 

Feran turned, to see Mason, now Sergeant, walking towards him. The beastkin huffed and stood straight, extending to his full height (which, honestly, wasn't tall at all). 

"Care to explain?" 

"We were training" Feran replied gruffly. Mason cocked an eyebrow as he looked at the downed soldier, who was still groaning on the floor. "Don't you think that you were a bit, excessive, soldier?" 

Feran shook his head. "They wanted me to fight them properly. I obliged, to a degree". Mason sighed and shook his head, much like a disappointed father would when talking to a misbehaving child. "Shouldn't you be resting?" he asked as he started to help the wounded guard up. 

"Was I told to rest? Yes. Should I? Nah. I can't afford to just fucking sit around like some dying grey-muzzle". Mason then motioned for the uninjured soldier to help his comrade up. "Get him seen by one of the healers" he told the man, before turning back to Feran. 

"You need to let yourself rest. You'll get yourself killed one day, I swear" 

"Too late. Already died once, not all too fussed if I die again"

"You know that's not a great attitude to have..." 

A cheeky grin crept across Feran's face. "Nothing to fear, nothing to prove" 

Mason let out a light and shook his head again, although Feran could see a small smile on the man's face, despite Mason's best efforts to hide it. 

"I didn't just come here to berate you, hound. I've got some free time, and, seeing as you're technically off-duty currently..." He then nodded his head in the vague direction of the exit to the barracks. "Drinks?". Feran's mouth opened wide into a fang-filled grin, the beastkin slapped Mason heartily on the back. "As if that's a question you need to ask, come on."
"Feran, what if you come across an enemy you cannot harm?"

"Hit them harder" 

"OK, but your sword can't hurt them" 

"Get a better sword? Or a really big stick"
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