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[Shri'hrae]

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She sat across the table from Ronia Skyfire. Silently she took in the elven wine as she watched the girl's expressions bounce from Papa Gorhun to Olath. Olath had agreed to train her. That was made evident this afternoon. A smile curled her lips as the feel of a blade in her own hands came rushing back.

- - - - - - -

“No.” The word was calm and final. “If you're going to do it, do it correctly. Barely trying does not count and will get you killed.” Red eyes remained settled on hers passively. It was as if he wasn't going to waste his breath with arguing. A fact which pushed fifteen year old Shri'hrae closer to the breaking point.

“I'm doing it your way!” She snapped at him causing a small smile to curl at the edge of his lips.

“You're wasting my time. Do it again or quit, but pick one.” The sigh that followed from Olath's mouth was the breaker. Throwing the sword against the wall she was met with a satisfying crash as it hit the masonry. “I see the sword was too hard for you. Perhaps blocks would be better.”

Her violet eyes flashed, the red flecks lighting up with anger. “You aren't happy no matter what I do.”

“I'm not happy because you aren't trying. Do it again.”

“NO!”

“Then we are done here. You can explain to the Drow Lord why your lessons are incomplete. As it is your choices that have created this.” The fact that he was keeping his temper didn't help matters. That smug superiority was grating on her. Placing her hands on her hips she looked down contemplating Papa's reactions to her throwing one of his priceless swords. Watching Gorhun's mask turn red was never a good thing and it was worse when it was directed at her.

“FINE!” The word resounded much the same way the sword crashing had and she picked it up half thrusting it into the air in emphasis of her mood. A smile spread slowly across Uncle Olath's face.

“Bel'la dos.” The only thought on her mind was making him eat those words.
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*Kitrye Ilhar's Yathrin, Kitrye Ilharn's Mirshann, Jal degahr*

[Olath Morchiant]

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Olath examined Ronia’s stance as they stood in front of the decorative fireplace that warmed the Abyssal Manor. He made her practice stances and footwork continuously as he stood and watched, critiquing every move in his head. Eventually he stepped into her path, causing her to collide with him and fall. A soft grin appeared upon his face. “Now you see the error of poor technique. You need to spread your stance, you must have balance… Now, do it again.” He sat upon the elven bench which graced the wall of the room. He kept watching, noticing her frustration in every move. Eventually he did not see Ronia or the elegant backdrop of the manor. He was outside watching a young frustrated Shri’hrae practice.

* * *

“Patience.” The word kept circulating in his thoughts. “She must have patience. She will never be able to fully master the sword if she cannot master her own emotions.” He sat calmly and watched as every fiber of her being raged. “You aren't happy no matter what I do.” Her arms slanted back as she leaned forward, yelling. Olath sat emotionless, taking in her verbal assault to which he calmly responded, “I'm not happy because you aren't trying. Now, do… it… again…” Her once violet eyes were now more of a fiery red hue. “NO!” She crossed her arms as if to taunt. “Then we are done here. You can explain to the Drow Lord why your lessons are incomplete, as it is your choices that have created this.” He silently studied her expressions as she contemplated the choice. A small smirk appeared upon his face as she took up the sword. “Bel’la dos.”

He watched silently as she began to swing the sword with such determination and ferocity. “She certainly is fierce. She would be quite formidable if only she can learn to harness that quality into her blade rather than her mouth.” After seeing sweat start to drip from her chin, he raised his hand. “That is quite enough for today.” He patted her back to calm her as she walked, dragging the sword. “Now, take out the trash.” He grinned as he passed her, feeling her anger swell once more. Shri’hrae stood there, staring to the ground as her fists clenched tight. A lesson was taught, but it is up to her to learn…

[Shri'hrae]

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Gravel dug into the small of her back as she fought to catch her breath. Twenty-seven year old Shri'hrae put her arms down beside and pushed herself up from the ground. Uncle Olath extended a hand down grasping her by her elbow and yanked her, unceremoniously, off the ground. Her ponytail had come loose about the tenth time he had knocked her on her butt and it was now hanging half clasped and half in her eyes. Blowing it out of her face with an exasperated sigh she shifted her feet and tucked down knocking a leg out from underneath him. That backfired when he lifted the opposite foot and rolled over her back landing on the opposite side.

He regarded her with a smirk and using the arm he still had a light grip on, he used her own body weight against her pitching her back to the ground. "You seem to like it down there. Should I have Marguth prepare you a dinner tray and serve it out here?"

With a yell she pitched herself back up and came at him with everything in her. It was easy enough to sidestep her though and if she had been using her head she would have seen it.

-Present day-

Shri'hrae stood and watched the two trading inconsequential blows outside of her office. Olath and Gorhun battled back and forth. Necromancy and Mysticism, sword for sword trying to top each other. A smile curled at the edge of her lips as she flicked a streak of flame across the yard setting them each ablaze. This was all well in good until they both turned on her catching her in crosshairs. Shri'hrae took off in a dead run into the trees and faded into the brush. Two steps into the space of shadows and she turned round and headed back to where the two had ceased their persuit. A minor incantation and the earth shook knocking them both to the ground.

A smile lit up her mouth as she tracted her fighting stance and shook off her cloak. 76 years had tempered her passion and her mind. Once the fuse had been lit she retained control. That thought etched itself into her head that night. Light the fuse, control the fire.
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*Kitrye Ilhar's Yathrin, Kitrye Ilharn's Mirshann, Jal degahr*