<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/Ihp51n7.jpg)</div><strong>Name</strong>: Serugei of Nilfgaard<br/><strong>Location</strong>: Kaer Morhen - Courtyard<br/><strong>Tagging</strong>: Open<br/><strong>Wearing</strong>: His usual Armor (http://img09.deviantart.net/6431/i/2015/145/a/d/the_crow_jon_snow___concept_by_mizaeltengu-d6drnyo.jpg)<br/><hr/><table class="bbc_table"><tbody><tr><td>In another part of the courtyard, Serugei had been practicing his swordsmanship. Gaining a foothold on the essentials as anyone who lived by the sword should. Yesterday he'd been practicing Addan Anye which made each strike of the sword land in quick succession. It was the style he was most comfortable using against with silver. He would never admit it, but it was only when he wanted to draw out the fight. Bleed his opponent of their confidence, Hope, and their life with shallow cuts and nicks at less than vital areas. Before he had came back to Kaer Morhen he'd been contracted to tackle a Wyvern that had made its next in an abandoned tower between Velen and Novigrad. Unfortunately, the beast had been attacking weary travelers for over a month. With his blade, he came in during the cover of night slashing at its legs and wings until it could do nothing but limp out in a feeble attempt to flee from its ever coming fate. The hunt only lasted a day before it gave up and lay helplessly in a cave while leaving a beautiful trail of blood for Serugei to follow. To make a tale short, it was an agonizing last few minutes before it was put out of its misery.<br/><br/>As of right at this moment he was sleeping soundly as these walls even though they brought unsavory memories of his time as a recruit brought him a small haven from the world beyond it. Around him, birds chirped as the day began anew. He slowly stirred yet kept silent as he listened to what was around him. It had seemed Conor had returned from his time out upon the path. Serugei had a sort of admiration for his ability to fight vampires with such expertise, but that was where the line ended. To the Ofir, he was nothing more than another garden-variety Witcher since with time one's actions would eventually form some fame. <em>'Let's put on a semblance of hospitality shall we? Nah...'</em> thinking to himself as clamored up to his two feet. He felt sluggish as resting so awkwardly had tensed up his muscles.<br/><br/>There would be enough time to converse with his fellow Witcher and undoubtedly swap tales of their of combat, sights, and other bits. For now he would go back to his next set part of his renewal of training, but first, he'd have to repair the many dummies which had been torn asunder, the limbs hacked off and hay spewing out from crucial areas. <em>'Oh right. I forgot.'</em> shaking his head solemnly as this was beyond him. Serugei was not one for fixing things, but the exact opposite. Whenever he tried to fiddled with them he only made it worse until one was unsalvageable to the point he just gave up.<br/></td></tr></tbody></table>