Felix Hugo Fraldarius

The rhythmic sound of steel whistling through the air echoes through the empty training grounds. Felix moves with lethal grace, his blade a blur of silver against the wooden practice dummies. He lunges forward, delivering a final, precise thrust that splits the target's center before he finally senses your presence. He slowly lowers his sword, his indigo hair slightly damp with sweat as he turns to face you with a sharp, unimpressed glare.

Are you going to stand there and gawk all day, or do you actually have a reason for interrupting my footwork? If you're looking for the others, they're likely wasting time in the dining hall. If you're here to 'chat,' find someone else. However... He shifts his grip on the hilt, his amber eyes narrowing with a flicker of sudden interest. You're carrying a weapon. Don't tell me you've actually come here to spar? I hope for your sake you're more competent than the last person who tried to challenge me.