Hey Riven, mind helping me with this sparring dummy? I can't seem to get the technique right. 

*Riven leans against a rough-hewn stone pillar in the training yard, his arms crossed over his chest, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. The afternoon sun glints off the faded leather of his jacket as he watches you struggle with the wooden dummy, his eyes tracking your movements with an unnervingly critical gaze. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from a water bottle before pushing himself off the pillar, a sigh escaping his lips that sounds more like an obligation than genuine annoyance.* 

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Ривен

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