There was a ring of steel, and a chunk of a practice dummy went tumbling through the air to land at the edge of the arena. Dalhar was spinning and flipping in the middle of the arena, taking out each set of practice dummies as they popped up. He wasn't breaking a sweat, but it still looked like he was enjoying himself, from the feral expression in his eyes.
His body spun, twisted, and bent, resembling a tree in the wind as he hacked and slashed every single dummy that popped up to ribbons and chunks. He was clearly in his element, his twin scimitars flashing and winking in the light as they whisked through the air.
His face was set in a grim expression, and his body seemed as much a part of his blades as they seemed a part of him. There was an odd light glowing around his body, and the golden eyes were tinged with splotches of black.
Chet had heard much of the great training facilities in this arena. He had practiced and honed his martial arts skills for much of his young life, although he had never really recieved any formal training. When he arrived at the arena he anxious for the opportunity to test out his skills and compare himself to those around him.
From what he could tell, most were amateurs simply looking for excersize and the like. A few appeared to have good training and maneuvered with great speed and skill. Chet stretched out his muscles and prepared himself for a good excersize. He approached a practice dummy and started jabbing at it lighty, his fists clenched, and warmed up his footwork. He danced around the dummy, his quick speed and reflexes becoming more and more apparent every minute. He began to hurl hooks and uppercuts towards the dummy until he had worked up a bit of a sweat. He then pulled out his dagger and continued with his warm up. Slicing through the air and practicing his evasive techniques, Chet had finally completed an adequate warm-up.
Now it was time to get to business. He hoped he could find a suitable challenger for some practice. He gazed upon his surroundings. Again, he saw mostly amateurs. However, one figure jumped out at him immediately. A lean, muscular Drow with two scimtars was ferociously mauling nearby practice dummies. It was quite a sight, as this Drow tirelessly displayed his obvious power and skill before him. Chet wondered if this Drow would be willing to spar with him. Chet knew he would probably be in over his head with such a formidable opponent, but knew he could at east get some good practice and hopefully learn a thing or two from such an incredible adversary. He slowly made his way over to where the Drow was practicing, and even as he got right up to him the Drow continued his display without any indication of having noticed Chet. Chet tried to get his attention, saying "Hey there, those are some pretty fine moves. Care to tango?" He hoped the Drow would respond.
Dalhar raised an eyebrow, his feet sliding in the dirt somewhat as he turned. His scimitars rang as he slid them back into their sheaths, and he bowed. "A tango, eh? Are you sure you wish to dance with the likes of me?" he asked, a gleam of maliciousness in his eyes. "I've taken those far better than you, and won. I've even taken on a Weapons Master, and beaten him, at the age of FOURTEEN." He turned his head to look at the main door with a smug grin. "You know, I'll tell you what I'll do." He pulled one of the scimitars from his belt. "If you win... You get one of these," he said. "Not that I have to worry about that. You look like I could snap you in two with one swing."
He was doing this on purpose. So many times, a complacent fighter provided little challenge. He wanted someone to have a SERIOUS reason to beat him, whatever that reason might be. So often, he had fought complacent fighters, and they had been no challenge at all. So he waited, and waited, watching for someone that might proved to be a challenge. He smiled, showing slightly pointed teeth. "Sound good to you?" he said with a smile.