Fighting.

The scene is set with two Celtic warriors facing each other, either of warring clans or over a serious dispute involving land and honour. It must be serious, this is a fight to the death. The plume of hair rides down from the top of his helmet into his face as his eyes squint and his mouth carves out a sneer. He yells at me something barely intelligible that I take to mean he intends to kill me this day, and I acknowledge the receipt of this message by yelling something even more unintelligible back at him about how I have no intention of dying. He raises his shield and his sword and I raise mine. He waits for a half-beat and I let loose with a scream that is matched in intensity only by the blow from my sword. It clangs heavily off of his shield. As I follow-up with two more heavy shots, I don’t realise I am still screaming until I stop. He was been waiting, biding his time and measuring what I’ve got to bring against… Read moreFighting.

Training.

The air is slightly humid, it must have been quite foggy in the earlier morning hours. The sunlight glides through the trees and lands in swatches on the grass surrounding me and gives a dull glow to the rivets across the top of my helmet. It’s copper finish shines with an understated polish, standing out and pleasing the eye but not inviting as a focal point. It has strength with subtlety. The leather across the cuff of my arm braces digs into my wrist as I tighten down the smaller straps and each arm gives a faint and straining creak as I adjust them on my forearm. The helmet’s somewhat clunky metal flaps fall awkwardly on my hands as I lift it to my head, and the familiar slightly musty smell of stale sweat and physical activity hits my nose a split second before I plunk it on top of my head. As I cinch down the strap under my chin, I can feel a change come over me, as if my entire perspective on the World has changed in… Read moreTraining.