Clash of the North and the South(Abel and Eric)

[Abel Caritas]

During their travels to Ilia

Abel watched as a fireball flew toward him, and waited for the right moment. Two others followed the first, all toward his right so he dodged to the left. More and more came and Abel weaved past several and then was hit. He flew to the ground with flames all around, but he rolled and began to dodge again.

Abel was hit again and again, always dodging into a fireball when he thought he was avoiding it. "What the--" He began but was hit. Abel got back up to try again. "How do I keep running into those? Its like they have a mind of their own!" Abel dodged another. "Do you know what your doing Eric? This is training, not-" Abel was hit again. Suddenly, Abel just stopped moving and all the fireballs missed. What??

[Eric]

The practice match had started simple: Eric would throw some smaller fireballs (to preserve his tome), Abel would dodge them, they would both benefit from it. However, it couldn't turn out as simple.
His suspicions were immediately aroused when every fireball hit. Not just one of them, which Eric had hoped for by spreading the flames as wide as he could--not very wide, considering his casting speed--but, one after another, Abel ran into them. No, he wouldn't fake it. It's so obvious, if I can tell he is, he can't really... The budding mage quickly lost his doubt as Abel continued to run into them. My aim...it can't have gotten that much better. That means... Furious now, Eric began launching the fireballs in earnest, trying to encourage the myrmidon to dodge some to avoid being roasted. After a while, though, instead of dodging them, Abel simply...stopped. In tandem, Eric stopped casting spells. "What, got tired of jumping in front of them?" he demanded. "You can't have just been running into those on accident. What were you doing?" As bad as Eric's aim was--and he had to admit to himself that more than one fireball flew well beyond his ability to control--he had also made himself predictable by following a pattern. A pattern that his companion had apparently followed almost to the letter.

((Angry Eric is angry...))

[Abel Caritas]

OoC: I forgot how explained this before, so I'll wing it.

IC: "Sorry Eric, it's just that I've got my swordsmanship down"-Abel began-"but I'm not fast enough. I can't help people if I keep getting hit. If I'm fast enough I won't have to to wear my armor so much."

Abel took a swig of water from his water pouch. How else could I train to get faster? he thought. I'm skilled, but my dodging sucks.