[Training] crack a neck

Thalassa

Hit me hard and soft

The porch of her apartment is small, but sometimes she likes how it feels like standing on the helm of The Marauder. Wind snags at her thick cloak, reminding her that Deepfrost is in full swing even without the snowflakes nipping at her skin. There's a defiant flush to her cheeks as she looks out to the flashing lightning like staring down an ocean storm, ready to ride out the waves. With any luck, she'll have some semblance of control of the element soon, but there are still many things for her to do before then. 

For now, Thal tucks a strand of errant hair from her face - appreciative that it's dark once more. She pulls a dagger from her hip, brandishing it in the flashing light of the storm as she descends the stairs, fire wreathing the blade to lick up her arm, keeping the cold at bay while she eyes the nearby trees for a good candidate to unleash some extra energy on. 

Her boots crunch in the thin layer of snow when she stops in front of a large tree. With a flick of her tail and a snap of her wrist, her dagger flies through the air to thud into the bark, flames trailing up the trunk before dissipating.

Aithne

I see how this is gonna go

"Ooooo," says what is sure to be a familiar and all-too-chipper voice as Aithne steps out from behind a nearby tree. "That's a fun trick!" Her dark eyes are bright with good cheer despite the chilly temperatures that have her huddled in a thick winter cloak. It's rare for her to venture outside the warmth and relative safety of the Inner Quarter during Deepfrost, but today marks an exception, the young Ancient having grown tired of twiddling her thumbs in the Temple. She intends to hunt, if she can be bothered, though it isn't yet a necessity. More a passing fancy than anything else, really.

In any case, she practically skips over to inspect the dagger nestled into the tree trunk. It's buried deep, and she finds herself barely restraining from reaching out to pluck it from the bark, assuming - correctly or not - that Thalassa won't take kindly to her blade being handled by someone else. Instead, she burrows deeper into her cloak, gaze flicking to the captain with no small amount of respect. "I wish I could do that."

Touch me and you'll never be alone

Thalassa

Hit me hard and soft

Her tail stills behind her, annoyance flickering in her gaze when she recognizes the too-bright tone of the younger Ancient. Only her eyes move at the new arrival, tracking her movement with a flat expression that oozes of disinterest for the compliment. Although she takes pride in her skills, it's usually with the intent of making someone wet themselves with fear, not to have them delight in how 'fun' it is. 

At least Aithne has the common sense not to touch Thal's dagger. She might have found herself staring down a very angry lyvern, or with the same dagger buried hilt deep somewhere extremely uncomfortable. Instead, she earns a pointed glare as Thal hums quietly into the cold air. 

The dagger responds instantly, resonating the sound from its place in the bark before slicing through the air back to her hand where she catches it without breaking eye contact. "Maybe get better control of your other skills first," she retorts, slipping the blade safely back into its sheath before any grabby fingers go reaching for it.

Aithne

I see how this is gonna go

Thalassa hums and the dagger pulls itself from where it's embedded in the bark to return to the other Ancient's hand. Aithne's eyes light with interest, but she manages to smother the delighted gasp that threatens to drip past her fangs. One of these days, she should really get some kind of weapon of her own, but there are just so many options. How is she supposed to choose?

The captain's barb goes over Aithne's head. She's right, after all - Aithne should master what she's been given before trying to learn new skills. Still, she isn't quite sure how to go about doing that on her own. Charlie has been understandably busy lately, and Thalassa has been a hard woman to track down for training. Still, they're here now, so she might as well put the meeting to some use. But first, she has to satisfy her curiosity. "How did you decide on a dagger as your weapon of choice?" she asks, tilting her head to one side.

Touch me and you'll never be alone

A sudden chorus of harsh voices erupts from above, sharp and insistent, echoing across the broken fields and skeletal trees. Gore Crows cluster overhead and along nearby perches, black feathers ruffling as they hop and flap with barely contained energy.

“EYES,” one screeches, while another snaps back with “MEAT,” the words barked out of beaks with no clear rhythm or meaning. They shout over one another, repeating the phrases again and again, some launching briefly into the air before settling back down just close enough to be irritating.

The pack shows no sign of leaving, only growing louder and more persistent as they shift positions, watching intently. Whether they are merely noisy scavengers or waiting for something worse to happen is impossible to tell, but their presence is impossible to ignore.

---

Gore Crow Areas Found: Hollowed Grounds, Greatwood, The Climb — Common Twice the size of their more common brethren, gore crows boast wickedly sharp beaks and talons that could pierce even the hide of a dragon, and even sharper wit to boot. Preferring human meat, their inky black feathers often glisten red with their most recent feast. Traveling in small groups, their eerie caws of words like "Eyes!" and "Meat!" can be heard echoing across battlefields or haunting a hunter's trail. These fearsome birds with gleaming red eyes are not to be trifled with, for it is not uncommon for a gore crow to finish off injured prey. Challenge Rating: Easy HP: 92 | To Hit: +34 | Dmg: 14 Movement: Fly 50 ft.; Walk 20 ft. SPECIAL SKILLS Gore Feast: When a gore crow deals damage with Peck or Rend Flesh, it regains a small measure of vitality from the blood it spills; Battlefield Harbingers: Their eerie caw echoes for a mile around, sowing unease and foreshadowing violence

TRAITS Bloodhound Instinct: Can track the scent of fresh blood for miles; Spectral Feathers: Partially ethereal, granting resistance to nonmagical physical attacks; Pack Tactics: Coordinate attacks, striking with uncanny synchronicity ACTIONS Peck: A lightning-quick strike with its serrated beak; Rend Flesh: Sweeps both talons in a brutal slash against one creature; Blood-chill Caw: Unleashes a piercing call that sends a chill through nearby foes

Thalassa

Hit me hard and soft

With her dagger safely in its sheath, Thal crosses her arms, debating whether she should abandon her plan and find a better way to exert her excess energy. The woman isn't her favorite to be around with all her bright moods and annoying questions, but it's hard to talk when dodging daggers or fireballs. 

Considering the possibility of watching Aithne dance away from her barrage of attacks, Thal narrows her eyes to steely weapons of their own, directed at the Ancient for bothering to probe into her life - even if the choice seems obvious. "Swords are too slow and heavy," she grumbles, offering a wickedly humorless smile when she adds, "Other weapons aren't sharp enough."

That's when the gore crows decide to make themselves known, screeching in discordant unity with a litany of body parts like 'Eyes!' and 'Tongue!' and 'Toes!' as if arguing over the juiciest pieces of meat delicacies. Thal would argue that the muscly parts are better, but to each their own. Plus, she's not really in the mood to argue with a murder of vicious crows gnashing their beaks in hunger. 

Flashing her fangs, Thal resists the urge to send a blast of fire into their midst in hopes they'll scatter.

Aithne

I see how this is gonna go

Aithne tilts her head, considering Thalassa's words. "That makes sense," she says, her relatively serious tone making it clear that she's taking the captain's words to heart. She's never really considered types of weapons and what she might like, but as she thinks about it now, she decides that fast and sharp are right up her alley. She also likes that daggers can be thrown from range - provided that there is some method of retrieving them, she supposes.

In any case, she looks up as the murder of gore crows appears, head tilting almost thoughtfully as she considers them. There are a lot of them, and while she's sure that Thalassa, at least, can handle herself, Aithne's own experiences alongside the captain have assured her that she might not be so fortunate in a battle. Thus, she decides (wisely) to leave them be.

Instead, she (unwisely) turns back to Thalassa. "How do you learn to wield them?" she asks then, eyes still alight with interest in Thalassa's weaponry.

Touch me and you'll never be alone

Thalassa

Hit me hard and soft

Turning away from the murderous crows and their penchant for body parts, Thal moves farther down the edge of the forest. Unfortunately for her, the most annoying of the bunch can speak more than a couple words and she continues to use that ability to ask stupid questions. 

Not bothering to stop, she walks further in the chill of lightning and chilly wind, her tone flat and disinterested as she states the obvious, "Practice." She glances behind, sarcasm thick when she adds, "I'm sure you'll probably get plenty as a priestess's apprentice." Although she doubts it'll be applicable to anything more than easy sacrifices of bound animals. Charlie doesn't seem the kind to use weapons in general, preferring the more primal methods of drawing blood.

Aithne

I see how this is gonna go

Aithne follows along, seemingly impervious to Thalassa's mood; perhaps she simply thinks that she'll grow on the captain should they spend sufficient time together, and hasn't yet accepted that that likely is not the case. Regardless, she purses her lips at the other Ancient's sarcasm, momentarily cowed by the barb. She's sure that being an acolyte doesn't seem particularly exciting to a pirate captain, but there are plenty of super fun things that she gets to do that she bets Thalassa doesn't. There are the blood sacrifices, and the orgies, and... and...

Okay, so there are two super fun things.

Whatever.

Aithne shakes off her momentary pause in favor of considering the information she's been given. Practice is an obvious response, and she barely contains the urge to roll her eyes. Still, she waits a beat before asking more questions. She thinks about asking what kind of practice, but that seems likely to get a similar response - or perhaps something along the lines of "the pointy end goes towards the target" or "don't cut yourself unless it's on purpose." Or maybe, seeing as Thalassa seems to be in a particularly grumpy mood today, she would advise Aithne to cut herself - preferably somewhere that would cause permanent damage to the girl's vocal chords.

But Aithne is nothing if not determined, so she continues to follow. "Okay, but sacrifices and throwing daggers are different." Or so she assumes. "Could you teach me the basics?"

Touch me and you'll never be alone

Thalassa

Hit me hard and soft

A flash of lightning highlights a grouping of roots in her path. Stepping around them, Thal lets out a grunt of agreement. Sacrifices and throwing daggers are different, and she'd be offended if Aithne had assumed they weren't. There might be an art form to sacrifices, but throwing daggers is a skill, one she's learned over years and hundreds of hours with a blade in her hand. 

Aithne then asks for her to teach her, and Thal stifles the urge to snap at her, settling for a roll of her eyes when she spins around to face her again. "You want to know the basics?" There's already a dagger in her hand, the silver metal glinting in the purple glow of lightning. "Hold it like this" - she grips the tip of the blade in her fingers - "and throw." The dagger flies through the air at Aithne, aimed expertly for the tree behind her, its path intending to draw blood along the side of her arm - a warning as much as a demonstration paired with a sharp grin that's anything but friendly. 

---

1/4

Aithne

I can feel the flames on my skin

Aithne skips across the roots daring to peer above the ground, highlighted by the purple of the lightning lighting the sky. It's that same glow that makes the dagger that appears in Thalassa's hand glint dimly, giving Aithne just enough time to lean precariously to the side mid-leap. Landing lightly, Aithne thanks her lucky stars for her quick reflexes - though she doubts very much that she'd have been able to dodge had the captain truly wished her harm. At least it hadn't been a killing blow - so maybe she can wheedle a little more information from the other Ancient before the woman tires of her for the day.

Aware of the dagger now at her back, Aithne takes several steps sideways to avoid its path as it is recalled to its owner. Unfortunately, between the dim light and the quick movements, she didn't get a very good look at the specific way Thalassa had held the blade. Pursing her lips against the urge to ask the woman to show her again - a question that is likely to earn her a dagger through the heart as not - Aithne instead nods, as though she's seen plenty. Then she grins. "Okay, but what about a harder target?"

Then she shifts, soft skin exchanged for hard stone protecting the superheated flesh beneath. As a fyrhund, at least she's marginally less likely to be harmed from this little experiment. And then, just because she can, she lunges past Thalassa in what she hopes will be a glancing blow, meant more to catch the captain off her guard than truly injure.

---

1/4

Crimson-red paint on my lips

Thalassa

Hit me hard and soft

Unsurprisingly, her dagger sinks into the bark behind Aithne. She doesn't even blink, watching the woman leap out of the path with a sharp look of boredom that barely changes when the fyrhund appears. An unimpressed laugh leaves her. "You call this a harder target?"

A flash of lightning and she's gone, darting out of the path of the fyrhund into a casual step off to the side. Another dagger is already in hand, the obsidian blade sucking in the light. With a flick of her wrist, it's flying at Aithne's side, the hum of magic clear in the red lines of the dagger. She doesn't aim for the heart, but it won't just be a glancing blow this time. 

---

2/4

Aithne

I can feel the flames on my skin

There is, it seems, nothing that Aithne can do to impress Thalassa. Not that that had been the goal, precisely - she'd simply hoped for something to protect her from the captain's wrath. As she puts space between the tree trunk where the dagger is embedded and herself, lunging towards Thalassa without really intending to to more than brush the captain aside, she hits nothing but air. Unsurprising, given that her heart hadn't really been in the attempted hit.

Another flash of lightning turns the scene an eerie purple, and in the split second brightness, Aithne sees the dagger flying towards her once more, black against the momentary light of the sky. She darts to one side, twirling away from the blade, but this time, she's too slow to avoid it entirely. A score of obsidian against her shoulder leaves her bleeding lava, and she huffs a disappointed sound before putting the bright flash of pain out of her mind.

Then she's moving again. Clearly sitting still or half-assing her attacks isn't going to gain her any respect, endear Thalassa to her, or earn leniency - so she might as well go all out. Circling the other Ancient, she lunges again, this time aiming low, fangs flashing as she tries to bite at Thalassa's ankles.

---

2/4

Crimson-red paint on my lips

Thalassa

Hit me hard and soft

The dagger slices through rocky hide, a score of lava leaking from the wound as Aithne moves. Thal doesn't relish in her success, knowing that a moment's lack of focus can cost her. Instead, she hums, the obsidian dagger changing course midair to find her. It twists, a red glow the only indication of it in the darkness as it snaps back into the clutch of her fingers. 

Twisting it in her grasp, Thal darts away from the snapping fangs with ease, reappearing at Aithne's side. She could reach out with her dagger, slash her side, draw more lava into the grass, but a different magic rises in response, and she stretches out a hand to make contact with the stony exterior. The siphon magic beneath her skin is ready, seeking to draw on the fyrhund's life force. 

---

3/4