As Vincent navigated the dark stone halls of "The House of Cards" or so Leona had named it, he couldn't help but feel strangely conflicted about the four or so months he had been in this world. He had made friends, like Halgrom the dwarf who had helped when he had first arrived on Althanas. He had met Leona and Ioder, and had even gone on a mission for the Tarot Hierarchy. He had drank mead in a tavern, been accosted by a drunk woman in a bar, killed a man, and learned more in his studies than he possibly could ever have done at home. Yet something made him feel sick. How could life possibly be going along at home? Did anyone miss him? Was his mother worried?
These questions swam through his mind as he walked the damp hallways. The deeper and deeper he went, the less and less seemed to have been reclaimed. Drips of water occasionally dropped from the uneven roof as Vincent began to pay more attention. He knew that he would find it soon, a large cavern he had discovered while wandering once. Since then it had more or less become an unofficial training room for the few members he had met. After a couple moments of looking as he walked Vincent found what was slightly more than a hole in the wall that he could pass through easily. The entrance was deceiving however, the room it fed directly into was massive, about 100 yards deep, and 60 yards wide. The walls at the edges stood only about 8 feet tall, but grew higher and higher as it reached the center. The floor was a rough uneven stone, but the roof was lined with a bio-luminescent moss, leaving the room bathed in an eerie green glow.
Vincent sighed and searched the edges of the room for some of the objects he had left behind. "Aha" he exclaimed as he pulled out a small barrel that he he had brought down earlier. Grunting he lifts it up and carries it about 20 feet out and sets it down. Popping the top he pulls out a large ale glass and set it down on the now replaced top. Sighing he trudges back to the wall and turns to face the flagon, pulling out a leather deck-box from his pocket. Sighing he pops the top and reaches in and pulls out a playing card, the two of clubs to be exact. Carefully he pinches the card between his pointer and index finger, and takes a sideways stance, legs shoulder width apart. He took a deep breath, brought up his card holding hand, brought it across his body, exhaled. He had read up a bit about proper form for throwing a knife or a shuriken, but nothing seemed to truly match up to throwing a damn playing card. He takes a deep breath, holds it, and flings the card. As his fingers release the sharp edge catches his fingers nicking them drawing a slight amount of blood. The card gained a bit of spin and flew with slight purpose, but veered way off of course clattering against the ground.
Hissing Vincent drew his finger to his mouth and sucked on it, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth bringing back unpleasant memories. Hands around his throat Vincent cant breathe, panic is setting in. 'I Don't want to die' he thinks to himself as he grasps for his lost dagger in the dirt. Suddenly his hand finds purchase on the hilt, grasping it he stabs in fear. He watches blood blossom from his attackers throat. The young man on top of him chokes on blood as the light fades from his eyes, Vincent dagger buried to the hilt in his windpipe. His hands loosen, he hacks up blood on the now murderer, and then falls aside. The memory floods Vincent's mind as he staggers back. Growling he grasps another card and takes his stance, heart thumping from the adrenaline his memory had poured into his system. He quickly readies a toss, takes a deep breath, and lets it fly. The card flies and barely misses the cup.
Furious Vincent grabs a card and blindly flings the card, missing completely. He grabs another and lets it fly, this time keeping his composure. The card whistles by the cup once more. Vincent keeps this up for about twenty more times before hissing. His fingers were bleeding quite a bit, the cards becoming harder to hold. Reaching for one more he takes a deep breath, readies his throw, and lets it fly. The card leaves his fingers gracefully, taking drips of blood with it as it spins through the air with purpose. A crimson streaked card clangs noisily against the tin mug knocking it off the barrel. Vincent could smell his own blood in the air, his fingers burned like they were on fire, but the Victory felt amazing. His whole body shivered with a sense of accomplishment. He would be useful in a fight soon, he just needed a bit more practice. Wrapping his fingers in the bottom end oh his shirt Vincent put pressure on them as he walked out the cavern. He would need to combine accuracy with the ability to throw without hurting himself, but that would come with time. Currently an idea was burning a hole in the back of his head, it would be the ace up his sleeve so to speak.