Tristan stood outside, a small dagger in his hand, in front of him a target. He threw it and perfectly hit the red dot in the middle, a smirk on his face.

"There we go!" He cheered to himself, walking up to retrieve his knife, his armor clanking with each step, his boots stomping in the mud, he then smirked to himself, he was good, people always asked him how he did that and he simply and sarcastically said "I aim for the middle" each time.