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The scale coat is designed not to restrict movement while providing protection in battle, but it is still an impediment that has to be considered. Which would be why Sabriel wears it to run through her sword forms outside by the lake, leaving off the helmet, but still carrying the bells in their bandolier, as always.

Her forms are basic but good, with the surety of muscles trained into economical motion, and almost always using only one hand, leaving the other free; as it must be to draw a Charter Mark or reach for the bells on her chest. If it makes many of the drills more difficult, well, that is why she has to practise.

She'll be out there for most of the afternoon.

[Tinytag: Sabriel]

[OOC: ~~Only here for a few hours, but go wild!~~ Gone for sleep now, but I'm more than happy to slowtime. Night, all!

As always, if there are any questions or things you think Sabriel should know, poke me here.]

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She has an audience.

He's just a little man, unremarkable save for a rather bulbous pair of blue-gray eyes. In his world no one would give him marks for style for the tan and slacks striped, buttoned down shirt he's wearing. He's wholly unremarkable in every way -- except, perhaps, for the vague appraisal in his eyes.

(Who knows; it could just be because she's pretty.)

(Hey, it wouldn't be the first time.)

Sabriel finishes the defensive sweep with her left hand - there's a slight ache there that tells her she needs more work on it, it was always weaker than her right - before lowering the sword to hang at her side. The Charter Marks on the blade catch the light slightly as she does so, but stay frozen on the steel.

"Good afternoon," she says, inclining her head as gracefully as if she wasn't breathing deeply and sweating slightly in the warmth of the day.

"Afternoon," he says, a bit sheepishly startled that she took note of him. "Whatever you're doing, I couldn't do."

...Well, that's disarming. She shrugs, stretching out one arm absently.

"I don't suppose it is necessary to many who come here," Sabriel says, having clearly never run into the blade-happy contingent. "I'm trying to keep in practise."

"You never know. It might just be." Pause. "It's not for me, though."

"Apparently not," she says dryly. "I have not met many who find it so thus far."

"Really? I've met -- superheroes, people who know superheroes -- I'm starting to think just me and a handful of people are what we'd call 'normal'."

Sabriel frowns to herself at the unfamiliar term, and shrugs.

"Normal is rather subjective," she says. "What is normal for you almost certainly is not for me."

"Wouldn't expect it to be, what with the -- " he waves his hand " -- different world thing."

Elizabeth is stretched out on one of the giant rocks by the lake. She'd been watching the forest and the birds but now there's a person. And people, especially ones with weapons are so much more interesting to watch. She won't interrupt though.

Sabriel continues a little longer, pushing herself into slight discomfort before she stops to take a breather, and nods in Elizabeth's direction. She remembers the woman well enough that not to acknowledge her would be impolite.

Nodding back in her current position would be awkward. Which just means that Sabriel gets a wave back from Elizabeth. "Do the practicing often?" Comes her voice a moment later.

"Less than I should, I think," Sabriel calls back dryly. "I've been slipping, which I'm here. Trying to remedy that now."

"Slipping is never good if you need the skill." She comments idly. "At least there's a place you can practice?" Because the lake and forest are good for that. Nice open places where someone can see you before they walk in on your practice. "How long have you been doing that?" There's a wave at the sword to say what she's referring to.

"I'd hate to try indoors, that is certain," Sabriel says, then shrugs, sheathing the sword for now. "I started at school. Only the basics, but I began as soon as it was permitted. Ten or eleven, I think."

She's thirty-four now. The sword has never been her primary focus, but it is constantly practised.

There's a scrunched nose at that thought. "Too many people around in there." There's a twist of Elizabeth's body and then she's sitting properly on the rock that's under her. "So for a good while." Swords are respectable in her society for those that aren't Were, so it's a fun interest she's showing.

"Yes," Sabriel agrees. "It's just all too easy not to keep in practise. And then when you need it..."

She shrugs.

Esfir is out running.

It's a common habit of hers (you never know when you need to be able to run fast, but maybe that's her interesting childhood talking), and it breaks up the A-Wing training.

And she'd been slowing up to go inside when she catches sight of Sabriel.

The jog slows to walk slows to a pause.

Sabriel is in the middle of one of the more complicated forms, performing cuts high, middle and low systematically, while the other hand traces marks to block imaginary retaliation. She doesn't bother actually using the Charter at the moment, which means her forms probably look very odd.

Odd, but no odder than using a sword in the first place.

And it's...well, she's always had that damned curiosity, so the dead woman can't help but just...just, well, watch.

Sabriel doesn't stop instantly, but pauses when she reaches a natural break in the flow of forms and turns to look over at the other woman, breathing deeply but still slowly, and passes the sword over to the other hand so she can flex the one the had been holding it.

She nods in greeting, before sheathing the blade carefully at her side.

"Morning, comrade!"

"Good morning," Sabriel greets, politely. Comrade is a new one on her, but it sounds friendly, at least.

"I hope I didn't interupt you."

She shakes her head, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

"Not at all. I can always use a break."

Ahhh, indeed -- another woman with a sword.

Teja is used to those by now. There seem to be more of those than without.

[[OOC: Of course it's all right that she knows Teja is dead!]]

Edited 2008-07-21 22:32 (UTC)

You'd think so, but Sabriel herself is actually feeling in the minority. (Clearly, she needs to get out more.)

At the moment, however, her focus is more on keeping the forms going, to keep muscle memory strong, and on tracing the shapes of Charter Marks with her free hand. Even if she isn't casting at the moment, it's as well to be used to using both hands at once, for different tasks.

[OOC: Thanks!]

The marks she makes do seem familiar -- some of the sorcerers Teja has seen at work here would make similar.

He leans against a tree, and keeps watching.-

Sabriel draws her current form to a close, and sheathes her sword carefully before turning around with a cool nod of greeting.

"Greetings," Teja says.

Pause.

"Sword, and magic?"

She tilts her head, interested that he recognised what she was doing.

"Yes," she tells him. "Not many here notice that."

"I have seen some of the sorcerers in this place sketch signs like that to work their magic," Teja says.

Sabriel smiles slightly, brushing her hair over her forehead almost without thought to expose her Charter Mark.

"I am glad to hear it," she says. "I have not met another Charter mage here yet, but it is reassuring to know there are others."

~~*Facepalm*~~

Charter mage. Those are charter marks, as Yrael makes them, not runes of the sort that the purple godling makes...

Then, Teja remembers Yrael mentioning something about one from his world, that must not know he is there, as he is from Yrael's past.

Or she. Was it a woman Yrael spoke of?

"The purple godling that runs the library works his magic thus," Teja offers. "But when his signs go into effect, they fill with purple fire, and dissolve into smoke."

Teja would rather not lie outright, but will not betray his friend.

Purple godling?

Sabriel's face expresses her confusion eloquently.

She shakes her head slowly. "That does not sound familiar," she says reluctantly. "Mine..."

Carefully, and in as unthreatening a manner as possible, she draws one of the simpler marks, one that simply hangs in the air as the one on her forehead glows slightly, and begins to give off a soft golden light and weak warmth.

"That's one of the lesser marks to do with heat."

"Yours is golden, not purple, like his magic," Teja says, "but the act of drawing, and the sense of power that fills it, is much the same."

"Hmm," says Sabriel softly, letting her hand fall to her side again. The mark remains in the air, but will begin fading within minutes, since she used very little energy to draw it.

"Interesting that they could be so close and yet not the same. I'd like to meet this man and compare."

"That is what he does -- compare magic!" Teja says. "He runs the library, which is truly about magic, but has other books, so after a friendly witch introduced me, I am allowed to use it. And the garden. Also, he is purple. You cannot miss him."

Sending that woman from Yrael's world to Asar-Suti will, one might assume, distract her from Yrael.-

Sabriel arches an eyebrow, but nods.

"He certainly sounds easy to find."

It's a good distraction, too - although if Sabriel knew who and where Yrael was, nothing and nobody could distract her. It's something of a danger topic.

"If you start speaking to him, others will most likely not understand one word," Teja says.

He must leave the purple godling a note to make sure he will not speak of Yrael.-

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