Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25828117-20191101220152/@comment-5543592-20191103155437

Nyasia did not particularly care. Emile had made it abundantly clear that he did not care for her, and she was tired of extending a hand just to have it bitten. Lysilde could clean up her own messes.

She turned back into her katas. Strike, step, strike, turn. The sword moved above her head as if yanked by a string, dropped down behind her back in a phantom block. She turned, took a stance, swiped, turned, stanced, swiped.

And Helian. It was better to forget him. He was, ironically, unobtainable. She was so tired of people thinking poorly of her. Shrava, Emile, Lysilde. She could not bear it if Helian treated her the same.

Strike, strike, strike, lunge. She slammed the scimitar into the hard marble of the ledge with an audible crack. The ebony blade was near unbreakable. The block of stone came loose at where it locked into it's brothers. Nyasia thought that was funny. She was not so strong as to break stone. That stroke must've had very good form.