~An Oath.~

[Josette]

The man's voice was deep, though not gruff. There was something melodic to the way he spoke, and while she had not heard his song filling the room before her arrival, his talent would not have surprised her. Still, regardless of the smooth way with which he spoke, the mere sound of him startled her. Josette's hand was firm on her sword's hilt before he finished his greeting, and it remained there even after he concluded. How long had he been sitting there, among the shadows cast by crumbling walls and dying daylight?

"Elthas," she repeated, her own voice a low hum in her chest. She studied him before she went on, drinking in whatever observations might be important in their battle. He stood a few inches taller, and carried what she estimated to be fifty more pounds, carving an intimidating figure. He wore ornate daggers, a sharp contrast to the massive blade that hung at her own hip. His armor, too, was drastically different than her own; her opponent appeared to opt for thin leather rather than thick iron. Despite it all, he still struck her as a formidable fighting partner. She even knew of his father, for even someone who was home-schooled, and poorly-so, could name the Civil War hero. Only his lingering tears complicated her assessment, their salty, criss-crossed trails glimmering in the light of the burning tapestries.

The knight gave a polite nod, as much acceptance as it was greeting. "Josette," she informed him. "I am also here to train." Not here to talk. It was odd - he was odd - and the momentary calm that his words had created shattered as the elf moved toward her. He was still speaking, but her mind, her body, had switched into combat mode. Josette drew her sword from its sheath with a metallic hiss that seemed to echo in the chamber, and when the motion did not dissuade him, she lunged.