Aurelia
hear those bells ring deep in the soul
chiming away for a moment
chiming away for a moment
The girl seems simultaneously humbled and fueled by the statement, and it comes as no surprise to Aurelia. It's rare that she's the teacher, and she knows nothing of this strange person's life or traumas, but she understands the importance of uplifting a pupil. She knows because she had always craved it when she was the one on the opposite side. She craves it still because she is always learning, climbing her way through the strangeness of a new world and a new way to live. New skills to learn and master, but she had always been a good student; adaptable, allowing herself to be the channel through which her weapons could attain terrible greatness.
So it's with appreciation for the woman's willingness to learn that she watches, and waits. She's silent for the most part, nothing but a glint in her eye or a stretch of her brow to indicate whether something has impressed or troubled her. But these details might've been lost to the girl's undaunted focus, and that is something to be latched onto, nurtured - not interrupted with criticisms or guidance. Aurelia lets her be, until she thinks she's ready to take on this task.
She steps forward to let the notion settle over the space between them - that this will be a spar - and she lifts her chin. "You can stop," she states curtly.
"Well," she starts, slowly drawing her own dagger to not cause alarm, "you pay no attention to yourself and that's where you're falling short," she remarks, and perhaps it's blunt but she knows no other way to teach. "Hurting your opponent is easy, killing is easy, if you can live with it," her eyes narrow and her lips form a tight grimace, "it's keeping yourself alive long enough to do it that's difficult - because everything is going to fight like hell for its own life." She pauses, lifting her blade. Naturally, her body changes stance with such ease as if it were water flowing.
"Your feet first. Place them like this," she motions subtly to herself, where her feet have been directed in such a way that any angle is reachable at a moment's notice, "imagine that there is a triangle beneath you, no wider than your own shoulders. You must always keep your feet on the corners of it."
"If it's easier for you to remember, don't think of it as a technique - but as a series of angles. Your goal is to cut and take off, over and over. It'll give you the advantage." Thereafter, the angles could stretch toward cover, to grant the power of the ambush, but she will not overwhelm the girl with everything all at once. One strike at a time. If the girl wanted to fight like an honorable soldier, she has sought the wrong teacher.
"Now... block this," is a rushed warning before she surges forth, stepping forward with one foot, allowing her shoulder to follow through, and from there the fluidity of dagger does all the work for her - as promised. It strikes upward toward the woman's face. She doesn't aim to actually land the hit, but there is nothing within her expression or ripple of movement that would suggest this. Once done, she will immediately recoil along those sharp angles she spoke of.
So it's with appreciation for the woman's willingness to learn that she watches, and waits. She's silent for the most part, nothing but a glint in her eye or a stretch of her brow to indicate whether something has impressed or troubled her. But these details might've been lost to the girl's undaunted focus, and that is something to be latched onto, nurtured - not interrupted with criticisms or guidance. Aurelia lets her be, until she thinks she's ready to take on this task.
She steps forward to let the notion settle over the space between them - that this will be a spar - and she lifts her chin. "You can stop," she states curtly.
"Well," she starts, slowly drawing her own dagger to not cause alarm, "you pay no attention to yourself and that's where you're falling short," she remarks, and perhaps it's blunt but she knows no other way to teach. "Hurting your opponent is easy, killing is easy, if you can live with it," her eyes narrow and her lips form a tight grimace, "it's keeping yourself alive long enough to do it that's difficult - because everything is going to fight like hell for its own life." She pauses, lifting her blade. Naturally, her body changes stance with such ease as if it were water flowing.
"Your feet first. Place them like this," she motions subtly to herself, where her feet have been directed in such a way that any angle is reachable at a moment's notice, "imagine that there is a triangle beneath you, no wider than your own shoulders. You must always keep your feet on the corners of it."
"If it's easier for you to remember, don't think of it as a technique - but as a series of angles. Your goal is to cut and take off, over and over. It'll give you the advantage." Thereafter, the angles could stretch toward cover, to grant the power of the ambush, but she will not overwhelm the girl with everything all at once. One strike at a time. If the girl wanted to fight like an honorable soldier, she has sought the wrong teacher.
"Now... block this," is a rushed warning before she surges forth, stepping forward with one foot, allowing her shoulder to follow through, and from there the fluidity of dagger does all the work for her - as promised. It strikes upward toward the woman's face. She doesn't aim to actually land the hit, but there is nothing within her expression or ripple of movement that would suggest this. Once done, she will immediately recoil along those sharp angles she spoke of.
feel your breath course frankly below
see life as a worthy opponent
see life as a worthy opponent
