[i]Noon, 5th of Last Seed, 4E205 Solitude, Skyrim The belowdecks of the Kyne’s Tear[/i] The ebony longsword cut through the air with a heavy [i]fwush[/i]. The Dunmer that wielded it abruptly halted the blade’s trajectory when it almost cut into a wooden support beam with less than an inch to spare. With a satisfied grunt, Narzul took a step back, raised the weapon in an offensive stance, and then repeated the slash once more. A hair’s breadth, this time, was all that seperated the edge from wood. Narzul had sequestered himself away in one of the [i]Tear’s[/i] many nooks and crannies after stowing his belongings, unwilling to mingle with the rest of the crew topside. He had dressed down to his breeches and began one of the manifold practice routines his old drillmaster would have him perform for hours on end. His torso glistened with sweat -- the elf had been at it for a while already. “Boethiah,” he whispered, and ducked low to swipe at the support beam (his makeshift ‘dummy’ for this training session). Ebony touched wood and Narzul grimaced. “Long is your arm, and swift is your blade. Deep is the cut, and subtle is the poison.” A flurry of thrusts barely missed the support beam in the span of a second -- high left, high right, low left, low right, the flat of the blade passing so close to the wood that the space between was imperceptible. He inhaled and exhaled sharply, bouncing on his feet, and brandished his sword with a flourish. “Worship, o faithful; pray your death is short.” Deft footwork carried him in and out of striking range, dashing closer and hopping away, his body and mind fully immersed in the phantom fight, blade dancing and whistling. Then Narzul froze, breathing heavily but his sword perfectly steady. “Worship, o faithful; pray your death is quiet.” Like a coiled snake Narzul sprang into motion, pivoting and parrying an imaginary attack, before resuming his unbridled assault on the support beam. Now his arm did not falter; ebony did not strike wood again. “Know that battle is a blessing; know that death is an eventuality.” His face had contorted into a snarl, brow heavy with thunder, teeth bared, hair whipping around his head. Where his movements were silent before, he now grunted and growled with every slash and thrust. “Know that you are dust in the eyes of Boethiah.” He saw the Armiger now, the one that had wounded him on Bleakrock Isle; watched in his mind’s eye as the spear evaded his defenses and struck him in the abdomen. Narzul felt pain flare up, the soreness and aching in his body reliving the moment, and gritted his teeth. [i]”I am dust!”[/i] And with that Narzul lunged forwards and drove his war-sword into the support beam, unyielding ebony splitting wood with a loud [i]crack,[/i] all the way up to the hilt. His breaths came quick and ragged, his shoulders rising and falling with every gasp, and his lips trembled with exertion. A whirlwind of emotions raced through him; frustration, shame, wrath, even the fear of the unknown path that lay ahead. But he held, and in a slow, graceful motion, he straightened up from his almost horizontal posture, drew the blade from the wood and returned to a defensive stance. Narzul felt his mind clear as he did so, all the weaknesses he had allowed to float to the surface leaking away, and he savored the sensation with closed eyes and a deep breath. He felt another, familiar presence in the back of his mind, and it expressed approval… but not explicitly so. As if it expected… more. [i]More of what?[/i] “Worship, o faithful; worship the glory that is Boethiah,” Narzul whispered and bowed his head in reverence. “What are you doing?” a voice suddenly asked, and Narzul’s head whipped around to see his sister standing in the doorway of the cabin. Niernen had her arms crossed and her head tilted; a sight he had seen many times before, back when they were children in Blacklight. She would appear to watch him train, just like this. “Praying,” the elder sibling answered eventually, meeting Niernen’s inquisitive gaze levelly. Niernen chuckled. “You pray like that? It looks exhausting. I sit still and meditate when I pray for Azura’s foresight and guidance,” she said and shrugged. “Much easier.” “Easy does not equal adequate,” Narzul said and bent down to pick up his scabbard. “It seems to me that there are many things your Prince hasn’t foreseen lately.” Niernen’s face turned sour, but Narzul continued. “I know it looks exhausting, dear sister, but I feel stronger now than I did before.” He slid the ebony blade of his sword into the sheath and nodded, as if to reaffirm his own statement to himself. “I believe that’s why I faltered back on Bleakrock Isle; I had not seen to my faith adequately.” Niernen sighed. “Perhaps. Either way, I came here to ask something of you. There’s a new recruit on the ship, a Bosmer -- I know -- who desperately wishes to challenge you to a duel.” An initial look of surprise on Narzul’s face turned into a sinister smile that bordered on the malevolent, and Niernen held up a finger to cut off whatever he was going to say. “No, brothermine, I know what you’re thinking and [i]no.[/i] I haven’t forgotten what happened with Wylendriel. This woman, Adaeze, looks like she grew up in Hammerfell and was very insulted when I didn’t refer to her as a Redguard. I fear she might actually try to kill you if [i]you[/i] talk to her, let alone actually duel her. I strictly forbid it.” Narzul’s face darkened with indignation and Niernen, realizing her mistake, backpedalled. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to order you around. Just… please don’t agree to a duel. Just blow her off and try not to talk to her. Alright? For me?” “Hmph.” Narzul pulled his tunic over his head and did not say anything else until he had finished, fidgeting with his sleeves until they sat around his wrists just-so. “Very well. I won’t humor her. But I’m insulted that you think I would repeat the..” He almost said ‘mistake’, but cleared his throat instead and averted his gaze. “Look, you don’t have to worry about me. I don’t want to be around your mercenary friends anyway. That’s why I’m down here.” Niernen narrowed her eyes at him but saw only sincerity in his face -- sincere disgust, she knew, but that was useful right now. Her gaze softened and she smiled. “Thank you, brother.” Without another word, she turned around and left. Narzul continued to stare at the doorway until long after she’d gone, his brow furrowed. “[i]B’vek[/i],” he growled. How had he let things get so far that his own sister was grateful he was avoiding everyone aboard?