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2014-02-14 18:51![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
doesnotsimply
doesnotsimply[[ooc: interested in both replies to his network query or in person replies in the park.
Since arriving, Boromir has been rather despondent. The vastness of the Teuberg unnerves him and to get anywhere where he is told things are happening he has to take one of these metal carts that the natives call trollies. The constant vibration makes him queasy and he does not find them at all pleasant.
While waiting for the powers that be to get back in touch with him regarding his application for military service, he's been filling his time with exercise and workouts. He's become quite the fixture in his neighbourhood with daily runs, and today he's doing laps of the park at the renaissance centre. Stopping by a water fountain for a drink, he ponders that though he's never been stronger or fitter (especially for a dead man, shudder), he hasn't engaged in proper combat practice or swordplay since arriving. He takes out his communicator from a pouch and painstakingly taps out a message.
"Greetings, I am Boromir of Gondor. Would anyone be interested in some sparring practice either with swords or unarmed?" He beams with pride, sweat dripping off him from his run, he was at least getting the hang of the written messages on this piece of sorcerous machinery.
Since arriving, Boromir has been rather despondent. The vastness of the Teuberg unnerves him and to get anywhere where he is told things are happening he has to take one of these metal carts that the natives call trollies. The constant vibration makes him queasy and he does not find them at all pleasant.
While waiting for the powers that be to get back in touch with him regarding his application for military service, he's been filling his time with exercise and workouts. He's become quite the fixture in his neighbourhood with daily runs, and today he's doing laps of the park at the renaissance centre. Stopping by a water fountain for a drink, he ponders that though he's never been stronger or fitter (especially for a dead man, shudder), he hasn't engaged in proper combat practice or swordplay since arriving. He takes out his communicator from a pouch and painstakingly taps out a message.
"Greetings, I am Boromir of Gondor. Would anyone be interested in some sparring practice either with swords or unarmed?" He beams with pride, sweat dripping off him from his run, he was at least getting the hang of the written messages on this piece of sorcerous machinery.
