living skyward

It's roughly similar to the Whaler blade he left behind back in Dunwall, crosshatched shaft and all, but the castle can only offer up so much and so it is not a picture perfect reconstruction of his memory. It's light for a sword; their blades have always held a brutal simplicity, elegant and vicious in one, and Daud finds the balance satisfactory. He scrounges up a sheath for it and sets out to the gardens for some much-needed practice, but not before taking the one laying next to it—a rapier with a basket hilt, the guard extending up and back like the petals of a flower. It strikes him as gaudy and pretentious, but to others it would likely just seem a tad overornamented.

But it is a sword, and he has learned to respect them. He slips that one into the sheath and carries his blade in an easy grip, letting it drift near his leg. He dearly hopes that no one sees and follows him on his quest for the courtyard, watches his pacing through the gardens—they’re not as ostentatious as the ones at Dunwall Tower, but he sees similar fruit trees and cheerfully blooming flowers. Somebody’s been taking care of the place and so he carefully avoids stepping on anything. It takes five minutes of wandering before he sees an open-enough brick-studded area to practice in. He sets the rapier down on the ground at the edge and takes his place in the center, sword out in a guard position. The uneven ground is no bother for one used to fighting on rooftops, and so he takes a minute or two to practice footwork against the lips and dips of the ground. There is a technique he learned in Serkonos , as a boy, that kept him from kicking up dust, and he uses it now.

It’s only been a small stretch of time before he feels the telltale prickling on his back that means he’s being watched. He finishes his set—twirls the blade elegantly, a movement that Whaler blades aren’t meant for—and twists on his heel to point the sword directly out at his observer.

“Well? You’re not stealthy, you know.”