A Sparring Match
"Are you sure you don't want to wear any armor?" Ty asked, his stance defensive as he held the Kama blade in each skeletal hand, the chain dangling ominously in front of his chest. "I would prefer not to accidentally hurt you. Plus, my abilities can be quite messy, and there's a chance I might break stuff."
General Mattison waved off Ty's concern with a casual air. "Don't worry about me. I've seen enough of your fighting to know you can handle your strength. And this dojo," he gestured around the spacious training area, "is built to endure far more than a little roughhousing."
Ty shifted slightly, the bones of his fingers making a faint clicking sound as he adjusted his grip on the blades.
The subtle sound was a stark reminder of his unique skeletal form, a contrast to the usual muscle and flesh of a warrior, yet he exuded a certain readiness, an anticipation for the duel that was about to commence.