06-28-2020, 12:01 AM
Several months ago--at least by her own calendar--Velameestra never really would have expected swordplay to have become such an entrenched part of her life. She had always been mobile. Short range teleportation. Battlefield control. They were things that she was intimately familiar with. An enemy closing was a weak point. One that could have easily spelled her doom.
Yet now, as she poised herself in front of Kilnar’s intrigued gaze, it became all the more obvious of just how much had changed in such a short amount of time.
A small smirk danced along the younger elf’s dark lips as she idly twirled the slender elvish longsword in her hand and took a step forward--the first step of the routine that the Seeker had been so interested to see. A step that soon melted into a slow twirl as she started to work her way into the tempo that she was most familiar with.
Step.
Twist.
Step.
Her sword followed her body like a ribbon of water, and her eyes illuminated with arcane light that trailed down her arm. There was a momentary flash, and a runes followed a trail of frost that spidered out from around her--flaring at their outer reach before vanishing as the frost aura took effect.
If there was any time to show off, it was now.
The older mage wanted to see what she could do, after all; what Esara had managed to teach of the lost art that Kilnar had revived.
Her feet slid across the materialized ice as if she were a skater on a frozen lake, using the slickness as a tool to augment her movements. Her sword cut through the air in a series of calculated strikes, the hum of the magic-empowered blade only faintly perceptible in her hand now that she had grown used to the vibrations of the bladesong.
A twirl shifted into a leap, her jacket splaying around her, and she landed with a half-spin, the tip of her toe guiding her balance. Her sword never fully stopped moving, switching hands back and forth in a deceptively artful display of coordination as she jumped again.
Freeze.
This time, as she landed, the tip of the sword touched the ground, and another runic circle exploded out from its tip a frost nova erupted from the epicenter of the blade. The blast of swirling, icy wind blew Vel’s hair back from her face as she continued into another, smaller jump, her foot kicking into the air--and into the throat of an invisible enemy-- as the momentum carried her movements through.
As she landed again a second frost nova flared to life and continued to turn the area directly around her into a deadly maelstrom of ice that washed harmlessly over her frost-augmented skin.
And then a third.
Her blade spun rapidly, twisting over the back of her hand and into her secondary grip. She swung it around with a horizontal slash, the contours of her body flickering for a brief second before three identical mirror images materialized around her. The now quartet moved in tandem as Vel continued to slide across the ice that surrounded her, gliding on one foot, and then kicking into a jump before she landed on the other, twisting her body into a rapid spin with her blade abruptly pulled close to her body.
As she spun, her body drew closer to the ground, increasing the rate of the spin as one foot went out to guide the momentum with her heel.
One.
Two.
Three.
Strike.
At the lowest point, she halted her spin with a free hand driven against the ground, and the elf’s eyes suddenly flared with a renewed surge of bright arcane energy. In an instant, more illusory doubles appeared, honing in on the mirror images and striking with coordinated precision. As the strikes connected, all six of the illusions shattered into shards of ice that faded slowly into nothingness as they trickled to the ground.
Vel vanished in her own flurry of snow, reappearing fully standing several feet back. She ran a hand down her sword as she took a few steps forward, the blade rapidly coating with frigid rime, and she lashed out with one final slash, arcing her body in another wide kick before landed with a flourish, the ice on the sword dissipating.
She glanced at Kilnar with another small smirk, thick tresses of her hair draped messily in front of one of her eyes, and then sheathed her blade, running her other hand through her hair to pull it out of her face.
Despite herself, perhaps it was Esara's influence showing through--or perhaps it was the infectious nature of Kilnar's pride now that she found herself in the presence of the older magister once more--Vel concluded with a small bow.