Fergus Finlay was the boy who would be seen causing trouble around Midtown High, walking around with his pack of cards and wit to save him from trouble. However, he was in for a rude wake-up call; history was awakening, and it had set its eyes on Fe...
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A couple of days later Fergus stood in the weapon room, hands crossed as he peered down on the time table where many different weapons were laid out for him.
“You're taking this metal forging thing pretty seriously here don't you.”
The minotaur on the other end of the table scoffed, and Fergus could almost see the puff of smoke coming from his large nostrils. Birger's stare was cold as his pitch-black eyes looked at the nonchalant boy.
“Only fools would play around with weaponry. If you are given a weapon, you must also be able to use it. A weapon can not aid you if you don't know how to wield it. So, choose your preferred weapon.” his baritone voice was nothing like Fergus had ever heard before.
Fergus wanted to ask if Birger uses a comb to brush out his fur or does he simply let it grow. But he refrained himself, looking down on the neatly placed weapons.
Swords, blunt staves, spears, polearms, picks and many more sharp objects he couldn't really name.
Fergus reached out and grabbed a dagger, flipping it in his hands. It got sharper towards the end, and it had leather wrapped around the hilt, preventing it from slipping.
Birger blinked slowly “Like father like son huh. I would have recommended an axe as it seems you could build up your muscles and swing from above. But daggers will do.” he said, and Fergus wanted to ask so bad how can he pronounce properly with jaws like that.
“My father?” he asked instead, immediately scolding himself for sounding so unsure in the stranger's presence. Bringer looked over to him sharply as he collected the swords.
“I hear he is quite a master dagger wielder.” Birger mumbled into his beard —erm, fur. It was as if he didn't want to speak of it much. And Fergus didn't push. He though Birger wasn't the one who should give him answers anyway.
The minotaur stomped outside, Fergus following quietly behind as they stopped in the training yard. Fergus stopped in the middle of a ring as Birger went to fetch some wooden weapons. He could feel his cheeks heat up, somewhat embarrassed as he realised they were perfectly polished and didn't seem to have been used for a long time. He was just glad nobody else was there to witness it.
“Show me what you've got and we'll work from there.” there was absolutely no mockery nor malice in his voice, it was like a breath of fresh air. Holding the wooden sword awkwardly, Fergus tried out the balance in his hand, almost dropping it on the ground.
“Dont drop your weapon, have a firm grip on it. Doesn't matter if it's a firepoker, broom or even a bucket. Come at me.” he said firmly, holding the wooden sword professionally.
Fergus mimicked his stance and went for it. Without realising what exactly happened, the wooden sword was knocked aside and the hilt of Birger's sword smacked the back of Fergus' hand. He scowled, taking a step back as Birger froze, waiting for Fergus to continue. Grumpily, Fergus went to pick up the wooden sword only to let out a yelp as Birger hit his ribs.
