The staff is a lashing blur, but ‘Otamee is prepared, already leaping up and back as it strikes his chestplate; the glancing blow discharges most of the weapon’s energy into the air, with the remainder just enough to carry him through his roll back into a ready, empty-handed crouch.
The armsmaster watches with a fond approval he’s careful to hide. “Well. At last you move like the heir to your birthright. Time for the next lesson.”
He tosses ‘Otamee an inactive arcstaff grip.
“You’ve learned how to take a blow.” He smiles. “Now you learn how not to have to.”