The weekend at Beacon Academy. It was a beautiful day - the sun was shining, birds were singing, and a light breeze was blowing just enough to keep a person cool in the warm sunshine. Instead of hiding himself away in one of Beacon's many training halls, Albrecht Clodwal had taken the opportunity to train outdoors. A slightly quieter spot on Beacon's front lawn, but still within view of passing students, for any of those who he knew would want to watch such a masterful display of skill. Shedding the characteristic trenchcoat and hat, he whirled in shining circles as the light glinted off the well-kept steel, practicing a routine meant to account for multiple opponent at once. It'd be impressive, if it weren't for the ridiculously cheesy "banter" he spouted as he practiced
"You walk a fine line, my dear opponent! But what you don't seem to understand is that it's my cutting edge you're balancing on - and soon, one way or the other, you will fall to my sword! No, that doesn't quite work..." He pauses in his routine, biting his lip, before inspiration strikes. "You will slip, and cut yourself on my blade!"