<div style="text-align: left;">(http://i232.photobucket.com/albums/ee48/Gevaden/barbarian_warrior-1.jpg)</div><br/><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">Ríoghan</span></div><br/>The Celt hadn't given himself enough credit, even as his foe leapt back to his feet and pressed the assault in effort to make up for being shown up, Ríoghan had found himself parrying each blow. It was becoming second nature, how this house taught its gladiators to fight and perhaps all the training of his body, he was in no shortage of might as a warrior back home but it would be a fib indeed if he denied he had noticed the shape of his body improving. He felt mightier in his arms, weathering blows upon his shield for long periods of time was putting less strain on him every week. There was things he noticed now that he had not before, there was a time when in a fight such as this he'd have swung his weapon even a wooden one, and hoped to just whack the chest....but now he could tell how much weight his opponent put on his front leg as he thrusted. With more agility then he tended to use when fighting, Ríoghan side stepped the thrust before bringing up an arm and battered his opponent over the head with the bottom of his wooden<del>stick</del>sword. It was most amusing to watch him hit the floor again.<br/><br/>Mac Carthaigh like the rest noticed the arrival of others, one in particular caught his eye. The women. Not because she was a pretty lass, partly because she looked like a<em>lass</em>alright. She certainly wasn't local, she had the features of a woman who looked more like what he was used to seeing, details he never noticed before. Her skin, the shape of her face, it all pointed towards the misty lands he called home. Volrath had noticed her too, Ríoghan could tell. Volrath was someone the Celt could relate too, they came from similar stock. He certainly had more in common with him then all the others around, the Romans and Gauls, Thracians and Greek. When the Norseman spoke to the Celt, he turned to face him feeling safe in lowering his weapon. The sparring had paused.<br/><br/>"I could live with that, might mean more mead. I wouldn't give Roman<em>wine</em>to my pigs." he returned, not that he was gifted with wine very often. In fact he could count on one hand how many times he had been treated to alcohol since his arrival, it was the same number of times as their had been big victories for the house in the arena.