InsaneJournal

There was a still a  violet glow in the sky when Carrick walked outside and set down a selection of weapons on a rough wooden table that stood in the corner of the training yard. Tonight he had chosen a traditional Spartan spear as well as  pair of matched Renaissance-style daggers. The vampire  kept to the rigid disciplines he had been taught as a mortal, and nearly every night of his long existence he had set aside some time to practise with sword or shield or spear.

It was a cool night, but nonetheless he stripped off his shirt. He had learned to overcome hunger and pain and cold   during those long ago days  in the Spartan <i>agoge<i/>  and they hardly bothered him now.  He picked up the spear and stood there, motionless and bare chested for a long moment, gathering his thoughts, allowing the world to shrink until the only things that existed were him and the weapon in his hand.

He hefted the bronze spear, feeling the weight of it, balancing it perfectly until it became almost an extension of his arm.  He dropped smoothly into the first of the many fighting positions mercilessly drilled into him all those hundreds of years ago,  allowing the metal and wood to spin and thrust about him in a lethal dance.

As he reached the end of the first  series of exercises, he turned his head towards the archway that led to the building where both his armoury and his stables were situated. There was someone there, just out of view. Not one of his own slaves - they knew better than to disturb him in his nightly exercises.  He  thrust the butt of the spear down into the sandy  ground of the training yard and looked  over expectantly, waiting for the visitor to show themselves.