Ashe was more than used to her training partners looking at her the way Jigano did. No, that wasn't true. He was surprisingly polite about it. Contempt, disdain, outright hatred - all things she was quite used to in her sparring partners and the senior assassins. In the guild, only one of her trainers ever treated her with any kindness. Even when she was in charge of training the lesser assassins, they looked at her with distrust and hatred. She was Master's favorite weapon, after all, and so many of them wanted her place. That thought had her tensing, nearly had her losing her focus.
He's dead, she reminded herself. Master is dead.
Focus, she snarled at herself then, sliding a step back with just enough time to escape the hit to her wrist and block the followup with a clack of wood - a repeat move. He drew away quickly, and Ashe released a breath as she assessed his movements; every feather of muscle and twitch of skin. Ashe stepped after him, feet mirroring his retreat smoothly. A smirk flickered at his aimed blow to her center - predictable. Ashe had faced down thousands of foes and trained with the best of the elite in her world, it would have been sad indeed if she could be touched so easily. A game that had often been played in training with Kalt: the first to bleed loses. She knew how to avoid even a shallow cut (lest there be poison on the blade).
Of course, she wasn't perfect. While the heavy majority of her scars were earned in punishments ordered by Master, there were many scattered over her pale skin that reminded her of near-misses and brushes with death.
As such, even as Ashe knocked away his stick and broke his guard before he could strike her middle, he slapped away her stick with his free hand just as she flipped it to "stab" into his ribs. She smirked and disengaged, dancing back and to the side of him. He was tense and cold, but it didn't deter her as she evened out her breath. "It was like that in Northaven," she said as her head tilted just slightly. She darted forward then and made for rapid blows in quick succession: one, two, three, four - all designed to occupy his blade and remain too fast for retaliation. One for his shoulder, another for his throat, another for the hollow of his hip, and another for his gut.
It was with the strike to his gut that she slipped around to the side of him, not having expected any of her blows to land. "The wall was said to protect us from the jungle beyond," she went on, and as she swung her blade to hit him in the tender side with a determined advance.. She moved to strike her foot down into the back of his knee and knock him off balance. "But we were fish in a barrel, being picked off and tearing ourselves apart for our higher powers."
If he went down or even stumbled, Ashe was all too happy to take the advantage, flipping her "sword" to catch him on his throat. "I'd rather have freedom."
He's dead, she reminded herself. Master is dead.
Focus, she snarled at herself then, sliding a step back with just enough time to escape the hit to her wrist and block the followup with a clack of wood - a repeat move. He drew away quickly, and Ashe released a breath as she assessed his movements; every feather of muscle and twitch of skin. Ashe stepped after him, feet mirroring his retreat smoothly. A smirk flickered at his aimed blow to her center - predictable. Ashe had faced down thousands of foes and trained with the best of the elite in her world, it would have been sad indeed if she could be touched so easily. A game that had often been played in training with Kalt: the first to bleed loses. She knew how to avoid even a shallow cut (lest there be poison on the blade).
Of course, she wasn't perfect. While the heavy majority of her scars were earned in punishments ordered by Master, there were many scattered over her pale skin that reminded her of near-misses and brushes with death.
As such, even as Ashe knocked away his stick and broke his guard before he could strike her middle, he slapped away her stick with his free hand just as she flipped it to "stab" into his ribs. She smirked and disengaged, dancing back and to the side of him. He was tense and cold, but it didn't deter her as she evened out her breath. "It was like that in Northaven," she said as her head tilted just slightly. She darted forward then and made for rapid blows in quick succession: one, two, three, four - all designed to occupy his blade and remain too fast for retaliation. One for his shoulder, another for his throat, another for the hollow of his hip, and another for his gut.
It was with the strike to his gut that she slipped around to the side of him, not having expected any of her blows to land. "The wall was said to protect us from the jungle beyond," she went on, and as she swung her blade to hit him in the tender side with a determined advance.. She moved to strike her foot down into the back of his knee and knock him off balance. "But we were fish in a barrel, being picked off and tearing ourselves apart for our higher powers."
If he went down or even stumbled, Ashe was all too happy to take the advantage, flipping her "sword" to catch him on his throat. "I'd rather have freedom."
