[While the Kuranta’s face is neutral, his equine ears twitch as he tries to conceal a small sense of satisfied pride at Cloud’s question. The world of Terra is home to some strange creatures, like the denizens of the Deep from the Iperian coast. Whatever this stranger has to cook was likely far tamer than their squidlike ilk.]
You could say that. I’ve traveled for awhile, and strange places lead to stranger animals to be eaten. One learns to improvise after awhile. As for swords? Blades are blades, and I’ve seen my way around them. Though I prefer this knife. It’s seen far less bloodshed and nobler purposes than the other one.
[A thin blade, barely thicker than a rapier, sits inside the long black scabbard on Mlynar’s hip. The sword’s hilt is a dark blue, entwined with golden metal and with a small black stone as its pommel. Still, when the knight looks down at it, there's a sense of deep, relentless sadness. It's clearly associated with some bitter memories and regrets, but it's unlikely that those would ever be shared.]
Why, do you see yourself as some kind of fighter? That impractically sized slab of metal certainly tells me you’re some kind of mercenary. Or maybe a soldier?
[Młynar is rather terrible at small talk himself. Thankfully, Cloud had touched on one of the few things the knight could relate to- swords. As it happens, he had bonded with the few people he had called friend over their shared love of swordcraft. While he now looks at his former exploits with distaste, it was impossible to truly stifle that kind of love.]
I'm a cook, not a knight.
You could say that. I’ve traveled for awhile, and strange places lead to stranger animals to be eaten. One learns to improvise after awhile. As for swords? Blades are blades, and I’ve seen my way around them. Though I prefer this knife. It’s seen far less bloodshed and nobler purposes than the other one.
[A thin blade, barely thicker than a rapier, sits inside the long black scabbard on Mlynar’s hip. The sword’s hilt is a dark blue, entwined with golden metal and with a small black stone as its pommel. Still, when the knight looks down at it, there's a sense of deep, relentless sadness. It's clearly associated with some bitter memories and regrets, but it's unlikely that those would ever be shared.]
Why, do you see yourself as some kind of fighter? That impractically sized slab of metal certainly tells me you’re some kind of mercenary. Or maybe a soldier?
[Młynar is rather terrible at small talk himself. Thankfully, Cloud had touched on one of the few things the knight could relate to- swords. As it happens, he had bonded with the few people he had called friend over their shared love of swordcraft. While he now looks at his former exploits with distaste, it was impossible to truly stifle that kind of love.]