Date: 1/27/1998 12:05 AM Central Standard Time
From: DoraeRasta
This will try her nerves, unlike anything else. The Test is tomorrow night against the Master of Masters, making the deciding factor whether or no she is worthy. Soft laugh. She knows she is worthy, is confident she will do well enough even though the test be that of her ability to wield a sword. Swords. How she detests them, ungainly weapons. The metal smith had assured her he made the finest of swords and could make the hilts as she described, would make them even better. Reluctantly she gave her order for two swords, she did not like the man. A dwarf with a very long, dirty white beard and beady little eyes that seemed to sparkle despite the rumor that dwarves are generally not a happy bunch.... well, that is the rumor. Though she did not like him, she was weary of going outand about, visiting one metal smith after another, examining their wares and finding little talent. Gaelin's display of swords and other weaponry prooved to her that he was the best, even her untrained eye could see that. And here it was, the eve before her test and two swords sit wrapped in deerskin upon her bed. Kneeling down onto the floor, she merely sits and stares at the two parcels for several long minutes before reaching out to the nearest one and unfolding the deerskin from the gleaming new metal. A serpented finger reaches out to the hilt of this sword. This one is her own weapon, made of the lightest metal yet still strong enough to withstand most pressures put upon a sword. The hilt is of deepest black and compromised of two serpents entwined one upon the other, their tails making up the bracer of the hilt. In the middle of the bracer is a silver plate which sports ornate writing with the words "Clan Rasta" on the top and " -*-Coachwhip -*-", the name of the blade underneath the first line. Two rubies on either side of each serpent's head make up their eyes and rose colored gold make up the sash that binds them at the middle. The blade itself is common, smooth, lacking any ornamentation... just gleaming in the dim firelight. Clan Rasta. Over and over that sounds off in her head. It has to grow on her though she wonders if it ever really will. She has little use for titles, let alone having a clan named after her, but this is important, this will mark her as a proper Ceaonite, belonging to a clan, even if she be the only member. And Coachwhip. An odd looking sneer disolves the usual straight line she keeps her thin lips in as she thinks about the name she gavethe sword. Perhaps a bit premature, perhaps a bit extravagant, considering she will little use the sword, but a proper name was needed and her reverence for serpents prompted the name, keeping to a theme. The Coachwhip snake is known for being fast, carrying its head and neck well above the ground as it slithers at a quick pace when chasing down a meal. And when cornered or if dinner is being unusually feisty, it will strike out, repeatedly bitingfoe or main course. Now that she thinks upon it, maybe it was a bit presumptuous to name the blade as such, for she doubts she will ever be successful with this weapon to keep up with such a heavy name. Her eyes and hands stray from her sword and she hesitates opening up the second parcel. This too holds a sword, but for someone else. Perhaps she makes a mistake, steps over some unseen line, but since she was getting one for herself, thought to include him as well, seeing how his sword was broken while fighting at war, unrepairable. She had taken the broken sword along with her, making sure the dwarf Gaelin got the weight and grip correct. It is in no way a copy of the old sword, no, this is a new sword to be sure, frought with as much meaning as her own. Quickly she unfolds the deerskin to expose the blade. This too sports an ornamental hilt done in silver, but instead of serpents, there is a mongoose gracing the grip, the outline of the snake's foe done in jade and its eyes are composed of Onyx stones... mirroring the orbs of its soon to be owner. On the bracer of the hilt is a black smooth plate, no engraving upon it. Dorae thought it is up to Myst to name this blade.... if she gives it tohim, if he accepts it. She refolds the mongoose blade within the deerskin and props it near her bed in the corner, then she takes up Coachwhip, holding it in Ceaonite salute. A laugh and a head toss of dark curls. Moving across the room, she raises up Coachwhip and sets the blade upon the mantel, moving back a bit to stare at the strangness of the sword's presence and thinks it looks odd up above the fire. Another shake of her head and in a soft voice: "Mother, tomorrow night I face your son, take the test against the Master of Masters. I ask nothing, just for you to watch and know that I will give my all and if I should fail, that it was nothing more than my lack of confidence and hatred of this weapon I shall weild. Vlad has tought me all he knows and taught me well, of this have no doubt." With that, she moves from the mantle, back to her bed to prepare for some sleep, to be ready for the upcoming Test.
Dorae "The Dangerous" Rasta
Two swords and a Test
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Re: Two swords and a Test
Date: 1/30/1998 11:53 PM Central Standard Time
From: DoraeRasta
Preparation False dawn came and went, the eighth bell rang on the Rhydin clock tower and the townsfolks start the day as the weak winter sun rises, brightening the world, trying to chase the night's chill away. Dorae is unaware of this, having come up at fourth bell to the temple, sequestering herself there for the day, submerged in deep meditation in preparation for the test she is to take at ninth bell tonite. It is here in Shardonna's temple where worries melt away and the serpent woman can think rational thoughts. No one strays in here, this being a Ceaonite place of worship; a people almost gone but for the whispers that there are others scattered over the world, lost for the moment. Quietude means much to Dor, having a place to go to remove the thick layers of refuse from her mind that seem to collect when spending too much time amongst thepopulace. The day in Rhydin moves on, the usual things happen in the normal pace. Then night settles on the town and Dorae begins the process of awakening from the meditation, to get her physical self ready for the test. Low key exercises is all she needs to warm her muscles and limbs, loosening her frame. Coachwhip, her new sword, awaits her outside, leaning against the wall by the door. Horse is outside as well, grazing and keeping guard in front of the temple. Eighth bell rings. One hour till the appointed time. The trainee stands very tall in the middle of the temple, her face is calm, almost peaceful and her violet eyes are clear and glitter just a little. Dorae wears a loose fitting yellow outfit, consisting of a billowy shirt with sleeves and a high collar, her pants; as always; are loose around her legs and her feet are outfitted with yellow died leather sandals. The red satin sash is tiedabout her waist, neat and precise, with the knot upon her right hip. Violet eyes look all around her, taking in the beauty of this sanctuary. This is what it is all about... tonite will determine if she will become a permanent fixture to the Ceaonite culture; if this is the purpose she has been seeking all these long years; if she truly is worthy... if she is dangerous. A soft laugh echoes within the temple as that last thought crosses her mind. She knows how dangerous she can be, several souls in limbo knowit to be true as well. But that is a more personal thing, not the Ceaonite way. A curt nod to herself, one last look around and then she exits the temple, rescueing Coachwhip and hopping onto Horse's back to make her way to her future... or her failure.
Dorae "The Dangerous" Rasta
From: DoraeRasta
Preparation False dawn came and went, the eighth bell rang on the Rhydin clock tower and the townsfolks start the day as the weak winter sun rises, brightening the world, trying to chase the night's chill away. Dorae is unaware of this, having come up at fourth bell to the temple, sequestering herself there for the day, submerged in deep meditation in preparation for the test she is to take at ninth bell tonite. It is here in Shardonna's temple where worries melt away and the serpent woman can think rational thoughts. No one strays in here, this being a Ceaonite place of worship; a people almost gone but for the whispers that there are others scattered over the world, lost for the moment. Quietude means much to Dor, having a place to go to remove the thick layers of refuse from her mind that seem to collect when spending too much time amongst thepopulace. The day in Rhydin moves on, the usual things happen in the normal pace. Then night settles on the town and Dorae begins the process of awakening from the meditation, to get her physical self ready for the test. Low key exercises is all she needs to warm her muscles and limbs, loosening her frame. Coachwhip, her new sword, awaits her outside, leaning against the wall by the door. Horse is outside as well, grazing and keeping guard in front of the temple. Eighth bell rings. One hour till the appointed time. The trainee stands very tall in the middle of the temple, her face is calm, almost peaceful and her violet eyes are clear and glitter just a little. Dorae wears a loose fitting yellow outfit, consisting of a billowy shirt with sleeves and a high collar, her pants; as always; are loose around her legs and her feet are outfitted with yellow died leather sandals. The red satin sash is tiedabout her waist, neat and precise, with the knot upon her right hip. Violet eyes look all around her, taking in the beauty of this sanctuary. This is what it is all about... tonite will determine if she will become a permanent fixture to the Ceaonite culture; if this is the purpose she has been seeking all these long years; if she truly is worthy... if she is dangerous. A soft laugh echoes within the temple as that last thought crosses her mind. She knows how dangerous she can be, several souls in limbo knowit to be true as well. But that is a more personal thing, not the Ceaonite way. A curt nod to herself, one last look around and then she exits the temple, rescueing Coachwhip and hopping onto Horse's back to make her way to her future... or her failure.
Dorae "The Dangerous" Rasta
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Re: Two swords and a Test
Date: 1/30/1998 11:56 PM Central Standard Time
From: DoraeRasta
(( authors note: This portion of the thread was RPed on Tues night. All movements are those actually used in the RP, slightly embellished to make this post a bit more interesting to read. Stand in grass was used, no grass was harmed during the making of this post and was intently watched by the Lawn Wrangler. Brought to you by: Venom Enterprises.))The Test She had sent horse away, instructing him to go home and await her there. Her small humble home is not far from here, she will walk; for if she masters this test, her adrenaline level will be high and she will have need to work it off.... and if she fails, then she will have no need to walk or ride ever again. Over the grassy knoll she climbed, Coachwhip cradled in her arms, she forgoing a scabbard for the now. Upon reaching the clearing, she stands quietly and awaits the Master of Masters, the Sha'lin... Vlad. Ninth bell sounds off somewhere and then there is Vlad, approaching slowly and calmly. "It is time.... Are you prepared?". She watches him calmly and nods, "I am ready.". Vlad smiles and draws two identical long swords, apparently intending to use both. Dorae watches the two swords leave their scabbards,keeping her surprise off her face. Vlad takes on a defensive posture and calls out, "Taiste!", the Ceaonite word for "come". Promptly Dorae grasps the hilt of her sword and squares off in front of him smartly, eyes intent and calm. Since they dispense with ceremonies, she takes the initiative. Dorae shifts position, moving two steps to her left, the tip of Coachwhip tilting down idly as she thinks of amanuever. Suddenly she lunges forward, tentitively tapping his shoulder with the flat of her blade. Vlad takes the tap, brow raised, forgoing making any attempt to parry the infantile blow. He rushes her, spinning around her side, one sword engaging hers while the tip of the other thrusts downward, intent on piercing her thigh. The testee manages to sweep the first sword away, her movement saving her from certain impalement, getting a smart scratch instead. First blood is drawn. She pivots on the balls of one foot, swinging the blade in an arc, thrusting a foot forward and stomping the ground as the sword tip aims at his upper arm. Quickly his two blades move into an X, capturing her own and brings it down to one side then comes back up with his nearest hand, aimingpommel to her face and trying to get the second blade into a position to damage her midsection. Blades ring across the grassy knoll. Dorae manages to step back, disengaging her sword from his two, and brings the hilt down onto the nearest wrist, hoping he drops one sword. That manuever worked. Vlad flinches, releasing the blade, then kicks it aside. His damaged arm swings up, going to backhand her across her jaw, point of remaining sword thrusting, aimed at her ribs. A low hiss as his sword slides through her and her lip splits, sending a rush of red down her chin. No time to inspect or think about the injuries, she takes on a slight crouch, sidestepping in a circle around, breathing a raspy hiss. Dor reaches out quickly with her left hand, hoping to distract him while the sword comes up in her right hand, sticking his thigh. The Master grimaces in distaste, feeling the warmth of his blood run down hisleg, then whirls around, bringing his sword down in a whistling arc, the pommel looking for her temple. She rushes backwards, stumbles, Coachwhip's tip hitting dirt as she barely manages to get away from a surefire headache. Serpented hand takes a firmer grasp of the serpented hilt, dragging it up and holding it lightly, as if it were a fencing foil instead of a sword; the tip traces a circle in the air in front of her. The blade swipes downward, then comes up again and moves to strike at his chest. Sidestepping just enough, Vlad avoids adangerous hit, but takes a scratch on his shoulder. He lunges forward, driving his shoulder into her torso to knock her flat, then spins his sword, slicing down across her stomach. And now she is down, yellow shirt is shredded, blood bright red stains the tattered remains of the lower portion of cloth. Her jaw juts against the sting, but she rises and onward she goes. Moving in front of him, her left leg comes up in a snapkick, the blade pushing through the air from her right to slice at the joint of his shoulder. Easily he blocks her sword, grunts taking the kick. Masterfully he engages her blade around in a series ofstrokes, leaving her open and rushing in a slice upward, from inner thigh to the base of her ribs. Dorae tries to keep up with his sword, but tires, the whirring of steel dizzing her. She pays, yet again, with more red on yellow cloth. She spins around, coming up behind him, her blade tracing a line from the top of his shoulder to middle of his back. Vlad arches his back, eyes blazing as the pain sears him. He spins around, smashing the flat of his blade into the area where her neck and shoulder meet. Quickly she ducks low, her own sword flashing out low, aiming at his ankles. With little effort he hops over the blade and lands on one foot, lunging at her with a forward thrust kick from the other. The testee reels backwards, landing on her back, dust rising as her body settles heavily onthe ground. Fighting to breathe, she rises up, Coachwhip still firm in her grasp, stands and glances at him. Vlad had landed in a forward stance and backed off a bit, giving time for his student to rise and him to assess what she might do next. With a bare pause, Dor raises the sword over her head, tip aimed downward, nearing him spins, the blade flashing and moving to swipe at his thigh. The master parries the blow easily, then reverses his grip on the hilt of his own blade, smashing the pommel to her jaw, then spinning around, bringing the blade down across her torso again; the blade crossing over previous wounds. Jaw juts out again, eyes become very still as the new wound sends an unpleasant heat across her chest. Vlad completes the spin and brings his blade up in a normal grip facing her. Suddenly Dorae slaps the hilt ofher sword against her thigh, tip pointed to the sky and takes a running start, sailing up and kicking out at his chest as the bottom of the hilt strikes at his forehead and lands on her feet, spins around in a crouch and waits. Vlad falls back with a cry, landing on his back heavily, winded and bleeding profusely from his forehead. Catlike, he leaps back to his feet, shaking his head to clear it. "Nice one!". He smiles, wipes his aching brow, then rushes again, hitting the ground to roll behind her, spinning as she rises to slash across her spine. She had given a slight nod to his compliment,preferring to keep her concentration. Dor wheels around at the last minute, her own sword coming up as she takes a scratch across her chest bone, the flat of her blade moving quickly to his face. The teacher jerks his head to one side, avoiding most of the force behind the blow. Steppin in, he guides her sword through another series of manuevers, this time trying to disarm her and ducking low, using a sweeping kick to knock her legs out from underher. This time she manages to keep up with his assault. Jumping up, she kicks out at his face, saving herself from being taken down yet again. Lips and nose start to bleed after his head had snapped back from her blow. The point of his sword comes up as she comes down, driving it into her gut. Immediately she crumples to the ground, Coachwhip leaving her sweaty grasp to lay idle on the ground near her. He withdraws his blade and comes to hisfeet. "Well fought Warrior. The Test is passed.". Dorae rises to her knees, taking a moment to breathe. Vlad kneels down beside her, "Have someone clean and bandage those wounds, but let them heal as naturally as possible. The Test always leaves scars.". The Warrior picks up her head to look at him, then rises andbends her head to him in respect, then picks it back up and smiles, eyes glittering. "I had every intention of leaving them heal on their own.". The Sha'lin smiles. Dorae bends down to pick up Coachwhip, gives a Ceaonite Warrior's salute to Vlad with it, then cradles it in her arms. He nods to her sword, "Take good care of it. Clean it up and hone the knicks and notches out of it tonite, if there are any yet." Dark curls bounce as she nods, "I shall.", a soft laugh. "I worried if I made a good choice in weapon, but it served its purpose well enough, though I still feel ungainly wielding it." Again he smiles, "You did well enough, Remember though... If your opponent fights double-bladed, you would do well to do the same. Or, if you have only one blade with you, relieve your opponent quickly." Dor nods, "You did surprise me with that second blade, it occured to me, a bit slowly that I should disarm at least one from you." Vlad bends over to pick up his second blade, smiles. "Wielding two gives a definite advantage. You can engage your opponents guard with one while attacking with the other... or parry with one and counter with the other." "I see I have much to learn of this weapon...", brow wrinkles as she looks down at hersword, "Here I thought one was bad enough." The teacher chuckles. "You don't have to use it all the time. Our people were well known for being masters of the sword, and most of us had an affinity for sharp weapons... But, being a Warrior, you have training in many areas. Use the one you are best in." The serpentedwoman looks back at him, slightly relieved. "My fists are my affinity, but I will learn rightly of the sword, it is now apart of me, even if only by a little bit." "Excellent. When would you like to hold your ceremony?" She pauses thinking, not having thought about it before. "Perhaps next sixth day." She shifts the sword in her arms, resting the blade against her arm while one serpented hand reaches up to mop blood and sweat from her face. Vlad simply nods, "You do not need to stay here if you don't want to... We aredone." Dor nods, "Then go I will, to tend to these soon to be scars.", slight smile creasing normally straight thin lips. The teacher smiles at her. "Good night Sha'lin." Her head nods again and she turns and heads up over the knoll, toward home, leaving Vlad in the clearing...her purpose found; she is worthy; is now a Ceaonite Warrior.
Dorae "The Dangerous" Rasta
From: DoraeRasta
(( authors note: This portion of the thread was RPed on Tues night. All movements are those actually used in the RP, slightly embellished to make this post a bit more interesting to read. Stand in grass was used, no grass was harmed during the making of this post and was intently watched by the Lawn Wrangler. Brought to you by: Venom Enterprises.))The Test She had sent horse away, instructing him to go home and await her there. Her small humble home is not far from here, she will walk; for if she masters this test, her adrenaline level will be high and she will have need to work it off.... and if she fails, then she will have no need to walk or ride ever again. Over the grassy knoll she climbed, Coachwhip cradled in her arms, she forgoing a scabbard for the now. Upon reaching the clearing, she stands quietly and awaits the Master of Masters, the Sha'lin... Vlad. Ninth bell sounds off somewhere and then there is Vlad, approaching slowly and calmly. "It is time.... Are you prepared?". She watches him calmly and nods, "I am ready.". Vlad smiles and draws two identical long swords, apparently intending to use both. Dorae watches the two swords leave their scabbards,keeping her surprise off her face. Vlad takes on a defensive posture and calls out, "Taiste!", the Ceaonite word for "come". Promptly Dorae grasps the hilt of her sword and squares off in front of him smartly, eyes intent and calm. Since they dispense with ceremonies, she takes the initiative. Dorae shifts position, moving two steps to her left, the tip of Coachwhip tilting down idly as she thinks of amanuever. Suddenly she lunges forward, tentitively tapping his shoulder with the flat of her blade. Vlad takes the tap, brow raised, forgoing making any attempt to parry the infantile blow. He rushes her, spinning around her side, one sword engaging hers while the tip of the other thrusts downward, intent on piercing her thigh. The testee manages to sweep the first sword away, her movement saving her from certain impalement, getting a smart scratch instead. First blood is drawn. She pivots on the balls of one foot, swinging the blade in an arc, thrusting a foot forward and stomping the ground as the sword tip aims at his upper arm. Quickly his two blades move into an X, capturing her own and brings it down to one side then comes back up with his nearest hand, aimingpommel to her face and trying to get the second blade into a position to damage her midsection. Blades ring across the grassy knoll. Dorae manages to step back, disengaging her sword from his two, and brings the hilt down onto the nearest wrist, hoping he drops one sword. That manuever worked. Vlad flinches, releasing the blade, then kicks it aside. His damaged arm swings up, going to backhand her across her jaw, point of remaining sword thrusting, aimed at her ribs. A low hiss as his sword slides through her and her lip splits, sending a rush of red down her chin. No time to inspect or think about the injuries, she takes on a slight crouch, sidestepping in a circle around, breathing a raspy hiss. Dor reaches out quickly with her left hand, hoping to distract him while the sword comes up in her right hand, sticking his thigh. The Master grimaces in distaste, feeling the warmth of his blood run down hisleg, then whirls around, bringing his sword down in a whistling arc, the pommel looking for her temple. She rushes backwards, stumbles, Coachwhip's tip hitting dirt as she barely manages to get away from a surefire headache. Serpented hand takes a firmer grasp of the serpented hilt, dragging it up and holding it lightly, as if it were a fencing foil instead of a sword; the tip traces a circle in the air in front of her. The blade swipes downward, then comes up again and moves to strike at his chest. Sidestepping just enough, Vlad avoids adangerous hit, but takes a scratch on his shoulder. He lunges forward, driving his shoulder into her torso to knock her flat, then spins his sword, slicing down across her stomach. And now she is down, yellow shirt is shredded, blood bright red stains the tattered remains of the lower portion of cloth. Her jaw juts against the sting, but she rises and onward she goes. Moving in front of him, her left leg comes up in a snapkick, the blade pushing through the air from her right to slice at the joint of his shoulder. Easily he blocks her sword, grunts taking the kick. Masterfully he engages her blade around in a series ofstrokes, leaving her open and rushing in a slice upward, from inner thigh to the base of her ribs. Dorae tries to keep up with his sword, but tires, the whirring of steel dizzing her. She pays, yet again, with more red on yellow cloth. She spins around, coming up behind him, her blade tracing a line from the top of his shoulder to middle of his back. Vlad arches his back, eyes blazing as the pain sears him. He spins around, smashing the flat of his blade into the area where her neck and shoulder meet. Quickly she ducks low, her own sword flashing out low, aiming at his ankles. With little effort he hops over the blade and lands on one foot, lunging at her with a forward thrust kick from the other. The testee reels backwards, landing on her back, dust rising as her body settles heavily onthe ground. Fighting to breathe, she rises up, Coachwhip still firm in her grasp, stands and glances at him. Vlad had landed in a forward stance and backed off a bit, giving time for his student to rise and him to assess what she might do next. With a bare pause, Dor raises the sword over her head, tip aimed downward, nearing him spins, the blade flashing and moving to swipe at his thigh. The master parries the blow easily, then reverses his grip on the hilt of his own blade, smashing the pommel to her jaw, then spinning around, bringing the blade down across her torso again; the blade crossing over previous wounds. Jaw juts out again, eyes become very still as the new wound sends an unpleasant heat across her chest. Vlad completes the spin and brings his blade up in a normal grip facing her. Suddenly Dorae slaps the hilt ofher sword against her thigh, tip pointed to the sky and takes a running start, sailing up and kicking out at his chest as the bottom of the hilt strikes at his forehead and lands on her feet, spins around in a crouch and waits. Vlad falls back with a cry, landing on his back heavily, winded and bleeding profusely from his forehead. Catlike, he leaps back to his feet, shaking his head to clear it. "Nice one!". He smiles, wipes his aching brow, then rushes again, hitting the ground to roll behind her, spinning as she rises to slash across her spine. She had given a slight nod to his compliment,preferring to keep her concentration. Dor wheels around at the last minute, her own sword coming up as she takes a scratch across her chest bone, the flat of her blade moving quickly to his face. The teacher jerks his head to one side, avoiding most of the force behind the blow. Steppin in, he guides her sword through another series of manuevers, this time trying to disarm her and ducking low, using a sweeping kick to knock her legs out from underher. This time she manages to keep up with his assault. Jumping up, she kicks out at his face, saving herself from being taken down yet again. Lips and nose start to bleed after his head had snapped back from her blow. The point of his sword comes up as she comes down, driving it into her gut. Immediately she crumples to the ground, Coachwhip leaving her sweaty grasp to lay idle on the ground near her. He withdraws his blade and comes to hisfeet. "Well fought Warrior. The Test is passed.". Dorae rises to her knees, taking a moment to breathe. Vlad kneels down beside her, "Have someone clean and bandage those wounds, but let them heal as naturally as possible. The Test always leaves scars.". The Warrior picks up her head to look at him, then rises andbends her head to him in respect, then picks it back up and smiles, eyes glittering. "I had every intention of leaving them heal on their own.". The Sha'lin smiles. Dorae bends down to pick up Coachwhip, gives a Ceaonite Warrior's salute to Vlad with it, then cradles it in her arms. He nods to her sword, "Take good care of it. Clean it up and hone the knicks and notches out of it tonite, if there are any yet." Dark curls bounce as she nods, "I shall.", a soft laugh. "I worried if I made a good choice in weapon, but it served its purpose well enough, though I still feel ungainly wielding it." Again he smiles, "You did well enough, Remember though... If your opponent fights double-bladed, you would do well to do the same. Or, if you have only one blade with you, relieve your opponent quickly." Dor nods, "You did surprise me with that second blade, it occured to me, a bit slowly that I should disarm at least one from you." Vlad bends over to pick up his second blade, smiles. "Wielding two gives a definite advantage. You can engage your opponents guard with one while attacking with the other... or parry with one and counter with the other." "I see I have much to learn of this weapon...", brow wrinkles as she looks down at hersword, "Here I thought one was bad enough." The teacher chuckles. "You don't have to use it all the time. Our people were well known for being masters of the sword, and most of us had an affinity for sharp weapons... But, being a Warrior, you have training in many areas. Use the one you are best in." The serpentedwoman looks back at him, slightly relieved. "My fists are my affinity, but I will learn rightly of the sword, it is now apart of me, even if only by a little bit." "Excellent. When would you like to hold your ceremony?" She pauses thinking, not having thought about it before. "Perhaps next sixth day." She shifts the sword in her arms, resting the blade against her arm while one serpented hand reaches up to mop blood and sweat from her face. Vlad simply nods, "You do not need to stay here if you don't want to... We aredone." Dor nods, "Then go I will, to tend to these soon to be scars.", slight smile creasing normally straight thin lips. The teacher smiles at her. "Good night Sha'lin." Her head nods again and she turns and heads up over the knoll, toward home, leaving Vlad in the clearing...her purpose found; she is worthy; is now a Ceaonite Warrior.
Dorae "The Dangerous" Rasta