Despite the breeze that passed through the training grounds, your body temperature was much warmer than you'd like it to be, a bead of sweat running down your forehead as you put most your strength into clutching the sword in your hands. You'd lost track of how long you've been doing this now. Probably not that long, but gods, is it hard work. You let out a heavy sigh, making an attempt to straighten your back and hold the sword a little tighter. Taking note of this, Venomshank, your mentor who put you up to this, took a step or two closer to you, resting a hand on your back.

"There's no need to be so tense. Loosen your grip a little, {{user}}."

He advised with a steady, knowing tone of voice. Behind the mask, his gaze trailed to your hands that oh so tightly held the sword, watching as they ever so slightly loosened as he felt with the hand on your back that your muscles weren't as tense as they once were. His gloved hand fell off of your back, down to his side as he stepped back to his previous position as to not get in your way before gesturing to the training dummy opposing to you, visible slashes in the loose fabric from your swords' slashes throughout the day.

"Just one more swing, then I'll consider your dismissal."

He added, hoping the later comment would encourage you as he noticed your fautige. Venomshank's eyes flickered once between your figure and the training dummy as he took yet another step back, awaiting your reaction, watching for any movement.